Had the curse hit the woman, Bellatrix would have been, obviously, pleased. That it didn't had her equally annoyed. That this woman could, without seeming effort, block her at each turn incensed the Death Eater; the simplistic spells she was being given in exchange had her ready to laugh. It was this momentary lapse of taking things as seriously as she needed that had her diving a moment too late, the last of the spells slashing a gash into the upper arm of her wand hand.

The pain, though throbbing deeply in her arm, felt nothing so close to the punishments she had endured under the anger of her Master, and thus she shrugged it off as inconsquential.

It was her hand that refused to bursh it off as easy, her grip loosening enough that the wand slipped from her hold and clattered to the ground.

With ever ounce of effort she could muster up, she sprang towards it, gracelessly sprawling across the ground, her fingers managing to brush the handle of the wand as it rolled towards her attacker. A frantic heartbeat later, she had the wand in her grip again and, from her new angle, she spat another 'curcio' at the Auror.