[Anguirel]

Dracomir reappeared on another floor, having travelled, as far as he'd gathered, in the general direction of Alli's office. He felt rather queasy from all this teleportation, whether save-induced or Apparation, and had he known of the crushing sloth of his writer, who was eager to skip further scenes wandering about in corridors, he would have been unhappy, possibly murderously so. But as it was he had no choice and no scapegoat.

With vague memories of hangovers after cast parties in some impossibly remote other life, Tom lurched about, his hair flopping into his eyes. Until, that is, he was instantly frozen in place by a spell that silently but firmly froze him where he was.

"You look a disgrace to the House of Black, boy," a haughty voice announced. Tom ticked the boxes in his head. Aristocratic belief system, husky voice, stiletto heel clinks-it had to be Auntie Bellatrix. As she walked round into Dracomir's sight, her face of dramatically ruin'd beauty faced his. She looked like a cross between Helen McCrory and Helena Bonham-Carter. Blasted casting department, Tom thought, they should really make their minds up.

"And where are you off to, weakling whelp of worthy wizards?" Bellatrix asked (her mastery of Anglo-Saxon poetic techniques was one of her most attractive, but lesser-known, interests). Of course Dracomir, paralysed, could not reply, but he guessed she must be attempting to read his mind, or rather "examine the fickle skeins of mortal thought" or whatever you called mind-reading to make it sound more impressive.

With supreme boredom, Malfoidacil mentally replied to his aunt, That won't work, you taught me Occlumency, remember? Now any chance of letting me go to get to my vital meeting with the Lady Spymaster?

Bellatrix let out a proud laugh. "Lady Spymaster? Miss Umfuil? You are much mistaken, boy. Lord Roggie trusts in me alone, his most faithful friend and servant unto death!"

Dracomir rolled his eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange had a bad Dark Lord complex. She always deluded herself that she was the most favoured minion of whatever supervillain happened to be hanging about. Voldy, naturally, Lord Asriel for a while, and, lord, that stint with Blofeld didn't bear thinking about. Roggie was apparently her latest idol.

Her stay at the Evil Single Ladies Motel with Jadis, Mrs Coulter and all those other ladettes hadn't exactly improved things.

Bellatrix released Dracomir with a flick of her pitch-black wand. "A touch of discipline is what you need, boy. Now. I have orders straight from..." she looked about carefully, "...Those-Who-Must-Not-Be Named..."