The standard disclaimer rises again. Just a little free-verse poem I had in my head, thought I'd share it.


I was glaring at the only man who had ever said he trusted me.

He had the gall to say that he trusted no one else to this task.

The task of his death.

His murder.

Which was something I had avoided for nearly twenty years.

But now my mask was slipping.

My ire bubbling over like one of my potions left just too long on the flame.

The slate would no longer be clean.

That one black mark. The one thing I feared. Was to be true.

I am the murderer of Albus Dumbledore.