The spell does graze her arm and she hisses, thrown off-balance for a split-second before recovering. The pain blooms immediately but it's not her wand arm. She'll be fine. She doesn't crow in victory when Sirius' body crumples to the ground - almost sobs instead, barely keeps it together. But it's a move she needs. She'll apologize later. Spend her life making it up to him that she sent a spell his way.
For now, she has to concentrate. "Do I keep making mistakes?" It's murmured, sweet and dangerous. "I don't think you understand what a mistake you've made in threatening my family, in already hurting someone I love. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? Of course not." There's rage blooming beneath the sorrow and she stokes it violently because it's what's keeping her afloat. Despite appearances, she's terrified.
"You offered me mercy before, too. Mercy if I let you kill my son. I don't want mercy from a snake like you." She strides forward and stomps down just behind the snake's head before it can reach Sirius entirely. It can't reach her to bite from here and even though she can't hold it long, she has a split-second to act. She has to have something.
But she remembers hurried conversation, a pair of wild black eyes staring into her own, a hissed warning. A murmur of the words for a spell in her ear, a quick demonstration of movement without them, a whisper of for your enemies. A press of foreheads, a squeeze of a hand desperately trying to convey thanks. He'd refused to say her name like he wasn't worthy of it. She thinks he probably meant Peter, when he'd told her. Or maybe Voldemort himself - she hadn't used it then, hadn't thought of it. Now is as good a time as any for a second chance.
"All I want from you is for you to die, Tom Riddle." The swipe of her wand is aimed at just behind the snake's head. "Sectumsempra."
Unless the snake can escape, it will slice cleanly. If it can wriggle slightly out of the way, it will still slice deeply but not all the way through—either way there's no coming back from it. It's a matter of seconds between either outcome, immediate or bleeding out.
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For now, she has to concentrate. "Do I keep making mistakes?" It's murmured, sweet and dangerous. "I don't think you understand what a mistake you've made in threatening my family, in already hurting someone I love. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? Of course not." There's rage blooming beneath the sorrow and she stokes it violently because it's what's keeping her afloat. Despite appearances, she's terrified.
"You offered me mercy before, too. Mercy if I let you kill my son. I don't want mercy from a snake like you." She strides forward and stomps down just behind the snake's head before it can reach Sirius entirely. It can't reach her to bite from here and even though she can't hold it long, she has a split-second to act. She has to have something.
But she remembers hurried conversation, a pair of wild black eyes staring into her own, a hissed warning. A murmur of the words for a spell in her ear, a quick demonstration of movement without them, a whisper of for your enemies. A press of foreheads, a squeeze of a hand desperately trying to convey thanks. He'd refused to say her name like he wasn't worthy of it. She thinks he probably meant Peter, when he'd told her. Or maybe Voldemort himself - she hadn't used it then, hadn't thought of it. Now is as good a time as any for a second chance.
"All I want from you is for you to die, Tom Riddle." The swipe of her wand is aimed at just behind the snake's head. "Sectumsempra."
Unless the snake can escape, it will slice cleanly. If it can wriggle slightly out of the way, it will still slice deeply but not all the way through—either way there's no coming back from it. It's a matter of seconds between either outcome, immediate or bleeding out.
"So die again," she murmurs.