A/N: The Death Eater does have an identity, in my mind, but I left it open in the story.

Warning: It's rated T for a reason. Adult content mentioned, but not fully explained. Non-con. It's a bit depressing, too.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never has been, never will be.

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Cold eyes.

Black.

I grimace, shirking back into the wall. Cold fingers lock around my wrists, pinning them to the walls. I try again to Apparate, but nothing happens. I am trapped.

I can almost place the eyes—almost, but not quite. I've seen them before, but I'm not sure where. I don't think that I want to know.

It's safer this way.

My wand is on the floor. I am not. I am suspended several inches above it, by the press of his body and the strength of his hands. There's no method of escape.

My eyes lock on James. He is defending himself meters away, dodging flashes of green light. I feel like crying, or being sick. I do neither.

"I'll take away James Potter's golden girl," a voice hisses in my ear, a breath hot on my neck. "You won't be his flower anymore, will you? You won't be his perfect girl."

I know the voice. I know it, and I recognize it, but I refuse to realize it. I don't want to know. I don't want this to be personal.

I don't think I could take it.

No one notices. They're all battling, fighting. No one sees the one Death Eater pinning the one woman against the wall. No one notices a thing he does.

I refuse to make a sound. I refuse to give him the pleasure of controlling me. I bite down on my lip so hard that it bleeds, but I don't say anything. When he finishes, yanking my robes back down, I am noiseless. When he lets me crumple to the ground, my mouth stays shut.

There are no tears in my eyes as I pick up my wand and throw a hex at the nearest Death Eater who is not him.

I don't say a word for the rest of the battle.

Hours later, at home, I press a kiss to James's cheek, telling him to go to bed without me. I just want a soak in the bath, I say, leaving the bedroom.

I lock the bathroom door behind me. Pulling out my wand, I cast a silencing charm, barely moving my lips. I calmly take off my robes and fold them neatly before placing them in the rubbish bin. I pin my hair up and watch as the bath fills up, frothy pink bubbles spilling over the side. Turning off the tap, I climb in carefully, one leg after the other, and sit down.

I slowly begin to scrub the grime from the alleyway off of my body. My legs, my arms, my face. The sponge slips out of my hand when I get to my wrist.

I let my arm fall to my side, leaning my head back against the edge of the bath. I am acting mindlessly, thoughtlessly. My eyes flutter shut, and I slowly slide beneath the water. All is silent as the water envelopes my face, shutting out the rest of the world.

I stay beneath the warm water, even when my chest throbs, even when my lungs hurt. It's when I start taking in mouthfuls of water I realize what I am doing. I finally resurface, gasping horribly for air and inhaling painfully.

I want to cry.

I don't.

I want to scream.

I can't.

I stand up, letting the water run off me. I just stand there, for minutes, maybe hours. The bubbles have all disappeared when I reach for a towel, wrapping it tightly around me. I sit on the floor and watch the water swirl down the drain.

I'm not sure what time it is when I open the door. It doesn't matter. I silently creep out and reach for a pair of pyjamas. Dropping the damp towel to the floor, I slip into them, buttoning the shirt to the top.

I slide beneath the covers of our bed. James is asleep. His breathing is sound and steady. I love him for that. I love him for being steady.

Ignoring my side of the bed, I crawl over to his. He's facing the wall, lying on his side. Carefully, I slide one arm around him and spoon my body against his. He makes a small noise in his sleep, and I gently press a kiss on his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I fall into a dreamless slumber. I decide the fact it is potion-induced doesn't matter.

The next morning, James smiles at me. I smile back. It's only a little bit forced. I'm grateful for that.

Dumbledore calls on us that night. He tells us that the Death Eaters are attacking again. I grab my wand and hold James's hand as we Apparate there.

As I fight, I never look anyone in the eye. He seems to take the same courtesy. He never meets my eyes again, even without the mask.