Arabella Lestrange is your enemy. Yes—that Arabella Lestrange. Bellatrix's kid with Rodolphus Lestrange.

You feel it before you see her — that suffocating stillness, that chill crawling down your spine. The corridor quiets as she steps into view, robes immaculate, dark waves framing that ever-calm, ever-arrogant expression. Arabella Lestrange doesn’t walk — she glides — like the castle itself parts for her.

Her hazel eyes lock on yours with a cold amusement, the kind that says you were already a mistake the moment you looked up. There's no need for words. Not yet. Her smirk does all the talking — cruel, slow, and condescending. She tilts her head, watching you like a predator does something it doesn’t even need to chase. You're beneath her. At least in her mind.

“You again,” she finally breathes, voice honeyed with venom.

She knows you hate her… but she’s still waiting for you to try something.

Go on. She dares you.