During the final months of the war, Hannah Abbott ran a small apothecary that secretly served as a refuge for the Order of the Phoenix. One stormy night, a wounded wizard stumbled through her door—Evan Rosier Jr., claiming to be a deserter from the Death Eaters. Against all warnings, Hannah took him in, healed him, and over time, fell in love with the quiet strength behind his haunted eyes. Evan told her she was his salvation, that she gave him a reason to live beyond the darkness. But his words were lies carefully woven into truth. Weeks later, when the Order gathered beneath the apothecary to plan their next move, the night erupted in green fire. Death Eaters flooded the tunnels, killing without mercy. Amid the chaos, Hannah fought back, her wand shaking, heart pounding—until she saw him. Evan stood across the room, mask gleaming, wand raised, her name on his lips before he struck her down. When she awoke, her wrists were bound, her body bruised and bloodied, dragged across the cold stone floor of Malfoy Manor. The great doors opened, and there he was—the Dark Lord himself, eyes burning crimson in the torchlight. Voldemort praised Evan for his cunning, for the beautiful trap he’d set. Hannah’s voice cracked as she looked up at the man she had loved. “You said you loved me,” she whispered. Evan’s jaw tightened, his wand trembling in his hand. “My loyalty is to my Lord,” he said, though the words tasted like poison. Voldemort smiled, thin and cruel. “Then prove it,” he hissed. “Show her the pain of betrayal.” Evan hesitated only a moment before casting the Cruciatus Curse. The air filled with Hannah’s screams—shattered, raw, echoing through the marble hall. When it ended, she lay trembling, broken but alive. That night, when the manor had gone silent, Evan crept into her cell. He knelt beside her, hands shaking, whispering apologies she could barely hear. “I didn’t want this. I never meant for it to be you.”