She's crying again.
I watch her stumble; the paths through the Forbidden Forest are treacherous enough to the uninitiated – but now, as darkness clothes all, only predators move through the dense underbrush with practiced ease.
Like me.
She is not using her wand, relying upon the anemic shafts of moonlight filtering through the treetops. Surely Lumos is not beyond the reach of a Mudblood, especially this one? For years I have watched her, witnessed her attempts to fit into our world.
My world.
Something moves off to our right, making rustling sounds through the leaves. I am close enough now to catch the scent of fear emanating from her pores. She whirls in the direction of the sound, yet no wand is drawn. I see her eyes shine with her tears in the moonlight, wide with fear as she clutches her thin school robe closer about her. The tortured sound of her gasping breaths is a counterpoint to the pounding of the blood coursing through my body. I taste the bitter adrenaline on my tongue, my body admitting what I cannot. She is the prey.
And I am not.
She is ready to feel the darkness of my world.