She knelt at the centre of the room, hair pulled back into a haphazard knot and teary eyes riveted to the flagstones. Her hands, white and quaking, were clasped together as though in prayer, though any who knew her would have been quite aware that prayer was not her prerogative. She was robed in deep green drapery, which was tied at her waist by a tasseled silver rope and fell about her in such a way that her shoulders remained bare. Her Grecian beauty, however, was overpowered by the desperation in her eyes. Ancient words and whispered pleadings fell from her lips, echoing around the room despite their softness.

This is too much, she thought miserably. Good God, I never thought it would end up like this...

Breathing in with sharp precision as she looked up from the floor, the young woman shuddered. The man in front of her glared down at her in some beastly mixture of hatred and fondness. His fierce green eyes bore into hers, and his handsome face bore a malevolent smile. "I’m quite sure you’d like to explain yourself," he said casually. The young man’s jet-black robes rustled slightly as he took a step forward. "The allegations made against you, Miss Lowell, would make most sensible girls faint."

"I know," the woman managed to whimper. No... no, God, please, don’t let him hurt me...

The young man’s twisted smile widened. "Rise, Miss Lowell."

She got to her feet, willing herself to keep eye contact. The young man seemed almost to be laughing at her, but all laughter left his face as he seized her by the arm. The woman cried out in pain as he twisted her wrist sharply. No... this can’t be how it ends... how the Hell did I end up here? Let go... let go...

"I don’t know quite what to say," the woman gasped, trying her best not to react. There’s no point in lying. He’ll be able to see the truth no matter what I say. "I—I can’t deny it. Tom—"

The young man twisted her arm again, harder than ever, and the smile had entirely left his face. "I suppose a lot of what I’m feeling right now must be my fault," he sneered. "Were you not the one who always told me never to trust anyone? Weren’t you?!"

The woman started to utter a pained reply, but the young man cut her off in a violent kiss. The young woman tried to shove him away, panicking. She knew him well, and knew that he would go to nearly any length to put someone in agony— she knew that rape was against his beliefs, but nonetheless was unwilling to put it past him.

He broke away after a few moments, wild-eyed. "Don’t love me anymore, do you?" he spat. "Don’t answer me—what you’ve done shows it just as well as your words would." He dropped her wrist in disgust, leveling a glare into her eyes. "What made you do it?" he whispered, that parody of gentleness once more playing at his voice. He put a frigid hand to her burning cheek, almost in a caress. "There was a time that all this was everything to you—that I was everything to you! What changed? What the Hell changed?"

The girl shrank away from his hand as she sensed his grip tightening around her face. "I don’t know!" she cried helplessly. "I—Tom, please—I don’t want to do this anymore... I’ve lived my whole life playing by the same rules, and I’ve realised that I’m not the person I always wanted to be... I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore! Please, try to understand!" That was a stupid thing to say, the woman thought miserably.

The young man’s eyes were blazing, and he seized her by the shoulders. "You consider that to be an excuse?" he whispered fiercely, his face barely an inch from hers. "You made a commitment to Avada, to me! You betrayed me, not only by breaking your word to Avada but by how you chose to go about it!" His knuckles were white around her shoulders now, and a glimmer of red had entered his irises. "I would not have become angry if you had simply requested to leave," he murmured. "But you—"

"I know what I did!" the girl wailed, trying vainly to shove him away.

"Were you trying to make a point, Miss Lowell?" the young man demanded, his grip tightening so fiercely that the girl was nearly screaming.

"I..." The girl was at a loss for a few moments. "I don’t hate Muggles anymore," she sighed.

The man backed up and slapped her fiercely, hard enough to make her head whirl to the left. "You made that perfectly obvious by going off and fucking one!" he snapped, eyes glittering in the dim torchlight. "You could have made the same point by stopping Rosier or Denny-Fife killing one—which you also did. You might have done so by leading a double life and having Muggle friends—which you also did. You could have gone off and ratted us out to the Ministry—which you also did. But sleeping with a Muggle?!"

"I know," the woman responded, rubbing at the aching flesh on her face.

"You always did take rather too well to sadism," the young man scoffed. "I must tell you, Miss Lowell, this does nothing for my self esteem." He walked away from her, keeping his back turned from her for a few seconds before facing her again. "You might have told me," he retorted, his voice starting at a murmur but gradually heightening. "You could have just bloody told me that my ideas were nothing to you, that you were going to abandon Avada, that you didn’t love me! But you didn’t, did you?"

No words can save me. What I have to say, he won’t believe. Might as well wait for the blade to fall.

"Well, I’m telling you now," she said coldly. "I don’t want to be an Avada anymore. I think all of you are wrong, and I hate what you’re trying to do. And I sure as Hell don’t love you anymore!"

Bring on the knife. I welcome it with open arms.

The young man was visibly seething with anger—the red in his eyes wasn’t questionable now. However, his face remained calm. "I won’t bother to ask you what I did to make you hate me," he said softly. "You wouldn’t tell me anyway, and I frankly don’t care enough to force you into telling." The young woman’s moment of resolute fury faded away, replaced once more by fear. The man’s voice had taken on the soft, cold timbre that it adopted when he was exceptionally angry. "You know well enough, Miss Lowell, that no one defies Avada and escapes unpunished. Furthermore..." The young man hesitated, reaching into a pocket inside his cloak. He drew out a long, thin wand, holding it delicately and gracefully. He turned his burning eyes on the girl again, and her stomach dropped. "Furthermore," he continued fiercely, "you of all people should know that nobody—bloody nobody—gets away with betraying my trust."

A rush of panic swept through the girl’s mind. She vaguely remembered the man had once used the second Unforgivable on an unlucky person who uttered a malediction upon his name. Her offence had been infinitely worse. God, I hadn’t anticipated this... Torture, yes, but not murder! Tom, please, no!...

"You’ve no idea the pain I’m in right now," the young man said quietly, twirling the wand in his fingers. "Lucky you, darling, that you shan’t live to feel your heart broken. The best I can offer is the physical ultimate—though even that does not compare." He took a step toward her, and the girl backed up until she was straight-backed against the cold stone wall. The young man gave her a cruel, vicious look. "I’ll have to do my best, I suppose," he whispered. With fire in his eyes and ice in his voice, he uttered one word.

"Crucio."

And the world was plunged into Sheol.

Falling... falling to the ground, and somehow beyond... to Hell and back... fire damns a spark, ice damns snow—just as torture damns pain. Sensations melting together, shifting like the fickle sands of an hourglass... they say death is the only thing worse than this? This damns death, too. Death is nepenthe. Life is pain. Just die...

She came back to earth with a shuddering gasp and stared weakly up at her once-lover. He stared down at her in disgusted rapture. Forcing a cruel smile, the young man knelt, his face hovering a few inches from hers.

"What was it the Victorians always said after they had beaten their children?" he murmured almost lovingly, entangling his lanky right hand in her hair. "‘This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you’? How appropriate for the situation, eh? How damned bloody appropriate..." He put his lips to hers, very lightly, acting rather amused at her unresponsive front. The girl moaned in pain as his fingers played across the still-aching muscles at her throat, and the demented smile grew wider.

"Anything you’d like to add, my guilty Desdemona?" he asked pleasantly. He laughed at her silence. "No articulate last words then." He pointed the wand at her chest, his eyes riveted to hers. "I still love you, you know," he informed her. "Not that it matters now. See you in Hell, Jeannie."

She was too weak, too numb, to fight back—and she knew well enough that even if she had, it would have amounted to nothing.

I wanted to do something with my life—reform myself... How did I ever get involved in this in the first place? Someone help me—please, please help me...

"Avada Kedavra."

Silence.

Author's Note:

The beginning of a fic that actually had potential. It's never going to be finished at this rate, but it's okay to dream. Draw your own conclusions, the possibilities are endless...