Unrepentant

A pitiful laugh escaped him, rattling his sore body. He laughed like a madman, deeply, and with an exasperated gasp that only a man who had spent nearly eight and a half years in hell could release. He laughed because he could no longer cry.
Before he even felt himself move he was halfway across the room. Catching his silhouette in the glittering tiles as he launched towards her at a pace his broken body thought had left him long ago.
His fist connected with her face in an instant. Her wand tumbling to the floor in shock. The first time he had touched her in eight and a half years.
The pain of her betrayal fueled his turmoil like a wildfire fueled by the dry grass. The years of stolen memories flooded to him at once. Holding her hand as he dragged her to the undercroft, the exhilaration of sharing his biggest secret pounding. Her pressed against his back as they fought Ranrock's Loyalists together, surrounded by her blue lightning. His lips on hers as he repented his actions over and over again, begging her to stay, begging her not to leave him too.
But she did leave him, she left him to a fate worse then death. Even Anne, whose whole life he had stolen, dared not send him to this fate. Even Ominis, whose entire life had been tainted by the glow of dark magic, was apprehensive. But her. She had wanted him gone. Her, who had fought and killed more people in her short time in his world than many did their entire lives, had wanted him gone. Her who had watched his heart spill out of his chest, time and time again. Her, who had seen how Anne was crumbling in his hands. Her, who fought for his ambition for months.
She wanted him gone.
She was no angel. Sebastian saw this now more then he ever had. The girl, who the world saw as Saviour, had sent him mercilessly to hell. No she was no angel at all, she was the hand of a cold, heartless god.
He was thrown back against the tiled walls. He felt the blood pump to his head. And the all too familiar feeling, had his memories spiralling deeper. Oh Anne. Poor sweet Anne. If it had been eight and a half years since he had been sent here, it had been nearly 9 years since she had lost her uncle. 9 years since she sent him flying across the room with all the power her depleting magic could muster. How he hoped when he opened his eyes to be back in that crypt. But when he did, all he saw was her body, her scarlet coat, bending down to grasp her discarded wand.
Wandless magic. He should have guessed. Though he knew they weren't required to learn wandless magic to become an auror, he had done far to much research into the position as a fourth year to not understand that. No instead he rememberd the girls closest friend mentioning the skill in a charms class. He rememberd how intrigued the young girl had become, she had barely learnt basic magic and yet her mind wondered to the distant skills of her friends homeland. A kinderd spirt, he had joked when he met her. Constantly searching for the next best thing. He should have known she'd master it. Just as she masterd all.
"You could help Anne." was all she said before she approached the wall to her right tapping it lightly with her wand.
"Get her name out of your mouth," He snapped back at her raising from his corner to reach her again.
"She's in a specialist hospital, they can't stop the curse. But she's comfortable. She gets everything she could possibly need."
...
"She's alive!"
...
"Yes."
...
"Does she know you're here? Now? Does she know what you want of me?"
He looked in her eyes again. For the first time since she first revealed herself.
"I wouldn't dare do it without her permission."
"Then I shall come with you," She turned around slowly "not for you, or your ministry, or 'the lives of the whole wizarding world'" he mocked her practiced tone but no reaction came from the woman. "I will come, for Anne's sake".
...
"Good." She turned around again. The familiar cracking sound encapsulated the green room once more. As the walls fell around her. His hands became bound once more, this time with the golden, transparent ropes of a binding charm.
"Welcome, Mr Sallow, to the Ministry of Magic Auror Office."

If a metal door had set his mind ablaze, the Auror Office in the ministry of magic had burnt it to a crisp.
The walls maintained the same emerald green tiles as the small room he had stood in. But the windows that lined the dark corridor were decorated with tall red pillars. Red. Besides the girls scarlet coat, which the man had so harshly avoided looking at, he had not seen red in years. The specific shade reminded him at once of the jolly facade of Zonkos, bright, unnaturally so, standing out so harshly against the deep green walls.
As the woman lead him down the wide corridor, shooting out formalities as her slight heeled boots tapped against the glossy black floor, the newly refreshed boy found himself sneaking glances in every smokey window. In every room a different person sat at a heavy wooden desk, all in the identifiable scarlet coat of their position. Some sat facing others. Men in dark robes, gaunt faces in mock defiance. Dark Wizards, he thought. He found himself wondering what each of them had done to end up here, who had they hurt, killed, cursed.
"There's been a spike in dark magic activities," She spoke to him calmly. "It seems dark curses are at an all time high. We've managed to capture some of the biggest threats but somehow they just keep coming. It wasn't like this before." It was although she could read his thoughts. When she replied "Horrific curses Sebastian." Though she elaborated no further. He let his mind wonder back to his sister, her curse and the pain it had caused her. Caused them all. Why did she need him? He hadn't cured his sister before, and he sure as hell hadn't made any progress pent up in azkaban with nothing but grey stoney walls to remind him, he was infact alive. But he voiced no such question, opting instead to continue surveying the lines of offices for the remainder of their short walk.
After awhile the woman infront of him stopped abruptly, turning quickly on her heels to face him once again.
"When we enter this room, I want you on your best behaviour. Do you understand Mr Sallow?" There it was again, 'Mr Sallow'. It seemed many of the girls comments were straight out of a handbook. He had always hated the formality of Mr Sallow. His uncle was Mr Sallow not him. Even his father refused the name, only responding to Professor or in occasional circumstances 'Sir'. It made a young Sebastian wonder why, for he had no history with the name that the child had been made aware of. Not like he has now.
A bitter chuckle left his lips. "Whatever you say, 'Miss'. He meant it to sound cruel, to distance himself from their history, to renounce her name entirely. But the women just laughed slightly in reply, leading the binded man towards a tall black door to her left.

Upon pushing the heavy door, it opened out with a creak, revealing before him a bustling office. The room was large, perhaps as large as the great hall, perhaps even larger. But it was filled with tables and chairs and aggravated aurors running around in their scarlet coats. Papers birds flew around his head with grace before shooting into the red and gold tubes dotted around the space. Documents were strawn out everywhere the eye could see, typed neatly in the inky blackness of a typewriter.
A man passed him closely, pushing a trolley across the busy floor. And, stealing a glance towards it, the boy saw a collection of ancient-looking objects, all glowing with the distinctive allure of dark magic. His heart broke for a moment, as the trolley pushed past him with ease. Seeing so many powerful objects in one place, as if they were nothing more than paper weights. Things he threw away his life for, collected like stamps on an old squeaky trolley.
He continued through the room, a foot behind his guide, as every eye turned towards him. Was this what it was like for her? When she arrived late to the great hall. When she beat him in defence against the dark arts. When proffesor Fig was announced dead. Is this how she felt when the news of his crimes got out. Did his class mates look to her and Ominis, did they think she was part of it too? Or did they trust their Saviour blindly? He could feel their glares burn into his skull, and he made no effort to hide his distaste towards his very much captive audience. How large could this building even be, why could she tell him in one of the hundred of empty office they had passed a moment before. Why must she drag him across this sea of disgusted faces. Every scarlet witch or wizard was a dementor and she was his prison guard, dragging him towards more suffering.
She entered another room in the far left corner of busy hall, holding the door to allow him to walk through. It was a small room. Dark. With a single dull light shining from above them. A joint desk sat in the centre of the room, a glass frame partitioning the two halves. Both sides were covered in photographs and messy handwriting. On one side, the side he was currently facing, he could make out her particular brand of long drawn out cursive writing. It hadn't changed at all since fifth year. It looked just how it had in her letters, on every essay, and each crumpled note. He rememberd how much he used to adore seeing it. He used to love how his name looked, curved and swirling as he opened the always creased envelopes. But looking at it now, his name the centre of a sprawling spider diagram of photographs and documents, he couldn't bury the feeling of dread.
"Girl-wonder your back," a male voice sounded cheerily from the other side of the desk, his face shielded by papers pasted to the glass. "And you brought our little friend with you." 'Little' Sebastian was far from little, he was rather tall, and despite the years of depravity, was still rather broad shouldered. Perhaps it was genetic, his uncle was the same, though the boys mind could not stretch to consider his father.
"Mr Sallow, please take a seat." She guided him without touch to the leathery chair besides the desk. It had clearly been pulled from another department, as the navy blue leather and mahogany woodwork stood out against the green furnishings of the office. Like graphorn in a den of puffskiens.
"Thomas Rutherford," she spoke the mans name, clearly for Sebastian's sole benefit "This is the man I was telling you about, Sebastian Sallow."  Telling him about? She spoke about him? No, of course not, she meant for her case.
"Ah, our curse breaker extraordinaire." The man, Thomas, said mockingly.
The room went silent as the girl glared daggers at her fellow auror. It was tense and for a moment Sebastian allowed himself to wonder what exactly she had told the man. Did he know about Anne, is that why he was mocking him. Or perhaps, had the girl failed to mention that the boy never made any real progress on helping his sister, when she offered him as a resource. The silence continued.
" Ah yes dark curses, my expertise." The sarcasm fell from his lips before he could stop himself. He glanced at the girl who was looking agitated between the two men, her lips parted and stumbling for words.
"Never seen you speechless, sweetheart" Thomas joked, finally standing from his side if the desk, stepping into the light were Sebastian could get a proper look at him. He was tall and brunette, with hair that refused to sit in place, much as Sebastain's own hair often stayed. But his face was porcelain, his eyes deep set and his eyebrows thick. A perfectly attractive man, in his perfectly tailored scarlet coat, now standing next to the perfectly poised woman whom had lead him in here. Thomas Rutherford. The man who had taken Sebastian's life.