to malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from voldemort and the snake. to his right, his son draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

‘my lord,’ said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, ‘it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. there can be no higher pleasure.’

she sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanour; where narcissa sat rigid and impassive, bellatrix leaned towards voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.