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Summary
The spell leaves her mouth before she can stop it. Finite Incantatem.
The air warps, and for a breathless, disbelieving heartbeat, she sees them. Raw and blood-slick, the skin around them grey, wasting, bone pushing through where no bone should.
She understands in the split-second before he turns around in horror, wand raised, wordlessly reanimating the Glamour charm: Malfoy has wings. And it’s a death sentence.
(Previously Bleed Like a Seraph)