Hermione was still staring at the droplets of Draco’s blood on her arm. They had already dried a rusty brown. It was Bellatrix's fresh blood that infiltrated the bracelet now. It always came back to blood. It was the cadence call of her life. Blood. Hers was seen as dirty enough to fight a war over. Blood was needed for the tether. Blood was necessary for the Mark. Blood. It swam in her mind's eye—fresh, scarlet blood.