Quiddie here! Okay, MASSIVE delay in updating…I've just been busy and brainlocked. But here you go! Chapter 4 and I'm fairly proud of it! Mostly because it helped me fight though some serious writer's block, so I shouldn't be that delayed ever again! I hope you enjoy it! Lemme know what you think! You guys know how much I love reviews…

-- Q

A moonlit night pouring in through a thinly veiled window; a silence so heavy it dulls other senses; a boy, and a girl. They share common threads, but none as sturdy as their mutual loss. She, a boy she wasn't sure she loved, but knew she couldn't live without. He, a young woman he loved more than anything else in the world. Any other pair would take solace in one another, help themselves to heal. Perhaps even find new life and love in each other. With Cho and Fred, the Order of the Phoenix would have settled for a temporary cessation of hostilities.

Cho's high, whiney voice broke the stillness. Her small, glassy eyes blinked several times as she leaned across her chair and cleared her throat. Fred sighed lightly with annoyance and tried to ignore her, but to no avail.

"Everybody hates us for being this way, Fred."

The emotional waver in her voice made him sick. Still, he humored her. "What on earth are you talking about, Chang?"

"The way we are. Because of the people we've lost. They think we're weak. But they don't know how much it hurts…how painful it is every day just to wake up and know you're never going to see them again..."

"Of course they understand, Chang. Everyone's lost someone-"

"Maybe, but now it's different. We all know what's out there. W-when he killed Cedric…I never got to say goodbye…I didn't even know…"

Fred slammed down his book and stood menacingly over Cho. "Oh yeah, well I did get to say goodbye! In fact, I got to watch her die! Do you think that's better? Do you think that's closure? Stop deluding yourself! You're no widow! I seem to remember you and Potter having a snog or two the very next term. You can't have it both ways, love-"

"How dare you question my loyalty to Cedric! I loved-"

"Bollucks! You were fifteen! You didn't even know what love was at that age!"

Cho, looking as though she was about to assault him, leaned up close to his face. "When did you know you were in love with Angelina?"

Fred paused, his anger immediately waning to defeat. "The moment I met her."

"Exactly."

"But with her, it's different. You don't understand."

She grabbed his arm roughly and pointed a thin little finger in his face. "Of course I understand! That's what I've been saying this whole time!"

"Look, Fred. I've been thinking. You and I, we've got to move on for the sake of the Order. And I just think that since we're in the same boat, we could help each other."

Fred was horrified by her sudden change of tone. As her hands came to rest gently on his shoulders, he shuddered and backed away, shaking his head. "I know where this is going…but no. She may be gone, but I'm not so quick to forget as you, Chang."

Like the manic, bipolar creature she'd become, Cho's purring demeanor dropped into fury at Fred's rejection. Looking quickly around the room, she picked up the book he'd slammed down just a few minutes prior and craned her arm back to throw it. Fred quickly caught wind of her intentions and snatched the book away, chastising her as one would an undisciplined puppy.

"Get a grip on yourself! What are you doing? No wonder Potter couldn't handle you! You're all over the place…wait…"

Cho burst into tears at the mention of Harry's name, covered her face with her hands, and fled the room. Fred exhaled tiredly and looked over at a forlorn old clock in the corner. Rubbing the palm of his hands soothingly over the cover the book, he looked out the window at the newly begun snowfall before following in Cho's footsteps and leaving the room for his own bed.

She had a point. How long could he mourn her? How long before his misery turned him into something like Cho? He knew he wasn't ready to try again, and he was positive he'd never go for the nutter Ravenclaw. But at some point, he was going to have to admit she wouldn't come back to him.

But not tonight. Tonight he could dream of Angelina. Dream that his angel would return to him and make everything all right again. That was the beauty of dreams. And he'd not deny himself that small luxury quite yet.

…

Angelina's stomach turned as she watched the debauchery before her at the Dark Lord's side. Voldemort ran his dark little kingdom in the old way, with shows and hedonistic festivals to celebrate their victories. A lavish feast with too much wine proceeded, and Lord Voldemort had promised a bit of fun to follow.

A general surge in bawdy applause welcomed the night's entertainment: a young man chained and already hazed. Against her better judgement, Angelina strained to see his face. Experience had taught her displays like these were easier to tolerate as long as she never saw the face. It made them too human.

That had always bothered her though. Behind the glossy white mask, Angelina took countless lives in the name of the Dark Lord…hidden behind the fearsome and gruesome persona she'd created for her self as the military leader of the Death Eaters. But in the lair, maskless after the feast, she found it noticeably more difficult to do her job.

One very drunk Death Eater stepped forward, grabbing the man roughly by his long, dark hair. Angelina noticed that his hair was matted into clumps, but judging by his appearance, he did not look as though he'd been held for long.

The man shuddered and tensed as the Death Eater loosed a sloppy blow onto his cheek before dropping him back to the stone floor. Angelina's lip twitched with disgust as Right-Hand and The Messenger laughed uproariously as the drunkard bowed wobbily and stumbled back to his comrades. Voldemort himself added a cruel chuckle to the cacophony of sound.

Noting her own uncharacteristically extreme discomfort with the current situation, The General furrowed her brow and refocused her eyes on a far wall as the broken young man began to stir once more, raising himself to his knees, an act of dignity that certainly wouldn't go unpunished.

"Merlin's beard…it can't be…"

His voice cracked, having been used for something besides howls of pain for the first time in a few days. The room quickly grew silent with intrigue and all eyes, Angelina's included, fell on the dark man's face.

"I must be dead. They all saw you die too…but you're here in front of me…"

His eyes narrowed, focused undeniably on The General. "…'Lina! Poor Fred, he's been a wreck. But don't worry…I'll get you out of he-"

His last word choked and sputtered into a strangled cry as Lee Jordan began grasping frantically at his neck. Angelina, panicking, raised her wand and ended the unseen choking curse. She turned to the Dark Lord, her startled eyes searching his own. He looked purposefully past her, waving a hand in forced indifference. "Kill him."

"NO!"

She surprised herself with her outburst, but she knew she had to do something to buy more time. She had to keep the man alive a little longer at least. Turning her back entirely on the bloodied and startled young man at the center of a sea of black, she appealed to her master.

"My lord, you promised us the spoils of war as incentives for a job well done. Am I right?" Hardly waiting for his imperceptible nod, she continued. "Well, this man is a spoil from the attack on Diagon Alley. I'd like to claim him for personal uses. I want this man as my slave."

He did not refuse her, but looked intently into the crowd of Death Eaters below for a moment before Lucius spoke up. "My lord! You have already condemned this whelp to death! And you'd let her flout your authority in this manner? What use would she have for a slave?"

"Lucius, none of us have said a word to Narcissa about you penchant for taking witches as personal sex toys…"

Lord Voldemort silenced the squabble with a hand. "Messenger, be silent. She has the same rights as any of us. And my beloved General: you know the rules. You may take him as long as none lay claim as well. Do any here challenge her right to this prize?"

As if on cue, a pale, rat-faced young man stepped forward and spoke up. "Draco Malfoy, my lord. I too lay claim to the man."

Angelina looked mutinous. So that was the Dark Lord's plan. And he was looking at Draco just a minute ago…that little sycophant would do anything to get in his good graces…

"Fine. A challenge. My lord, please name the terms."

The rules stated a challenge for spoils would be resolved by a conflict. The Dark Lord would set the parameters for the match. Winner takes all. Very simple, if not a bit brutish at heart.

But knowing the Dark Lord's bloodlust, the fight would be physical. And Angelina wasn't worried. She was The General for a reason. Wand-dueling or hand-to-hand combat, she could defeat just about any wizard on the planet. Some days she even allowed herself to believe she could take the Dark Lord as well.

She smirked arrogantly and glared at the young Malfoy as she awaited Lord Voldemort's decision. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and took a few shallow, calming breaths, avoiding eye contact.

"Very well, a simple duel. Transfigured swords, I think. Yes. That will do nicely. To submission. For the rights to this wizard."

Voldemort's casual air didn't quite reach his narrow slit-eyes, and Angelina was immediately unnerved as the Death Eaters formed a large ring in the center of the floor and allowed the pair to walk in. The Dark Lord should have known that this wouldn't be a challenge for her…

As Draco took up a weak-looking attack position and transfigured his wand into a sword, Angelina took a closer look at the beaten wizard. His large, dark eyes were bloodshot and worried. The General felt her throat tighten a bit with emotion. She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that it was she that would save him, and that he didn't have to look afraid. But instead, she was silent and expressionless as she transfigured her wand and faced-off with Malfoy.

He rushed her, praying that his adrenaline would overtake her by sheer strength. She laughed and stepped aside, butting him in the back with the handle of her sword. He nearly lost his balance.

"Little fool…who do you think you're dealing with? I ought to gut you here and now! Do you really think the Dark Lord would punish me for it? One less Malfoy to swat away like the annoying parasites you are…"

His pale face blotched with red, Draco spun on his heel and charged her again. Feeling especially vindictive, Angelina dodged the blow, but not before grazing the boy's pale shoulder with her blade. He cried out sharply, looking murderous.

Before he could summon another futile attack on her, though, Angelina swung her sword out powerfully at his stomach. In his efforts to avoid the blow, he toppled away and onto his back. Angelina smirked and pointed the tip of her blade at his throat.

"Concede the match, Draco. I've won."

Bending to her occasional waves of ego, Angelina relished the resounding applause given by the Death Eaters. She un-transfigured her wand and knelt before the Dark Lord.

"I have done as you've commanded, please now allow-"

Later, Angelina would wonder how she never heard his footsteps coming up behind her, not to mention his ragged, frustrated breathing. He knocked her down with a swift backhand and stood over her, livid.

"Arrogance woman…you should have waited for me to concede! This will teach you…" he raised his sword imperiously, "…and don't forget, I owe you one!"

He looked at the trickle of blood coming down his arm before deftly sinking his own blade into the soft flesh of her shoulder. She howled with both pain and fury.

"Say it, General…concede…" he knelt beside her, leaning his weight a bit harder on the sword and whispering, "…one little word to end the pain…tell them all I'm better than you…submit to me…you've wanted to for so long…"

Angelina grit her teeth, her mind swimming now on the brink of consciousness as she reached across with her free hand to struggle vainly against the steel. Her stomach lurched to feel the sticky wetness of her blood, and she felt an eerie sense of déjà vu as she beheld the crimson against the warm brown of her hand and wrist.

Kneeling again a stone floor much like this, her panic clouded by mortal drowsiness that accompanies the loss of too much blood. But then footsteps and a voice both mocking and strong. Then a touch. And then nothing.

She felt the blade twist beneath her skin, and she finally cried out. "Stop!"

Draco pulled the blade and un-transfigured it, pointing the wand directly at the young man. Angelina rolled onto all-fours and watched dizzily, mumbling in protest.

"No…don't do it…Lee…don't kill him…"

She didn't see the look of shock on several faces including both Malfoys and Voldemort. Draco quickly cursed Lee, a bright green light robbing the former Gryffindor of the last dregs of life in him as he crumpled limply. Angelina quickly followed suit, dropping into unconsciousness as several Death Eaters that had been medi-wizards in the regular world swarmed around her.

Montague, stepping back from the ring, narrowed his eyes in pensive optimism. He suppressed a smirk, wholly unconcerned with Angelina's wound. It would be fixed in an instant. But for a small moment before her collapse, she'd given him enough hope to last him a lifetime. Maybe it isn't permanent…