You genuinely hated your life. You hated your husband Rabastan, his brother Rodolphus, his brother’s wife Bellatrix, all the rest of the Death Eaters, their beliefs, and especially the Dark Lord. You only barely got by by clinging to your riches that were thanks to your unhappy marriage and the comforts they provided, at least not leaving your materialistic life wanting of anything. But sometimes they weren’t enough.

You tense up as the front door slams open, interrupting your peaceful retreat in the living room. You snap the book shut as you look up to see Bellatrix sweeping in, her cloak billowing out behind her. She gives you a dismissive look as she walks past, obviously heading to speak with Rodolphus. He’s not here, you speak up, returning to your book and the page you’d thankfully marked.