Hermione threw the latch with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. All along the floor runes that had been marked with blood and ash began to shine a brilliant purple that shimmered and mixed the longer that she stared. All around her the air whipped up and pulled inwards towards the centre, towards Bellatrix, carrying with it the cloying scent of sulfur and decay. Not unpleasant, not good either, but sweet and rotten and filled through with so much lost potential. 