The blonde girl cries out as pain traverses her body, writhing on the ground as the mutilated man stands above her with a delighted and twisted smirk, wand pointed at her small form. It’s pain without a cause to her, because she doesn’t know what it is that the man wants; she has no knowledge of what the Dark Lord is planning, despite her family name.
Scream after scream after scream fills the air and she begins to think that this is all there is - suffering at the hands of a stranger desperate to find out what the villain in this story is trying to do to the already broken world. However, a flash of green from the corner of her eye cuts the pain off so suddenly that’s she’s left in whole-body shock on the ground as a male kneels beside her.
“Arielle,” he exclaims, hands lifting her up from the ground and holding her close to him. “Come on, Lestrange. Don’t you give up - keep fighting!”
She forces her head to turn, and is greeted by grey eyes and white-blond hair. “Draco, what are you doing here? You’re meant to be so far away.”
“Why wouldn’t I be with you? You’re my best friend in this whole bloody mess, and the only one I can trust.”
“Harry. You can trust Harry, and Hermione. Not that redhead though; I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
Draco laughs. “You’re such a Lestrange, Arielle. Come on. It’s time to go.”
Arielle allows him to pull her to her feet, her legs almost caving under her weight as the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse wrack her body. “Yeah, okay.”