After the war had been worse.  He hadn't had to be afraid of monsters anymore.  He'd only had to know people looked at him and saw one.  "I don't care for the kind of women who find former Death Eaters a turn on," he said.   That skimmed over several unpleasant evenings where he'd been asked to show his Mark by witches who didn't bother to hide the way they licked their lips at the thought of being with a bad boy.   Granger slowly set her hand over the thick sleeve - always thick enough to obscure any hint of the dull grey snake beneath - and inhaled.   If he didn't know it wasn't possible, he'd have thought that the sound of a woman trying to control her rage.  Her hand felt hot on his arm, even though the cotton.