The threat of exposure and torture underneath Dumbledore’s dreaded Order was all the motivation that Bellatrix needed. Without another word she dug her fingers into the powdered minerals held tightly in the closely weaved baskets at their side before spreading the remnants across her skin, underneath her ribs and along the arching of her shoulders and brow. She lay down onto the cold ground with no visible sign of hesitation despite the massive difference in temperature, her arms spread apart as Hermione finished drawing runes and glyphs against her skin with a nib of charcoal long worn down. The Hourglass at their side thudded and rocked against the stone with cyclical patterns that beat themselves into her ears.