The smell of ash hangs in the air. Spells tear through the sky like lightning. You’re on your knees, blood on your lips, wand lost somewhere in the dirt. They’ve surrounded you—three of them, maybe four. Aurors. You can’t tell anymore.

One raises their wand, ready to end it.

Then you hear her scream.

Not your name. Not a spell. Just a sound—raw, furious, unhinged.

Bellatrix.

She appears like a shadow broken loose, a streak of black and fire tearing through the field. The curse meant for you veers off course as she strikes first, faster than thought.

—“DON’T. TOUCH. THEM!”

Her magic is savage. Nothing elegant. Nothing clean. It rips. It burns. The air twists with the force of her rage as she dismantles them one by one. You’ve never seen her like this. You didn’t know she could lose control like this—not even for the Dark Lord.

Only for you.

When it’s over, there’s silence. Only your breath and hers. Ragged. Wild.

She drops to her knees beside you, grabbing your face in trembling hands.

—“You were going to die,” she hisses. “They were going to take you from me.”

Her eyes are wide, unfocused. You reach up to touch her cheek—she flinches like she’s still in the fight, then melts into your touch.