Prologue

Searing pain shot through his entire body as his legs gave out from under him and his knees connected to hard ground. The Cruciatus curse he'd suffered only moments before had done more damage than he certainly cared to admit. Groaning, he buried his fists into the dried grass, urging the pain to dim. Suddenly he froze. A long object met his fingertips and he knew within seconds what it was. Unable to help himself, his eyes closed as he desperately prayed for the thing to be something, anything else than what he knew it to be. Yet, as his fingers slipped up and down the wooden stick, his heart fell deeper into despair. The soft, polished wood accented with carved vines and leaves at the handle. Lightweight, slender and yet sturdy all at once. He knew this wand by heart.

Forcing his tired eyelids open, he frantically searched the gory scene that lay before him. Here was her wand, amongst the terrible mixture of blood and mud. Yet, where was she? Was she lying amongst the fallen, both Deatheater and Aurors alike? Was she injured, unable to call out him?

A sudden image of her covered in her own blood and twitching in pain flashed through his mind. He couldn't stop the groan that erupted from deep within his chest, brought on by his damned imagination. Despite the throbbing pain, he shoved himself off the blood-soaked grass, his shaky fingers dragging the wand up as he went. His walk was staggered, a far cry from his usual sweeping, intimidating stride that alone had instilled a sense of dread in every student of Hogwarts for nearly twenty years. He favored his left leg more, limping as quickly as he could over fallen bodies and gore. Groaning, he clutched his right shoulder, only then realizing that it was severely dislocated. The muscles around the joint twitched and began to spasm, as though they themselves were crying out in pain. Yet, he was no stranger to such agony. Gritting his teeth, the man began to scan the school grounds that had, in the space of an hour, become a hellish battlefield. His black eyes searched purposely over the land riddled with the remains of the dead. The sight filled his heart with horror, not because feared his own demise or that he was taken by seeing the corpse of a friend or ally. He had too few of those. The true reason he allowed such terror to nearly overcome him, the only reason he had come back to the grounds, was that she was here, somewhere. He knew it even before he's discovered the familiar wand.

Stumbling down upon the ground, his legs still too weak, he cried out inadvertently when the force of the fall aggravated his shoulder. It was though a large amount of broken glass rested just under his skin. The pain seemed to cut and slice into him with every move he made. Taking in a ragged breath, he choked slightly and coughed up upon the ground. He peered down at the dark grass, grimacing at the sight of his own blood and saliva. The curse truly had done a lot more damage than he'd allowed himself to think, and apparating back to the school grounds probably didn't help. Damn, bloody werewolf, he thought.

Grunting, the man pushed himself up to his knees. Tiny beads of sweat trickled down from his brow, and the man blinked away the salty sting when they connected with his eyes. He bit his lip, forcing the pain away from his mind. When his eyes had cleared and he was able to see again, the man looked around him once more. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. He scrambled up with renewed force and bolted across the field. The sight of a glowing pale arm jetting out of a mass of billowing black robes had sent him racing to its side. The moon above made its smooth skin somehow shine with a silver, almost ethereal light. That glow had seemed to call to him somehow, beckoning him to look towards the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. Falling upon his knees once more, the man instantly recognized the material as one of his own long, full black cloaks. In that second of recognition, all hope that it wasn't her underneath was quickly faded. His blood-stained fingers swiftly yanked the robes away, his heart constricting and a short, pained gasp erupting from his chest.

Her creamy skin seemed completely untouched, unmarred by any strike or blow. Her eyes were gently closed, as if she were simply sleeping as she did by his side so many nights before this one. The man half-expected them to flutter softly and two chocolate orbs to look into his own midnight black. They didn't. Nor did she sigh and move closer into his hand as he held the side of her face.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, as if commanding her. "Open your eyes and look at me. Look at me!"

She didn't. The man's hands began to tremble, surging with an anger and despair the likes of which even he had never experienced before. His eyes burned a black fire. Suddenly grasping her shoulders in his hands, he shook her frantically. Her head lobbed up and down, the curls shaking wildly from his desperateness.

"LOOK AT ME, DAMN IT!"

His guttural growl was met with only silence. The man looked down upon her, his features desperate and enraged only moments before quickly turned to despair. He collapsed onto her, his head buried against the valley between her breasts. Tremors shook his entire body, a pain worst than any Cruciatus curse tearing him apart. It was though a knife had struck his heart and was being slowly, agonizingly twisted around and around.

"You can't leave me," he groaned against her. "Not again."

Tears formed in his eyes, but he did not weep. They merely blurred his vision. He wouldn't allow himself the indulgence. No dead men where allowed such things. The man had been dying for years and in a moment, that very night, he'd finally lost his life. Indeed, he'd signed his death warrant, and hers it seemed, nearly nineteen years before.

He wasn't sure how long he was there, clutching her fallen form. Days could have passed unnoticed. His fingers slowly stroking her silken tresses, wrapping her curls tightly around his fingertips and letting them pop back into their shape. He'd done it many times before, when she still had life in her. She was gone, and yet, he wouldn't let go.

He sensed the Dark Lord's summons before he felt the burning sting upon his left forearm. He clenched his fists as they were buried deep in her hair. Pushing himself up on his arms, he stared down at her. So beautiful, he thought. The man placed his hand on the side of her face, his palm cradling her cheek as he softly rubbed her full lips with his thumb. Then he bent down and captured her lips in his own. With a shock, he realized they were still warm. This discovery made him gasp against her lips, his brow creasing in his renewed despair. Breaking apart from her, he was forced to turn away, his eyes squeezing shut as his agony once again tore into him. He panted, his breath coming out in shaky puffs. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to her, unable to look at her face, at her lips. He wrapped the black cloak around her once more leaving her head uncovered. Collecting her in his arms, he cried out at the pain of his dislocated shoulder as he began to carry her off in the Forbidden Forest. Her head slumped backwards, bouncing slightly because of his limp.

After a pained trek through the woods, he suddenly, he came to a clearing where sat a dilapidated shack that seemed to shift and move on its own. Sweat was now pouring down his face, but he forced away any thought of pain or anything from his mind. His face became a blank slate, expressionless and aloof.

"I am here, my Lord."