Before we begin please remember that I am not J.K. and never will be. I'm still broke and living somewhere this side of Hell. I can assure you I have nothing you would want. Having said all this here is the third piece in a complete series of four. And as always thank you NativeMoon for your encouraging words.
An Unfortunate Slight
Part III
Madness
It has been the madness of March that first drew his gaze, and sealed her fate beyond what she would ever understand. It could have been quite simply stated that from that moment forward the cunning little Slytherin had not walked the hallowed halls without his eyes upon her. So slight her reference had been that day, as if her revelation were merely factual, as if tracing her lineage to the most noble and ancient house of Caesar were inconsequential. It had been her typical casual indifference that had so infuriated him, taunting him for his tainted blood and lack of social standing. What she could not have known and in fact would never know would have astounded her; the knowledge that from that day on each moment she lived had been at the very mercy of man bound to his own demons and personal sense of vindication.
The moment she had been sorted she fell beneath his watchful wings, first as a new fledging to honor the House of Slytherin and then much later, when she fell from grace and brought her house down around her. Never an awkward child as so many are when they first enter the school, this little girl who had hidden behind a veil of white silken downy that fell well below her shoulders carried herself like the very pure-blood she knew she was. It had been evident this little princess had spent her life only knowing the beautiful moments the world had to offer up, never once embracing the darkness and the minions she called her own.
It retrospect it had been nothing really, nothing that should have doomed her to fall under his harsh gaze, nothing that should have caused her life to eventually end. Her perfect little life where the world catered to her every whim, where the seasons changed just to suit her moods, and the sky that had always rained sunshine against her face had only enraged him further. Her absolute inability to understand, to even comprehend the world and what she does to those she does not favor were as alien as the back drop of stars across the universe. She was shallow, self-centered, and intolerant to any signs of imperfection, and he was far from any shade that even remotely resembled perfection.
Had she thought he had not noticed the way her eyes lingered for a moment longer than what was considered socially acceptable to the scars that covered the tops of his hands. Could she have possibly been so ignorant to presume that a creature that could bear such scars would feel nothing, would be incapable of human emotions? How could she not respect his hours of toil beneath layers, suffering even against the heat; hiding fresh wounds until they turned into nothing more than little white shadows? Had it really been possible the earth mother could produce a life so unable to understand anything other than what they knew, to never be able to see life for what it really was, to never know the suffering of others and simply feel kindred? No, she would not know nor would she ever even care that the demons called to him his every waking moment; that they spoke softly, whispering against his ear calling for blade to meet flesh; that each moment he lived was in a permanent state of warfare, each conflict escalating beyond its predecessor. Planning, calculating each movement, each action, even the inflection of his tone, these were but a handful of thoughts running through his mind each and every second he took breath. There was never a release, never a moment of peace to enjoy even the smallest of pittance offered down from the heavens.
Perhaps it had been deserved after all; this little princess had in fact fallen, even if the rest of world had taken no notice. Slight indiscretions, whispered across the common room always had a way of tickling against his ear, not that she had really even attempted to hide what she had become. The perfect little pure-blood thought herself above the common man, and had not considered her various nightly liaisons appeared as anything other than the foundation of future alliances. After all, all good little Slytherin girls wanted to grow up to be just one thing; and that was simply the wife of a well-connected, influential pure-blooded wizard. However much to her chagrin and his sense of justice it would seem fate had dictated something entirely different for the mediocrity he had thought her life to be.
Where she was concerned he had lost all control, and loosing control meant loosing advantage. Loosing advantage meant you've lost the battle; loose enough battles and you've just lost the war. That particular realization sealed her fate as easily as pressing wax and seal to paper, and thus began her final days. This one he wanted to see suffer, cry atonements for each and every sin she had ever committed against her proper breading and perpetual place in society. Her very death would vindicate his suffering, offering the promise of eventual peace and resolution. It simply could not have been avoided, not that it had mattered terribly to him at all.
It had not been a beautiful moment; nothing in the darkness of cold dungeon walls could ever be called beautiful. For hours he had watched her, bewitched as she bartered for her life offering her body to any disgusting pleasure he desired. How foolish she had been, even then she did not realize the folly in her ways. Each sin that poured like silk against his soul only spiraled him further into his madness, ensuring her agony would last long into the night. Not one particular confession forced him to place blade against her downy limbs, to methodically slice away lines forever tainting her pure façade. Her tears had not stopped him, as he slowly and with as much circumstance as he could manage he slid his dagger deep inside her chest, ending only when the blade would bury no further. For the briefest of blinks in time her face eased, eyes full of realization at the significance in her little death. The little princess had indeed bleed; she had stared into the eyes of the very man who took her life and stole all her dreams. In the end she had not deserved the sweet kiss that death brought to her lips.
For the briefest of moments, when he realized she knew, that she knew he was her Brutus he had paused, ever so slightly. Finally knowing she understood he had betrayed her and would do so again if called upon, seeing his loyalty was something she had lost, tossed away and could now not reclaim. For that one moment when he knew, when he was acutely aware she understood her lesson that his loyalty was something she no longer deserved he had flinched. But that moment passed and another quickly followed suit, one that lingered in madness balancing on the very edge of Occam's razor
