AN: Alrighty, at least one person didn't get what happened in the last chapter.  The guy (not Snape) took her to this place and, as she wakes up, she discovered that he has taken advantage of her (AKA, raped her) and wants to hide behind her illusions but she somehow can't seem to reach them anymore.  And to the person who said she knew how it felt, I can only hope you didn't mean exactly that, as it's horrible and wrong and no one deserves something that awful to happen to them.  Ok, Chapter, well… whatever this is.

~*~

            I hurt.  Sounds I didn't actually hear echoed in my ears, the hard sound of silence.  I closed my eyes, but I couldn't see anything.

            I hurt.  Mentally and spiritually, a smoky mask of pain encased me.  It pushed in, crushing me.

            No tears.  No illusions.  No life.

            Everything that had been me for so long was gone.  The smoke had hidden him as he took it, everything.

            Voices outside.  Harder than rock, they assailed me.  Their sources lay ages away, but, nevertheless, they cut the feathery air.

            I didn't turn to see who approached, for I knew there was only one person whose footfalls those could be.  Heavy and urgent…

            His.

            He would do it again.  His black robe billowed around him, some unseen wind source forming creases at its leisure.  He crouched beside me.

            "Do you want to die?" His voice was clear and welcoming, but suddenly I could feel his arms pulling me from the hallway in Hogwarts.  Suddenly, I almost remembered—

            "What?"  I asked, even though I knew the answer.  I could feel the pleading look in my eyes, though I could not see it.  Pleading not for life…

            "Do you want to die?"  A small crack in his voice—he was nervous.  Pain was in his face again. 

            "Yes."  The word escaped my smiling lips with my permission.  Yes, I wanted to die.  He had taken all I had to live for, the illusions…

            He held up a bottle of clear liquid and I watched his face contort with nervousness.  His gentle hand made its contents swirl with a flick of his wrist.

            "In a moment, my love," he murmured, discarding it just outside my reach and tugging the blanket I gripped with white knuckles.

            The voices became louder and he became more desperate.  He hurt me again, pressed the fog closer to me, but I didn't fight.

            Death lay there, bottled, awaiting me.