            Those dangerous footsteps came back. Then the fingers, brushing along her collar bone. Making her skin sing. Twisting into a lock of hair. "He wants you now because you’re the first warm body he met after escaping the Veil." Lucius bent down, so that his breath ghosted along her ear. "Do you think he knows you like I do? I’ve seen your magic, Hermione." An arm reached around her, fingers grasping her throat from behind. Hermione froze—she should move, should run, should grab her wand and blast him away. But the long fingers pressed harder, the touch reaching deeper. Petrifying her like stone. "Stop," she repeated weakly.