Chapter Four

"Do you think monsters exist? I'm not talking of some mystical beast or nameless dark creature. I mean humans. People, like you and me. Are there people who simply are monsters and by definition evil? Or is our perception of 'evil' just a mirror of our society telling us what not to do?

Cainism is a behaviour that can be observed in several bird species. For example, under certain conditions the oldest and strongest chick in a nest of Ospreys will proceed to attack the younger chicks. The oldest will push them, bully them and cruelly peck them until they die. In the end, although quite brutal, the fratricide is a regulation mechanism. During periods of food shortage, it ensures that the strongest hatchling will survive as opposed to the starvation of all of them.

If they were humans, though, and one child would proceed to merciless and remorselessly kill his brothers and sisters, would we not call it a horrible crime, committed only by the most demented and cruel of individuals? I'm sure many would call such an incident the work of evil. If it's not hate or malintent, it's madness and a sickness of the mind. Evil comes in many different versions.

Maybe it's our species' curse that we have the cognitive ability to invent 'evil' in the first place.

~.~.~

Hermione's birthday had to be special. My present had to be personal. She was too important to me to treat her otherwise. Hermione deserved closeness and love. I didn't know if I really deserved her love, but she did mine.

My love, my devotion and my intimacy was all hers.

I wouldn't use a curse or spell. I needed her close, I told you that before. I needed touch. I needed to feel the resistance as my knife pushed against her skin. I applied more pressure and then I could feel the moment as the tissue of her skin surrendered to my insistence and my blade slid through, cutting deeper into her. Deeper and always closer to me. Blood-red, her body opened up for me. It stained my silver blade and then my fingers. She didn't want to die. I would never blame her for the fight she put up. Hermione was incredible even now, you must understand that. My fingers were so slippery and wet, I had to grip the knife's handle tightly. Her breath was still there, only now it was heavy and rattling. I don't think she understood. She asked and I soothed her gently,

'It's going to be alright. I love you.'

I cut deeper. The human body is a wondrous machine. Everything is intertwined, aiming to maintain the difficile equilibrium of life. Even if the brain shuts down, the body will fight to exist as long as possible. It doesn't know the difference between years and seconds.

I had sliced open her neck, creating a crevice that nature had not designed. I was so close to her now. It made me smile and a fond feeling blossomed in my chest. The hilt of my knife was warm from the heat of my body and the blade warm from her blood. It was such a good feeling to have her so closer.

I loved Hermione. So so much.

I angled the blade slightly. Her body convulsed as I guided the knife down. I cut down between her breasts and through the bony plate in her chest. It was hard and I heard a crunching noise as the blade crushed the bone. I ran my blade down the full length of her chest until I sliced into the skin of her belly. Then I flung the knife away from me. It clattered on the floor on the other side of our living room. I didn't care. It was a crutch anyway.

My eyes were fixed on Hermione. Did I ever mention how beautiful she was? Not many people could see her beauty, but I always could. Now was no different. Her eyes were chocolate brown as they stared up at me and through me. There was no rattling sound anymore. Everything was still and captured in the perfect moment. Her hair was usually a bushy and untameable mess. Now the sticky blood had clotted around her curls and calmed them down. She would have liked it. I did.

I bent over her and lowered my head to hers. Shortly I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. I could smell it now. It still was Hermione, just a bit different. Heavy and metallic, the smell encased me, smeared over the both of us like a thin film on skin. I could almost taste it on my tongue. Sweet and coppery. I re-opened my eyes and smiled at her. She didn't react but I knew she loved me too. My hand cupped her face as I gingerly brushed my mouth against hers. She was so soft and I enjoyed nibbling at her fat lower lip. My hand left her cheek and skimmed down. My fingers met the sticky cleft at her neck and, lower still, I could feel the slash that now opened her chest.

My lips still engaged her in a tender kiss as I allowed my hand to slip into the cut in her chest. The bony splinters scratched over my skin. I didn't mind at all and soon I could feel the thick muscle that sat at the centre of her chest. Maybe it had stopped beating now, but it was still warm. We were so close now. My fingers caressed her inside and I didn't know where I ended and she began.

My lips still touched hers as I whispered softly, 'Happy birthday, Hermione. I love you.'

This time Hermione didn't reply, but it was okay. I knew."

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