A one-shot for the Suspicion challenge on xoxLewrahxox's forum.

Tbh, I'm not sure this is close enough to the prompt :S. I did what I could!

I'd like to thank Sarah for reassuring me and giving me a tip to make it better ;) I didn't exactly follow your advice, but you inspired me, so thanks a lot love!

Suspicion

Write a 100 or 500 word drabble to do with the theme suspicion. Now, this could be anything from: Something really serious, or something not so serious such as: Which DA member stole the last chocolate frog.

They both change.

He doesn't celebrate the victory, but gives to each their task in their new society, and vanishes on a quest of his own.

She doesn't celebrate the victory, but remains locked up in her sister's Manor, bitterly dwelling on her own uselessness.

He goes back in his grandfather's wreck of a hut, and screams in frustration and loss over an empty box, one less fragile item keeping him to this world.

She stares into the staggering hole of her own emptiness. In the mirror, it shows in every gaunt line of her face, in the bruise-like shadows under her eyes, the blueish veins that show on her temples, on her eyelids, through the diaphanous skin. She stares at her own face, sometimes for hours, until one day she thinks of Andromeda. Surely they don't look that alike now, surely Meda's plain prettiness has turned into a serene glow, while her own striking beauty wasted away in blood, in death and anguish.

Hot tears swell in her eyes, and her fist crashes into the mirror. Every salty tear, every shining drop of blood, every shard piercing her skin is her punishment for daring, even for a fleeting second, to wonder if the blood traitor's path has been shinier and happier than her own...

She misses her sisters. It is her dirty little secret. She has a few.

Seven. Seven Horcruxes he made, seven pieces of his soul he hid away and protected. Seven anchors of his life.

The cup. The locket. The ring. The diadem. The diary. Nagini. And Potter – but this he doesn't know. This, fate has decided, is his irony.

Seven. Seven flaws, seven faults, weaknesses of hers, tainted pieces of her soul she struggles to conceal. Seven like the sins, irony taunting her long damned mind.

Fear of herself, of the choices that brought her to this misery and loneliness (regret) Tears for her long lost beauty, the only source of pride she never doubted of (vanity). Sorrow for her sisters (betrayal). Her body wasting away, famished and bleeding from her knife (disorders). Desperate longing for a man she doesn't deserve (lust – disrespect)

She is letting go, accepting defeat. It is weakness at its purest form. She is letting her Lord down.

Everytime she sobs for her own misery among his triumph, everytime her head spins and she thinks she's going to fall, she's betraying him.

Mind, body and soul.

It connects everytime their gazes lock. They know anguish, and doubt, and however confident they look, self-hatred.

He pretends to loathe her weakness, yet some part of him fears to lose her. He doesn't know he is the air she's craving.

She can feel distress, in his voice, in his eyes, in the slightest move of his hand, the lightest wrinkle of his brow. Disrespect, she thinks. She doesn't know she could be his salvation.

But this help they crave is forbidden. They deny.

And suspicion remains suspicion, poisoning them until it is too late.