Angel of spring ✩ HP

𝚈𝟼 ࿐ 𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚛

ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ - 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙭

The dark corridors of Malfoy Manor stretch endlessly, cold and oppressive as Angel walks through them, her footsteps almost soundless on the polished stone floor. The manor is eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of the wind howling outside, rattling the ancient windows. The weight of the earlier conversation with Draco still hangs over her like a suffocating cloak, and her thoughts are a tangled mess of worry and frustration. But there's something more, gnawing at her insides—her argument with Harry.

She hasn't been able to shake the memory of it, the way his eyes had burned with frustration, his words sharp and insistent. Now, in the isolation of the manor, her guilt feels even heavier. She rubs her temple, trying to push the thoughts away, but it's stupid.

As she turns a corner, she stops abruptly. There, standing in the middle of the dimly lit hallway, is Bellatrix. A cruel smirk plays on her lips as she watches Angel approach, her dark, wild eyes gleaming with a kind of twisted curiosity. Angel stiffens instinctively, her muscles tightening under Bellatrix's penetrating gaze.

"Ah, there she is," Bellatrix purrs, her voice soft but dripping with malice. "How've you been, my Vivy?" Her smirks grows when she doesn't answer. "Brooding about something, are we?"

Angel keeps her expression neutral, unwilling to give her aunt any further ammunition. "No," she replies simply, her voice calm but guarded.

Bellatrix tilts her head, her smirk widening, as though she can sense the lie without needing to probe further. "Really? You don't seem your usual self." She takes a step closer, her dark robes trailing behind her like a shadow. "Trouble in paradise, perhaps?"

Angel freezes, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn't said a word to Bellatrix about Harry, but something about her aunt's tone—mocking, sing-song—sends a chill down her spine.

"What are you talking about?" Angel tries to sound indifferent, but there's an edge of nervousness to her voice that she can't quite hide.

Bellatrix's eyes glitter with malicious amusement as she closes the gap between them. "Oh, come now, niece. You're not good at hiding things." Her smile fades, and her expression hardens suddenly, becoming sharp and predatory. "You've been seeing him, haven't you? The Potter boy."

Angel's breath catches in her throat. "How—"

"How do I know?" Bellatrix's laughs, its sound carrying a dangerous edge. She raises a hand, tapping a finger against her temple, her grin returning, wider and more sinister. "Legilimency, dear. I'm sure you know all about it. Learned it when I was your age. Always been quite skilled at it." She winks as she pulls out her wand and gives it a few casual, almost theatrical turns between her slender fingers. A low chuckle escapes her lips, soft but carrying an edge of menace, as though the act itself were a playful game to her—one only she truly understands.

Angel's stomach drops, panic surging through her. She hadn't even realised Bellatrix had been sifting through her thoughts. She curses herself inwardly for letting her guard down, but it's too late.

"But I'm sure you have a good reason for disobeying me," Bellatrix hisses, her voice suddenly venomous. She circles Angel like a predator, her eyes narrowing with fury. "I told you—explicitly—not to see that boy anymore. I warned you what would happen if you didn't listen."

Angel opens her mouth to defend herself, but Bellatrix isn't finished. "You're a Malfoy, a Black. Do you think you can just waltz off to Hogwarts and cavort with the enemy without consequences? Do you think you can betray your family?" Her voice rises, and Angel can feel the crackling energy of Bellatrix's temper simmering just beneath the surface.