His eyes fell down to the scars on her arms. The ones from her own doing, in the shower. The ones that left faint outlines, tracing against the outer part of her forearm, clearly hinting at the objective behind her actions. When he stared at them, it was as if she could feel the warm water of her shower slashing against her arm as the loofa scrubbed harshly against her skin. As if he had taken the form of it, making her feel a sense of disgust. He wanted her to feel bad. His eyes burned with intense rage, flicking down to her hand. Dolohov lifted his wand from the inside of his robes, which was full of sweat- making her scrunch her nose in disgust as it wafted up into her nostrils.