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hereThe party had been a grand affair, even by Pureblood Malfoy standards. Millicent was entirely delighted with the evening so far, and most anxious to rejoin her fellow like-minded Purebloods as they decided on their next diabolical move. She had memorized the way here, in this very secluded and private spot, knowing
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"That is the question, Millicent," Lucius replied. "While I suggest we take as full enjoyment employing our catch as we can, we need something to really put things in motion, to set the tone for our little Auror." Lucius cast a maliciously amused look at the befrilled puppet with metal strings.
Lucius looked questioningly at the group as a whole. "Has anyone heard of someone called Hannah Abbott? I found that she is the," he spat the word as if just saying it was unclean, "Halfblood spawn of a witch we have already had the pleasure of fatally punishing for her disgusting choice of diluting her bloodline.
"It seems that this whelp has yet to learn and has decided to set up shop as a fortune teller for Muggles. Do you all happen to recall the posters she fouled up London with? After seeing one, I paid a visit to her shop, and ( ... )
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Slowly she began to walk around the figure in the middle of the room. As she did so, she worked the buttons of her green suede opera gloves open. It was no easy task-- each glove requiring eight buttons to open. But they did, slowly, as she completed a circle around the auror, ending next to Lucius.
"You can't be serious, Lucius." Bellatrix remarked, pulling off her first glove. "For muggles?" Her nose wrinkled and her lips curled at the thought. For muggles! Lucius wouldn't need her agreement on the target. He would know he already had it. The girl deserved far worse than just to have her shop distroyed. The adamant disgust darkened the browns of Bellatrix's ( ... )
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That is how Draco Malfoy felt when dear Aunt Bellatrix touched him, inched her vice-like fingers over his shoulders and caused his nerve endings to spasm out of control. His body reacted of its own accord, no matter how much control he issued over fiercely from his mind. It was useless against her touch-she was the familiar and ominous black widow, and her venom paralysed the senses.
Shoved rudely into the heady midst of the upcoming display, Draco was loathe to show any weakness. But he spared a narrow glance over his shoulder at his aunt. All his life she had taken far too many liberties with him. He feared her more than he could express. But with this fear came insurmountable hatred. It boiled within him now, restrained by his grooming, his lifetime of polish and political poise (even if it never reached his father’s standards ( ... )
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She didn’t care what targets were chosen, nor what acts this tool of their destruction was cursed to perform. She only cared, for the moment, that they actually accomplished something. It had been far too long since the Death Eaters had played a role, any role, in their own society or destiny. This, at least, could be a first step. For this reason alone had she risked being out after her curfew. She’d apparated back ( ... )
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She waited patiently in the corner as each dark figure in the room took their turn at the shackled lump of a man, each one trying to make the screams they earned the loudest. It was truly a sight to see. Nostalgic. Only her and Lucius, however, were old enough to remember the old days. But this was so much like it. Bellatrix could still hear the voice of their Lord as sharp and clear as crystal in her ear. He was their conductor, choosing who would go next, who had made him the proudest, and in the end it was he who made the final (and usually fatal) blow ( ... )
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Bellatrix's eyes lifted to the man in the doorway. He'd remained silent during their parade. When, exactly, he'd arrived, or even if he was at the party was anyone's guess. But he was there, and with a nod from the Death Eater he stepped forward, a wand at the ready.
"Imperio!"
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