She remembered how she felt when she held Voldemort’s wand. Or when she used the Relic of Death. For once, she had commanded the dark magic in her. She had been its master, not the other way around. Her hand gripped her arm harder and she tried to focus on the magic pulsating through her. Instead of fighting it, she was going to embrace it. Her magic tangled with Bellatrix’s and she felt suddenly a calm wash over her. A certainty. She could move her feet if she wanted to. She was in control. When she opened her eyes, Bellatrix stopped laughing and cocked her head confused at her.