[ 1 ] EXPLODE ( r. black ! )

thirty || hands dirty

ACT ONE; CHAPTER THIRTY
HANDS DIRTY

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NO AMOUNT OF preparation would ever make Eleanor ready to face Voldemort. There was something different about him each time that shook her to the core in a new way that prevented deep breaths, thoughts of reassurance and empty promises that she'd be alright from those she left behind having any affect. Instead, every part of her ran cold and she swore her heart stopped, if only for a moment, when her eyes first landed on Voldemort in that room.

                Before she approached that room, however, her mind had been wiped so she could no longer recall the way Death Eater's got from the school to their base with so much ease. Eleanor didn't mind not knowing; it only added to her idea of gaining plausible deniability in as much of the situation as possible. Still, it didn't stop her spotting crests that were subtly moulded into the woodwork and noting that this was the manor belonging to the Malfoy's.

                Once he'd regained himself from travelling, Severus harshly grabbed the observing girls cloak and pushed her outwards and onwards. Despite having no plan to run, it was in Eleanor's instincts to struggle against the harsh grip. This only helped her enthusiasm of being unable to be pushed to her knees in front of Voldemort when she finally ripped out of Severus' hands in front of him.

                Instead of kneeling, for the longest minute of her life, Eleanor held eye contact with Voldemort. There was something about his eyes that held a reptilian nature, even if there was no signature slits – she supposed it could have something to do with his nose being so snake-like and so close to the eyes. Once his pulsing eyes turned towards fury, she moved her head ever so slightly so her hardened stare was fixated on the empty fire behind him.

                With her mind focused on the cool flames, she refused to allow her mind to wander. If all she could do was hope that Voldemort didn't go investigating her mind too intently, then that was what she was going to do. Not a pulse in Eleanor's body was going to be used to make anything easier for Voldemort as long as there was still pulses to have.

                "I would like to apologise for these changes in surroundings," Voldemort finally spoke, his voice a slur but not drunken. "It's simply that somebody burnt our last building to a crisp... That said, it isn't that we don't trust you, is it?"

                Remaining completely still, arms held in front of her and eyes staring ahead, Eleanor didn't react to the recollection of her last actions against them. Not even when there were mutters of anger and snarls of disgust bought a reaction out of Eleanor. Though, a particularly large snarl of anger, made her gulp and, after a second, she glanced to the side to see the cause. A young-looking boy, familiar in his looks as with all Purebloods, was glaring at her with the intent to rip her limb from limb – and she gulped again.