mask. It sent a shiver spiraling down her spine. His voice was richer now than in her memories, like velvet steeped in venom.
“Saving me?” he rasped, his words mangled by the distortion of his mask. “Granger, you’re either a fool…or you still believe in redemption.”
The spell faltered. Her wand
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“Saving me?” he rasped, his words mangled by the distortion of his mask. “Granger, you’re either a fool…or you still believe in redemption.”
The spell faltered. Her wand
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“Don’t move,” she snapped, her tone sharpening to hide her fraying nerves. “You’ll bleed out.”
“I should,” he murmured, and she hated the
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“Shut up,” she hissed, her fingers digging into his chest to apply pressure. “I can’t have your death on my conscience.”
She knew what she should do. Leave him. Let the gaping wound in his side take its natural course. He deserved it.
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She’d taken an oath, hadn’t she? She had sworn to heal. Even him. Even this.
“You’re wasting your strength,” he
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The air between them seemed to tremble, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and unanswered questions. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the wound, though the pull of his gaze was relentless. Malfoy. Death Eater. Murderer.
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And yet, here he was.
Not a monster, but a man. Broken. Dying. His silver eyes—those damnable silver eyes—refused to close.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. “Why fight for him?”
A bitter laugh escaped his lips,
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Her silence was deafening.
His gloved hand moved, slow and tentative, brushing her wrist. The touch was light but enough to make her freeze, the warmth of it startling against her clammy skin. His strength was waning. She could feel it in the fragility of his
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