CHAPTER 1

They say he went mad, in the end.

He did. In a way.

Being forced into a war you don't belive in and then being shunned by scioety because of said war isn't exactly healthy.

It all stopped, the crashing, churning inside his head, when she looked at him. They were nothing, small gestures she extended to everyone in her path. But that's what made them so special, she acted like he was normal, another face, passing by.

An almost-friendly smile as she passed. Or a nod as she disappeared into the flames of the floo. That time she gave him an extra coffee that she had gotten for an absentee workmate. When he first came to work at the ministry, she shook his hand. Just like that, like it wasn't repulsive to most people, to touch the hand of a death-eater.

It was enough, those simple gestures. To remind him he was still human, had a future without what he had done hanging over him. She was kind, kinder than the ones who pointed and sneered, whispered about him. No, even after all the things he had done to her, at school, in the war, she still smiled. She shook his hand and engaged in short, awkward, yet mutually understanding conversation.

And then she was gone. Just like that.

One, single, hateful, old-fashioned, prejudiced person, and she was gone.

They say she got jumped outside her home. She wasn't killed with a Avada Kevada, no, that would be quick, easy, painless. This was brutal. This was savage. This was inhumane. This was undeserving.

They stabbed her, clubbed her on the head, so she was alone. Dying in that alley with nothing but gray sky and the dirty, blood-stained, London puddles to look at. How she must have felt, what she must have been thinking.

He hates them, if he even gets a whiff of who did it, he'll do the same, but longer. Harder. That's what they deserve, a long, lasting death and then forever in hell. He will meet them there, eventually - but until then, he'll try to hunt them down, give them the death they've rightfully earned.

It's not until he delves his search into the pure-blood circles that he finds her. It takes months, attending party after party and restoring the Malfoy name. He's lucky, he's got an easy, charming manner, if you just look past his broken eyes. People are quick to accept his kind of money. So they did.

And he listens and asks and eventually, eventually, finds out:

Alecto Carrow.

Alecto Carrow.

That's her name, the woman who killed the only living person that treated him like might have a heart.

He relishes her screams, he really does. Some might say that it's sick, to enjoy the pain of others. He doesn't, some people's pain is deserved, he reminds himself. And she's definitely deserved it.

He makes her beg for forgiveness, and then as soon as she does, he makes her beg more. He makes her apologise until she can't get the words out. But it still doesn't quench the anger, the rage. It's only when she's a broken, shivering, whimpering mess that he comes to a solution. It's ironically on the floor of his Drawing Room, he thinks that's a nice touch.

She will die in the same way she did.

"Alecto," he calls in a haunting, singing voice, "Guess what?" He steps closer, sitting back on his haunches. She only cries some more, then her whimpers turn to growls, and she jerks upwards, biting and clawing at him. He sent her backwards with a swift kick to the chest. She screams out in pain. he comes to stand over her, sending a well-directed boot into her ribs.

"Oh, Alecto, I was gonna let you die quickly," he lies, voice almost-sad, she only sobs harder.

"Plea…" He cocks his head, "please...please.." she manages to whisper.

"Oh, Alecto. You certainly shouldn't be saying that to me, and God won't hear you. Not after what you've done." He admires the coldness, hardness in his voice. He almost sounds like his father….No. he's not his father. He's not. He pushes those thoughts away, focusing on his prey. His father was cruel and violent without sense. He has a reason, this isn't because of prejudice or hate...well, not hate from blood.

She really is a mess. Her dull hair is encrusted and caked in blood, it's pulled back from her face in a weak hairband seconds away from snapping. One eye is big and puffed up, swollen closed and coloured a dark, prune purple. The other is crusty and stained with dried blood from a cut from her eyebrow. She also has a cut to her forehead that dribbles blood down one side of her face. He's pretty sure her nose is broken, bruised and crooked. Her lip is also split, and a few of her teeth broken and bleeding inside her mouth, staining her teeth a gruesome red.

That's not the worst.

He mangled her finger on both hands. using a rare, little-known spell that mimed the actions of a crushing hydraulic press did the job well, he found it quite effective. After that he obliterated her knees with sledgehammers to the kneecaps, that had been an very enjoyable hour. Another spell tore off her fingernails in the most painful, drawn-out way possible.

"Alecto, Alecto," he pauses, circling around her like a shark, "You do know why you're here, don't you?"

"I...I...killed that... mudblood bitch," she spits, blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth.

A sudden flame of pure, violent, unthinking anger and rage seizes him. The rational part of his brain takes a backseat, his emotions driving. His rage, more specifically.

This isn't going to end well, for her.