Prologue
The chains had been enchanted to hang from the wall of the cave. She hung there with them, the shackles cutting into her slender wrists, dangling by her grime-covered arms. ‘How did I get myself into this?’ she thought glumly, looking around. She couldn’t see much; her vision was blurry from lack of food and sleep. She could barely make out the dark shape hanging beside her, but she didn’t need to see what it was. She already knew. Severus Snape hung there beside her, almost to the point of death, even more so than she was. As she tried to focus in on him, she realized that she couldn’t hear him breathing, and she panicked.
“Uncle Severus,” she whispered hoarsely. “Uncle Severus, are you awake? P-please wake up...”
“Don’t waste your voice, child,” Severus whispered harshly. “I’m awake, rest assured.”
“W-when do you think they’ll come back?” she asked.
“I don’t want to think about it,” Severus answered. “Please, Mora, don’t speak anymore. You’re going to need all the strength you can muster very, very soon.”
Avonmora Snape would have glared at her uncle if she could. ‘Bloody git,’ she thought.
Suddenly the door was thrown violently open, and three black-cloaked people walked in, followed by more in regular black robes. One of them wore no hood, and he glared at Mora and her uncle with a malicious loathing through scarlet snake-eyes. Voldemort. Mora knew who the others were without having to see them; her sister, Moriana, and Draco Malfoy.
“Severus, Avonmora,” Voldemort hissed, grinning at them wickedly. “So sorry for the unexpected visit, but you know I just can’t pass up a chance to torture my favorite traitors.”
“The only traitor in this room is him,” Mora spat in Draco’s general direction, since she couldn’t really see where he was. She hated him. It only made the betrayal worse that they had been lovers before he had been discovered.
Draco had turned over a new leaf, it seemed. He had come to the Order begging forgiveness and a chance for redemption. He had been accepted into the Order with much less suspicion than Severus had, despite his past. It turned out, however, that Draco had been a spy all along. He had helped the Death Eaters during the first stage of the Final Battle; the stage which Mora and her uncle had both been captured in.
The back of a hand cutting across her cheek interrupted her thoughts. “How dare you speak of me like that,” a cold voice said. ‘Have I hit a nerve, Drakie?’ Mora thought, bitterly laughing in her mind.
“Calm yourself, Draco,” Voldemort said. “There will be plenty of time for that in due course.” He turned to Mora and smiled. “We’re a feisty little witch, aren’t we, Avonmora? Well, that shall be remedied shortly. Nott, release her.”
The shackles around her wrists creaked open, and she fell to the floor. Several sniggers erupted around the room. “Get up, Avonmora,” Voldemort commanded. She put her hands on the floor and tried pushing herself up, but her arms began to shake underneath her weight, and they collapsed on her. She fell to the floor again, and made no more attempts to get up. “I said UP!” Voldemort shouted, pointing his wand at her. She was lifted up violently and then dropped in the center of the room, surrounded by the Death Eaters.
Draco stepped up to her. “Please, Draco,” she whispered, begging his blurry figure. “Please don’t do this...You’re better than this.”
Draco looked down at her. She wished with all her heart that she could see the expression on his face; if it was one of regret, sadness, or just coldness as he raised his wand.
“Avada Kedavra.”