A/N: Hey folks! This is my first Dramoine fic. This is just the prologue. If it doesn't intrigue you, please don't continue. This is a tale of violence, heart break with a taste of fairytale.


RENASCENCE

Prologue

He was tired.

He had been crouched in this awful-pretzel like position for hours. His head was throbbing painfully, and when he raised his shaking fingers to brush away the flaxen strands that stubbornly fell into his eyes, he saw red. Blood was still lazily dripping from the massive gash on his temple, just above his hairline. Most of it had dried there, the dark crusts hard and itchy against his wound. He was sweating profusely, and he wouldn't have been aware if it were not for his damp shirt that clung to his body like a translucent second skin. It felt like he was going to die now, because the pain of all the crucios had amplified in his body. The horror and disgust of witnessing such a cold-blooded murder churned his stomach. When he hadn't been able to bury the mangled corpse as he was told, he'd become a test-dummy for newly invented curses.

His breathing hitched whenever he saw someone passing by his hidey hole, made his heart palpitate erratically. Though hiding in one of the secret passage ways behind his great aunt Althea was not one of his brightest ideas, but at least he could heal himself in here, before getting torn apart by spells again. But as soon as he'd clambered inside this stone-paneled passage, he'd collapsed like a puppet would if it would be tossed away. It had been hours since then, and he hadn't moved a limb. Instead, his eyes had crashed shut, and he'd been thrown into another nightmare, which, fortunately, wasn't a reality this time. He'd twitched and moaned pitifully, like a helpless child. He'd sobbed, losing his dignity-if he still had it. He'd cried himself to sleep on the cold floor, with great, heaving sobs that shook his whole body.

How could they be so heartless? It hadn't been his fault when he hadn't been able to obey the Dark lord's orders and bury the teacher of his school just like that. There hadn't been much that had remained of her anyway, except her shoulders and head. Nagini had devoured the dead flesh up to satisfaction. He'd been promptly staring away when it had happened, but that hadn't blocked out the wet noises the snake made. Seeing his face, the Dark lord had ordered him to dispose off what was left of the witch intentionally, and he had had no choice but to obey. His superiors-the older Death Eaters had come to check on him after an hour and seeing the progress, they'd made sure that he would never be sane again. Because by now, he'd given up. It was evident that he didn't want to be here, on this foul side of the War. They'd threatened to kill his parents if he had the gall to disobey them. He had no choice anymore. He just wanted this nightmare to end now. He wanted to die, and this time, it was coming to claim him instead of the other way around.

He gasped as pain lanced on the inside of his left arm. He drew his shaking fingers away from the wound on his head and drew up his torn sleeves. The symbol was pointy and darker than ink, standing out against his pale skin. It was taut upon his flesh, embossed across his very being. He gingerly swept his fingers across its burning shape. The Dark Mark had never hurt so much before. That meant the Dark lord was angry.

Fear stabbed him in the chest. He had trouble swallowing a lump that was consistently forming at the back of his throat. His tormentor was summoning him.

He didn't dare heal himself now.

Instead, he staggered to his feet, his humanity and soul breaking and broken, his fate twisting cruelly into the gaping mouth of torture. Tears, unbidden and unceasing, splattered the dusty stone floor. Each step was more than agony. With each step, his heart throbbed painfully. With each step towards the door, he lost his will.

He wanted it to stop.

They'd kill his parents.

He wanted to die.

His heart wouldn't stop beating.

He was a coward.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Sighing compulsively, he wiped away the tears that clung to his lashes and washed his face with the help of a little Aguamenti. He had to get out there sometime, because he figured that someone would've told the Dark lord of his ordeal outside in the gardens. Then he dried himself with a drying charm, dusted his clothes and went out to meet his macabre master.

X-X-X-X-X

It would always be like this. He would regret ever choosing this side. He would be tormented to death. He had always dreamed of a fairytale his parents had weaved for him: growing up in a nice way, getting educated at an elite school, finding a luxury job and getting a beautiful, pureblooded bride. He hadn't seen the torture, the horror coming and tainting his future. Of course not. How could he? He'd believed in something surreal. Now it was too late for him to go back and slap himself awake, from the virtual world he'd been living in.

He was living in constant fear now.

Fear itself, had a plethora of faces.

There was no hope. Nothing.


~No one will retrieve my lost heart
From all these roots, from the fresh-bitter glare
Of the sun multiplied on the water
That's where it lives, the shadow that does not follow me.


Well? If you want me to continue this fic, do review.

~Midnight demonn.