Hey there, welcome to My Betrothed part three. As you can probably suss out this is the last instalment which has taken me a very long time to get round to because i can honestly say that writing this character terrifies me.

My thanks goes out to those of you who have reviewed and favourited this story and to my best friend in real life and on here theemotionalrangeofateaspoon for being incredible and beta-ing for me.

I've really enjoyed writing this story, it's been a challenge and I hope that you have enjoyed it!


They say that in your final moments your life flashes before your eyes. You see all that has been good and bad. All that was well and not. When I died I saw only one memory of my sister running away for her own happiness. And me left to endure what she never was brave enough to.

Let me give you a little background information. I am, as you may have already gathered, dead. I had two sisters - one older, one younger making me the dreaded "middle child". I'm pureblood, or at least I was, and proud. In my living days I was mad. Crazy. Deranged. Let me tell you why.

My older sister was bound to marry a man who chose her fresh from school and when I say bound, I mean almost like an Unbreakable Vow but worse. What she never knew was that if she ran away from that marriage, her direct family would be killed in very close succession unless her betrothed were to die. Her husband and daughter were killed within a month of one another and the only reason her grandson is alive is because of me.

It was me that was left to marry her sloppy seconds and he hated me for it. Every day of my life he would use the Cruciatus Curse on me, putting every once of his hatred of me into it so much that I writhed, screamed and begged for days at a time. He would use my body while in this state for all sorts of unimaginable tortures for he and his friends to enjoy and me to suffer.

It drove me mad to the point of insanity and it didn't take long for me to enjoy torturing others with the same curse he would use on me just so that they knew what it was like. How it felt to be abused. To feel dirty like I have since I was seventeen years old.

I followed him and along with my younger sister and her husband joined the Dark Lords' army where my torturing was appreciated and my hate for mud bloods kindled. After all, it was the fault of a mudblood that turned my life to shit.

I followed my husband and new Master religiously, bending to there every whim. I helped my master rise to power twice and was there at the epic battle that took his life. I heard his cries as I was struck down right before him and in my last moment, I knew that something worthwhile could be done to redeem all that I had done.

I aimed somewhere other than my opponent, not striking her but my husband, killing him instantaneously. Meaning that my sister who's heartbreak had been enough to pay for what she had done to me could have a turquoise-haired baby who so resembled my niece.

Meaning that I could die with one last shred of self respect.


Disclaimer: my name (unfortunately) is not J.K. Rowling therefore I cannot take credit for any of the characters, spells etc mentioned (or in this case implied) in this story.

Remember to review and let me know what I should write next!

Thank you for sticking with the sisters. I've really become quite attached to them and I hope that this maybe puts them into better light.