Faint yells drifted to her ears whenever she fell silent; Ron, screaming her name impotently, each helpless invocation of her name cutting into her like Bellatrix’s blade. She tried not to listen, and looked anywhere but at Bella’s insane smile. Narcissa came into view now and then, a pale face hovering in the periphery of Hermione’s blurred vision, wringing her hands nervously. She looked sickened by the messy use her elegant home had been turned to, rather than distressed by Hermione’s plight. Lucius stood closer, his haggard face distorted by Hermione’s veil of tears, his narrowed, calculating eyes turning often between his cringing wife, and his sister-in-law’s current amusement.