sheweapon:
she can hear her blood pumping, rage and chaos boiling beneath her skin, making her see red. the scene unfolds before her eyes, and she watches it with the interest of a cat toying with its prey, ready to pounce. knuckles whiten as fingers harden around her wand, carelessly dodging another curse with a snap of her wrist. her entire body aches —- but she can barely feel it. she doesn’t feel anything, anymore. but remnants of battles won - and battles lost, are making themselves known across her skin. she’s stained a dark plum, damson colored marks spreading across her shoulders, her back, her neck. constellations of stars in lilac and yellow and blue are painted upon aching limbs, and tomorrow, they’ll be a reminder of what she’s fighting for. that she is right.
“ you’re gonna have to try harder than that, alastor !! “ she shouts, and the anger that hides underneath all those layers of attempted perfection spills through, making her words practically electrified with hatred. she sends a curse shooting through the skies, and she sees that lovely shade of red flying through the air as she hits her mark. later, she’ll find it funny how they all bleed the same. pure blood. spoiled blood. still that beautiful shade of red that she adores.
she ducks behind a pillar, rolls out of the way of another blow. not quite quick enough, this time. a sharp pain presses her to the floor, an animal like shriek echoing across the ball room. it sounds like the agonizing scream of someone who is half wolf, half girl, but to bellatrix, it’s still just pain - temporary, fleeting, absolutely lovely.
“ so you want to dance? “ she manages to get out. stands up, on legs that aren’t quite as steady as they used to be. it’s pure instinct that allows her to dodge the bolt of green lightning that comes her way —— or sheer luck. maybe a bit of both. she doesn’t notice how her nose is spilling blood, scarlet trickling down her lips, her neck. but she does notice that she’s shaking, so she steadies herself, stubbornness and immense willpower the only things keeping her on her feet.
a bolt of light flies through the air, aimed directly for his chest. she doesn’t even say the words anymore —- CRUCIO is ingrained so deeply within her that the two of them have become one. as she approaches him, her eyes spitting fire, she lets out a soft cooing sound. “ the killing curse, alastor? “ she whispers. lips tug into a smile behind a mask sticky with sweat. “ how many people have fallen to your sword? “ there’s a slight pause, and head tilts to the side, genuine curiosity igniting in an otherwise hollow gaze. always so dramatic, so theatrical. “ did you enjoy it? watching the light drain from their eyes? “
hearing his own name loud and clear made his skin grow cold, an uneasy feeling of sickness setting on his stomach. it was personal. it was taunting. the inner fight to balance anger and discipline was almost as painful as a curse, but the auror managed to put his training front and center, forcing his own chest to quiet down and be as slow as a dying one.
his attack misses her just barely and he feels no joy over that. it should have hit her right in the chest, spreading instantaneous doom like venom through her body. make her fall cold to the ground. oh, the comfort he'd feel ripping out her mask and facing the blind eyes beneath. the death eater might have been playing a game of catch the mouse, seeing him as a feisty little prey for her to consume whole, but alastor saw her as a beast just as terrifying as him. it was just a matter of seeing who slipped first. when bellatrix escapes the target of his curse, his hand tightens around his wand as if not a single drop of his conviction was shaken off.
CRUCIO.
he has no time to escape it. alastor belives no words came out of her mouth, which just goes to show how rotten they all are behind their dark masks, but the affliction is one he's felt before, too many times to count. he'd identify it within seconds for the rest of his life. the sharpness of the pain makes his eyes grow wide but the auror bites his lip until it breaks, refusing to let out any sound that might indicate to her that she's at last seen him slip. it sends him scrambling back, almost like in a feverish daze, until his back hits a pillar just a few steps behind him. THE RINGING. every wound on his body seems to react as if she'd poured vinegar over it, stinging, whistling, burning, from the smallest of cuts to the gushing wound under his left ear and the way it was nearly deaf. the ringing nearly drowns out her words, but alastor refuses to let his mind leave to anywhere less real than the two of them bleeding in a broken room.
her anger burns him. her anger stings him. her anger feels like a melting claw eviscerating him. how many people have fallen to your sword ? alastor, at last, takes in how close his opponent has gotten, but puts far away the meaning of her words. they will be dealt with later, probably when he tries to sleep and the sharp pain she's inflicted won't let it. they could be a festering wound once he was done with her. " why don't you take off that mask ? " the words come out almost like a gasping breath. " otherwise i won't be able to see the light leave yours fast enough. " the auror brandishes his wand like a sword, jamming it swiftly near the death eater's robes, as one would stab an enemy. it was his move in their bloody dance. " crucio. " he whispers it like a secret, but says it with just as much conviction as before. the man tumbles forward, still somewhat lost in his dizzying pain, still tasting the blood on his lips, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make her feel the same hurt. perhaps she'll like it, he suspects. perhaps they all do.
