Angelina shivered, her breath coming faster. She struggled against his arms with all her might, but she felt oddly drained. She was a Quidditch Chaser. What’s more, she was Captain. But she was at a sore disadvantage here. Panic flooded her for a moment and she thrashed about in his arms, trying to escape.
“Let go of me, now!” she screamed. Yes, Angelina, because screaming and demanding always works in stories, she thought wryly in the back of her mind. “Don’t touch me! HELP! SOMEONE!” There was a faint, dying hope that someone might hear her cries. But it was dark, cold, and late—the odds were against her.
Barty grimaced as her shrieks pierced his eardrums. “Oh, quiet, you,” he muttered. She was strong. But the fight was disappointing. He only struggled to keep hold of her, but nothing more. No cuts or bruises. No straining. He wasn’t even pumped up yet. It was a pity, too. She was beautiful. In a way.
“Come on, Angel,” he murmured patronizingly, drawing her closer into his body. “At least make this interesting.”
"You’re disgusting," she hissed. Angelina’s eyes were filling with angry tears, and her body was shaking. She struggled with renewed vigor and managed to elbow him and free herself from his grip, glaring at him with eyes full of hatred.
20 Notes/ Hide
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