I look up from my homework as the passageway to the room slides open. I'm not surprised to see him here. He is early, that's all. I quickly look away, trying to ignore the fact that his appearance alone has started my hands to shaking. There is no light in the room save that cast by the flames, but I'm used to doing my assignments in the dark. It makes him look eerie though, maybe even a little crazy.

His brown hair, shot through with gray, sticks up in odd places, laying limp and lifeless in others. The amber eyes that once looked at me with compassion, with understanding, now only glow with contempt and pain. His cheeks are more hollow now, worse than I've ever seen them, and his lips look as though he's been biting them again. He reaches out toward me, and my hands shake so much that I drop my quill. I can't help noticing though that his fingers look even worse than his lips. Bloodied and mangled, as though they'd been bitten repeatedly. They feel strange as they grab my arm.

"Come." His voice is no longer the gentle baritone that once encouraged me, even comforted me. Instead it's rough whenever he speaks to me, his tone always carrying that harsh steel in it that I swear is reserved just for me. I'm the only one that sees this side of him; I don't even think the others know it exists.

I stand slowly, even though my knees really don't want to hold my weight and follow him through another doorway. I know better to fight. I haven't even tried for at least two months. The first time… that had been the hardest.

He stares at me as we enter the second room, and I wish for the darkness of the first. If only he didn't look at me! If I couldn't see the hatred and anguish in his eyes, maybe it would be easier. But I know deep down that nothing would make this easier.

The next moment finds my clothes gone, ripped from my body without a moment's thought. I learned the second week that it didn't do to wear my good robes when we had these… meetings. I don't know why he doesn't just banish them. I can only guess that the physical aspect of ripping them violently from my body is somehow enthralling. He doesn't banish his either. He takes them off slowly, one piece at a time, knowing that I get more nervous with each passing moment. I can feel all the blood drain from my face as he reaches his pants, and his eyes take on a purely evil glint.

Even with the potion I took earlier, my stomach is still flipping, and I have to struggle not to be ill as his pants join the rest of his clothes. I can't look at him, I never can. I close my eyes, unaware of anything until I feel the bed dip, and then my body tenses.

"Don't pull that pathetic routine with me, Potter! I'm only giving you what you deserve."

Do you know what the strangest thing about this whole ordeal is? I can't bring myself to hate him. I thought I would. I mean, aren't you supposed to hate someone who does this? I can't though. I've tried. But I don't hate him. I just feel… empty. Empty and terribly, terribly alone.

Because in a way I know he's right. That's why I stopped fighting this. I took everything away from him, but I didn't mean to. Merlin help me, but I didn't mean to. I took his friend, his heart, and his soul. I took away the one person he had left.

I'm numb until he finishes, and then he simply rolls away. I don't have the right to cry about this. I wonder what people would think if they knew. I wonder if they would care. I'm supposed to be having additional lessons while I'm with him, to protect me, to keep me safe, but we don't. And I don't blame him. I blame me, just the same as he blames me. After all, I did it. I'm the one who got Sirius killed. I roll over, pulling my knees to my chest, and so quiet that I know even he won't hear me, I beg. "Please… forgive me, Remus."