A/N and Disclaimer: I own none of this. Sorry, gotta keep this A/N short; it's late here!

Chapter 4: Stirrings in the Night

Declare this an emergency
come on and spread a sense of urgency
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end
of the world
and it's time we saw a miracle
come on, it's time for something biblical
to pull us through
and pull us through

-- Apocalypse Please, Muse

The Room of Requirement is cold. It could be warm if I wanted it to be, but I prefer to be numb; a rock, unfeeling. I breathe in deeply when I enter the room, welcoming the sight of the bust with the crown, and the books, and the unorganized manor everything's just been placed here. It calms me, as if assuring me that I'm doing the right thing.

The bust looks at me, as if asking me whether or not I should kill the mudblood. I stare back at it, contemplating the idea. What's one more person? Especially one that deserves to die… After all, if killing Dumbledore requires me to kill a mudblood, what of it? After all, it's not a crime to kill a mudblood; their kind should be all killed anyway!

It shouldn't matter to the world. Just to me, a sneaky voice comments. I quickly banish the thought, but can't help but think, what have I become? I answer the question easily; I've become a protector of the peace, someone who is trying to make the world a better place. At any cost.

The bust stares at me now, as if acknowledging my decision. It thinks for a moment, and it nods. I blink in astonishment; a bust nodding? I shake my head slightly, and figure that it's just part of the room's magic.

I strut out to the corridor, again, welcoming its cold. "Ahh," I moan, lounging against a wall. I then remember that I have class, and head off to my room to do what I do best: plot.

As this is my first kill, I want to make it simple; no spells, no complications. I grab a butter knife from the small kitchenette, and aim my wand at it. I transform it into a dagger with the Dark Mark at the hilt. I twist my wrist, swishing the blade this way and that, trying to gage how heavy it is. I throw it at the door, as if trying to vent something, but, in truth, I don't know what it is I'm doing. I feel as if I'm in a lucid dream, as if none of this is happening. I move towards the door in an attempt to free the blade from the door, but feel as if I'm swimming through the air. It's strange, this feeling. I can only imagine that it's something my conscious has thought up of, but I refuse to yield. I know my path, and nothing can stop me from following it.

I make it to the door, and pull out the knife. It dissolves in my hand. I stare at in shock, thinking perhaps I didn't perform the spell correctly, but then, the dust it created comes back to form the same dagger. What's happening?! Am I going insane? No, I refuse to think that. I may doubt much, but not that. Or else I shall lose myself. Or have I already?

I give my head a little shake, as if to dislodge the thought, and then stare at the dagger again. It glints at me, as if winking, telling me that I'm doing the right thing. I stuff it through my belt. I don't need reassurance though; I already know I'm doing this for the greater good. And as for a conscience, I don't need that either. The way to move forward is to have no feeling; and I'm willing to sacrifice that.

The day goes on as I curl up on a chair and close my eyes, falling into a restless sleep. I don't know why I'm not sleeping on my bed, but somehow, it doesn't feel right. Neither does the knife in my belt.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I wake with a start, not knowing where I am, what I'm doing. I take in a great gulp of air, and then release it, trying to calm down. After all, I am probably the most dangerous thing in this castle. I shiver in the cold, and pull a cloak on. I chuckle darkly, thinking about how cliché it is to kill someone while wearing a cloak.

The laugh helps me, reassures me, and I know. I know that there is no doubt, I must do this. I walk slowly towards the door, knowing that once I reach it, there's no going back.

The doorknob twists easily; I see my distorted reflection in the gold knob, and watch as a smirk lights up my features. I run a hand through my hair, smoothing it back, and brushing it out of my face.

The door swings open easily as the doorknob twisted easily. All of them making no attempt to stop me.

The corridors, as I expected, are empty. I smirk again, and make my way through them, quietly, noiselessly. The only thing one can hear is the sound my shoes make against the cobblestone floors, making everything twice as macabre as it already is, in the darkness of the night.

The portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room is dimly lit, as everything in the corridors is. "Quid agis," I whisper quietly, hoping the password hasn't changed since last month. It hasn't, and the door swings open. I make a mental note to thank Zabini for giving me the password, and then head towards the girls' staircase.

But something stops me. I look around, fervently hoping that the common room is empty. And it is, except for one person. The mudblood. She's on the couch, in front of the fireplace… And for a moment, just a moment, I could've sworn the fire was engulfing her. My eyes widened in horror. But nothing happened. No screaming, no pleading. I shake my head as if to dislodge a thought and look upon the task at hand.

She's wearing the usual uniform; a white crisp blouse with a dark red vest along with a heavy plaid skirt. She's facing the fire, as if asking for its warmth, its protection… from me.

And there she is. The mudblood, innocently sleeping on the couch. There! She's turning on her back, as if wanting me to stab her filthy heart! I approach the couch, my footsteps slow and deliberate.

And here it is. The moment. I draw in a breath, and step forward, looking like a wraith in this darkness. I pull my hood up, breathing in its familiar scent of musk, wood and the slight smell of hair gel. I grope for the dagger and pull it out of my belt. The Dark Mark looks up at me, the smiling skull piercing me. I turn my head away in a look of utter revulsion. The snake seems to be moving, seems to be choking the skull.

What has happened to me? I turn back around to face the mudblood again, and ignore the feeling of revulsion in my stomach. Nothing matters, nothing matters now.

And now I've run out of excuses. I watch the mudblood shift slightly in her sleep, and can't help but think, what is she thinking? Is she having some horrible dream in which she is dying? No, I can tell by the smile on her face that that is definitely not what's happening. So what is she thinking? I suppose I could use Occulmency, but there's the slight chance that she may wake up if I do. Perhaps she is dreaming about killing the Dark Lord. Wouldn't that be fitting? Me killing her while she's thinking traitorous thoughts… Or maybe, she's thinking about our conversation earlier. About how she wasn't sure whether or not she was supposed to even be talking to me. Perhaps all of this, but somehow, I think not.

The dagger is in my hand; I don't remember reaching for it. I lift it above the mudblood's heart, wondering what she would say if she were awake. I quickly banish the thought, knowing that I need concentration. I imagine all the blood that will flow, making a river in time.

And tomorrow… Tomorrow, people will find her here, in the common room. They will shake her, and wonder why she does not respond. Blissfully cold, dead, her face waxen. They will scream for help and then… And then it will begin.

But none of this matters. Nothing matters now. Because all I have to think about is me. What I will do after I have completed my task. I suppose I shall return to my room, slowly, quietly, and then, I suppose I shall have to wash the blood of my hands. Only this time, it will have been me killing someone.

NO! It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. I raise the knife another inch, and dive. I expect to find the soft tissue of her skin, but then delve into something tougher, more sinewy. Instead, I find a hand on my wrist.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" the mudblood asks, her voice poison; deadly, quiet. I jump away from the bed in shock. "You bastard. You tried to kill me!" she whispers, realization entering her voice. Although she's whispering her voice seems to fill the room. "How could you, you evil, evil prick!" she yells, her voice getting louder. The fire crackles in my ears. I don't stay, I can't stay. I dash out the door like a coward, with the dagger still in my hand.

The safe haven I had found earlier, the corridors, are no longer safe. I can hear panting along with my running footsteps. I resist the urge to look back and see if the mudblood is following me.

How could this happen?! How was she awake; it's three in the morning! This is horrible; I won't live through the night, I know. If the mudblood tells Potty and Weasel King, I shall be dead by morning. Not by their hand, but by the Dark Lord's. It will only be a matter of time until he finds out, and then. Well, and then I shall cease to breathe.

I hold my head in my hands, thinking of everything, letting it engulf me in a pool of vile liquid. Everything has ended. This is truly my apocalypse. But I welcome it, knowing there is nothing I could or could've… or would've… done to prevent it.

My room welcomes me back, the cool air sweeping my face. I run to a window and slide the doors open, letting the icy English air take me. Take me away, away from this place I call hell. I don't think about jumping over the edge, knowing that a two story drop most probably won't kill me. Besides that, there is a small chance that maybe, just maybe, something will happen and I won't be dead by tomorrow.

I must cling to that thread, for without it I am lost. To the world, to myself.

The cold tiles in the bathroom welcome me as well, asking me to take my time, not to rush. After all, I have the whole night ahead of me. I wash my face slowly, rubbing it roughly, as if trying to change the face of this almost killer. I strip to my boxers and run to my bed, closing the window as I go. I curl up in bed, holding on, stretching that thread of hope; that perhaps I may live through the night. I curl up and close my eyes, and don't sleep.

and this is the end
this is the end
of the world
proclaim eternal victory
come on and change the cause of history
and pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end
of the world

-- Apocalypse Please, Muse

A/N Did you like it? I hope so! I have to keep this short, so review please! And Apocalypse Please does not belong to me, it belongs exclusively to Muse. Bisous ~ the shattered star