Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I don't own the Marauders.

Chapter 1: Till death do us apart

A bang was heard as a metal bar door was rudely opened.

"Get up." – A rough voice commanded. When no signs of moving or obeying the order were shown the man walked in the cell, his white mask contrasting with the dark walls and the gloomy, cold atmosphere, and hauled the figure off the floor and dragged it from the cell down the dark corridors. Slightly opening her eyes, the girl quickly closed them again. She knew where they were going. It was like that every day. No point of struggling against the inevitable, was there?

The man stopped in front of big double oak doors and opened them. Walking in carefully he stopped in the middle of the room and dropping the girl to the ground he bowed down. Up ahead there was a big stone throne-like chair. There was a little step at the bottom and the armrests were incrusted with snakes. Eyes of emerald, they were slowly writhing and slithering onto the stone. The figure sitting on it slowly stood up while the cloaked man took his place among the circle of Deatheaters. He was not wearing a mask so you could see his dark hair and red eyes. Approaching the figure lying on the floor he lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. The moment he touched her visions flooded her mind. Visions of people being tortured and killed and having their entrails… she squeezed her eyes tight trying to get those visions out of her head but in her weakened state it was hard. Sensing her distress, Voldemort laughed.

"Like what you see, little one?" – He asked with a wicked smile in his face.

"Like anyone can enjoy being in a lunatic's mind." – came her bitter remark.

"Crucio." – A jet of light that shot out of Voldemort's wand hitting her and then the pain came. It felt like the sensations of flaming bones and a head that was split open without any sedation. As the spell ended she tried to get her breathing in control. Show no weakness. That's the rule she's lived with for the past month. A sign of weakness always brought satisfaction for Voldemort and his Deatheaters. And seeing them satisfied is the last thing she wanted. Looking up from the floor she stared into those red eyes, her own burning with determination. It seemed to unnerve him but none the less his mouth stretched into a grimace of a smile as he cast an Incarcerous spell on her. Her arms were restrained by chains that hooked to the ceiling hauling her to her feet and being the only thing holding her upright.

"Want to rethink that last statement? Better yet want to rethink your answer to my question? Will you, Alexis?"

Lifting her chin from her chest the girl gave Voldemort her most malicious look as she gave her answer. Her "no" was the last coherent thing she was able to say before she was hit with another Cruciatus curse and she involuntarily screamed.

As I was thrown back into my cell I felt my head crack as it hit the wall. My hands were shackled to the wall and then I was left alone. You know, sometimes, after another one of those "torture session" I look at the moist stone walls of my Hell Cell and wonder – what did I do to deserve this? Did I really? If I didn't why is it happening to me? And sometimes when I close my eyes I see storm-grey ones looking back at me and that goofy smile… that rough yet gentle voice telling me to hold on, to never give up. But how can I? I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Sane or Insane? Am I either? How can you truly tell? The sane knows he's sane – everybody tells him. The insane thinks he's sane despite what everybody says. Who's right? Who's wrong? Or maybe the right question is who really 'sees'? Is it rational thought that sees the truth because of the facts? Or do you have to loose all rationality to see what's below the surface? Is it sanity or insanity really? Is it rational or irrational? Some say that rational is the way. That fact equals truth. But what about feelings? You can't see them. You feel them? Are they insanity because they violate rational thinking? Or do they make you sane? Can they make sane out of the insane? Or do they make sane people insane? How do you really know? Do they kill you?

Death. Such a small word yet so many fear it.

Death. The end. That's the meaning to most.

Death. Life. For some the difference is from here to heaven.

Death. But what do you leave behind you?

Death. It will befall everyone, but life – not everyone lives. Not truly anyway.

Death is what awaits me. But I'm not afraid. Because I die so others can live.

Death. No, not the end, but rather the beginning. Just the next big adventure.

Death. What exactly is it? What happens to the soul that does not become a ghost? Does it fade? Does it sour aimlessly? Or does it stay as a print of some kind? Is it true if there are still people you, you can somehow stay with them?

Death. Hell. Heaven. Three words that go together. Three words that summaries the whole afterlife.

Death. A person. A force. What is it?

Death. Friend. Foe. Is tit really any of those two? Deathly hallows. Every kid in the magical world knows the story. Does it prove death is a person?

Death. But death is not the scariest thing. Living is scarier, when it has no meaning.

Death. Some people live, only to die. Some people die, only to live.

Death. But it's not important. It's what you leave behind that matter.

Death. It's a choice.

Death. Blood. Torture. Or… is it the other way around?

Death. To die is a relief for me.

Death. A friend I welcome.

Death. A hope, for it keeps me going.

Death. Every Cruciatus curse puts me so much closer to my salvation.

Death. But they won't let me.

Death. But should I give into it?

Death. If I give in will they forgive me? Forget me? Will He?

Death. Lost or Salvation?

Help. I'm asking for help. Somebody help me.

Is it worth living in a world where everything is dead?

Is it worth to be different when everybody hates different?

Is it worth dreaming of the truth but encountering only lies?

Is it worth crying on the inside while putting a smile on the outside?

Death.

Should I ask for an arm to show me the way?

Should I utter my suffering or can it be seen?

Should I choose to cry instead of not breath?

Should I create an illusion or become one with the lies?

Life.

Life without words, without feelings. Life in front of people, but tears behind them.

Lonely life, incomplete life.

Life created.

Life destroyed.

I live while everything around me dies, it doesn't breath. Only I do.

Does it help? Am I great? Am I weak?

And does it matter that I'm alive only in words?

Does it matter what I say when in front of me is a mirror, and I can't see an interlocutor just a shadow, only a shadow…

Does it matter that I'm alive when all I feel is pain?

Do my words have any meaning when no one is here to hear them?

Do my tears have any meaning when no one is here to brush them away?

Do my smiles have any meaning when a mere insult can break them?

Do feelings have any meaning when the whole world is deceived?

Death.

It's everybody's choice, your choice, maybe even mine…

There are choices in your life that make you, that set the course of who you're going to be. Sometimes they're little. Sometimes they're not. Bottom line is, even if you see them coming you're not ready for the big choices. No one asks for their lives to change, not really. But it does. The big choices are going to come, you can't help that. It's what you do afterward that counts. That's when you find out who you are.

Let me show you what I mean.

I want to thank a friend of mine, Nina, for helping me with the 'philosophy' of this chapter. She has my gratitude. As for my other story I'm not sure when I'm going to start with it again for I have lots of ideas for this one and I'm focused more on it.

I hope you enjoyed this.

Please Read and Review!