A/N: Hi, all! This was written for Round 8 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction competition. I, as beater 2 of the Caerphilly Catapults, had the assignment of writing an AU that takes place two years after Voldemort rose to power. My optional prompts were:

3. (word) moonlight

5. (dialogue) "Who cares? We could be dead in a couple of hours."

For judging purposes, the final word count of this story is 989.

Soldered

Even the sound of her wails can't drown out the voice. It's in my ears, my throat, the pit of my chest, and I've lost track of how long it's been there. All I know is when it started.

When it happened.

The curse had come out of nowhere, had hit me straight in the chest and clung to every tissue of every muscle as I knocked and convulsed against the stone floor. Until that moment, I had always assumed that, somehow, your mind went blank when you were being tortured, that it would turn into a large blur when you tried to remember it later.

Oh, how wrong I was. Even now, I remember every moment of it. The clenching of my tendons, the tightening of my throat as I choked on my own bile. It went on for ages, until my scalp was raw from beating against the tiles, until my arms were burned by their coarse surface. And then the voice showed up, right after I felt my mind rip in two.

I never thought that was something you could feel.

But it is.

The voice reminds me of that every day.

Through my sessions with the Carrows, through Jane Doe's screaming down the hall.

It always reminds me.

— — — — —

My cell is one of the few with a window still intact. Four years ago when the mass breakout hit, the Ministry decided to just brick everything up that had been damaged, which was the majority of the perimeter cells. Now, out of everyone in Azkaban, I get to be the one with a moonlight view.

Lucky me.

It seems to reflect off of the dingy walls, and my scars ache with every moment. I can tell they're inflamed—they always were when they hurt like this. Fleur used to tell me it was hardly noticeable, but I knew she was just being kind, because that's what Fleur was—kind.

She's dead.

"I know."

You killed her.

"I know."

And it's silent again. It's been that way recently. The voice only chimes in when it feels like I've forgotten something, like how miserable I should really be. My face clenches in pain again, and I wonder how the damned thing thinks I could have forgotten.

"I miss home."

Home is gone.

"I know. I could make a new one."

The dementors are coming.

"There have been plenty of escapes in the past. I could do it."

You don't deserve it.

"I know."

They'll kill you.

"Who cares? We could be dead in a couple of hours anyway."

I can't die.

It's getting colder. I can feel my neck tighten and my scars throb across my face. The moonlight is disappearing, thank Merlin.

Who are you to think of Merlin?

I try to swear, but I don't think I achieve it.

— — — — —

He's standing above me. His wand is drawn, and this time, I'm the one screaming.

My shoulder blades dig into the floor. My shirt is gone, and Amycus is burning me again. I don't need to look down to know what the welt says.

Look.

"No."

Amycus' wand hand stills. I watch as his concentration breaks and a smirk screws up his lips.

"Did you say something, Wolfy?"

I don't respond—I don't speak to him. I never have.

"You know," he drawls, kneeling down beside me. He presses his fingers into the blisters along my chest, and I take in a shuddered gasp. "Your sister had quite a bit to say when I did this to her."

My mind blanks. For the first time since it happened, even the voice is quiet.

All I see inside my head is Amycus Carrow's head on a stake, but none of my body can move. Damned magic.

"I had to train her to be quiet, though," he whispers. "Screaming was a bit more frowned upon at Hogwarts, if you know what I mean."

Every bone in my body aches with urgency. I can taste acid in the back of my throat. I can feel my scars; I'm feral.

But then he stands up to resume his work, and I've missed another nonexistent chance..

The voice is back.

— — — — —

Jane Doe is screaming down the hall. It's Ginny. It's Fleur. It's Mum.

You let it happen.

"Shut up."

You practically handed them over.

"Shut up."

But only after you gave them your infant.

My throat erupts into a bellow that even I don't recognize. It's branded in my mind: running from Hogwarts, hiding everywhere, nowhere. Months of missed sleep. Mum crying, Ginny going back. Fleur as she grew, the baby inside her. Her curves sharpening with malnutrition even as her stomach protruded. The tiny being that was too small to make it, but somehow did.

Until the Death Eaters came.

You'll never escape that.

"I know."

— — — — —

I can hear them crossing the corridor. One enters the cell beside mine. The other approaches my gate.

I watch as he opens it, his damned smirk and his wand-twirling fingers lifting each latch. I see the mist approaching behind him, can feel the cold seeping through the stone. I hate double sessions.

So did your sister.

I make a split-second decision. I rush the gate.

It opens just as I spring forward. Carrow's wand flies out of his hand, and I finally ignore that damned voice—I thank Merlin.

Amycus cries out as my knuckles meet his eyelids. I can feel him crumpling beneath me just moments before it happens.

On one end: green light shoots from a wand.

On another: the fog descends.

I don't know which one hits me first.