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“Hermione Granger,” Professor McGonagall beckoned, “Please come with me.”
Then all the events came back to her in one horrible swoosh. My parents are dead, I tried to attack Draco Malfoy, and I’m in the hospital. She bit her lip hard and sat up. The curtains spun dizzily for a moment then slid back into focus.
“Imperio,” he muttered.
Questions snarled her head, pushing at the last strains of her sanity. Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.
Cold dread seeped through Hermione’s veins, halting her blooming hysteria.
“As if I had a choice,” Malfoy sneered bitterly. “Apparently I’m the official Mudblood warden.”
Being on edge wasn’t an unusual sensation for him these days. He was on a constant edge, a precipice that provided a razor sharp reality check if he stepped out of line.
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