She scoffed. Clearly, he hadn't heard the story of her dramatic escape from the clutches of her madman husband. It all became too much for her one day. Their son had just had his birthday. Eleven. He'd been excited for weeks about the party that his parents were throwing for him. All of his little mates were invited, and thanks to the Dark Lord's insistence that his Death Eaters have as many children as possible, there were many. She'd been in the kitchen when her irate husband came storming in, angry about something she'd done or failed to do. She was forgetting the details. He'd grabbed her arm. Like he'd done a thousand times before. Except that time, she was tired.