Moody slid a vial across the table to her. The curse her body was trapped in told her to drink it, but the remnants of her conscious were still fighting back. Her body sat rigid and tense in the chair, she stubbornly held her hands tight by her sides because she knew that if she moved them she wouldn’t be able to resist the command to drink it, drink it. She believed it was poison, or something worse, and she would rather die than taste it. She felt hot sweat running down her forehead from the exertion. Moody inspected her closely, amused by her defiance, his wand pointed at her.