Until Death Do Us Part

It's you isn't it? You're the one... you're the spy, the betrayer... I can't understand why.

It's you. You're the one. But why?

And one day... he was gone. He just... left. The mistrust and fear had reached a breaking point, and he broke first. Lashed out, smashed a chair. I don't even remember what he said or what I did. It was irrelevant. The sole fact that we argued so bitterly shows we just didn't know each other any more. I told him I didn't love him. I still see his cold, blank eyes: those eyes that used to be so alight with mischief and life. He's dead to me now.

We said things we didn't really mean. I got angry, broke a chair. I told him I didn't love him either. You can't love someone when you don't trust them anymore. We just never talked, never touched. We had sex more out of necessity than anything else. We needed some release from the anger and frustration. It wasn't even making love. The love had withered and died. We just went through the motions, cold, calculated, meaningless. It was about the only interaction we had. I still see his sorrowful, weary face: that face that used to be so alight with intelligence and life. He's dead to me now.

I look up to the sky... to the stars... looking for guidance. Don't do this to me. Don't do this, love. I'm dead inside. Sometimes I'll do stupid things, like bite my arms until they bleed, or kick tables until my toes are crushed and broken, or throw myself against a wall until my skin splits under the mangled bruises. I need to hurt myself, so I can forget about you.

I'll fuck anyone I can. Would you believe me if I said it was because I love you? Every single time, when I lie there in someone else's arms surrounded by the putrid stench of betrayal, disgusted at myself, I tell myself it's because I love you. My head's screwed up. It's this or sticking my hand in the fire and waiting until the skin melts and cracks and splits and bleeds and the raw flesh screams in protest. I need to hate myself, so I can stop hating you.

You betrayed Lily and James. You killed Peter. I don't want to believe it, love. I remember you.

You think I betrayed Lily and James. You think I killed Peter. Don't believe it, love. Remember me.

I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I love you.

I fucking hate you. But, oh God, I love you.

* * *

Two years... five years... six years... ten years... twelve years...

Has it really been twelve years?

An agonising wait. Twelve years of bitterness, resentment, hatred and longing. Me, who used to miss you like crazy if I didn't see you for a week - I've now not seen you for twelve whole years. At least, not in person. Your blank eyes, boiling with insane rage yet fading into a resigned weariness of loss taunt me as they glare from every shop window, every crumpled newspaper. I think I hate you even more now. Having you back... is the most painful thing I could have ever imagined. I thought losing you would kill me, but this is pure torture. It's like you're a ghost. Don't you understand? You've been dead to me. Dead for too long. I'd almost managed to destroy your memory. I had to break my heart to do it - I had to carve away all the pieces of you that were so deeply ingrained in me, and it left almost nothing. There was nothing in me that didn't have your imprint upon it. Now... now everything returns in a flood of fragmented memories. It hurts. It hurts so damn much - every part of me that I utterly destroyed to be rid of you left a painful wound and now, every part suddenly sears itself back onto the gaping holes. It's overwhelming emotion... I almost died again.

Twelve years of not having heard your voice, seen your face, smelt your scent, touched your body... It hurt more than words can say. I tried to kill myself once, when I still had strength left in me and when insanity gripped the edges of my mind with cold, rotten fingers. I fought at first, then as sorrow and helplessness seeped through my skin in cold waves I just wanted to end it all as soon as possible. There was a rock lying in the corner of my cell, one edge gleaming invitingly. I hacked at my wrists, hoping I would bleed to death. It seems ridiculous now, but I was desperate. It didn't work at all, which made me angry. I succeeded only in a lot of bruises, a lot a scratches, a lot of pain, but no release. I seemed to be destined to whither away in a slow spiral of madness. But somehow I just couldn't. I was ashamed... I don't give up. I never give up. Can you imagine - if we were seventeen all over again, and a prank just wasn't working and all my time and energy was going into its success, would I just give up? Can you imagine me saying - that's it, I quit? You've said it many times yourself; I'm bloody stubborn, and too damn proud. So I fought again. For me, for James and Lily, for revenge, and though I told myself it wasn't true - for you. I was innocent. I deserved another chance. Just for another glimpse of your face, a touch of your hand, I fought like hell. The thought of seeing you again was all the motivation I needed.

Frankly, you looked frightening. Gaunt, pale, drawn, scarred, dirty, mad, haunted... For a moment I really thought there was nothing of you left in that ugly, broken shell. But then I saw you again, that wicked grin, those dark eyes, and for one blinding instant we were seventeen again - back at Hogwarts, in the Shrieking Shack after a transformation. I felt weak and sick. I wanted you to kiss and hug me just like before and say you loved me. But there were more pressing matters to attend to. So I buried my emotions, and then another old friend came into the picture. A dirty, disloyal, murderous coward - and my best friend. It was like a reunion, except the two people who should also have been there were now dead - all because of this filthy rat I called friend. We almost killed him, didn't we? Together. Hardened by years of bitterness and hatred, we almost murdered a man who was an integral part of our lives. How did it come to this?

Frankly, you looked frightening. Pale, tired, weary, sad... Where was the young man I used to know? Then suddenly, I saw you again - those keen eyes, that soft voice... it was like we were seventeen again and all I wanted to do was to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you. And I would have too... forget the fact there were three impressionable young teenagers around, forget the fact that I was a convicted murderer and you an esteemed professor, and forget the fact that James' son was in front of us... damn it, I wanted to kiss you until morning to make up for twelve years' worth of loneliness. But I had one important matter to attend to. Revenge. And we almost did it, love. We almost killed the filthy rat. But apparently Harry inherited many more of James' qualities than just his looks. Brave and noble, Harry was, just like his father. I would have killed the rat, but what surprised me was your willingness to murder. We are both changed men, it seems. No longer seventeen, and hardened by the harshness of life.

Fate, it seems, is quite the little bitch. No sooner had I found you all over again that you were once again ripped from me. I'm sorry if I sound selfish - I realise your freedom was taken from you, and your chance of revenge destroyed - but all I could think of was how unfair it was that you had to leave me all over again. Twelve years of hatred were gone in an instant. Yes, it hurt, but I forgave you. How could I not? There's no time for resentment, no time for sorrow... life is destroyed by those who don't deserve it and love is taken away from those who cherish it. We've wasted so much time. We had a second chance. It was taken away from us. Now I'm just waiting for a third chance.

I was on the run again. I seem to run a lot. I ran from home, I ran from society, I ran from the law, I ran from you, even. And now I'm running again. Running from certain death, it seems. I wonder if one day it'll catch up with me. After all, I've eluded it for so long it seems almost inevitable. One day I will kill that bastard, Pettigrew. One day I'll kill anyone who stands in our way. And I'll do it for you, love.

I like to think I'll see you again, love.

Soon, my love. Soon.