"They have their own forms of magic. They pray to gods much smaller than wizardkind, for any scrap of hope." Hermione looks down. "There is some merit to their practices." She says, continuing to mark the professor as her own, eventually the blood on her forearm begins to clot, so Hermione makes another bite mark, healing the first, and draws bloody designs on the tops of the woman’s thighs. One handed, it’s quite the skill. And then it all starts again, like a switch flicking inside the witch's mind. She draws another rune on each of the witch’s inner thighs. Narcissa falls to her knees. 