The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe…
And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions … not anger … that was for weaker souls than he… but triumph, yes … He had waited for this, he had hoped for it…
“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his pained face…
Then the child turned and ran away.
Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand … One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother…but unnecessary, quite unnecessary…
And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet.
and he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and steered over it…
They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room…
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