Unmarked
I did not expect him to mourn me. It was not within his nature. But I saw that my death effected him, much more than even he himself knew.
Very few of his followers knew about me and those who did, never saw me. I was a phantom, a shadow, the Death Eater's myth. To this day, I am painted with every brush imaginable.
Some say I was a Pure Blood child, used as a pawn to gain favour.
Others, that I was merely his whore.
But their common thread is that
I.
Was.
His.
He never Marked me. He left my skin untainted.
The Mark was, after all, for servants, for those beneath him. I was not, on any such level. Quite surprisingly, he viewed me as an equal.
And when the Dark Lord sees you that way, it is the greatest of all honours.
I was the only one, without question, who was allowed to challenge his views, his ideas. He told me that it made him stronger, although I was never quite sure what he meant by it.
I told him not to trust Snape, that a man in love was quick to turn.
I wish he had listened to me.
I would watch the Battle of Hogwarts with half-hearted disgust. I had known it would come to this, a large display of power, with blood shed and his hallowed ground torn apart. But by that time he had grown far beyond the man who I had known and loved. He was hardly a man any longer.
He became ever more obsessed with immortality, when his Mistress was exposed to the green light of a wand.
The only thing I disagreed with, was the slaughter of the children.
He only ever kissed me once.
It was nothing ostentatious, nothing degrading. Just a kiss.
That was the day I died.
And don't worry. I can see the poetry in that.
I believe, had his plans come to fruition, he would have turned me into something that resembled a Queen. I do not know what he would have done with me once my looks faded.
I think perhaps he would have had me killed anyway.
On September 23rd 1980, I stumbled across two men trying to coerce another into working with them. I stepped in and argued. Wands were drawn.
One wore his hair long and reminded me of Bellatrix. The other had thick lensed glasses on his nose and had an arrogant demeanour.
When they learned of my reverence for my love, things escalated rapidly. The arrogant man believed me insane but the other had heard whispers of me from his brother.
We duelled.
I did not expect him to mourn me. It is not within his nature. But when he found me, lifeless, my soul torn from my body, he was effected far more deeply than even he himself knew.
Some say I was a pawn, others that I was his whore.
But their common thread remains the same.
That I was his.
