Bole crept forwards whilst George had been writhing in agony from his curse. He stood over his rival with a hard smile, no mirth or glee in it, just lips pulled back to expose his teeth.
"So much fun. I'm going to make sure you're alive right up until I peel your face off your skull," He told him, holding out his wand. He slashed it through the air and as if an invisible blade had struck him, George's shirt tore and a cut drew across his chest, blossoming deep red.