Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
chapter twenty-six. ( are we out of the woods yet? )
Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
AS WORMTAIL APPROACHED HARRY, ASCELLA SAT AGAINST THE BINDS THAT TETHERED AROUND HER WRISTS, silent tears screaming down her cheeks as the effects of the Cruciatus curse lingered in her veins. She could feel the burn of Harry's piercing stare on her, yet she averted her tearful eyes from his gaze, not wanting to envision the look of sympathy that overwhelmed his expression.
"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness. "Certainly Dumbledore has taught you to duel in that ghastly school of his?"
Ascella remembered how they only had a minuscule amount of time to teach Harry any proper curses, due to the limited time frame that the third task left them with, and the copious amount of pressure that weighed around them too. So, therefore, Harry was not, in fact, prepared to duel, especially against the greatest Dark Lord since Grindelwald.
"We bow to each other, Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed . . . Dumbledore would like you to show manners . . . Bow to death, Harry . . ."
Harry refused. And Ascella cursed his stubborn and assertiveness, as there was no time for playing against Voldemort. The Death Eaters cackled obnoxiously while Harry stood straight, staring Voldemort down.
"I said, bow," Voldemort repeated, raising his wand — and Ascella watched as Harry's spine curved as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.
"Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. "And now you face me, like a man . . . straight-backed and proud, the way your father died . . .
