He wrenched the knife out of her heart and lazily wiped the blood against the shoulder of her t-shirt. He surveyed the scene and let out a sigh. She'd been too easy, too predictable.
Then again, they were all predictable.
Her name was...
It was...
Hannah. Was it?
She'd been shy when he asked her out for coffee. She'd blushed quite prettily when he'd invited her back to his place. She'd bled beautifully with each line that he carved into her skin.
He considered her for a moment. How many people would miss her now that she was no longer alive? How many people would care? Had he irrevocably destroyed their lives by taking hers?
He dialed a number as he pondered who might show up to her funeral and how many. She didn't seem all that beloved by the community after all. A nice girl, yes. Extraordinary? Hardly.
"Mmm'ello?"
"Malfoy," he said and he could almost hear the voice on the other end lose all traces of sleep that was previously present in his greeting. "Tired?"
"No," came the immediate response. "Need something?"
"Just a clean-up in the cellar. You know the one."
"You mean... there's another one? At the house?"
He hung up. For a moment he stood there, not able to put a finger on why his frustration was worse now than it was before. His fingers curled into a tight ball and with a sharp exhale, he forced himself to relax. He turned his back on the girl, stripping his shirt and heading up the stairs to the bathroom on the first floor.
He was bored again.