Chapter Four: The Unforgivable
Breathless and sore, Bellatrix felt dazed as she slumped against the cold stone wall. Suddenly, trivial details of the "sanctuary" caught her attention, details she had never noticed before. The previous night, Lord Voldemort's presence had unsettled her too much for her to observe the place closely. But now, trapped in agony, she found herself noticing the intricately carved ceilings, the terrifying faces in the corners, and the ancient writings etched beneath the moist alcoves. Once again, she wondered where exactly she was, but the intense pain made her forget such thoughts.
Lord Voldemort had guided her here the first time, without explaining how she could find the place on her own. Yet, to her astonishment, just recalling this room and the presence haunting its walls had been enough to bring her here when she Apparated.
Today's lesson focused on the Cruciatus Curse: the torture spell. Bellatrix had assumed that Voldemort would use a test subject, as he had done the day before with the Imperius Curse, but the method had changed.
Breathless and in pain, Bellatrix struggled to stand as Voldemort watched her. He stood in the centre of the room, his wand in hand, his expression betraying no emotion except perhaps boredom. This realisation shook her, and unable to meet the Dark Wizard's gaze, she turned her attention to the room's architecture, fighting off the urge to faint.
After what felt like an eternity, Bellatrix regained her composure and stood upright, though it took all her strength.
"Forgive me, my lord," she murmured, her voice heavy with affliction.
Voldemort remained silent; his bored expression unchanged.
"I didn't... I didn't know... that pain could be so... intense..."
Voldemort raised an almost imperceptible eyebrow but said nothing.
"Your power... it's... it's beyond anything I imagined..."
This comment finally elicited a reaction from Voldemort, who smirked slightly.
"Yes, my dear Bellatrix."
"I'm sorry for this morning... I wasn't thinking... in the heat of the moment," she said, ashamed.
"That curse... it's not as... relentless as it seems," Voldemort declared, not bothering to address her apology. "One must understand its power to better guard against it. Pain can be controlled..."
"I've... I've experienced it before," Bellatrix interjected involuntarily.
"Don't interrupt me!" Voldemort exclaimed with irritation, but his expression suddenly became interested. "All my Death Eaters, present and future, endure this curse because it's crucial to toughen oneself. Aurors, righteous as they may be, won't hesitate to use it against you if you ever find yourself in their custody..."
Bellatrix had never considered this possibility before. She knew, of course, that Voldemort had chosen to achieve his goals through force. Consequently, she would become an enemy of the Aurors, but the idea of ending up in Azkaban had not crossed her mind... Strangely, it didn't frighten her. She would be on the winning side, and she would be rewarded for aiding Voldemort's rise.
Voldemort approached her, a smile now visible on his lips.
"I could have started slowly, getting you accustomed to the pain little by little, but I was somewhat annoyed by your foolishness today. What possessed you to put our little secret at risk? Didn't I warn you not to cast doubt on our meetings? And here you are, using the methods I taught you to resolve your petty issues..."
His tone was not cold but rather suave, amused, almost condescending. Bellatrix swallowed nervously under Voldemort's gaze, feeling the burning sensation of having disappointed him.
"Lestrange is detestable," she replied, knowing her excuse was feeble.
"Is he also the impudent one who dared to subject you to the Cruciatus?" Voldemort asked, his tone mocking.
"Yes, my lord."
"What did you notice when comparing his Cruciatus to mine?"
"His was already unbearable, but it's nothing compared to yours..."
Voldemort smiled. He was so close that it could have been uncomfortable if Bellatrix weren't still suffering from the effects of the torture curse. Slightly dizzy, she felt as if she were intoxicated when Voldemort gently placed his hand against her cheek. He traced the outline of her lips as he had done the previous night, then his hand wandered to her neck, his fingers spreading slightly as if to cover the graceful curve.
"And I only wanted you to learn the lesson and toughen up. Just imagine how unbearable my Cruciatus would be if I were annoyed, deeply disappointed, or worse... betrayed..."
Voldemort spoke these words without bitterness but used instead an almost gentle tone. Yet, Bellatrix felt her senses freeze and any allure vanish because in the Dark Wizard's black eyes, she distinctly perceived the bright red glare of rage. Voldemort wasn't tormented, but evidently, he hadn't said this lightly. Bellatrix was now forewarned: Voldemort would tolerate no further mistakes from her.
His hand ceased caressing her skin, and he turned away.
"Next time, you will learn to cast the Cruciatus. With a little work, you will easily be able to cast curses more destructive than those of your fiancé... To be used only after your induction."
Bellatrix couldn't help but smile, and she could have sworn she detected a trace of complicity in Voldemort's gaze.
XxXxXxX
"I know you've never forgiven me for us being engaged," murmured Rodolphus, his lips grazing the delicate skin of her neck.
He had trapped her in her own Manor as she was about to retire to her chambers. The house slept to the rhythm of ancient clocks; indeed, it was already late when Bellatrix returned from yet another meeting with the Dark Lord. She hadn't noticed Rodolphus's presence on the landing outside her room. Clad all in black, his silhouette had easily blended into the surroundings, and the extreme fatigue of the young girl hadn't predisposed her to be very vigilant. Now pressed against the wall, he whispered a string of nonsense to her while trying to stray his hands along her hips. With a somewhat discouraged gesture, she rebuffed his numerous attempts while trying not to sigh too loudly. She already struggled to be discreet when slipping away; she didn't need to be caught by Rodolphus upon her return.
"I shouldn't have reacted like that, but you have a way of driving me completely mad..."
"I'm tired; we'll talk another time," replied Bellatrix wearily.
"Where do you go every evening?" he whispered in a calm voice, though Bellatrix could tell it was the result of a violent effort.
Rodolphus's hands reached Bellatrix's thighs and suddenly froze. The young man's dark eyes met his fiancée's slightly worried gaze. The fabric of her dress was damp and sticky.
"You're... wet..." he observed uncertainly.
"Mm, I got caught in the rain," Bellatrix explained somewhat foolishly before freeing herself from his grasp and fleeing to her room.
He held her by the arm and pulled her back against him. With her back against his chest, she once again felt his lips against her neck, his burning breath, his feverish hands that seemed insatiable for her.
"Oh, my Bella, it's not rain on your dress, it's blood... We Death Eaters know how to recognise it well."
Bellatrix's breath caught in her chest: she mustn't let him understand that she was meeting with the Dark Lord! He had made it clear to her that it was forbidden to mention her contact with him and that she might soon be marked.
A hoarse laugh escaped Rodolphus's throat.
"And to think I imagined you were frolicking with other men..."
Bellatrix quickly turned to him, her eyes shining.
"That will remain your only privilege, won't it?" she whispered, her lips almost touching his.
Rodolphus emitted a groan of desire and tried to kiss her, but Bellatrix escaped, stepping back slowly, and offered him a dangerously angelic smile before locking herself in her room.
"Damn," she muttered once she was lying down, panicked at the thought of Rodolphus discovering what she was really doing late at night outside her home.
I need to divert his attention, thought Bellatrix. She would be relentless. He dreamed of her, ardently desired her. All she had to do was let him dream. Let him fall asleep to the rhythm of her hidden propositions. She needed to be subtle. She would tame Rodolphus's desire, and once firmly in her grip, she wouldn't let him go. She would watch him pant pathetically until she officially became a Death Eater.
XxXxXxX
Two weeks later, Bellatrix apparated once again to the Sanctuary. A curious mix of melancholy and anticipation stirred within her as her eyes scanned the cold room. Lord Voldemort was not there. She had arrived early anyway. She knew she was about to spend her last night here. The Dark Lord had warned her: she was almost ready. Over the past few weeks, she had met with the Dark Lord almost every other night, sometimes at midnight, sometimes much later into the night. Each time, she had learned countless things, both about dark magic and traditional magic. Lord Voldemort was an excellent teacher: he was neither patient nor kind, but his explanations were clear and precise, he tolerated mistakes if they were promptly corrected, and he immediately understood what was hindering her from properly performing this or that curse.
When she had to concentrate and cast a difficult spell, he always stood nearby. She could almost imperceptibly feel him breaking down the barriers of her mind, unravelling her thoughts, her blockages. Sometimes, she even felt him in her veins, where his magic mingled with her blood. He made her euphoric. He calmly observed her reactions, her results, helping her with his own magic at first and then letting her produce her effects alone.
Bellatrix wondered if Lord Voldemort had been so meticulous with the other Death Eaters. According to Rodolphus, he had never had such private sessions with his master. This left Bellatrix intrigued and strangely happy.
She knew she would miss these private lessons immensely. As these encounters progressed, Bellatrix had felt closer to the Dark Lord. He had never punished her since her lesson on the Cruciatus Curse... Rodolphus had worried her a lot lately, but he had never seemed to uncover her secret. The only problem now was that he had become uncontrollable. He came to see her almost every day, begging for a kiss or a caress. He constantly watched her, fire in his eyes, with the dark desire to kiss her. Bellatrix heard him whispering the same words every day: he whispered all his desires into her ear, his warm breath lost in Bellatrix's neck. The girl remained in control outwardly, but inwardly, she was lost. Rodolphus held no attraction for her. He wasn't ugly, but she didn't like the feel of his hands on her skin, and his wild eyes frightened her. The contempt she felt for him didn't seem to fade for a moment... She couldn't imagine herself in bed with him, while all that haunted her thoughts was the voice of Lord Voldemort whispering to her to concentrate more and start over and over and over.
Bellatrix shivered. Her marriage was scheduled in three days. She only had this time left to convince Lord Voldemort to break off her engagement. However, she didn't know how to broach the subject. Lord Voldemort owed her nothing... yet. Bellatrix was about to bind her life to his, but did that mean she was entitled to ask him for a favour? The very idea seemed quite outrageous and inappropriate. Who was she to demand such a thing from Lord Voldemort?
Bellatrix sat on the bench, which, with the rhythm of the private lessons, had eventually lost all the dust that had previously accumulated on it. She took a deep breath. She could have been content with these moments for the rest of her life: waiting for her master, learning, working. This disgusting marriage was the only shadow on the picture.
A dull noise was heard, and Lord Voldemort appeared before her. He was elegantly dressed. Bellatrix had rarely seen him dressed in such sumptuous clothes. In her memories, he had been so only during their engagement, many years ago. As usual, all of his clothes were black, but she recognised the precious and beautifully crafted fabrics. Once again, Bellatrix was amazed by his stature, his height, his strange and bewitching beauty.
"Good evening, Bellatrix."
"Good evening, my lord," she replied politely.
She didn't dare ask him if there was a particular reason for his elegance that evening.
"Of course, Bellatrix, we won't stay here tonight."
Bellatrix blushed a little. He had once again read her thoughts.
"One day, I will teach you to control that impertinent mind of yours, but not until I am absolutely certain of your loyalty," he explained in a strangely less cold voice than usual.
He didn't seem particularly happy or cheerful (Bellatrix couldn't imagine Lord Voldemort being cheerful under any circumstances), but he seemed lighter, almost serene. Bellatrix couldn't help but smile.
"Of course, my lord," she replied without taking offense at his lack of trust. "Where are we going?"
"We're going to have dinner, and incidentally, finish your training as a Death Eater with the most important spell of all."
"D... dinner?" stammered Bellatrix, uncertain.
Lord Voldemort smiled.
"Who would have thought? A girl can actually be of some use, at times."
Bellatrix studied him, gauging his seriousness. From his expression, she understood that the situation, although unusual, was nevertheless very deliberate.
"It's already midnight..." she noted.
"Not where we're going," Voldemort retorted. "Take my arm."
Bellatrix suppressed her urge to ask questions and complied, briefly meeting his gaze. Almost immediately, she recognized the tell-tale sensations of Apparition. The journey seemed to stretch on indefinitely. When her feet finally touched solid ground again, a dizzying sensation overwhelmed her. She clung tightly to Lord Voldemort, summoning all her strength to avoid fainting or worse, vomiting at his feet.
"Open your eyes, Bellatrix," he commanded, his tone cold.
She complied, focusing on one of the silver buttons adorning his cloak until the dizziness subsided.
"Breathe."
Finally, she raised her tear-filled eyes to meet his.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Look around you."
Bellatrix glimpsed the serene expanse of what appeared to be the sea or a vast river in the twilight gloom. In the distance, she spotted an illuminated bridge that she immediately recognised. She had never visited, but who didn't know the famous Brooklyn Bridge, adorned with a thousand lights?
"New York?" she ventured cautiously.
"New York, or the most repulsive city on this planet," Lord Voldemort confirmed, sighing.
Bellatrix couldn't help but chuckle. Standing at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge with Lord Voldemort seemed utterly surreal. British wizards generally held disdain for the United States, particularly New York City. Many blood traitors had sought refuge here after Gellert Grindelwald's rise.
"The city of excess, isn't it? And if we're not careful, Bellatrix, our dear England will become just like this—a playground for Muggles and other refuse. This is merely the beginning of the contamination if I don't intervene."
"With my assistance, should you desire it, my lord," Bellatrix added, smiling.
"Let me be the judge of that," Lord Voldemort replied. "Are you still dizzy?"
"No, I'm feeling better now," Bellatrix answered. "Forgive me, I'm not accustomed to Apparating such distances."
"Very well. We're joining some wizards at one of the private hotels. Most are unaware of my identity, except for one who seems keenly interested in my activities. Listen carefully, for you're about to embark on your first mission here."
Bellatrix nodded solemnly.
"We'll begin with dinner. You'll soon realize they come from esteemed European families, predominantly Austrian and Russian. They fled here in 1945 following Grindelwald's downfall. It was frowned upon to remain in Europe when Dumbledore had him imprisoned."
Bellatrix understood thus far. She also knew these wizards who fled post-Grindelwald's defeat. They were no more worthy, in her eyes, to flee like cowards at a time when old Europe sorely lacked pure-blood wizards, steadfast in their beliefs.
"According to my sources, they've heard much about me and expressed a desire to meet. You needn't know more for now. Speak only when authorised and mind your manners."
With these words, Voldemort strode toward one of the stately buildings lining the avenue. A doorman, dressed in Muggle garb, stood guard.
"My lord, I'm not dressed for dinner," she murmured.
Lord Voldemort gave her a wry smile.
"Don't be absurd, Bellatrix. Your robes are always exquisite."
The young girl received this compliment with pleasure; she had always feared dressing too provocatively for the Dark Lord, but she couldn't deny enjoying it. Voldemort discreetly presented his wand to the porter, who promptly opened the door for them. Inside, an elegant woman in her forties greeted them with a warm smile.
"Good evening! Welcome to the Grand Hotel," she declared warmly.
"Good evening, I am Lord Voldemort, and this is my fiancée. We're here to join Dmitri Jdanov and his guests."
Bellatrix's heart skipped a beat. This detail about the Dark Lord had been well hidden. His fiancée? She felt a delightful shiver run down her spine. Merlin, how beautiful his words sounded suddenly in her mouth. Feeling now tasked with representing the fiancée of the greatest wizard of all time, Bellatrix recalled all the etiquette advice from her aunt Walburga and her mother.
The couple entered the opulent restaurant, escorted by the hostess, who led them to Dmitri Jdanov's table. All eyes turned to them in the room. Gathered here were all the wizards of the highest society who had exiled and now found themselves amidst the muggle world, trying to forget their surroundings by sipping Firewhiskey and reminiscing about the good times of the early century.
The British couple painted a dark and dangerous picture: both dressed in black, with dark hair and pale skin, they exuded an air of dark magic, Europe, and ancestral bloodlines. Lord Voldemort, tall and imposing, radiated a palpable aura of power, inspiring fear. He remained composed, cold; his face marked by the signs of dark experiments. Yet, this did not diminish his charisma. By his side, Bellatrix, equally tall and strikingly beautiful, seemed equally unapproachable. She captured fewer spirits with fear than Voldemort, but her proud demeanour, haughty stride, and cold gaze quickly convinced all the restaurant's patrons that she was not to be underestimated.
At Dmitri Jdanov's table, about ten wizards were enjoying an aperitif, looking stiff and scrutinisingly at them. A middle-aged wizard rose from the table and gave them a broad smile:
"And here is the man I was telling you about, Lord Voldemort. Believe me, this wizard will make a name for himself! Welcome, my friend!" exclaimed Jdanov with a strong Slavic accent.
"Thank you, Dmitri," replied Lord Voldemort before nodding to Jdanov's wife beside him and the other guests.
"My dear Voldemort, I didn't imagine you would be so well accompanied," confessed Jdanov, eyeing Bellatrix.
The young girl met his piercing gaze. He was aging, but the vigour of powerful magic was still evident in the icy surface of his blue eyes. His face was creased with wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, as if he had laughed and smiled a lot in his life. Yet, Bellatrix could discern no warmth in his gaze, despite the bright smile he offered them.
"Here is Helga Black, my fiancée."
Bellatrix politely lowered her eyes - trying to shake off the pestilential impression of courtesy mixed with virginal submission that was proper for a woman of her rank.
"Good evening, my dear," said Jdanov, and Bellatrix bowed slightly, uncertain of the extent to which she should bow, given the man's bloodline (Walburga Black's advice had always seemed absurd to her anyway). "She is splendid, my friend."
Bellatrix raised her head and was surprised to see a slight smile on Lord Voldemort's lips. Jdanov invited them to sit down (Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix were seated directly opposite Jdanov and his wife), and once introductions were made among the different guests, they immediately engaged in a conversation about Europe:
"So tell me, Lord Voldemort, it's been so many years since I set foot in good old Europe. What's happening across the Atlantic?"
Lord Voldemort proceeded to explain the situation in the United Kingdom and Russia (Jdanov's home country) with great eloquence. Bellatrix said nothing. She watched him speak. He had absolutely delightful manners: he spoke well, calmly, persuasively. He didn't adopt the same demeanour as usual. Here, he wasn't the Dark Lord: he played the role of the cultured, charming, and intelligent guest. Bellatrix noticed that the women at the table were also listening to him speak with interest.
Bellatrix wondered what her mission was here. According to Jdanov's speeches, he and Voldemort had known each other for a long time.
"I remember our meeting, you were still so young, only twenty years old and already traveling the globe in search of answers."
Voldemort said nothing. He cast a brief glance at Bellatrix and then focused his attention back on Jdanov. The latter continued to speak animatedly, praising Voldemort's merits, his powers, his radical ideas.
"Ah, my dear Voldemort, if only I still lived in Europe, I would take great pleasure in supporting you in your task."
At that moment, Bellatrix witnessed the most threatening smile that Voldemort had drawn that evening. A dangerous gleam lit up in his eyes for a moment and then abruptly extinguished. The young girl was sure she was the only one to notice this sudden change in attitude in Lord Voldemort.
The evening continued under the same auspices, and as the alcohol flowed freely, the guests' tongues loosened. They laughed heartily at the many entertaining stories told by Jdanov. Voldemort did not speak, and when he did, he only addressed Jdanov. Bellatrix felt him tense beside her. She didn't quite understand the situation or why she was sitting next to the Dark Lord. What would he ask of her?
"Miss Black, isn't it?" Jdanov suddenly exclaimed, his eyes a little clouded by alcohol.
Bellatrix looked at Voldemort questioningly.
"That's right," he answered on her behalf.
The Russian wizard burst into laughter, pulling on a cigar. Bellatrix frowned slightly. She didn't like the mocking look he was giving them.
"Black, the famous English family, I imagine?" he asked, this time directly to Voldemort.
"The very same," he replied laconically.
"A bit young for you, isn't she?"
Lord Voldemort's gaze rested on Jdanov's wife, and he immediately understood the message. Jdanov's wife was very young: she was blonde, graceful, and pregnant - judging by the prominent belly that could be discerned under the table.
"It's not the same thing, my first wife is dead, as you know."
Bellatrix felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the men at the table and their inappropriate comments. Moreover, she felt extremely embarrassed to pose as the fiancée of Lord Voldemort. She was far from worthy of him and his rank.
"That's not a reproach, my friend, your wife is delightful and if I may, you look splendid together."
"Thank you," Voldemort growled very, very coldly.
After this little digression, the conversation diverged again, and the atmosphere relaxed. Soon, the men expressed their desire to have one last drink in one of the lounges of the former townhouse, and the women were invited to do the same and to "talk about lingerie or other feminine invention" as Jdanov and his friends said with misogyny. Before getting up, in the midst of chairs scraping the floor, Voldemort leaned towards Bellatrix's ear and whispered:
"Isolate Jdanov's wife and kill her."
Bellatrix looked up at him in alarm. She distinctly saw in his eyes a nameless satisfaction. It was easy for her to decipher his emotions because his face was only a few inches from hers. Then, he offered her a beautiful, absolutely terrifying smile, which suddenly echoed the one he had bestowed upon her on the day of her engagement to Rodolphus.
"But..." she began, her heart pounding.
Voldemort interrupted her. She watched, dazed, as he leaned closer to her and kissed the corner of her lips.
"Don't disappoint me, Bellatrix," he said before standing up and joining the other men in a private lounge.
The women around the table were also heading to another lounge, not without exchanging complicit glances with Bellatrix, probably thinking they had just witnessed a moment of affection between the supposed future spouses. Dazed, Bellatrix got up too.
"When is your wedding?" Jdanov's wife asked once they were all settled in a plush lounge of the townhouse.
"In a few days," Bellatrix lied, simultaneously thinking of the marriage that bound her to Rodolphus. The irony was cruel.
Jdanov's wife, named Isabella, was pretty and well-mannered. She never raised her voice and it was very soft. Bellatrix's heart seemed unwilling to calm down. She tried to remain composed, but her eyes kept wandering between the blue eyes of the girl and her huge pregnant belly, wondering how she would find the strength to kill a woman, a pure-blood, pregnant, without having received any justification. She had tortured Muggles to death, but it wasn't the same thing. Lord Voldemort had taught her to remain indifferent to the fate of Mudbloods (not that she had big scruples to begin with), but she had never raised her wand with the exclusive purpose of killing without any valid reason.
"It's wonderful! You must be so excited!" exclaimed one of the women with a big smile.
"The wait is long," replied Bellatrix emotionlessly.
The women in the room gradually pushed Bellatrix aside as their conversations progressed. They had quickly noticed that she was not one of them. Certainly, she was obviously well-mannered, but too austere. Her black clothes and cold expressions did not put them at ease. Bellatrix didn't resent this because their conversations about weddings, receptions, and motherhood bored her to death. Moreover, all their conversations resonated in her ears like a dull buzzing. She imagined her heart beating strongly in her chest, her breath quickening as the minutes passed. Her gaze almost fixed on Isabella Jdanov, she tried to find a good reason to isolate her from the lounge and fulfil her duty.
To her great surprise, she saw Isabella get up and sit next to her as the conversations went on between the other women.
"Helga... Can I call you Helga?"
Bellatrix nodded, unable to speak a word.
"I feel your discomfort. I understand you. I had a hard time at the beginning of my marriage too."
"Really?" Bellatrix croaked before clearing her throat.
"Of course! All these women act tough, but they don't know what it's like to be married to a wizard as powerful as our men...," she whispered.
Bellatrix didn't know what to reply to that. Was she supposed to complain about her situation?
"You can trust me. I won't repeat anything to anyone. I've seen how your Voldemort seems to be a dark character... He must not be the most accommodating of fiancés, right?"
Bellatrix contemplated Isabella's face, a dull anger starting to rise in her belly.
"What do you mean?"
"I can be of good advice to you, don't be offended, I'm just trying to help you... Dmitri can sometimes be very demanding..."
Bellatrix cast a glance at the other guests who were sipping tea and recounting their married women's adventures.
"Not here... I don't want this to get back to my fiancé."
"Of course," Isabella replied with a smile, "come."
They said goodbye to the other women and Isabella led her through the townhouse to one of the upstairs bedrooms.
"We know the managers well, we're regulars. They won't say anything if we stay here for a few minutes," she explained before sitting on the bed covered with a shimmering silver sheet.
"What do you know about Lord Voldemort?" Bellatrix asked, a little taken aback by Isabella's attitude but happy with how things were turning out. It made her task much easier.
"I don't want to tell you certain things that you wouldn't know..." Isabella whispered with an affected air.
"You would be of great help to me."
At these words, Isabella's face lit up.
"Dmitri confided certain things to me about your fiancé's actions in Europe... Apparently, he harbours very dark intentions..."
"Really?" Bellatrix asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"My husband is no angel, but even he seems frightened by your fiancé's plans. All this doesn't concern me, but I've observed your behaviour at the table... Don't lock yourself into this life. Believe me, I know something about it."
"How so?" Bellatrix murmured while discreetly taking her wand out of her cloak.
"Let's just say I had dreamed of a different life. Besides, Dmitri told me very strange things about Voldemort..."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Bellatrix asked in a cold voice. The wand was in her hand, hidden behind her thigh, she was ready.
"It would be a shame for a young girl of such pure blood to be tainted by a man of lesser birth..."
Bellatrix suspended her movement as she was about to raise her wand. Suddenly, Isabella was revealed to her in a different light. Since the beginning of the evening, she had imagined her as reserved and slightly foolish but apart from the others, she could now easily see the thinly disguised malice in her expression.
"How dare you?" she exclaimed, shocked.
"Far be it from me to frighten you, Helga," declared Isabella in a soothing voice.
Bellatrix contemplated the young woman with disgust. And suddenly, she had an awful doubt: what if Jdanov had asked her to serve him this disgusting discourse concerning the greatest wizard of all time to discredit him in her eyes? And if, in this case, Lord Voldemort had anticipated the dishonest manoeuvres of this scoundrel? Suddenly, her task seemed logical and just to her. How dare one utters such ignominies about the Dark Lord?
"You foolish girl, your strategy is in vain. Nothing will thwart the rise of Lord Voldemort," exclaimed Bellatrix fervently.
Isabella saw the wand and got up abruptly.
"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, breathless.
"Avada Kedavra!"