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Summary
“I don’t need your help.” Hermione said. She wasn’t afraid of him. Not when she was sixteen and he’d pressed his wand against her neck in Umbrdige’s office, and certainly not now. “I don’t belong to you.”
His fingers on her neck, brushing her curls aside; she could glamor the scars away all she liked, but he could still feel the indentation his teeth had left behind on her flesh.
He frowned, condescending and full of fake sympathy. “I think you do, baby.”
Series
- Part 8 of slowly at first, and then all at once