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Summary
“He’s known for being uncooperative,” the Ministry staffer said, his voice thick with condescension. “He'll need a firm hand, but with the right incentive, he performs adequately.”
Inside the transparent holding cell, the blond man hadn’t looked away from her once. His gaze was ice, his stillness marble. Every inch of him—his perfect posture, his composure, his immaculate hair—radiated old money and Pureblood arrogance.
“His bindings are now keyed to your magic. Sign here, and he’s yours.”
As the ink sank into the parchment, the glass wall vanished. Magic rippled across the manacles, and the words "Property of Hermione Granger" etched themselves into the surface.