Pansy Parkinson smelled the fumes of burning flesh, and knew it was her own. The wand tip was white hot as it pressed further into the flesh of her left wrist; boiling her skin. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes watering profusely causing hot tears to pour down her sweaty face. She emitted a muffled scream of agony as the pain surpassed endurance. Her wrist held in place by another masked figure.