This chapter was kinda short, yeah, I know. But I did have a lot of fun writing it, and I think it's fairly good. I just wanted Maddy to have a victory, you know? She deserved one, in my opinion. I could't exactly kill her off just now, I think you'd all hate me for it. And I didn't want her to go into battle mode quite yet, the story's not there yet. I hope you all enjoy!

Trapped behind bars, prisoners of death

All hope is ours, we can't give up yet

Ready to fight to get what we need

To die on your feet or live on your knees

Maddy POV

"She broke out."

His voice was full of a terrifying suppressed anger, and I held back a shudder and tried desperately not to slip back into a memory that I didn't want to relive under any circumstances.

"How the hell did she break out?"

"Sir, she's been taught how to fight…"

"I know that! I'm the one who taught her, you ignorant fool!" He whirled on the poor messenger, who was doing all he could not to shake under Voldemort's menacing gaze.

No, you didn't, I said to myself, inwardly rolling my eyes. You ordered someone else to teach me, asshole. There's a difference.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but you have her now…"

"But the boy! And his friends!" he roared, curlign his fingers into a fist, then flexing them, the balling them back into a fist, ready to punch something.

"They are gone, my Lord." He bowed his head.

Voldemort spat at his servant's shoes, shaking with rage. "They were essential—are you listening, you insufferable moron?—essential to this plan." With an eerily repressed calm, he turned to face me and continued to speak. "Without them, it's almost impossible to do what we intended. Do you realize this?"

"N—no, my Lord," he whispered, paling and backing away slowly.

"I thought not." He turned to the man, the eerie calm still on his face, but not touching his ire-filled eyes. "Well, I can't reward ignorance," he continued, his voice almost disturbingly offhand. "Avada kedavra!"

I nearly jumped out my seat in an attempt to stop him, but I made myself remain motionless, forced myself to sit there while he died, and I think that was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. I knew that if I stood, I would be drugged, bound, dead, tortured, or countless other things, but I wanted nothing more than to save that man from the monster that stood before him.

Yes, I'd seen death before. I'd killed before. Nameless, faceless people, people who probably had families that called for my blood and lives I'd forced them to leave behind, and it's not easy. I'd never cast a killing curse, and I'd never directly killed someone, point blank. But I knew somewhere I'd been the cause of their death, and that was more painful than I could have imagined.

But this… this was different.

Just as I'd killed, I'd saved.

I'd risked my own life to save others, and I'd never regretted it. I'd never thought myself the kind of person to sit around while someone else died. I couldn't imagine being that kind of person, but somehow that was exactly the person I'd become, and I hated myself for it.

I could justify it in all sorts of ways: if I moved, I'd most likely be dead. And they would have killed him anyway once they'd dragged me away. The Killing Curse was pretty much infallible. The only person that had ever beat it was far, far away, thank God - I didn't want him anywhere near this kind of danger - and no one knew how or why, as far as I knew. I probably couldn't have saved him, but I could have tried.

And the anonymous, uncelebrated man feel to the floor, likely never to be spoken of again until someone told the family, and then they would cry out his name, again and again, feeling like they could never be made whole again, as if nothing would be the same again. Maybe he had a girlfriend, a wife, kids. Parents, aunts, uncles… they would mourn for him, consumed by their grief, and I would be the reason that the tears would spill from their eyes. I remained emotionless. On the inside if where the battle took place.

As he crumpled, a piece of my soul that I can never get back crumpled with him, burning away inside of me while I watched, powerless to stop it.

The innocence in me, the barest, tiniest bit of what was left of my innocence, fell away with him, never to return, just like him.

I choked back the sob, tried to reign in the grief, tried to make myself unsee the death of I a man that I never knew. But could have saved.

And though I didn't know it now, days later, weeks later, I would jerk awake at night, covered in sweat and with the sheets twisted all around my legs, my hair stuck to my neck and cheeks, and whisper to the nothingness around me, my words saturated with pain, "I could have saved him."

. . . .

"Why doesn't she wake?"

Voldemort threw something at a wall and it shattered loudly. Someone scurried forward to pick up the pieces, but there was a loud bang, a shriek, and the sounds of someone running away.

"Fetch me Crabbe and Goyle," he ordered, and when no one moved, he swung around to face his followers with what they assumed was the full force of his rage. I knew better. I had seen much worse. "Well? Go!"

Two men fled, probably grateful at the chance to leave the room, and the Dark Lord spun around, pacing almost violently. His every step echoed so loudly that I almost flinched. I stopped myself just in time from reaching about to cover my ears more than once, to be honest, and I wondered idly where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were and if they were safe. A few unbidden thoughts floated through my mind, wondering if Harry thought of me at all, if he was wondering where I was and how I was doing. If he'd protested leaving, had waited for me to show up and had been bitterly disappointed when I never had…. if Hermione and ROn had tried to console him and he'd pushed them away, unable to get over what was sure to be my death or disappearance...

Abruptly, I made myself wonder who had won the World Cup, but it was futile. The whole thing just seemed so trivial now that at any moment I could breathe the wrong way and die.

"My Lord?" Crabbe's voice pierced the air. "You requested us?"

Voldemort flew across the room without hesitation, gripping Crabbe my the neck and pinning him against the wall. "Why," he hissed venomously, "doesn't she wake? What did you imbeciles do?"

Crabbe struggled to reply, but his face was turning rapidly purple from what I could tell and the words wouldn't come out. Do something! I wanted to scream at the Death Eaters. Save him! Save him, you selfish, cowardly bastards!

I had to act. I wouldn't let another living, breathing person die when there was something I could do.

"My Lord!" Goyle shouted, stepping forward, and I untensed my body. Every eye in the room was glued to him, including mine, as he continued, "You're going to kill him, my Lord, wait!" He paused for just half a second, long enough for Voldemort turn lessen his grip and to turn him. "We drugged her just like you said, but the guards that let them escape gave some interesting reports," he continued hurriedly as Voldemort's hands dropped from Crabbe's neck reluctantly, and added, "Before you killed them."

His voice was pointed, but just respectful enough to save Crabbe. Voldemort stepped back and Crabbe sunk to the floor, gasping for air as the Death Eaters watched Goyle with mounting respect. He'd had the courage they all hadn't to save his friend from the Dark Lord, and that took bravery that they certainly didn't have. It seemed everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for Voldemort's response, waiting to see if Goyle' bravery would be rewarded, ignored, or his disastrous downfall. I prayed for the first option.

"And?"

"And it affected females for longer than males, especially this one." He jerked his head as my and I remained motionless as all eyes turned to me and then back to him. "They told me that the lighter the female, the longer it would take. You gave me a larger dose than you did to them, too. It could take days for her to wake."

Voldemort clenched his fists. "Days."

"Days, my Lord." His eyes flickered to Crabbe, who was standing shakily, rubbing the throat with one hand. "If I'd known, I would have given her less. But I only found out right after we'd captured her."

Voldemort nodded wordlessly, stepping closer to Goyle, and a peculiar sort of expression had taken over his face. Not anger, but… something new. Sort of a—

He flew at Goyle with the anger returning full force, snarling incomprehensibly, and I knew that no one would intervene, not even Crabbe, whose life Goyle had just saved. Crabbe watched helplessly while the other Death Eaters stood with indifferent masks of calm.

Goyle would die.

I knew that with absolute certainty. And one other thing: I couldn't let him.

And either way, I couldn't sit here pretending to be drugged into oblivion forever. Eventually they would figure it out, and I couldn't remain practically motionless for much longer anyways.

I gripped my wand tightly and stood in one fluid motion. Was there are way to cast an Unforgiveable Curse silently? I tried desperately to remember but couldn't, and decided to forgo it.

"Imperio! Imperio, Imperio, Imperio!" I shouted, pointing my wand at Death Eaters positioned all around the room. "Fight him!"

Immediately, their voices rang out, "Stupefy!"

Voldemort waved his wand at them, shouting, "Protego!"

Three crumpled to the ground, but two were able to dodge the hex, and they battled their hardest against my father while he dodged their spells. I Imperiused three more, and the fight still wasn't even, but it would buy me some time.

"Stupefy!" I stunned two Death Eaters and kept moving, scarcely daring to believe that I could actually make it out of here alive, that I might actually be able to survive this.

"Maddy?" Crabbe asked, too slow to process what was happening, but his wand was poised to curse me, so I kept running, praying that saving his friend's life would earn me enough points to save me this one time.

I was right. He watched me go by, pretending helplessness, but as I turned I saw the look on his face and knew helplessness had nothing to do with it. He was saving me, and the look in his eyes told me with no uncertainty that it would be the last time. I could accept that easily.

Lord Voldemort turned to me and raised his wand, "Expelliarmus!"

My wand flew out of my hand, and I kept running, but he shouted, "Stupefy!" and I froze, my eyes glued to his face. He waved his wand at the door, and Crabbe and Goyle sprinted out of it just in time with the two other Death Eaters that weren't Stunned or otherwise injured. I looked at the floor and realized with a surge of shame that he hadn't gone easy on his own men. None were dead, but they easily could have because of my selfish actions.

"No more running, Madeleine," he said softly, un-Stunning me and slamming the door closed with a flick of his wand. "Agreed?"

I said nothing. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of this. There was no way in hell I'd give him the satisfaction.

"I've missed you, daughter."

I forgot my no speaking rule and blurted out, "Oh, Daddy, you too! Where's Mommy!" with all the false excitement of a six-year-old. "Oh wait!" I cried, still chipper. My voice went flat as I said, "You killed her. Oopsy daisy!"

He blinked once and then chuckled. "You do have a sense of humor, don't you? You're just the whole package. A solid ten. Wonder why I couldn't marry you off."

"Because this is the twenty-first century," I hissed, "and seventeen-year-olds don't have arranged marriages anymore, much less want one, you fucking psychopath. Or don't you get that? I forgot how stupid you can be. I mean, I was sneaking out to meet your seventeen-year-old arch nemesis for months, Daddy dearest. Sure took you a while to figure that out."

"Crucio." There was the chilling calm again that matched his expression but not the wild, unmasked emotion in his eyes.

Pain shot through me, excruciating but brief.

"I mean, your enemy is—what?—thirty, forty years younger than you? Doesn't that strike you as a little strange?" I shrugged. "To each his own, I suppose."

"Shut up, little girl. Listen to me - you should have learned by now that I don't just die so easily. I will never just go away, and you'll never be rid of me. You can despise me as much as you want, but you might as well join me. We'll be the two Riddles, ruling the world, and I'll never die and leave you alone to deal with it all. It could all be so easy for you, Madeleine."

"News flash numero uno, Tom," I spat. "It just so happens that I hate you. Two? I will never fight for you or with you, and three?" I stepped forward, my eyes boring into his scarlet ones. "I don't care about it being easy. I care about doing what's right, d'you hear? And that's not your sick plan."

His eyes narrowed and the door swung open behind me, but I didn't dare move.

"Run and hide, then, Madeleine, like a coward. I'll always find you. I always return."

I stepped closer, feeling a surge of courage for once in my life. I shook my head and felt myself stand taller, lift my chin up and roll my shoulders back. This monster did not intimidate me. I had handled him before, and I would do it again.

"Listen to me. I do not hide from anybody. I'm not curled up in a ball waiting for you to return. If you wanted a fight all you had to do was ask, because you may kill me, but I'm not afraid to die anymore. I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees, and I'll be damned if you think that you can make me into a coward."

He sneered. "That's a lovely cliché. You and your mother share a fondness for them I suppose. When you meet in hell, you'll have lots to talk about."

Calm, calm, calm. Breathe, Maddy. He's bating you. but the anger bubbled to the surface anyways and I forced myself to look coolly back at him like I just didn't care.

He handed me back my wand, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not going to kill you, Madeleine. I'd regret it if I did. But… you did say you wanted a battle, and I'm more than happy to give it to you."

Part of me longed to battle him, hard and fair, for match myself against him and prevail, but I found myself thinking back on the man whose name I still did not know, and thought about the Death Eaters who lay on the floor because I had forced them to go against their master against their will. Yes, their master was a disgrace to the human race. But I'd taken away their will, and now they were hurt. I could fight him and lose and have the pride that I'd fought him and held my own… or I could save someone. Many someones.

"A battle sounds great," I responded, a smirk finding its way on to my face. "But before we do, there's something you should know. There's a riot in the dungeon, Dad."

His eyes widened, and confusion flitted briefly across his face. "What game are you playing at now?"

I took a step back and shook my head, raising my wand. "I said," I repeated, my grin widening, "there's a riot in the dungeons. Those people you keep trapped behind the iron bars, begging for mercy and to be saved?"

"My prisoners of death," he affirmed my words, a sick tinge of pride in his voice.

"Your prisoners of death are dying on their feet, too," I spat. "Go to hell."

And I lunged out the door with a single stride, screaming out, pointing my wand down the hallway. Th spell I cast was wordless and I never really thought about what I wanted to happen. All I knew was that I was slashing my wand down on air and suddenly everything I'd envisioned was happening. The prisoners' hands, previously clutching the iron bars with a desperation that came from years of longing, were now shoving at the doors as they spilled over into the hallway. Voldemort stood behind me, and he gripped my hair and yanked me around to face him, but the pain barely registered and I grinned fiercely, victoriously, at him.

The prisoners gathered and ganged up on the guards, beating them savagely and stealing their wands, and he still grabbed me, and I still grinned, and I raised my voice to be heard above the sounds of freedom.

"Stand and die, stand and fight, or start your running!" I shrieked as his face contorted, unable to settle on any one emotion. I was simply high, adrenaline pumping through me and the thrill causing my mind and emotions to work in strange ways.

"Cry havoc," I screamed, pulling away with all my strength, "and let slip the dogs of war!" I turned back to him, just out of arms reach—

I don't know why I said it - I remembered reading it in something Shakespeare wrote—

I pushed with the crowd, running, stampeding through the fortress. Some fell, some were hit by Death Eaters before we could stop them, but we picked those of us that couldn't carry on up of the floor and ran with a strength enough for two of us.

I turned back as the other rushed on around me, pulling at me to join them, and I thought he couldn't hear me anyway, but I screamed it so loudly that I thought the heavens could hear me, that Harry—wherever he was—could hear my victory, that Draco was listening to my triumph, that Bellatrix from her cell in Azkaban could hear, that my mother was watching my succes, and while I couldn't guess at her expression, I liked to imagine her smiling as I screamed back at the man we'd both thought we loved—

"Rise, oh fallen fighter!" I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up and burst out of me. "And take your stance again! He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day!"

And yes, it was a cheesy Muggle quote. But no, I didn't feel stupid saying it. And the look on his face was too priceless as I turned and ran for my life to run with the other prisoners of death, and I knew I was no prisoner and neither were they. Not any longer. Because one of these days, something had to break, something had to give. And until then, I had all the hope in the world that one day I would rise above him, and one day he really would be gone for good, and no. I couldn't see when that day would be. But it would come.

I had faith that it would come.

There's a riot in the dungeon, Dad. Better come and see.

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