She didn’t tell him, or anyone for that matter - choosing to cover up the insides of her wrists with glamour charms - that she’d got her tattoos in second year. She knew that he’d never look at her the same again if she told him, if she told anyone, that they were the same. They’d tiptoe around her, throw her pity glances and when Lord Voldemort returned at the end of fourth year she knew that there was no way in hell she could ever tell them the truth, sure that they would begin to keep things from her - create a wedge between them without thinking about it, but blame her for it all.