"Oi Harry." I looked at the boy rolled up inside of the motel blankets, resting himself from the exercise. He was so small for someone supposedly so powerful, and I had just tasted how good it would be if I was Ginny, or anyone who didn't have an ugly tattoo etched into their wrists, linking them to a murderous, racist cult.

My life was sadly decided when I was born into a family of death eaters. This was my destiny. A lowley sex worker in the muggle world.
It was awful.
I wasn't homeless, I wasn't struggling to make ends meet.
I just wasn't accustomed to living how I was.
Harry groaned in response to my call.
"Call me."