Cry
I have always known that I am different – and not in the harmless sense, either. See, there is a peculiar kind of elation in the art of manipulating people, toying with their emotions, messing with their pretty little heads.
Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I enjoy hurting people per se – I just revel in the thrill it gives me to have the upper hand, be in control, make them do my bidding, have them dance like little puppets and all without the use of an Imperius. If they get hurt along the way, so be it. If you want to make an omelette, you have to break some eggs. And my omelettes are divine. So I never cared.
Not until the first time I made Hermione Granger cry, that is. That’s when I realised just how much of a twisted bastard I really am.
She may be beneath me, tainted, filthy, but Merlin help me –
she’s so pretty when shecries.