You're scared.
The Dark Lord told you that tomorrow would be the day—that everything was going to happen tomorrow—and you don't know how much you like that.
Actually, that's wrong. You know how much you don't like it, but you have to hide it. No one can know how much you want to be gone from this Gods-cursed place. Not even your beloved Avery—and especially not your Theodore.
No, you could never tell Theodore.
You wonder what it was that made you choose this road. You laugh bitterly, thinking of that stupid Muggle phrase that Pamela used to say all the time. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," you mutter, and then glance around, hoping that no one heard you.
No. You're alone in this large house that Avery always complains about. There are the house-elves, but you've been trained not to think about them. They aren't human…according to Him.
You snort, cynically amused. Most people, you think, when they think about a male with a capital letter for the pronoun think of their God, but you? You think of The Dark Lord—the antithesis of the Lord; The one who controls your every move, every thought, and never lets you go.
Well, you think, that will all be over tomorrow. You won't have anything left to live for tomorrow, and it will all be over.
You check the clock. Avery will be home soon, if he is not kept at His stronghold to go over plans. No, he probably will not be kept—you know he will want to spend this night before the battle with you. You swallow past the bile that rises in your throat at the thought of what you are planning to do to him. It is for the best, you tell yourself. He would thank you, you say.
But deep down, you know it is wrong. It goes against everything you promised him, it goes against what you always thought you were, but you know that in the end, you will go through with it, no matter how much you will hate yourself.
You check the clock again—it's becoming a nervous habit. You sit down, folding your hands in your lap, and you think, revisiting your past again. You can't help it—it is human nature to think of the past when the future is near. Pamela used to say that all the time, but you never realized just how true it was.
What had it been that had made you chase the power He offered rather than the knowledge you could earn? You could try and tell yourself that it was his persuasive ways, but you know better.
It was Avery—Avery with his golden brown eyes; Avery with his lean frame that rippled and moved like music; Avery with his promises that you always thought he would keep. It had been him that had brought to the Dark Lord, and it had been him that you fell in love with.
Neither of you are happy, but neither of you will say it. He doesn't love this life like he used to—loving you changed him. You don't love this life, but then, you never did. The only two things you have ever loved in this life are Avery and your child, Theodore.
Oh…Theodore. You love that boy-man, who will always be a child to you. He had always been so innocent, growing up. He couldn't hurt a fly and now…
Now he is one of Them. He is controlled by Him, and likes it.
That is what you dislike the most about this whole ordeal. Not that you are stuck in this horrible war, or that you are fighting for something that you don't believe in, or even what you have to do to save your husband. You don't hate the most that you are captive to the promises you made as a foolish woman who was head over heels for the man she had just married.
No, what you hate the most is the fact that your stupid, stupid choices brought your Theodore down with you.
He never deserved this life. He should have grown up happy and loved, and been put into whichever house suited him best, not the one he thought would please you the most. He shouldn't have grown up in a world where there were no vibrant colors, only shades of grey and black.
A small crack outside the window was the only hint you had that Avery was home. Sniffling, you rush to the sink and splash cold water on your face, trying desperately to hide the tears you had not realized you were shedding.
There is a pounding at the door and you jump, startled. "Darling," Avery's voice floats over to you, "Let me in? Jippy told me you were in the kitchen—is everything alright?"
You paste a smile on your face, walk over to the large mahogany door, pausing for a moment to collect yourself, and then you swing it wide. "Hello, Avery," you greet him, "How was His house?"
He grimaces, but would not let himself say anything, not even here, in his own home. The Dark Lord has spies everywhere, and nowhere is safe for his servants. You nod in understanding, reaching up to kiss him. You try not to think that this could be your last kiss with Avery.
The thought creeps in anyway.
"Are you hungry, dear?" You ask, hoping he will say yes, but deep down hoping he will just tell you to go to sleep, it's late, and he just wants to sit and stare into the fire for a little bit.
"Not really," He says, "I was just hoping to go to bed and hold you." You blush. It has been a long time since he last spoke to you like that.
"Okay," you agree, "I'll be up in a minute."
He nods, then treks up the stairs to the Master Bedroom—the room you decorated in silver and blue, in defiance of silver and green. You turn around, heading into the kitchen. The house-elves are in there, and you send them out. There is not further need for them—you and Avery won't live to see them again.
You wonder, briefly, if Theodore will ever use them, but dismiss the thought. Of course he will—the House of Nott will always have use of house-elves, even long after Avery and yourself are dead. The thought makes you shiver. You don't like to think of the House of Nott without Avery.
The house-elves have all left the room, and so you quickly prepare some tea, using your wand to heat the water because you are impatient tonight—you think you have finally realized what you are going to do, and now you will go through with it. You are Slytherin, after all—the hard part is knowing what to do. After that, all you have to do is do it.
Yes, all you have to do it go through with it.
That isn't so hard, is it?
Yeah, right, you snort. Not so hard applies to throwing a snowball, or painting a room. It doesn't apply to acting as though you are still the woman you used to be, or doing the Patronus charm when you can't remember the last time you were happy.
It doesn't apply to poisoning your husband.
You don't much like the sound of those words. Poison. It's such an ugly word, isn't it, but you can't help it, for that is what you are about to do.
You close your eyes for a moment. You could still get out of this, you could still go somewhere, run away. You don't have to do this. You don't have to forfeit everything.
It is a nice dream, but it would never happen. You do have to do this, it is the only way you can be free. It's the only way either of you could be free.
You sigh, and then put the packet into Avery's Black Almond tea that he must have every night before bed. You then grab your White Tea in the one hand, and his in the other, and head up the stairs, to where he waits for you, never knowing that this is the last time he will see you, and vice versa.
It is truly sad, you cannot help but think as you traverse the great, sweeping staircase that leads to the bedroom, that a twenty year marriage can end in such a way. No one will know why you did this—no one will truly care.
They will believe that you were a jealous woman, a horrid and petty wife. You hold your head high. Let them think what they want you think, you think defiantly. It is none of their concern anyway—this is between husband and wife, and ought to remain as such.
You have come to the door of the room, and you pause for a moment, collect your thoughts. Then, you walk into the room, not even bothering to knock. Avery is standing by the bathroom door, in the process of getting into his sleep clothes. You are not startled—it is not as if you have not seen it before. Theodore had come into this world in some way, after all, and Avery's body is sensuous, and majestic. It is nothing to be ashamed of, as you have told him many times, and you tell him now.
He blushes all over his body, another of his traits that you find adorable. You smile at him, and hand him his tea. "I made it the way you like it," you say, "I thought we ought to celebrate the beginning of the end."
He hesitates before walking forward and taking the cup, taking a sip. You track his movements, and then look at the clock. The poison will take ten minutes—enough time for you to explain to him what you have done. He looks at you, unaware of the thoughts that race around your head. "Are you alright, Carissa?" He asks.
You nod. "I am, darling," you say, and then hesitate, unsure of how you wish to phrase this.
He picks up on it (oh, you think, my darling Avery, how can you see all of my insecurities, and none of my faults?) and says to you, "Carissa, dear, you know you can tell me anything."
You agree. "I know." You say, and that statement hangs in the air, heavy as old velvet that has hung in a family's home for generations and is tired. Then, suddenly, you ask him, "Avery, do you want to be in this?"
He studies you, his face a mask. Avery knows perfectly well what you are asking, but he wants you to spell it out for him. "Want to be in what?"
"This," you say, gesturing wildly, painfully aware of the two minutes that has already passed. "This war, this eternal fight between Him and the Light, this life! Haven't you ever wanted to be free of it?"
His eyes go blank, and you are frightened. He went out of his way to have emotion in his face around you—you once told him that it scared you when he didn't. Then he blinks, and the only thing you see in his eyes is love. "Yes," he tells you frankly, "I have only ever wanted to be free of Him, but not for myself, Carissa. I want to be free so that I can love you. Do you understand?" He doesn't expect a response until you have one, and so you sit quietly for four minutes, watching the time run down on the large clock in the back of the room.
"Yes," you say finally. "I do understand. That is why I did what I did." You think that maybe that sentence is vague enough that he will not understand what you did. You want him to die without pain, as if he went to sleep. You do not what him to know.
He doesn't answer you at first. "I know." He finally says, and those two words make your head snap around to where he is sitting, holding out his arms for you to come to him. Avery smiles slightly at the shocked expression on your face. "Did you think you could hide something from me?" He asks you rhetorically. "I know what you did, and I know why you did it."
You crawl over to him, burrowing your face into his chest. "Do you hate me?" You ask in a muffled voice.
You feel, rather than hear, his response. "No," he answers, "I could never hate you. I love you, and I am so grateful to you for doing this. You set me free."
"I love you too," you say, with all the emotions you have kept repressed over the years. You finally let go of the Slytherin that took a hold of your heart when you were eleven, and you tell him exactly how you feel in four simple, yet powerful, words.
You do not speak again. And when he slips away, you smile. You set him free.
Thirty minutes later, the pounding starts. You are not surprised, you expected them to come. You had known even before you started planning this whole escapade that there were hearing traps in your room—you knew that He was listening to every conversation you and Avery ever had. At one point, it bothered you that he could hear you at all times: when you were whispering words of endearment, when you were fighting, when you were making love.
Now, though, it does not matter to you. All that you ever cared about has left this word—even your son could not bring you out of this terrible grayness that you are in.
Perhaps, you consider as Lucius Malfoy himself walks—no, struts, really—into your room, perhaps your Theodore could have once saved you now. If he had been the way he was when he was young, before the thought of Hogwarts or Slytherin or Master ever entered into his mind. If he was that way now, you think, he could have saved you.
But he isn't, and Avery was always the only one who could ever save you.
Lucius is speaking and the gray goes away, just long enough for you to focus on what he says. He has a malicious smirk on his face, and it makes you cold. "We heard everything you said, Carissa Nott." He pauses, waiting for a response that you do not give him. "The Dark Lord wants to see you."
You breathe in the scent of your husband one last time, then stand up, throwing your head and shoulders back; the picture of defiance and regality. "Well, then," you say, "Let's not keep him waiting."
Lucius smiled, just a little, and you suppress a shiver. You don't like his smiles. They are evil and cold, and they hint of the everlasting darkness of hell. "No," He agree, "Let's not."
You walk out the door, the rest of Lucius' group following you, their wands at your back. You have your wand, but you won't use it. It is not the time to fight; the time to fight passed long ago.
Walking at a steady pace—you are Slytherins, not barbarians, after all—your strange group reaches the Apparition point, and Lucius comes to stand next to you as all the others Disapparate.
"No funny business," he warns you. "Take my arm, I will Apparate us." You nod, and take his arm imperially, fully conveying the fact that you are in charge here, and Lucius is just a pawn in your game.
And as the tube of air squeezes you, you smile internally, because that is the truth. This is just a game, and you are just a pawn. Lucius is a pawn, He is a pawn, even Dumbledore and the Golden Boy themselves are a pawn. The Fates play with human lives and emotions, and the sooner you realize that the better it is for you.
You only wish you could have figured it out quicker; maybe then you would have been able to get away from this façade of living that is more hell than life. Maybe you could have saved Avery in a way that did not require poison.
But as you land steadily on your feet in the center of His circle, you shake away those thoughts. You must be strong to be here—you must be Carissa Luella Prewett Nott, the woman who saved her husband. You must not show weakness, the monsters here can sniff it out as thought it were a particularly pungent odor.
"Bow!" Lucius' voice hisses in your ear, even as he does as he told you to do.
"I will not." You say in a clear voice. This draws His attention, and he turns his face towards you, his bright red eyes narrowing at the woman who has the impudence to disrupt this event.
"What will you not, my darling Carissa?" He asks of you, and you hide a smile. He does not know yet what you have done, and so you think that maybe you can play with him a little.
"I will not bow," you answer, "I am free of you. Avery is free of you. All of the House of Nott is free of you."
He smirks, and you gulp internally. He knows, you think. How can he know? The answer comes. Legilimancy; he must have read Lucius' mind. "And what of your son, Theodore?" He asked you.
You steady yourself. What you are about to say will hurt, but it will only hurt to those who don't know your family. You can only hope that your son still is a Nott, just as much as he was when you once told him these words that you are about to say.
"My son is not a true member of the House of Nott," you say, glancing toward Theodore where he stands, his face a mask. You are proud—you taught him that mask. "Mijn zoon zal altijd mijn zijn." Theodore's eyes widen.
In the language of your ancestors, it means "my son will always be mine". You taught it to Theodore when he was young—Avery knew it as well. Your family spoke it in private, and no one else knew it. You catch his eye, and he nods.
He knows what you are saying to him. The time of the glory of the House of Nott is over. When this battle is over, he will take on your maiden name, and the Nott family will fade into the darkness. This is your last time to give him instructions, because you can see Him raising his arm, wand in hand, the words of that lethal curse on his lips. "I love you," you mouth to Theodore.
He dips his head, and you turn to Him, smiling serenely. Now that the end is near, it is not so very scary.
"You will lose." You tell him, sure in your belief that Good will eventually triumph over Evil, and that you have helped it along.
"You are going to hell," he responds.
"Maybe," you say, "But you will be there, too, and that is all I need. To see you burning in Hell is my one true desire."
He sneers, and speaks the words.
As the green light rushes towards you, you have time to say one word. "Avery…" and then it hits you, and all you see is dark.
And then Avery is there, and all is well once more.
The way I picture this, Carissa (the "you") was a Prewitt who was sorted into Slytherin. Her family is related to Molly Weasley's, but they were cousins, not sisters. As for Avery...well, I will admit that I used him at first, but then I really tried to figure out the backstory of him. I don't know if I am going to do more for this couple (I have no problem saying that I really fell in love with them, and Theodore, as well) but if I do, it would be fun, wouldn't it? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought—I really wish to know.
Jayme.
PS—because I know this will come up: this is my story. I deleted it off of my other account, and put it on this one because I just love it so much. But it is mine, don't doubt that.