Silent Night; itsbellatrixlestrange
Neville stood on the threshold, door unlocked before him, quaking in his boots. It was from neither nerves nor fear, but anticipation. Here he stood, Neville Longbottom, cloaked in the darkness of night, flakes of snow covering from head to toe, shoes soaked through, with a grin on his face.
As one callused hand gripped the door handle, the other gripped a wand-- a number of spells rested upon the tip of his tongue. Expelliarmus, Reducto, Cruci...No. That was u n f o r g i v e a b l e-- but so was she.
With a deep breath, he opened the door in a flash-- too quick for the aging hinges the squeak. More deep breaths followed, one for each step. He navigated a single hall before stumbling upon a lit hearth, and figure-- the figure.
Suddenly, he couldn't breath. A moment ago, he'd been sucking in air like there was no tomorrow, but now-- where had it all gone? He hesitated, a foot hovered above the ground so close to taking a step forward, but just as close to stepping back. "B-B-Bellatrix," he stammered.
Where had his might gone, his anticipation? He'd practiced his lines over and over in preparation for this moment. They were simple enough; "Bellatrix LeStrange, say hello the the devil for me. Will you?" Cliche, he was aware, but he hadn't the vocabulary or the time to formulate a soul crushing speech-- one that would crush her the same way a simple spell, uttered from her lips, had crushed him.