"What do death eaters want with anyone, Spencer?" Her stomach gave another unpleasant lurch at the thought of poor Hannah in a death eater's clutches. She had heard stories, awful stories.
Sometimes Megan forgot what she had seen in him those few years ago. It was easy to get overwhelmed by his arrogant, childish antics and forget about the man underneath. Buried in there somewhere was the Spencer that always knew what to say when she was worried, who held her in firm arms when she was scared.
"What if she's not the only one?" she breathed. "What if there are others? What if next it's-" She couldn't bring herself to bring to voice the word: me.