Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc. belongs to JKR...

AN: I'm revamping old stories, trying to un-emo this a bit. I am aware that were is a way to do this without deleting everything and starting from scratch – but my computer is adamant that I shouldn't be allowed to do that; it had a major crash the other week and I've been suffering the consequences ever since – it never liked at the best of times.

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Chapter One

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It is cold.

You can feel blood trickling slowly down your back and it tickles. You twist slightly, chains creaking, metal on metal. If you could move just an inch more you may be able to stop it, that godforsaken itch…

It doesn't work. You feel like pouting as the cold slips over your vertebrae. An involuntary shudder and it pauses. Your relief shows itself in a sigh, echoing through the darkness of your cell.

Breathing in and you taste that familiar metallic scent on the air. You don't think it can have been more than a few hours since their last visit; the wounds are clearly still fresh.

You wonder in silence if your cellmate heard. You were never sure why it bothers you so much but the thought of him seeing you weak always made you cringe… Did they visit him too? He's surprisingly quiet considering… perhaps he isn't conscious...

It is a strange relationship you two have… You have thought it many times. If you were to be told back then that this was how you would live out the rest of your life you would have laughed; now you would cry were your tears not spent.

He must think it strange too… Before there was world domination, ultimate destruction, and above all else: power. Now he has nothing left but you. You, four walls and that blocked out window, too high to reach, too small to shed light. Forever it taunts you both.

They sit in darkness always. Years have passed and now they are so different to how they looked before. He is as much a prisoner as her, strapped in manacles to a filthy wall with only rags for warmth, yet her unseeing eyes still look at him through the darkness as a spoiled aristocrat, silken hair and pristine robes. Her body is broken, face distorted, but to him she is still the bushy haired schoolgirl, so righteous and bright. To him her eyes would never go out.

Slumped against the cold stone wall. It is damp. Perhaps it is raining outside… It has been months and years since you were first bought here, difficult to tell exactly how long when the only link you have to the world outside your cell is that slither of light and the torturers that just wont let you die. You wonder what the world looks like now… has much changed since that final battle? Is Hogwarts standing? Do the muggles fight as you once did? You know they can never win. If Harry failed then so did all humanity.

You find it strange to think of something like that. How can someone, just one person, mean so much? It is only in stories that a single hero is capable of ridding the world of evil… But you discovered half a lifetime ago that there was truth in so many of the fairytales you lived for as a child.

Forever never passes and you almost laugh at the pain. You tell yourself the torture doesn't matter anymore, that it is as you thought it might be, all those years ago when the sun was high and your friends living; a state of mind, and one you've left behind. You tell yourself it doesn't hurt.

In the fairytales there were countless Princesses, imprisoned in high towers, rescued by Prince Charming to be whisked of into the sunset and live happily ever after. But as with many things that so recently came to light, it is not that simple. You are no princess, just a little girl who lost all semblance of innocence far too young. Your prison lies under the earth, not even angel wings can reach you here… Prince Charming is a thought you would rather not dwell on, and sunset endings can never happen with Darkness triumphant.

It has been so long now… you barely remember what it was to feel sunlight on your face. Your only interaction is with those gaolers who never cease to hurt you, even in your dreams, and the Voice. The voice with the face of a memory. Him. It has kept you living, kept you sane. Through these years imprisoned that conversation is all you have to live for and by its will you are kept going… Though as the blood falls and spells drive harder, faster, deeper, you wonder if that is really something to be thankful for…

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You hated him with all your heart and soul. Merciful you were renowned as, ever forgiving, but stubbornness was something you were born to and with him you could not (would not) forget. Your grudge held even when your friends welcomed him in his sudden change of side. You think it was his family that died? Perhaps, details are fuzzy, but he joined your army and for a while at least he was a savoir of the Light, helping Harry master the darkness while onlookers followed in disbelief. You hated him then out of habit and in bitterness of his newfound popularity. Even as your friends accepted him you watched with distrust.

You realised later that he had not changed sides seeking salvation, redemption, or any moral reward. He honestly thought he was saving his own skin. He had played the game of power since the day he was born and delighted in his ability to foresee the outcomes of situations.

He played them so well…

Crossing, double-crossing, betrayal and false promises, and he had the world in his palm. His apparent lack of humanity came from his expressed understanding of the way they work. He knew what made people tick. He could put himself in their shoes and know what they would think to do next. He had outsmarted the Ministry, the Order, the Death Eaters and every time came out on top.

He trusted his abilities to the extent he changed sides when the War did not seem to go his way. Brave, cunning and ignorant all in one. His expertise lay in manipulation of the human mind and he forgot that he had made himself an enemy in the unknown. The Dark Lord Voldemort was no more human than he was sane, and overlooking that was the downfall of that proud, stubborn boy.

Unpredictable as the demon was, he read him wrong.

When darkness triumphed and descended in its masses, you blamed him for not knowing, when it was needed most. You blamed him for the death of your friends and the fear in your heart. You blamed him for your doubt and your failure and above all you blamed him for surviving when no other had. You hated him with all your heart and awaited his return to his home (for he truly belonged in the dark).

The battle had ended and you were alone together in the Order Headquarters, the last of your army of Light. Neither talked, too consumed in raw emotion to acknowledge another sinful undeserver in a world when saints were burned and criminals free. When footsteps broke your wallowing you blamed him and awaited your destruction, but as the door swung open and black figures sprung he knocked you from their aim. Together you fought and fought and wished you died, but as the undeserved survivors you were you were gifted prolonged existence.

You hated him for saving you that day. You hated him for the apology in his eyes as he knocked you to the floor. You hated him for the life that still ran daggers through your veins and you hated him for his loyalty when it no longer mattered. Together you were damned before the Dark Lord; the most loathed of his living enemies, you were not to escape with only death. The little girl that assisted every attempt to destroy him and resisted capture for so long, and the little boy who turned coat to join those fools that now lay beyond the grave.

With contempt he left you with your life and instead caged you, a hidden mockery of your famed mercy in battle. You were no longer Prisoners of War. The War was over. Now you were simply captives, guinea pigs for his new experiments, play things to ease his boredom. Iron bound your wrists. Instant torture dulled your senses.

They hung you together. They seemed to think it fitting, two enemies, the golden girl and the traitor. 'How quaint' they said as they stripped you of your magic. You remember he spat in their faces and snapped crude threats of blackmail and revenge. You all knew they were empty but for that moment your hate flickered to pride.

You hated him then, as they dragged you both, kicking and screaming, to a cell hewn from the very rock of the earth. You hated him because he could kick harder, because he made them jump back and stun him. You hated him because all you could do was shout and cry.

As you reached the door you met his eyes, a slice of moonlight in the midday sun. For that moment everything you ever thought of him was undone. In that moment he was pure and he was good. In that moment you loved him and despaired.

You took in everything you could of each other, eyes drinking the very essence of him as it was the last fraction of goodness you would ever see. Then they threw you through the door and it was gone. Complete darkness, and his image burned into your mind.

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The pain was unceasing and you hated him then for never screaming. You wept to the floor, wishing to crumple but the chains held you open and vulnerable. They whipped you, cursed you, raped you and you cried and screamed and wished over and over again to die. You heard their curses, harsher, faster, spoken with relish as they punished him for his betrayal, but in the thick darkness you didn't even see silhouettes and he never once made a sound. He was stronger than you perhaps. You hated him for that.

Time no longer existed with but a slither of light to guide you. Unconsciousness lapsed after their visits and awareness blurred. For months and days you suffered and wept and hated him with all your soul. That angel of light that hung in your dreams; you resented him for his night sky eyes and his classical beauty. You resented him for the way he let you see his soul that moment before the sun was shut out. You resented him for the way that memory was the only thing keeping you sane.

You resented him for the way, after an eternity or a moment of darkness and pain, he spoke to you.

Without warning, from the dark it came; his voice so soft, yet so pained. Shattering the heavy air in your black cell. It was hoarse, like a rotten aged rasping out his last request. So soft and yet so heavy in your mind. It echoed in your ears, bouncing off the walls for an eternity before you managed to focus on the words.

Recognition hit in a wave of warmth and maddened disbelief. You almost laughed, your throat protesting violently, so unused to any action past sobbing. The rasp that escaped you was more akin to a death rattle than any indicator of amusement. He stayed silent, awaiting your answer.

Summoning up your reserves of strength and near-forgotten Gryffindor courage you spoke back, ignoring the aching and the memories for the simple pleasure of something real to focus on.

"Are you alright?"

"Never Better."

And so it began.

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