E
Edinburgh, 1994:
"Fight me. And if I win, we'll jump together."
Bellatrix Lestrange hardly flinched, tulle-mesh skirts of sheer grey and blue-violet tearing in the wind. She was standing beneath the circumference of an angled umbrella, her obscure face dry; the night decidedly not so, holding a short, sharp blade in her hand. When she turned around, her eyes - which were pristine and black - cut through the stranger on the tarmac like a cattle rod.
"Deal."
