It would've been too easy to ignore the promises she made to her husband, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and to herself. Just a tiny vial wouldn't really hurt. They weren't dangerous unless she used them in large quantities. Like three or four. That's when she needed to worry. Her hand closed over one. She swirled the liquid around the closed vial dreaming of the moments of bliss she would experience when it made its way down her belly. The hand that held the wand that ended Theodore Nott's life hadn't stopped trembling since the act was completed. One dose of the potion would end the tremors. Unstopping the vial, the pungent aroma of the addictive potion assaulted her nose. She could practically taste the cinnamon on her tongue, feel the calming of her muscles.