Ebony Moonlight- you have such prowess... it inspired me to write something else. I congratulate you on a vibrant vocabulary and perfectly placed cuss words.

Sleep....she was sleeping again. It was so cold out. She hugged herself and looked to the sky...

She shivered again- not from the familiar chill playing along her spine, but because of the sky. It was black. Autumn leaves drifted past her.

She walked, kept walking. She didn't have a clue where she was going, but then, did she ever? Wishing she had a jacket, she continued.

There he was. The one she was looking for. Although she really didn't know why she was looking for him, he wasn't someone she usually looked for.

But she walked up and stood beside him, anyway.

He spun around sharply and stared at her.

His eyes narrowed in recognition. "You."

She nodded her head numbly. He walked up to her and caught her chin is his hand haughtily.

"What are doing here?" he asked harshly.

She didn't answer. His face contorted in hate.

"Answer me!"

"I just came by, Riddle," she replied. He let go of her and slapped her across the face.

"You will not call me that. Do you understand?" he asked her. His voice was quiet, controlled and furious.

"Yes."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"Yes, my lord."

He calmed, satisfied, watching her with cat's eyes, lazy, observant, calculating. Waiting to pounce. "You came for a reason."

"Yes," she said. "Why?"

"That's none of your business."

"It is." She said firmly.

"None of your concern whatsoever."

"I just wanted to know-"

He cut her off, slapping her again, so hard she fell to the ground.

"Well, I'm not telling you," he spat with contempt. "Do you know what happened to me after Potter, everyone's golden boy, stabbed that diary? Do you know what I feel?"

"N-no," she whispered, her lips dry and her lower lip a bit bloody.

"This," he shouted, and he brought her towards him in a kiss.

The pain was instant and it never ceased; she writhed and squirmed against him, but he did not stop. She wondered why it had to be a kiss. The irony, bitter, bitter irony of it.

She felt as though her head would come spinning off her shoulders when he violently pushed her away.

It stopped and she felt relief. She had never experienced such pain- it was worse than the Cruciatus curse. She had felt that at the Dept. of Mysteries the previous year.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Is it- constant?"

He did not answer.

"Oh, Tom," she began, almost crying.

He turned on her quickly. "I told you not to call me that!" he yelled, and she stumbled backwards.

"You will not call me that! Get it now, girl?" he yelled. His voice was not so calm now.

"Yes." She choked.

"Yes, my Lord!" he demanded.

"Yes, my lord." Her voice was so timid. She could barely breathe.

She turned to go, then called back, "To-my lord?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Why?" she pleaded. He turned and held up his wand.

"I told you I wasn't going to tell you," he said intensely.

Her eyes widened in fear and she began to back away from him, shaking her head silently.

A twisted grin besmirched his once handsome, now haunted features.

"Crucio."

And although it wasn't as bad as what she had just felt, it was horrible, and she screamed and screamed as her muscles felt s though burning and she wanted, needed it to stop; she would die, gladly-

And it stopped but she did not stop begging, why why, why, why....

Right before the other girl in the room woke her up, he hissed menacingly into her ear:

"Don't ask thoughtless questions, Mudblood."