I just stared at the tube, simultaneously trying to process what I was seeing, how I felt, and what the consequences would now be because of it.
Despite the circumstance, the test had afforded me one thing: an understanding of where I had come from.
I was a muggle-born witch.
The status of my blood purity had gone from a complete mystery, to a concrete fact, in one swirl of liquid.
It felt like precious information to know, a hint at the type of people my parents might have been, and certainly not a realisation I'd expected to have in front of a crowd of people.
I desperately wanted to linger upon it, to enjoy the scrap of identity that I'd gained and mull over what type of muggles I'd been born to.
But, with the threat of Bellatrix's wicked smirk just before me, I couldn't afford the luxury to wonder about such things, my entire existence now at risk.
And that brought back the most important question: what would the consequences now be?
I tore my gaze from the muddy mixture, looking directly at the deranged witch before me, a strand of black curly hair falling across her face.
Time seemed to slow down as we stared at one another, all understanding passing between us.
From her, malice and hatred and bloodthirsty desire. From me, acceptance and expectation and eerie tranquillity.
I knew it instantaneously, the very moment the liquid had shifted to reveal the result, I knew I was going to die because of it.
That was to be my fate, there was nothing else to hope for, dying now seemed as tangible as the very ground below us.
And that was the only reason a peaceful acceptance overtook my body, the thoughts of my mind entirely at ease with the knowledge of what the witch planned to do next.
Because there was no point fighting the inevitable.
It suddenly seemed as if every decision I'd ever made had led me to this exact end, even in the past week; sitting with Violetta to study, refusing to stay behind despite Draco's warning, attempting to send the SOS, placing myself so close to Narcissa in the row.
The only possibility to truly change the outcome had been in the Minister's office, every other option would have only delayed the unavoidable.
I'd sacrificed myself the moment I'd hesitated in opening the alarm vial, my safety slipping away as I debated who I wanted to save more; myself or Draco.
And that was the real reason I embraced Bellatrix's steely gaze, because my death meant his salvation.
I smiled slightly at the realisation, a fact which seemed to enrage the witch greatly as she gripped my hair, slamming me down into the ground with such force, a sickening crack resounded through my skull.
I groaned from the impact, screwing my eyes shut and opening them in an attempt to clear the black spots from my vision, dizzy and nauseated.
As I rolled on the ground, my eyes found Draco, his form lopsided because of the strange angle, but unmistakable and heart-breaking pain etched into his face.
I desperately wanted to reach out to him, to say that it was okay, that death would be a welcome relief if it meant his safety, that I loved him terribly and I didn't regret a second of it.
But it was all too dangerous, an action which would cause him to be exposed, our affection for one another vulnerable to the cruelty of his aunt.
So once the ringing in my ears calmed, I decided that if I was to die, I would protect what we'd shared at the very least, our attachment being the final secret I would take to the grave.
My gaze snapped back up to Bellatrix as she tottered around me, circling like a vulture would their pray, her heels clunking against the black wood of the floor.
She backed away with each rotation, increasing the distance between us as she pulled out her wand.
"A Ministry loyalist and a mudblood, you disgust me," she spat, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"Good," I murmured, desiring none of her approval even at the brink of my death.
Part of me considered begging for mercy, pleading with her not to hurt me, that I'd do anything she wanted if she let me live.
But I knew there was no point, she wasn't a witch capable of such a thing, and no one would be forgiven in her regime for purity.
And that made me determined instead, determined not to die as a victim, but just as myself, stubborn and unapologetic and furiously difficult.
A proud muggle-born.
"Insolent girl! A dirty witch like you would do well to respect me," her voice was dangerously high, her rage peaking uncontrollably.
"Why? Just so you can kill me anyway?" I yelled, making sure it was clear enough that everyone would hear, purposefully taunting the evil witch.
"Dying is the least of your worries, when I'm done, you'll beg me for it," she hissed, raising her wand and pointing it at me.
I couldn't stop myself from staring at the device in her hand, an analysis running through my head despite the perilous nature of my circumstance.
My mind ticked off the details with ease, walnut wood, dragon heartstring, twelve and three quarters.
The appearance was curved strangely, the dark wood warped in shape, an unnatural bend for such a thing to possess.
In the little time I'd interned with Ollivander, there was one thing I knew for sure; he didn't craft wands in a shape like that, the bearer's nature compelled it, forcefully.
It seemed the perfect representation of the witch, distorted and irregular, standing out for all the wrong reasons, an anomaly.
"Ignis venarum."
I felt the dark magic hit me like a tidal wave, the spell zapping all over my body before I could prepare, roaring and venomous.
My veins felt like they'd been lit on fire, an agonising icy heat spreading through every inch of my form, right to the tips of my extremities.
I heard myself scream, a piercing wail as the pain overtook me, my insides rejecting themselves whilst I writhed upon the ground, helpless and distraught.
There was the faint yell of voices as my blood boiled, distant as if from another room.
I could only vaguely make out the familiar tones of Violetta and Narcissa before they were silenced, their protests lost as my shrieks continued.
It felt impossible to think of anything else but the state of my insides, inconceivable to believe in peace and tranquility, the torture too burning and obnoxious and diabolical.
But as I heard Bellatrix cackle from afar, satisfied with the pain she was inducing, a roaring anger too over me.
I focused all my strength, attempting to push back the curse, my magic sparking as it rebuffed against it.
There wasn't much of a shift, but just enough that I could think of something, anything, other than the terrible suffering.
I flexed my vocal cords, forcing myself to stop screaming as the wails morphed slowly into a hysterical laughter, loud and outrageous as it echoed off the walls.
Bellatrix's cackle halted to an abrupt stop, and I suddenly didn't care that I sounded like a deranged lunatic, because it was something, something to have over her.
I heard her shriek in anger as a result, and then the pushing of the dark magic again, an attempt to force it harder through me.
I ignored the sensation, laughing louder and louder as the pain increased, commanding myself not to show weakness, to refuse to bow to her maniacal will.
The failure infuriated her further, the sensation leaving as she withdrew her wand, my relief followed by the clacking of her heels as she stormed over to me.
The heated temperature of my veins fizzled, replaced by a dull aching pain all over as the blur in my vision cleared.
Bellatrix reached me before I could have much time to adjust, straddling my hips whilst I tried to wriggle my legs, the bind on my hands too strong to fight against.
She reached under her dress, pulling a dagger from the sheath on her thigh, the blade silver and decorated with an intricate pattern.
She pushed it against my chin, slicing swiftly along the soft skin, a sharp sting searing across my face as I felt blood trickle from the wound.
"Beg for death," she hissed, her pupils wide.
"Never."
She moved the blade down to my exposed arms, holding the bind still as she sliced across my forearms.
I winced from the sensation, resisting the urge to whimper at the pricking tear of my skin.
"Beg."
"No."
She repeated the slicing motion over and over, cutting across my arms as blood began to run down them, each assault searing against my skin.
I felt a tear slip from my eye; an automatic reaction I couldn't prevent as the witch continued to torture me.
It seemed to encourage her, the blade moving down to my chest as she pressed the tip against my sternum, the sharp point piercing through the thin layer of skin.
I bucked my hips, desperately trying to wriggle out from under her weight as the blade dug further into me, overpowering.
She pushed harder for a moment, before standing up, grabbing my hair and dragging me with her.
She dropped the blade as we lifted our bodies, pulling her wand out again and pushing it into my neck, the tip just as punishing as the point of the dagger.
We stared at one another, our breaths heavy as the atmosphere in the room thickened, the spell on the tip of her tongue, everyone around us waiting for the inevitable.
"You are unworthy of magic," she seethed, baring her pointed teeth in a threatening manner.
"If such a thing were true, why would it run through my veins, just as it does yours?"
"We are not comparable," she yanked my hair, forcing the muscles of my neck to snap backwards by a fraction, "you are everything that is wrong with our society, pathetic and filthy and weak."
I paused, gathering the crackle of magic in the pit of my chest as I focused upon it, letting the sensation overwhelm me, hot and electric.
When I was sure it would be strong enough, I smiled before releasing it all over my body, forcing the pulse out through my skin and into Bellatrix's wand against my neck.
There was a harsh crack of wood and then she let out a ripping scream, stumbling backwards as if she'd just been hexed, her recoiling grip causing me to fall to the ground with a thud.
She backed up several paces, her breaths harsh as she tried to recover, a sickly tinge in her cheeks.
Some of the brigade rushed forward to help but she raised her hand, stopping them in their paths before straightening her form, her limb movements brittle like a china doll.
"You evil bitch," she lifted her wand, the curved wood pointing at me like an arrow, "Avad-"
"Stop!"
There was a collective gasp as Draco stepped forward, his form moving closer into the middle of the room, exposed and vulnerable.
Bellatrix turned her gaze upon him, furious outrage evident at having been interrupted in her final blow.
"Draco," she hissed, "what are you doing?"
He stepped forward again, positioning himself between our bodies, his back angled towards me as he faced off against his aunt.
"I will not let you kill her," his voice was calm and measured, his broad shoulders straight as he held himself purposefully.
"She is a traitor nephew, on all accounts, now step aside."
"I will not," he reached into his suit, pulling out his own wand and pointing it back at her, threatening.
There was an uproar from the brigade, angry protests as they realised he was betraying them.
"Draco don't," I cried out, my tone desperate, urging him not to put himself at risk.
He ignored me, his stance unwavering despite the objections of us all.
"Silence!" Bellatrix yelled above the noise, causing them to cease.
She turned her attention on us, gripping her wand tighter as her eyes darted between our figures, a slow menacing smile forming across her face.
"I see how it is, you care for the girl," she mocked.
"It's none of your business," he bit back, his tone thin.
She laughed, an eerie cackle that made my stomach flip.
"We are family, it is my business most of all."
"You are no family of mine, you never have been."
"You're sadly mistaken, we are all each other has, breeding and purity and family."
"I want no part of it, not like this."
"It's too late, you have no choice, now step aside."
"If that's what you want then you'll have to kill me," he shifted slightly, blocking me another fraction.
"Draco, Draco," Lucius stepped forward this time, his expression furious, "get out of her way, don't be an idiot over some filthy mudblood."
Draco didn't bother to look at his father, his gaze unwavering upon Bellatrix, focused.
"I suggest you stay out of this," he hissed.
Bellatrix interjected then, her patience wearing thin, "I'll give you one more chance Draco, step away from the girl before I make you."
"Never."
"Stop," I cried out, thick tears falling down my face, "let her kill me."
He turned his head a fraction, his eyes meeting mine, softening as they took in my appearance, full of pure sorrow.
"You know I can't do that," he whispered, as if it were only us two in the whole world standing in the atrium of the Ministry.
"I suggest you listen to your little whore," Bellatrix interjected, her grin widening, "if you don't let me kill her then you are just as much of a traitor as she is."
"So be it," he replied instantaneously, raising his wand higher, preparing to cast a spell in his aunt's direction.
But she was quick, too quick, her fingers tensing just a little around the handle of her warped wand, the reaction a fraction before his.
"Avada Kedrava."
And then green light.
Blinding and dazzling and horrifying.