"After that, Voldemort was really satisfied, calling me his greatest achievement. I wasn’t his right hand yet, but he let me do more and more of his killings. I wasn’t me, I didn’t feel anything, but killing and torturing made me feel alive, made me feel like I existed. So I did more of it." He looked at her. She felt tears gather in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry, she had to stay strong. "If you think I’m horrible now, Granger, you should’ve seen me then. You would’ve never looked that way at me then, with that pathetic pity in your eyes." Hermione breathed in shakily, it sounded almost like a sob. He ignored it. "After all I did, it wasn’t hard for me to kill my mother. I didn’t do it because Voldemort asked me – he didn’t care for her at that point, he already had what he wanted – me. But she was starting to annoy me, Granger, she annoyed me so much because she reminded me of how weak I was. I wanted Voldemort to see me as nothing but a ruthless killing machine, I wanted to be powerful with nothing holding me back, and she was in the way. I killed her, and she didn’t even fight back. She cried at first, but then she only spoke my name softly. She loved me even in her death."