A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, guys. This chapter's a little shorter, but the next one's a fair bit longer, so it's swings and roundabouts really. Enjoy!

The Years that Followed the Morning After.

by Flaignan.

She hid. She had no other choice, and in the small shop there were not very many places to hide at all. She held her breath, wand shaking in her fist as she pressed herself into the wall, hoping that they wouldn't see her, hoping that the screams would stop soon and they would just leave.

Yes, she was a coward, but she had no hope against him. What was the point in adding one more name to the list of the dead? He'd wipe her out in a second.

She considered disapparating, but after what had happened to Ernie when he had tried the same, she thought it would be better to stay put and stay quiet. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the screams that echoed inside her head, agonising and desperate. Eventually he had fallen silent, the wrecked remains of his body crashing to the floor.

A solitary tear trickled down her face, her chin wobbling as she tried to keep calm. She could see his reflection in the window at the back of the store room. He wasn't like any man she had ever seen. Hopefully he wasn't like any man she would ever see again. She couldn't bear the thought of there being more than one of his sort.

There was a cold sweat breaking out all over her body, her light silk blouse becoming damp in no time at all, all the while her body shaking with fear.

A loud crash almost made her shriek, but the hand that wasn't gripping her wand managed to cover her mouth just in time to stifle it. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, most likely due to a ricocheting spell. Another tear leaked out and she clamped her hand even more tightly on her mouth to try and muffle the sound of her panicked breathing.

Silence fell, and Emily closed her eyes, praying to anybody that would listen that she would remain unnoticed. She heard a deep intake of breath in the other room, as though somebody was inhaling a pleasant scent.

Only he could enjoy the smell of burning, dust, panic and that slight metallic flavour left over from the curses he had rained down upon them. Only he could act like he was savouring the smell of a particularly good cup of tea.

"Come out from behind the wall, my dear."

Emily whimpered and pressed her hand even harder against her mouth.

"Don't make me force you, it won't be pretty."

Emily dropped her hand, took a deep breath, her eyes closed. She thought of her family, her friends, she thought of Michael, and suddenly she wasn't mad at him anymore. Suddenly she felt able to forgive him, but she'd never be able to tell him. She thought of all the things she would never get to do and wished that she hadn't wasted her life by working in the same shop for the last fifteen years.

If this was how she was going to die, she certainly wasn't going to be dragged kicking and screaming. She was Emily Pranghurst and she was not going to be a coward any more.

She stepped out into the main shop, the cracked counter being the only object between her and the half a dozen men standing proudly amongst the rubble. She frowned as she recognised two of them instantly.

"Arcturus," she breathed, his haughty expression showing no signs of recognition. She looked over to the man with neat, platinum blonde hair, an expensive emerald ring sitting on his wedding finger. "Abraxas."

He smirked and nodded at her in greeting.

She turned to the man in the middle. He was looking at her curiously, his head cocked slightly to one side, his eyes focused on her face. Her stomach sank as the truth presented itself, solid, real, and completely inescapable.

"Tom?"

"Let's make one thing clear," he said, his voice coming out in a hiss that made her recoil. "Should you ever address me by that name ever again, it will be the last thing you do. Do you understand me, Emily?"

She made no move to show that she had understood. "So it is you then?"

"It is me, yes," he replied, his once-grey eyes only making her feel uncomfortable now they were locked upon her. There was a time when he could make her blush, just by looking at her. Not now, though. Never again.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. Perhaps she would get out of this. If there was any humanity left in him at all, maybe he'd let her go. He hadn't killed her yet...

"Well, it's been nice seeing you and everything –"

Arcturus' haughty expression trembled as he pressed his lips together, attempting to hold in a laugh.

"My Lord," one of the others interrupted, "the Aurors will be here at any moment –"

"Let them come," he hissed, not even bothering to face the speaker. "Leave if you are a coward, we are finished anyway."

"But the girl –"

"The girl will not be harmed. Not today. Do not argue with me."

The Death Eater closed his mouth before he said something he would regret.

"Join me," he said, holding out a pale hand over the counter. "I will ensure your safety...providing you prove your usefulness to me. You always were an intelligent witch. Too intelligent to be working in a shop. Too intelligent to be wasting your life with that piece of muggleborn filth who so cruelly cast you aside."

She looked down, avoiding those awful bloodshot eyes.

"I never cast you aside, did I?"

Emily stood her ground. She knew full well he was reading her mind. He had done it before and it hadn't scared her then, so it certainly wouldn't scare her now. She was not going to let him bully her into taking the wrong path. She didn't want to be in his pocket for the rest of her life.

"Tom never cast me aside. But you're not Tom, are you, my Lord?" she surprised herself with the amount of venom that filled the last two words.

His malformed features twisted into a smirk. "You always were much braver than the others when you were speaking to me. I always admired you for it. I still do, in fact."

Emily said nothing, and Arcturus and Abraxas watched the exchange with mild interest.

"Tell me," he said after a short silence. "Did you like your boomerang?"

"Yes," she said, her face hard. Then, feeling a little braver, she said, "tell Tom I said thank you, won't you?"

He smirked, and for a second, she could still see the same perfect Head Boy that she had fallen head over heels for when she was a teenager. The same man who had held her close in complete silence for hours the last time they had met.

"You're still a pretty little thing, even when you're angry... you haven't changed a bit..." he stroked a long finger down her jawline and Emily had to fight against a shudder. His hands were ice cold, despite it being the middle of summer.

She leaned away from him instinctively and he drew his hand back.

"I'm still the same man, Emily. I just go by a different name. Come with me."

"You're not the same," Emily argued. "Not even close. I won't come with you, not now, not ever. I'd have gone with Tom in a heartbeat. But I can assure you, I won't be going anywhere with Lord Voldemort."

"She dares to speak your name, my Lord," Abraxas said, his eyes twinkling with dark amusement.

"And you don't," Emily retorted. "Coward."

Voldemort began to chuckle, bringing his hands together in a resounding clap that echoed throughout the ruined shop. "You see, Emily? This is why we had dinner. This is why I bothered to see you more than once and this is why I bothered sending you that boomerang."

Emily said nothing, deciding that now it would be best to stay silent. He seemed to be pleased with her behaviour and there was no need to change that. Not if she wanted to walk out of this shop alive, anyway.

"Still, you've made your decision, and that's fine," he continued. "The offer is always going to be open if you change your mind."

He leaned forward and brushed his cold lips against her cheek, causing the contents of Emily's stomach to rise in her throat.

"Goodbye Emily," he said simply, before he turned around, gestured to his followers and left in a whirlwind of black robes.

She sank to the floor and began to cry, as one by one, Aurors from the Ministry popped up, wands out and ready to duel.

"You're too late," she told them, wiping at her eyes. "You're all too late."