Snatched

It took a long time for me to justify what I did, afterwards, and I don't think I ever reconciled myself fully, because for a long time after I was saddled with the weight of guilt, that unignorable pestering doubt, self-hatred, disappointment. When I looked into the stars at night they seemed to bear down, grimacing as they flashed their bright white teeth, and the slice of the moon would jeer at me, and so only a dark corner or a cloudy night could ever give me comfort, save the feel of her touch which was, after that night, always out of the question.

One of those moments where none of the options are the right ones. One of those times where you're desperate for someone to blame for your subsequent mistake, where you refuse to take responsibility for what might happen, what will go on. One of those moments where that sense of futility makes all your gestures unsteady and rash, your face bleak and expressionless. One of those moments that you never forget, no matter what you try.

So it came to pass that we reached the edge of the village and, when we crossed the enchantments, we apparated, her holding tightly onto my arm, with my face set hard, my lips pulled tight. Darkness consumed us. When we arrived the first thing I felt was the drip of cold rain on my face, a single raindrop as it ran down my brow to drip onto my cheek and to meet my lip. When I looked at her she was very quiet and very still but she wouldn't look anywhere but me; it seemed that she thought I'd go back on my word, betray her more than I already had. But betrayal barely came into this. That I'd even considered doing what I did removed be instantly from the others like me; ruthlessness was natural a thing, cruelty was a lifestyle; I knew that if anyone- Hooper, Archer, dead Finch- could see me they'd murder me on the spot. Letting her go, a pretty little downy-feathered bird from a cage, letting her stretch her bruised wings, arch into the sky like a dull sun; it shouldn't have happened. It should never have happened.

I pushed her against the wall and in the dim alley there seemed to be nothing but the glitter of wet stone, the faint smoke of our twin breath as it drifted towards the moon.
"Don't move," I said, and drew out my wand. Her shoulders were hunched and her head seemed to sink into them; her eyes were wide, knowing, hating. She shook her head a little and whimpered but I covered her mouth and shook mine right back. "Don't move, don't say anythin'." I drew in a breath that stung my lungs. "Nothin'." I don't know why but I expected tears. I thought that this, this moment that we'd been both travelling away from and hurtling towards, would break her, tear her up, send her mad. But you can't have madness in madness, and this whole thing had been crazy from the start; so her reaction was logical, it seemed, justified, sane. Human. I couldn't comprehend her expression and so pulled my hand away, let it hover beside her neck for a moment.
"Last words?" I asked, and she trembled in her refusal. Her head shook and I glanced down at her and said,
"May I?"
"Go on," she said indifferently and I placed my cold hand on her bare hip, pressed my face into her hair and put my wand to her temple.
"Don't forget me, darlin'," I whispered. Sighed. "Obliviate."

And so it was that I left Knockturn Alley a few minutes later, my coat wrapped tightly around myself, feeling a little lightheaded, a little mad. Her footsteps in the other direction soon died down and then there was silence, beautiful and cruel, unexpected. I imagined her, rushing through the dimness, just as I had found her, sent on her way as if our meeting had never happened. It wasn't the leaving her that was hard. Neither was the knowledge of what I'd done to her. It was the knowing she wouldn't know me that did me in. Her indifference. The cruellest thing.