A Hufflepuff heart | Hermione Granger

LXXII

The air in the chamber was suffocating.

Thick with smoke from the torches lining the stone walls, heavy with the scent of burning flesh. Bea's breath came in slow, measured intervals, but inside, her pulse was erratic, hammering against her ribs like a caged animal desperate to escape.

She stood still, rigid, her head high, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides to keep them from trembling. The pain in her left arm was unbearable, white-hot and searing, as if the Dark Mark had been carved into her very bones rather than just her skin.

She didn't dare look at it. Not yet.

Voldemort stood at the head of the gathering, his snake-like features illuminated by the dim firelight. His crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he looked down at her, at Mattheo, at Draco.

His voice, smooth and commanding, echoed through the chamber.

- Tonight, I bestow the greatest honor upon those who stand before me, - he said, his gaze sweeping over the gathered Death Eaters. - Three have been marked, bound to my service, bound to our cause. But one... - He paused, and Bea felt his eyes settle on her. - One is destined for more.-

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.

Bea kept her face blank, her spine straight, but every fiber of her being screamed at her to run.

Don't react. Don't show them weakness.

Voldemort turned fully toward her now, his thin lips curling into something that might have been a smirk. - Beatrice,- he said, her name rolling off his tongue with deliberate ease. - The key to our victory. My chosen heir. -

Gasps echoed around the chamber. Even among those who had long suspected her importance, the confirmation was still a shock.

Bellatrix's sharp intake of breath was audible over the whispers. Bea didn't have to look at her to know she was grinning, her dark eyes alight with unhinged pride. Rodolphus beside her looked stunned but approving. Others were less pleased, she caught the flicker of hesitation in some of their expressions, doubt creeping in.

Good.

Let them doubt.

She wouldn't trust a single one of them, and she knew they wouldn't trust her either.

Voldemort stepped closer, and despite every instinct screaming at her, Bea didn't flinch. "You are the blood of my blood, of my power, of my making. You were born for this, shaped for this. And now, with this mark, you are mine."

He lifted his wand and pressed the tip against the raw, burning flesh of her arm. A fresh wave of agony tore through her, sharp and all-consuming. Bea clenched her jaw so tightly she thought her teeth might shatter.

She would not scream.

She wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Beside her, Mattheo's face was impassive, but she saw the tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched like he was barely restraining himself. Draco, pale and stiff, looked as if he might be sick.

Voldemort finally pulled his wand away, seemingly satisfied with her silence.

"From this day forward," he declared, turning back to the crowd, "she will stand at my side. She will be feared, respected, and obeyed. The weapon that will bring an end to our enemies. The one who will ensure our victory."

The room erupted into murmurs, some whispers of approval, others of uncertainty.

"Show them," Voldemort said softly, his eyes never leaving her.