The candle flame flickered, sending shadows dancing around the room as low grunts and soft moans rose up from the bed in the centre.
His dark hair fell in front of his face as he thrust forward; obstructing his view just enough to fool his inebriated brain into thinking it was her. She let out a sharp hiss of pain as he caught some of her dark red hair in his fist and pulled as he shoved into her again. The hurt in her emerald eyes broke the spell; this desperate street whore he'd picked up on Knockturn Alley may have only looked vaguely similar to Lily, but that emotion was sharp enough, and familiar enough, to torture his damaged soul even further.
"Why couldn't I have you?" he said through gritted teeth, the stench of firewhiskey assaulting his nostrils. "Why wasn't I ever good enough for you?"
"What are you talking about?" she gasped, "I'm right here, aren't I?"
He froze, staring down into her deep green eyes that bore straight back into his own dark pools of self-hatred and resentment. "No," he said hoarsely, pulling away. "You're not."