Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit.

To All That

It's funny how these things work out. Or it's funny to her, anyway. She's always had a strange sense of humor. She remembers the picture that Dumbledore insisted on, and lying to Lesley and Gwen about why she couldn't meet with them yet again. Maybe other people are supposed to have regrets, but she doesn't understand that concept. Some people are designed to be plotters and planners, but that's always involved more thinking than she's interested in.

The only thing she's good at -- the only thing she's ever been good at -- is getting attention. She makes people mad. And she's betting that even this crazy bastard is still a person.

"Stupid bitch bit me," someone growls next to her. She can't see his face, but she thinks she heard his voice back in Hogwarts. They were in the same year, weren't they? The disadvantage to living in the now is that she can't think back three years.

Oh yeah. She wanted to play professional Quidditch, didn't she? Just like everyone else. Nice and glamorous. Hey kids! Forget the girl on her knees in the dirt, because here's a real hero!

Someone shoves her flat on her face. Her hands aren't bound -- not much point when she's only got one good arm and there's no wand in reach. She mutters a curse around a swollen lip and pushes herself up enough to glare at whoever pushed her. He's got a mask, so she can't silence the nagging feeling that she should know him too. Whatsisface, almost killed her with a Bludger back in fifth year --

There's movement in front of her. Someone else grabs her by her hair and jerks her head up. If she didn't hurt quite so much she'd tell the fucker off.

"That mouth is going to get you in trouble, Dorcas."

If her mum only knew. That'd be a great laugh, wouldn't it? "Remember how crazy Uncle Henry said I'd get myself killed before I was twenty-one? Kinda funny, when you think about it -- "

A hand with too-long fingers grabs her jaw and wrenches her face to one side. She stares up at Voldemort -- not You-Know-Who, not the Dark fucking Lord -- and is so scared she forgets how to breathe. He's not human he's not human Dumbledore didn't tell me he's not human anymore...

"I thought there were two of them," he says to the man behind her, with the voice she should know.

There are shuffling feet somewhere to her left. Good. Maybe someone else will get to enjoy Cruciatus with her. "Bones got away."

"And you brought this. Charming."

He twists her face away from his, and now that she doesn't have to look at him her head starts to work again. She even remembers how to speak. It's all she's good at, making people mad.

"Gotta name, bastard."

Oh, lovely. Highly original, that.

"Yes. Meadowes. You mentioned." The threat hangs in the air, implying that she told much more than that. She would laugh if she could remember how. She's a weapon and she just keeps getting up over and over again, and he's so stupid that he thinks she actually knows anything beyond the Order's existence. But even that's a threat and she has to keep it from him any way she can.

The sound she makes isn't a laugh, but it'll do. "Halfblood trying to threaten me?"

Her face gets slammed into the ground. Black spots and pain explode behind her eyes and she watches with detached fascination as blood drips onto the dirt. Maybe if she keeps this up she'll get them to beat her brains out before they pry anything out of her.

She's hauled back up again. Someone wrenches her broken arm and someone else slashes Severing Charms across her face and her chest -- and okay, yeah, she screams. It hurts like hell and they won't let her pass out. Inconsiderate fucks.

Voldemort's saying something. She can hear his voice, but it's coming through a tunnel with the rest of the noise and she can't understand the words. Fine. She doesn't want to hear them anyway. At least she can still talk and that's all that matters. All she's good at is making people mad.

Might as well go all the way. "Gonna kill me, halfblood?"

Her face gets slammed into the ground again. For some reason it hasn't occurred to them to break her jaw. But she's not scared anymore and that's all that matters.

"Mudblood bastard!"

It doesn't hurt as much when they get around to shattering her good arm or those ribs, although she could've done without whatever curse is making her skin blister and burn. It looks like acid is eating through her jumper, and she vaguely remembers that it's the ugly red thing Ted and Andi bought her last Christmas. She's glad she never told them about the Order, even though she thinks they knew anyway.

"Hi Andi, I'm being tortured to death, lovely weather we're having -- "

It's up to better people than her to kill Voldemort. She wonders who will get around to it, and if it makes her selfish to wish she could be that brave.

When she spits in his face it leaves a red trail, and she looks at him without fear for the first time. Stupid bastard. He's furious, and he throws aside any chance of using her and prying information from her. She can't even push herself up off the floor anymore and doesn't he get it, he can't do anything anymore. Is he that fucking blind?

I win, you bastard.

She smiles as green light fills the world.