Exit Wounds (гет)

I remember the way our gazes caught, the way an unexpected shiver danced down my spine, notches stuck straight, locked firmly in place, but still quivering, still trembling—because you knew me, and I did not know you, and while those circumstances were hardly strange—I was the regular guest of honor at the Malfoys’ tea parties, after all, the very first name at the very top of the guest list—there was something unsettling about your recognition, something about the barely-there tilt of your chin that felt mocking and predatory, like a hunter staring down its prey through the unforgiving barrel of a rifle.