“They’re dreadful.”

“No gift is dreadful Bella.” Druella insisted, giving her daughter a stern look.

She scowled, eying the wonderfully packaged box that had been tied in an elegant manner with a bright green ribbon. A small card was attached, and in neat script writing you could clearly make out the words: To Bellatrix, From Rodolphus. Mother forced me to give you something. Happy Birthday.

“They’re beyond dreadful.”

Andromeda made her way past her sister, brows rising once she noticed what Bellatrix held in her hand.

“It’s just a pair of socks.”

Bellatrix stood up, throwing it in the fireplace.