She found Pansy, who tried to avoid her, who muttered excuses and then hissed at her, denounced her blood status, yelled her confusion. Hermione muffled her, soothed her. She showed her just how little her blood mattered now that she was magic and wild - no, wilde. She stroked experienced hands along her body, heard her mind fracture and beg, felt her magic bend to her will... Hermione thought that she rather enjoyed her flesh, her pretty body, her sweet fear, her defining nose... she was growing into it. She thought that, perhaps, her Lord would reward her with another flesh-crux, another yielding body that burned eternally, just as she did.