It was almost predictable, the rash ardor that carried this woman forward, the ungainliness of her motions, the idealism. Almost, though, not quite entirely so, and perhaps she too was held back by rather predictable idealism of one who fought on the side that was presumably the good side. Or the more accepted side, at any rate, though Helena found it a lot easier to believe in the rationale of good and evil. However she could accept that there came a certain predictability with an alliance thus made, to one side or another, a certain tendency to act in one way rather than another.

Thus, as she faltered for a moment, watching her opponent drop her wand, it was because of some inherent notion of sending a stunner towards a fallen dueler being unethical. One could not attack an injured person; never mind that her assailant would never have given her the same courtesy, that was hardly consequential, or that this was not a duel so much as it was an attack, and any defense was not exactly challenging ethical boundaries. None of that seemed to occur to her, even though she was principally of the opinion that the end justified the means, and hexing a fallen criminal, one who spat out Unforgivables like they were mere spittle at that, was more than a justified means to the end of bringing her in.

But she hesitated for a moment, partially thrown off guard by an unbidden streak of light, another spell, that whizzed at her temporarily fallen foe. Though fallen or not, to whatever degree, the drive of this woman was admirable. Recognisable to an extent, and easily so; one tended to identify in others that which one was not always ready to accept in oneself all too easily, after all, and she was guilty of this in more ways than one, on occasions far more domestic than this. So perhaps that brought about the hesitation. Certainly that was more acceptable than the idea of her feeling humane towards her. One way or another, Helena tasted her own medicine, bitter as it was.

An element of surprise, after all, was best used against ones opponents. Not when the situation was reversed.

It caught Helena in the chest, the new angle that the woman employed, and the general commotion of the moment creating potentially lethal distraction; the Cruciatus Curse was, this time, true to its mark. Certainly not comparable, not pain that one could categorize, as such; she had never, really, in all her years of experience, and the intervening phase of seclusion, known any pain like this, unnatural, relentless, and fuelled with passionate hatred, and not even biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood could really offer any distraction. There was a pounding in her ears, an augmented sound that grew steadily louder and sharper.

The realisation did not dawn, not until several hours or days later, that it was not something outside of herself, but her own voice.
"Dog. A kind of additional or subsidiary deity designed to catch the overflow and surplus of the world's worship."
- Ambrose Pierce -