Author's Notes:

Thanks to Social Loner for being a great beta!

It was a jet of light, and it was green. It was bright green, and for an instant I didn't even realise what it was. I just watched, horrified, as the colour seemed to burn into my eyes and blind me, but at the same time I could clearly see her fall. Without thinking, without understanding, I felt myself collapse as she did, a feeling of pain welling up inside me as I watched her fall to the ground, dead.

Then, a second later, without thinking, I had jumped up and was running. I sent Killing Curses all around me, because I knew she would have wanted me to, but at the same time I didn't care. I didn't care if it hit someone from the Order or a Death Eater or a student. All that mattered was that she would have wanted me to. She would want nothing more than for me to kill as many as I could.

But I stopped. I couldn't speak anymore as I neared her body. I looked at her dark hair and her face, calmer than it had ever been during life. No, that wasn't true. I clearly remembered another time when her face had been so calm, but, shaking my head, I stopped thinking of that time. That time that had been so happy for me, but I knew it must have been awful for her.

I was on my knees, and as I looked into her face all I could see was a green tinge. The moment of her death was too clearly etched into my mind; it was a second that had lasted years.

I stared at her pale skin and shadowed eyelids, and remembered that her features had once been so beautiful. I remembered again that distant day, but I forced my mind away from it, because I remembered her face looking just as dead then as it did now.

Maybe I shouldn't have been dwelling on the past, but how couldn't I? The past was all I had, and I knew that more clearly than I had ever known anything. As I sat beside her I knew that there was no future for me. That without her, I was nothing. There had never been anything besides her.

I slipped into a memory:

She sits in front of me, young – just out of Hogwarts. I look at her clothes and see that she's still wearing Slytherin colours. I smile, amused. But then her eyes gleam as she tells me about Death Eaters. She describes the torture, the killing of Muggles and Mudbloods, the dream of pureblood supremacy. Then she tells me about Him, the Dark Lord, who thought of it all. Her entire face is changed: she's smiling maniacally and her eyes are soft with some emotion. And I am amused again, because I think she has a crush on him, a crush that will go away.

It was because of her I became a Death Eater.

I forced my mind away from the memory.

I ripped my eyes away from her, only for a moment, as I realised that she wouldn't want me to sit next to her. That she would want me to kill for her. I stared around, just in time to see the Dark Lord dying with another burst of green light. The colour… I couldn't have described it, but I knew there was something to that colour. I could see it in the Dark Lord's face as I looked at him, dead. And I could see it in the few bodies scattered around. I could see it in a young boy's face. He was sobbing next to another body, one that looked remarkably like him. But I knew it was the boy's fate to die that day. And I knew – more clearly than I had ever known anything – that I would be the one to cause it.

I sent the jet of light from my own wand, not even stopping to think that he was doing nothing, nothing except sitting there, mourning who I supposed was his brother. All I knew was that I needed to see the green light again, but I could feel that terrible anguish grip my soul as I watched him die as well. Because I wasn't seeing him. I was seeing her, falling so gracefully.

But my mind shifted back to the present as I heard a scream. Was it his name, perhaps? Was his name Dennis? All I knew was that he had been suffering the way I was, and that he was better off dead, as I would have been better off dead. I stared at her face again, unable to stop the memory from flowing into my mind.

She is beautiful, and she is marrying me. I can barely stand as I look at her, but I suddenly notice the expression on her face. It is tired and unhappy. As the wedding continues, her eyes look dead. And I remember how her black eyes always look when she is staring at the Dark Lord. She is happy with Him, and alive. But with me – and anywhere away from Him – she is dead.

I considered that maybe it was better that she died. It was good that she wasn't separated from Him even in death. With only me should would never have been happy. I don't think she would have lived if He died. I stared into her face, ignoring the greenish tinge again.

I was again struck with the knowledge of how absolutely unimportant I was to her. I had known it forever, but it never stopped me from loving her.

For the first time since I had come over, I touched her. My fingers swept lightly over her face, as I tried to memorise the feel of her skin as much as I kept trying to recall her appearance before today, before Azkaban, before she had married me. She had never loved me, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was lying there. The scene of that red-haired woman killing her flashed through my mind endlessly, and I could see the green of the Killing Curse in front of me as I unconsciously recalled what I knew was by far the worst experience of my life.

I felt something in my eye: something strange and unfamiliar. But I couldn't stop it as a drop of moisture fell onto her face.

One sweep of my fingertip and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. I glanced over to the boy I had killed, and I wished I were in his place. I wished I were dead like him, so I wouldn't have to deal with this pain – this unending, terrible pain. And these memories, these awful memories. But even as I thought that, another memory came to me.

It is a normal day, a normal Death Eater meeting. I look across at her, and she is staring at the Dark Lord. Her eyes are shining in that familiar way, but all of a sudden I realise what that expression is. I know instantly that it isn't just loyalty. I glance down at her hand, and see her emerald engagement ring – that inescapable sign that she is marrying me soon. And as my eyes go back to her face, her eyes travel down to the ring as well, and her face falls. She looks resentful, bitter. And I know why. I know she's not in love with me – she's in love with Him.

It was my worst memory. I couldn't stand to relive it. It was nearly as bad as this experience – as watching her die.

I sat next to her, holding her hand for what seemed like years as all the best and worst points of my life flashed before my closed eyes, especially the most recent occurrence of her death.

I began to breathe harshly, feeling the torturous pain all throughout me. It felt worse than the Cruciatus Curse or being in Azkaban. Because it felt so real, so extreme. I knew that I had no life anymore. I knew that my life had ending the moment that jet of green light had killed her.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I didn't bother to look up. He were saying something, his voice harsh, but I didn't need to listen to understand what was happening. I knew that there was only one place where I could be going.

I opened my eyes and stared at her one last time. The voice was becoming insistent, but I still couldn't understand. Another one of my tears fell onto her own cheek, and I didn't bother to brush it off. As I was being pulled away, I watched the tear fall slowly down her face until it disappeared, leaving a trail of moisture in its place.

I closed my eyes momentarily, and turned around. I began to walk with whoever was next to me, and I didn't look back.

The next few days passed just as slowly as the second it took when my wife died. They were days that consisted of memories and living in the past, and I couldn't pay attention to the present. I was only vaguely aware of the trial that sent me to Azkaban, and it seemed they were merely whispering when they mentioned the boy I killed; I could barely hear. A part of me wanted to speak and tell them he was better off dead – as I would have been – but I couldn't.

As I stood in front of the prison that was set to hold me for ten years, I looked up at it. Before my vision cleared, I expected to see the sinister, gray place that it had once been. When I was there last time…

My wife and I are standing in front of the prison we're sent to for torturing the Longbottoms, and I look up at it. I can only see a terrible place that I knew held the worst creatures known – dementors. But I look at my wife, and she is grinning maniacally. I ask her softly if she is happy to be here, and she replies, "I'm here for Him." It hits me, like it has so many times, that she is in love with Him, but every time it hurts just as much. I know I was never meant to be a Death Eater like she was. But I look at her again, and wish I have her reason for living. I can't help but want the Dark Lord to come back and save her.

As I stared up at the same building, it was no longer grey. It seemed to be covered with a greenish haze, and I knew clearly that this was my death – that here I would stop living.