Never

She padded down the hallway to Lucius Malfoy's bedroom, hoping, praying that there would be no noise emanating from the door. The whores of the Riddle House screamed, a bone-chilling sound. Veela, they were - nothing less for Lord Voldemort's minions. They weren't whores. They were captives, being used as whores. But to her, to her and to the other females, few though they were, they were whores. They were filthy creatures, created not through a woman but through Dark wizard's twisted science, and more importantly, they had no will of their own to choose whom to bed with. They were under the Dark Lord's power.

They weren't like her. They had no home, nothing to return to. They were homeless in their own, elegant way. But in this turmoil, this time of hardship for the males and delectable nights for the females, they were just the same as her and her female colleagues. They all were at the Riddle house. Always.

The women hadn't been given any rooms. It was their job to find a man to stay with - the consequences were a night with the Dark Lord. And the men did not expect only someone to sleep next to them. It was just one of the requirements of being a female Death Eater. They were always treated as inferiors by Voldemort, but the men themselves worshipped the very ground they walked on. They were the only women that would take them now - when they had been innocent, they could have had anyone at all. Now, no matter how young and how handsome, only a Death Eater would take a Death Eater.

Marriage was out of the question for most of the younger women, but the time would come soon when someone would forget - accidentally, or on purpose, it did not matter - to take their birth-control potion, and marriage would be a necessity.

And yet, they all had to stay here. All of them - until their 'brilliant' plan to kill the Potters was carried out. And for those who the women had no desire to pay late-night visits to, they were provided with a nice, full-breasted Veela to grab around the waist. But it wasn't the same as the assurance that a woman had chosen you, had came to your room out of free will.

She rounded the corner, past Avery's room - Alana's voice was apparent there, though last night it had been at Lestrange's door - Lestrange's room was empty - Crouch's, empty - Malfoy's.

Full.

Narcissa's giggling, kissing, Lucius' panting. She cursed the blonde for being faithful to the same man every night. Where was the fun in that? But she could begrudge her nothing; there were few who were worthy of even checking at their doors. One thing about the Death Eaters - not many were handsome. Lestrange it would be, then.

As she slipped in the door and under the covers, into Lestrange's welcoming arms, she wondered what was going through Narcissa's mind. She could have anyone; why did she come back to Lucius every night? They wouldn't even know if she was a Veela or not until they saw the Dark Mark. Oh, the possibilities, she thought with a smirk. Was it conscience? No - no one staying in this house had conscience. If not conscience, love then. It was inevitable.

Inevitable but dangerous. One of them could wind up dead, and what of the other? She would never fall in love, that was for sure. She was young and foolish, but she knew it. Not like Narcissa. She wasn't going to lose herself to any man.

"Eve," Lestrange whispered into her neck. She hadn't even been aware of what she was doing until then. "Eve..." The sound rang in her ears. As she felt herself losing her sense of reason to pleasure, she thought of one thing and one thing only.

She'd never fall in love.

"Eve..."

Never fall in love.

"Eve..."

Never