Bole's every free moment was spent stalking around the edges of the school. He couldn't get inside, not without risking his life, but he could wait and watch. Sooner or later someone else would venture too far out into the fog, forgetting that the threat was there, and he would snatch them up just as he had Eleanor.
Oh Eleanor.
He wondered if she had wet herself beneath the soil, laying on the bones of Fred Weasley, screaming hopelessly and clawing at the inside of the coffin. He resented Neville Longbottom for rescuing her. He had planned to go back the next day, to see if she had survived, or to admire the twisted expression of terror on her corpse.
Fucking Longbottom.
The sound of footsteps across the grass towards the edge of the forest sent a shiver of excitement through him. His robes were ragged and his hair greasy, but Bole had cleaned himself up recently. He no longer smelled like death, and most of the dirt from Fred's grave had been washed away, though his nails were still filthy with soil. He had the skull still. He was going to send it back to all the Weasley kids piece by piece until one of them made a reckless mistake.
He realised that hsi mind had wandered, and he snapped himself back into the moment as the figure of Augustus Rookwood appeared more clearly. A smile split his lips and he slipped out from behind the thick, dark, trunk he had been hiding behind. This man had promised Rodolphus a favour on Bole's behalf, and Bole felt he'd been far more patient than Rookwood deserved. "There's a toll to pass through," he sneered, twirling his wand between his fingers, "And one to turn around and go back. Which one do you want to pay?"