It would be a beautiful visage if beauty could earnestly be ascribed to one so clearly a devil. The black horns growing from her lover’s skull were twisted and curved upwards with daggerlike tips. Teeth so brilliantly white were stained red with blood, the fangs out and pressing gently against the curving roll of Hermione’s thighs. A golden iris peered up at her with just as much brilliance as her own, and Hermione felt herself fall into them despite her supine position.