Hermione took the knife and loomed over Vernon Dursley, using her wand to pull open his starch-stiffened shirt. She pulsed with anger, with hatred, as she looked at the beetroot red, plump face; at the mouth that had formed so many cutting insults at her love; at the hands that had balled to fists to punch her husband-as-child. Hermione spat on him twice, watching her spittle dribble down the bridge of his magically-sedated nose.