"I'm growing very tired of your screams," he said, his tone dangerously low, like a growl in his throat. His hand rose before him, the wand clutched tight in his grasp, only to feel a sharp pull from it, watching in awe as it was suddenly flung from his fingers. The wand collided with the wall behind her, bouncing off it and falling to the floor unceremoniously, rolling down the slightly uneven wooden planks. His nostrils flared, his brow twitched. Anger filled his chest like a well, a reservoir of it, and he took a step forward, his eyes narrowed at her. Before he could draw from it, could tap into the magic he had used so often as a child until he began channeling it through his wand, a great force hit him in the gut, the breath expelled from him as it did so.