Another gulp of firewhiskey burned its way down your throat. You were an idiot. That was it. That was the only word to describe you. An idiot. You trusted him. You stood behind him. Hell, you even loved him. And all you got for it was burned. He went and turned tail and ran out on you. He went and betrayed everything that you stood for. He was supposed to be fighting with you, not against you.
The damn two-timing bastard. He said he changed. He said he repented. You believed him. You were so stupid to have done so. Whatever happened to your own motto? Constant vigilence. You should have noticed it. You never should have trusted him. You never should have listened to him.
You knew full well what he was. Lying, filthy Death Eater scum. That was all he had been, that was all he would be. But Dumbledore trusted him. Then again, that was always the old coot's mistake. He was too damn trusting. You were always the voice of reason within the Order. If it was up to Dumbledore half of England would be in the Order, and then how could they keep all the information secret, out of Death Eater hands?
You thought he was on your side. But he lied. He stared you right in the eyes and lied to you. And you didn't even realize it. No, that wasn't entirely true. You chose not to realize it. You let your damned emotions get in the way. You let your damned love for him get in the way.
That was the first thing that they taught you in the auror academy. Do not get attached to people. If you do, make sure they're on your side. Emotion clouds judgment. And you let it get in your way. The one person that you ever opened up to went and turned around on you. Went and ran out on you. Went and became a traitor.
You couldn't help but wonder how many soft touches, how many words whispered into your ear had merely been part of the act. You couldn't help but wonder if he'd simply used you. You knew what he was, he was afraid of you, he had every right to be. He knew what you could-what you would-do to him. But he turned things around on you.
You were both there one night. It was shortly after he'd changed sides. Shortly after the Potter's death. You hadn't trusted him then. He gave reports as to where remaining Death Eaters were. Where to find them. And he had stayed, having no place else to go. Molly insisted that he have a room there. That all the Order members were to have a room there. She'd always seen the good in everyone. Worse than Dumbledore. She thought him horribly brave to go around switching sides like that.
You'd been sitting in this same chair, slinging back firewhiskey, same as you were now. You had both eyes then, all of your nose, your leg. You looked a hell of a lot better then. You supposed you could see what he saw in you then. You didn't know what you saw in him. Aside from the way that he matched you drink for drink. Which was an admirable quality. There weren't many that could do that.
He didn't talk though. He always was a taciturn man. The only time you heard him say more than a paragraph at once was when he was lecturing his classes. And then it was an overdone melodramatic affair. But all other times he was lucky to respond monosyllabically. And you didn't know why, but you found that interesting. You found that sexy as hell.
You didn't like to talk either. So here was a man that was sitting across from you, brooding just as much as you were, a man that you had all rights to kill. Or at least drag to Azkaban. You were still active duty then. Not they'd stop you from dragging him in, even now. Now he was a wanted man, now he had a death tied to his name. Before he'd been smart enough to never link himself to any deaths.
But he'd been the first one to speak that night. "Why an auror?" The boy had asked you why you wanted to be an auror. And you had shrugged. It had seemed like the thing to do at the time. Fight, be in the thick of things. You were always the first one to get involved in a brawl at school. But you had gotten in trouble enough times to know that fighting on order was better than fighting against order. There was just something exciting in a good solid duel, a good solid brawl.
"It seemed like the thing to do at the time." You saw the smirk cross his face at your response. "Why a Death Eater?" You asked him, throwing the question back at him. The grin that he had on his face at that was something that would be forever burned into your memory.
"It seemed like the thing to do at the time." The look on his face when you began to laugh hadn't done anything to stop your laughter-if anything, it made it worse. Obviously, whatever reaction he was expecting to get, it wasn't your finding his comment amusing. But you had.
He had a certain something about him that made it easy for you to laugh. Perhaps it was a similar sense of humor. Dry, dark, sarcastic. His humor was rather wicked when the barbs weren't directed in your direction. And even when they were, you found them cute. Amusing.
Love does strange things to people.
But your laughter put him at ease that night. He'd relaxed. Several glasses of firewhiskey had certainly helped some with that relaxation, but you'd seen him before. He was a man you could liquor up to the point of him passing out and there were still things that he would keep secret. He had the sense of mind to know what things to keep quiet, no matter how inebriated he was.
Like his relationship with you. It had been by mutual agreement that it would be kept quiet. You didn't want to be known for associating with a Death Eater-even one that had been vouched for by Dumbedore himself, and he didn't want to be known for associating with an auror, especially not one that had taken out some of his closest friends.
You did not speak of your work. It went unsaid when you were commended for your taking down of Rosier, he had merely commented that the missing chunk of your nose gave you a certain sort of charm. Like a pirate he had said. Grizzled, battered, weatherbeaten. A man of the world. He said it was far from unattractive. When you lost your leg bringing in Bellatrix Lestrange he merely commented about what a nasty piece of work she was. And he hadn't batted an eye-pun intended-when Karkaroff took out yours.
The relationship had been something that had merely existed. Hurried nights clinging to one another after far too many rounds of firewhiskey, and waking up in a mess of limbs in the morning. And you had been foolish enough to believe that those breathy declarations of love in the heat of the moment were real. You had been foolish enough to return them as you lay there, breath returning to normal rhythms in a sweat-soaked bed.
You had thought that there had been emotion behind each caress of his hand. That each time one long finger would trace a path across your cheek, or down the scar on your shoulder, it was a loving gesture. You thought that each time he'd place feather-light kisses across your collarbone that it was somehow indicative of something more. That this wasn't just a relationship born on the back of need, that it was one that had a love involved. What a fool you had been.
You thought that each time his lips brushed yours that that spark that you felt was mutual. That beneath all the layers of secrecy that the relationship hid behind that there was a deeper emotional bond. You thought that each time you would look at each other in an otherwise innocent situation and know that you both had the same thought that it was a sign of deeper emotion. A sign of love.
But he'd always been a master manipulator. He was the puppetmaster, and you were the marionette, he'd pull your strings and you'd react. A simple flick of a single finger would have you springing up to follow him. He was pulling the strings and you were dancing along happily in time to the music. You should have known better than to trust him, but he was just so damn convincing about it.
You should have known that any man that could deal with the other Death Eaters on a regular basis while being a spy for the order had to be a master occlumens, adept at hiding-and if need be creating-emotions. You did know that. You just thought that the love that he would express on dark nights hadn't been something made up solely for the sake of manipulation.
You thought that the regret in his eyes at the end of the Triwizard Tournament had been real. That he was actually sorry, sad even, that he hadn't noticed you to be an impostor. You should have realized it then, that no one who professed love would notice when the one they claimed to love above all others was acting strangely, uncharacteristically. He said that he was so busy with other things, that he thought you didn't want to risk being found out while at Hogwarts, that when you made no move for him, he didn't make one either.
But it was merely a faked reaction, to get you to follow along. So long as he had you eating out of the palm of his hand, he was safe. You still have power over the other aurors. And Shacklebolt trusts your input on others. If you say a man's good, Kingsley will believe you. So long as he had you trusting him, he didn't have to worry about the aurors coming after him. So long as he had you loving him, he would never have to worry about going to Azkaban.
It was genius, really, you had to give him that. He was a master manipulator, able to con his way into your heart. No small feat at all. You never let anyone else pull your strings like you let him. You went against the cardinal rule of being an auror, and he used you. He got what he wanted, and then cut the strings, leaving you limp, broken.
You had defended him to the last. You refused to believe it when you heard it. You never thought he would do that. You thought that he was better than that. You thought he was on Dumbledore's side. And then he went and turned tail, and killed the old coot. And you had been foolish enough to trust him. You'd been foolish enough to love him.
You'd never killed a man before. Not on purpose. You aways preferred to take them in alive. The Kiss was something that was far worse than death. And these scum, they deserved worse than death. But you'd make an exception for him. Not because you want vengeance-that's only a small part of it. But because you still love him. You'd rather see him dead than forced to live an empty hollow life. You're a fool, but then again, only fools fall in love.