The Interview

"I'm not evil you know." He leaned forward slightly, placing an elbow precariously on his knee. "To have this detachment that I have, it goes beyond evil."

"Really?" She paused to scribble his words onto the notebook she clutched in her other hand, before looking at his face again. "I guess I always assumed that your kind were, well, inherently evil."

"That was something I struggled with when I was--" he paused-- "How is the best way to put it? ...Changed?" He nodded to himself. For awhile I despised myself...and yet I loved myself at the same time..." Turning his head slightly, he stared out of the window, stared into the streetlight that cast its soft glow onto the darkened street. "Do you understand?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "I'll try to explain. My life is full of eras--when one finishes, another begins, and I am forced to submit...to change, or face estrangement from reality. These eras, they make me what I am, but the way I think changes when one ends and another begins." Casting his glance to the floor, he toyed with a button. "But the fundamental thing--the defining thing--is that these eras begin and end at the whim of my thinking; they are only eras because of the method of my thoughts." He cast a questioning glance in her direction. "Is it clearer now?"

She shook her head, not looking up at him as she bent over her notebook.

"When I was...changed...I hated myself. I saw myself as evil. I wanted to die, but was unsure about whether I could die. So I hid. I fed off of rats and small animals--perhaps cows, if I felt forced to do so. "It was the arrival of a man--but no...perhaps calling him a man is somewhat inaccurate. He was a werewolf, but gentle, and felt determined to steer me away from self-destruction. We sat for hours and talked, not in the hasty way of mortals these days, but in the steady pace of two people who have eternity, and thus can throw away the compulsions that so often ruin dialogue." He paused to cough slightly, then continued. "During these long conversations, I realised that what my life--perhaps even unlife--meant was not evil. I realised that I was not cursed, and that a measure of love could enter my life. ...Was there something you wished to ask me?"

"No. No," she whispered, hanging on his every word.

"I could see it in your eyes. Ask your question."

She acquiesced, "You speak of love. Did you love this werewolf?"

"Ah, such a heady question!" He looked at her face for a moment, before continuing, "The understanding of love that I hold close in my mind is quite different to that which you, and mortals like you, quest for. Mortals, in my experience, are quick to confuse love with lust--the organic attraction between two people is often what you would label love. For me, love became something intangible, yet I could now easily reach out and grasp it--" he clenched one hand into a fist for emphasis. "In words that you can understand, I loved him as a brother, and yet it was so much more. It's beyond your comprehension, so I will let that explanation suffice."

She nodded, attempting to give the impression that she understood.

"The time he was with me...that was a time of love. And when he left me, I realised that all love I had for life disappeared." He stopped again. "You have another question."

This time, she didn't try to hide it. "Yes. You lost all love for life?"

He nodded--a quick jabbing motion downward, then up again. "Through our conversations, I learned to love life again; it was almost like being mortal once more. But any affection I had for my surroundings faded when he left me." He turned his gaze on her

Looking away, she asked simply, "Why?"

"He opened my eyes. Can you imagine being blind, and suddenly being able to see again?" Seeing her understanding, he continued, "And when he left...it was like being plunged once more into darkness. In reality, I did plunge into darkness. I started to kill."

The savageness with which he had uttered that last word forced the girl back into her chair. "K-kill?" she whispered.

"Yes, kill. I killed with abandon, letting all semblance of mortal self-control fall behind me." He looked once more out of the window. "For those like me, the kill is indescribable. It embodies a bliss so complete; to feel your heart beat in time with theirs, to feel your flesh heat, for life to return for one fragile moment. For you to understand, I would put it beyond sex."

He was about to say more, but she interrupted. "But you said you didn't kill."

He looked at her, a sinister, mocking light blazing in his eyes. "I lied."

Moving faster than she could see, he had her neck, and lifted her clear of the seat she sweated in. Twisting her from left to right, he examined her neck as she kicked at him, one hand grabbing at his, and the other struggling with something in her pocket.

"What a prize this is! A vampire witch! We will do great things, my dear." She was gasping against his fingers, vainly attempting to breathe. "Don't try to use your wand on me--I am more powerful than you can imagine, let alone deal with."

Then he leaned forward, and slowly sunk his teeth into her neck. Feeling the bliss of that moment, he drank just enough to bring her to the point of death, and then scratched a line along his wrist, bringing it to her lips.

"Drink," he commanded, and she did. "You will live. I'm right, you know." He spoke now, more to himself than her. "We will do great things together, Hermione."