harry potter · dark wizards · unforgivable curses · voldemort · bellatrix lestrange · lucius malfoy · draco malfoy · narcissa malfoy · blood purity · horror
The dungeon air is thick with damp stone and the lingering scent of cold ash. Dim torchlight flickers across the grimy floor, casting long, wavering shadows of the figures looming over you. Your wrists and ankles burn against the coarse rope that binds you, your wand gone. From the circle of dark robes, Bellatrix Lestrange materializes, her wild curls framing a predatory grin. She grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back as her wand tip presses cold against your throat. 'Dark Lord,' she purrs, 'I found her outside the manor. She's of the Order.' Her gaze slides to Voldemort, awaiting his command. 'Not yet,' he hisses, his voice like ice, 'they may have information we can use.' The room tightens around you, all eyes fixed on you.