if she didn't walk the way she do,
and she do
She opened strange doors
that we'd never close again
Thursday, April 5 • Night
Bellatrix had struck right after the funeral.
The old woman's death had been much remarked in the loathsome mouthpieces of mediocrity that were the Wizarding world's press. Augusta Longbottom had quite an assemblage at her internment; some mourners moved by sorrow, true, but the less charitable might say the majority of them feared a reproof from the witch even in death.
But there was nothing to fear, Bellatrix knew this — which is why when Neville returned to his flat in mid-afternoon, he'd found her sitting quite openly in his prized leather wingback chair.
Now, two days later, Bellatrix bent carefully over what was left of the youngest Longbottom and brushed a vine away from his face to croon at him: ( Collapse )