Lalithine stared at him steadily, "Nothing you can say will turn me against them, Potter." Her voice was proud, though he could sense some kind of pain behind it. "I'm not aiming for that," he replied quietly, "I'll tell you the truth – the whole truth – and you can pick your leaders after that." He removed his wand from her throat, and offered a hand to help her up. With a deep scowl, she pushed the helping hand away and stood herself. Her stance was proud, Harry observed, no doubt from years of lies and manipulation. With a sweeping gesture, he indicated that she should sit down. She gave him an icy glare, but obeyed without trouble. "Where's your waif?" She asked with a clipped tone. "She didn't want to be here when I told the story; she lost a brother due to your father's misadventure." With a satisfied smirk, Lalithine leaned back and folded her arms across her chest, "Well then, by all means, tell me your precious 'truth' so I can kill you already." At first, Harry found that he could not seem to find the words to describe his lifetime of fighting the Dark Lord. "A long time ago," he began lamely, "Your father killed my parents…"
She listened surprising well, for a Death Eater, and made no interruptions. There were times where Harry could sense her hate, where he could see the excitement rush through her expression as he explained the death and destruction. She was sick, twisted, but perhaps that was only a cover for what had been considered weak by her peers. The more he told her, the more Harry hoped he could convince her that she could live a life without killing. But nothing seemed to faze her; she only sat there smirking at her father's evilest accomplishments. She even dared to laugh at Fred Weasley's death. And then, Harry wiped the smirk from her pretty face. He told her, in detail, exactly how Voldemort and Bellatrix died. Though he supposed she may remember the incident, he wanted to be certain that she knew the events leading it up to it as well. He could tell it wounded her, as it had wounded him when he learned his father was not the God Harry had imagined. He took little pleasure in her pain, nearly ignoring it altogether. When he finished, he measured her reaction. Lalithine sat with her hands folded politely in her lap, her eyes curiously dead as she looked at Harry through thick lashes. "Are you done?" She asked, her voice in simple monotone, hiding anything she happened to be thinking at that moment. Harry nodded, "I'm finished." "Good," she announced before she shot up and with one hand, knocked the table clear across the room before lunging on Harry. He barely had time to grab his wand as she slammed into him. The force sent them both to the floor, where Lalithine then proceeded to savagely beat the boy who lived with her fist until he caught his bearings. With a bright flash, she was hit in the chest with a spell for the second time that night. The force had not rendered her unconscious, but it did shock her long enough for Harry to regain his ground. His nose was bleeding, and there was a bruise forming on his cheek. Obviously Ms. Riddle was a tad bit more bloodthirsty than her father or mother, though that hardly seemed possible. Lalithine let out a loud groan and covered her head with both arms as she felt the vibration of Harry's heavy footsteps come toward her. He nudged her with his foot. "Try that again," he grunted with a voice that was disfigured from the blood in the back of his throat, "And you will regret it." She lowered her arms and grinned, "Is that a promise? A fact? Oh, this is exciting!" With a tense jaw, Harry hauled her off the floor, his wand poking menacingly in-between her shoulder blades. "Up the stairs," he snarled. Lalithine grinned wider, "Well, aren't you accommodating." The wand jabbed her again, it seemed Harry was hell bent on proving his strength. After all, she thought numbly, he defeated the Dark Lord. If she had a wand, she could have killed him already, but it had been lost during their scuffle outside. Her legs worked mechanically, left, right, left, marching her up the stairs to the second floor. "This room," he said, reaching for a knob on the left. He flung opened the door and pushed her roughly inside, causing her to trip slightly. When she righted herself, she turned around to face him.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Potter, but don't think this means I'm finished. As I've already demonstrated, I don't need a wand to kill you. Hope Ginny darling can take a hit like you can!" With a slam, Harry made her mocking face disappear. Lalithine pressed her ear to the door and heard his exit, but when her hand moved to the doorknob, it was scalding. "ARGH," she screamed, withdrawing her hand and moving instead to the windows, same problem. Cursing loudly, she left a nice dent in the wall with her fist. After several more less fruitful attempts to escape, Lalithine asserted that she wouldn't be leaving tonight. Yet when one door closes, another one opens, and so another diabolical plan entered the depths of her twisted mind. Harry had won this battle, but she'd be damned if he ever won the war.