Disclaimer: I don't own HP. Rowling and everyone associated with the publications and printing do, but I don't.

Burning Bridges
By: TF

(One-Shot)

I am a coward. I can't even perform the most simple of initiation tasks to prove my worth because I'm too afraid what will happen if I kill a crazy old man. Instead my mentor performed the deed, leaving me in his debt as we run. No doubt my mother put him up to this, but if she hadn't…well, I don't want to think about what would've happened if she hadn't, things are going to be bad enough as it is.

We're running, robes billowing out like obscure wings behind us as we head for the edge of the wards and out from under the castle's protection magic. We don't really need to run, but the others won't listen, so I keep my mouth shut. There's no use in meeting my demise soon, I'd at least like to drag my last moments out if I can. I failed, and the Dark Lord does not do failure, so I'm pretty much screwed as it is.

I wonder what my father would have to say about me now. I can see the snarl of contempt on his face, eyes digging into me like chips of ice as he looks upon the son he groomed into the perfect tool. But I failed, and now all he has is the perfect tool that didn't work to show for his efforts. I wonder what mother would say, she always told him that I wouldn't be able to do it. I wonder how she knew…

Too bad I can't go back to a few days ago where I was gloating over the prominent success of my plan. Well, I wasn't really gloating. It's hard to gloat when you're so tired that even walking straight is a hard thing to do. Ha, for once that stupid prat Potter was right. I was up to something, but now it's finished and there's nothing he or his stupid friends can do. I won, I beat the Boy-Who-Lived, but I'm not feeling the satisfaction I thought I'd be feeling. It's kind of hard to feel satisfied when you've become the bloody Boy-Who-Is-Running-For-His-Life.

I hate you Harry Potter. I hate you and all of your friends and your fame and the fact that everything revolves around you whether you like it or not. I hate you for taking away my father's attention, for beating me at everything, for sending everyone into the shadows as you stand upon the stage that is the play of your life. I hate you and your bloody fans and rule breaking and the way you have every teacher but Snape under your thumb. All because you're the brilliant Harry Potter, the baby, the fucking baby, who deflected He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's curse back at him. A fucking baby. I still can't believe it.

I hate you for making me weak and cowardly as you do all of your enemies. Because of you I wasn't able to complete the most simple of tasks. Some Death Eater I've turned out to be, I can't even kill an old man who never gave straight answers anyway. Screw you and your riddles old man, I'm tired of playing your games. You're dead now, and I'm out of the reach of you and your golden boy.

The forest around us is dark, but full of sounds too strange to be identified. I was in this forest once when I was eleven, but this is much, much worse. It's as if everything has been thrown out of balance and even the trees are angry as their branches reach out to snag against my robes as I run, trying to keep up with the group as best I can. I'd rather be dead by the hands of a megalomaniac than by the hands of some magical forest. At least with another wizard I'll stand a chance.

Fuck you Hogwarts, and Dumbledore, and Harry, and yes, even you Father. I'm sick of the lies and the games and the single-minded focus you place on another boy that should have been mine. I'm a coward who fucked up a simple mission, and now I have to face the consequences of my failure and my debt. I hope you're happy, because I'm not sure if I am.

Fin.