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xlv. FORTY-FIVE
LET IT COMMENCE
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PERHAPS IT WASN'T THE FACT THAT HER MOTHER KNEW SHE'D GO TO AZKABAN, BUT RATHER THE IDEA THAT SHE WANTED HER TO. After all, Bellatrix had spent fifteen years of her life wasting away in a prison cell, with nothing to do, nothing to say, and nothing to think about. Even though it was due to her own actions, and she seemed to be rather proud of the sentence, she clearly would have preferred to avoid the experience. Melora assumed that her mother wanted her to throw her into the flames, and force her to feel the same torture that she had.
Her knuckles were turning white as she clasped onto her wand, the view of the castle she had called home for seven years slowly getting clearer. The Death Eaters had assembled in the Forbidden Forest, and were slowly being led out by the Dark Lord. His excitement was the sort that Melora never wished to witness again. It was sick, and sinister. He wanted to destroy everything, and the thought of being successful was fueling him with adrenaline. Or, at least, she presumed he could feel that.
The worst part about the war, was that she wasn't just fighting against her own beliefs. No, she had a much larger role than she would have liked.
The Horcruxes that Lord Voldemort had created were slowly being destroyed, and were each contributing to his weakening. Whilst most of them had been hidden by Voldemort himself, a few of them were left in the possession of his most trusted Death Eaters (and it was her mother's immense loyalty that landed her on this list as well). Therefore, three of the Horcruxes were left to Bellatrix and Melora Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy to hide and protect.
Now entering battle, Melora was the last remaining one to still be in possession of her Horcrux. Whilst people had called her out for being weak, she could be classed as the strongest out of the other Death Eaters, because she'd protected something so valuable to her leader.
She was wearing the locket around her neck still, and she felt the cold metal stinging against her skin. She wanted to take it off. She wanted it gone. No, she wanted it destroyed. But what Melora had come to realise, was that she wanted lots of things, and very few of them were eligible for her to have.
Beside her, Atlanta Rowle stood trembling. Perhaps she was simply hurt because her father was supposed to be stood beside her, and he wasn't. Melora watched as her friend allowed a single tear to roll down her cheeks, and for her lower lip to quiver. Her sobs were silent, as she waited for the next signal to be given. Melora reached down to Atlanta's hand, and held onto it. It wasn't the most common move for a Death Eater to make, but she'd realised why her friend was crying.
