#p:shamed

The little Valetine's Day drivel published by Rita Skeeter promptly finds itself consumed by the flames of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. Bellatrix stands with fists clenched at her sides as she watches the tongues of fire devour the parchment, scorching away the disturbing words that still dance through her mind.

Gwenog Jones. Narcissa Black. Her Cissy.

No.

Whatever Skeeter thinks she saw, it had better be a lie. A falsehood aimed at the most ancient and noble house of Black for posterity's sake. Her blood sings with the cry to destroy, decimate, and desecrate. Rita Skeeter is on that list, a target too deserving of retribution but the smarmy Hufflepuff tops all else. If anyone is responsible for even a rumour of what could have happened, it's that bitch and no one will tarnish her family; no one will violate her baby sister.

Bellatrix fears she must not be holding reign quite so tightly if both her sisters have now been victims of violation of any kind. They all have another thing coming if they think they can get away with their heinous acts without incurring her wrath.

Fools, the lot of them.

The eldest Black sister storms out of the common room with wand gripped with white knuckles. The brief trip up the stone steps let Bellatrix expediently make it down the corridor leading to the large barrels known to conceal the Hufflepuff dormitories in some manner. The badgers are filthy animals. So pathetic.