            Hermione nodded, then sank down onto the nearest bench. She held his gaze as she lifted her skirt, watching as he used the dagger on her flesh. It hurt more than with the wand—less contained, sharper, the visceral, cold metal biting into the softness of her inner thigh. As the pain bloomed, Hermione shut her eyes and bit her lip, tasting blood. The dagger paused. "Keep going," she insisted, catching his wrist.