Padma's burning hatred had lasted all of a few hours. She had cried herself to sleep that night, cursing Stephen, his mother, the school, everyone. His words hurt no less in the morning, but she had sought him out anyway. She didn't really know what she wanted — an apology, perhaps? It didn't matter, in any case; he had left on an early train. She had never heard from him again. She had never truly forgiven him for what he had said to her, but she couldn't help missing his company, his comfort, his smile.

And now I must kill him, she thought woodenly.

I can't. I can't. He might have hurt me, but I can't kill someone I feel that way about.

The agony of the choice tortured her. Her throat tightened painfully, making swallowing difficult. She paced up and down, up and down before the heavy mansion.

Why me? Why me, why me, why ME? A strangled moan struggled painfully out before she could stop it. Unable to stay in the same place, she began walking down the driveway, sloshing unheedingly through ankle deep puddles. The slow pace was unbearable; she sped up, head down against the drifting drizzle. Images of Stephen rose in her mind and she began to run, run faster and faster until she lost her mind in a flurry of limbs, rain and grief. She pounded onwards, tears whipped away by the wind.

Her foot caught in an unseen rut and she tumbled ungainly to the ground. As she lay in the puddles, streams of mud running down her drawn face, she began to sob. It built up until her whole body shook with each agonising heave. She dug her fingers into her tangled strands of hair, wishing with all her heart that this could all somehow go away, be a dream, be a nightmare.

" I — don't — want — to — KILL — anyone!" she cried, her hoarse voice muffled by the ever-falling never-caring rain.

Look at you, a small voice whispered. Sprawled in the muck like a pig. What happened to logic? What happened to reason? What happened to doing anything to survive?

Padma slowly rose until she knelt on the ground. Logic. Logic is good. If there was more logic, there would be less pain, she thought feverishly. Therefore, what does logic dictate that I do? She pulled herself up and weaved unsteadily out of the gate.

The facts are thus:

I have been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill Stephen.

Stephen and I were once friends, and I may still have feelings for him.

We argued when we last met, and he made an unforgivable comment.

If I do not kill him, I will die.

If I do not kill him, someone else will be ordered to instead.

There!

A tidal wave of relief rushed through her. She paused and leaned against the wall. Of course! Stephen will die anyway, whether it is I who do the deed or not. There is no sense in dying needlessly, whatever those Gryffindors may say. It may even be better for him if I do it; other Death Eaters may take pleasure in torturing him before he dies. And, also, he should not have said what he did about Parvati.

This is the logical thing to do, she told herself firmly. Before the euphoric state could end, she Apparated.

She appeared moments later outside a stately London house. A group of young Muggles trooped past. They eyed her openly as they passed, and she heard a girl call out in a high pitched voice, "Did you see what she was wearing!"

Oh, God. Specks of doubt began to settle slowly on her mind. She tried not to let her thoughts waver. Logic! There is no God! There is no alternative!

The steps up to the door loomed in front of her, an insurmountable limestone mountain. Taking a deep breath, she forced her leaden feet to climb one step at a time. Her footsteps seemed to beat out the same torturous mantra over and over again.

I don't — want — to kill. I don't — want — to kill.

I do! she thought wildly. I want to obey the Dark Lord, to serve him well, to save myself and my family.

The last step.

Stephen is nothing. Nothing!

The door.

Better he die than me.

The knocker.

What could I do, anyway?

A hand, poised over it.

Stephen is innocent! He doesn't deserve to die.

The hand began to fall.

Even if I ran away, HE would find me.

It froze.

The Dark Lord finds everyone. There is no escape. I am branded as his.

It drifted slowly up.

I do this or die.

Padma grabbed the knocker and dropped it. It made a dull thud, a dead sound like the seal on a death sentence.

Don't let him be there. Please, Padma found herself thinking. Stupid. As if the Dark Lord would let that be the end. You're only putting off the inevitable. She knocked again. Her heart plummeted as she heard a voice approaching.

"Coming, coming, give me a second." The door swung open to reveal a handsome golden-haired young man; perhaps more lined than she remembered, a little heavier, but all in all he hadn't changed much. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Padma?" he asked incredulously. She nodded, not trusting her voice. His brown eyes flickered over the mud spattered all over her, but he didn't mention it. "Come in, it's getting cold out." He stood back to let her past and allowed the door slam shut as he showed the way into a long narrow sitting room. She stood uncomfortably as he walked around her.

"So!" he declared, leaning casually against the wall. "How are you? I haven't heard from you for years — I thought you weren't talking to me!" Padma licked her dry lips and prepared to speak, but he cut across her.

"How's Parvati?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward as his eyes lit up in hopeful anticipation. She felt a thin layer of ice settle over her as the world froze.

'She's a nice girl. More than nice.'

It was never you. Only her.

All he ever saw in you was an inferior copy.

He used you.

He deserves to die.

Padma raised her head, her burning eyes meeting his surprised ones. She whipped out her wand and levelled it at his beautiful, treacherous face.

"Avada Kedavra."

Passers-by may have noticed a strangely dressed young woman striding along the street, tattered robes billowing in the night breeze. If they were close enough, perhaps they would have seen the curiously emotionless smile on her face, and the greenish tinge to her skin. If, however, they were that observant, their attention was probably focused on the emerald mark that mutilated the night sky in all its sinister glory.

THE END

A/N: Well, there you have it: the last chapter. I currently have no plans to continue this story, since I currently have four (yes, FOUR) chaptered fics to work on. Thank you all so, so, so, SO much for your wonderful reviews and support, and feel free to have a look at my other stories! If you liked this one, Let A Serpent Sting Thee Twice is in much the same style. Thanks again!