A/N: Forgive me for this one, I'm not entirely sure where it came from.

Disclaimer: The world is Rowling's. The plot? Mine.

Walk Alone in Fear

I watched them die. I stood back and let it happen. All masks and robes of black, hiding our faces from those who would join the ranks of the dead. But not just death. Slow, painful; torture, for the love of causing pain.

Is that what I've become? A sadist? I stood back and watched them tortured, screaming, begging. I let it happen. I helped. I shouted the curse, I held my wand trained on the Auror screaming on the ground. I watched, I stood by silent, grim, as his screams for mercy tapered off. We could've left him lying there, only partially alive. No more alive than those of our number Kissed in Azkaban from the last war.

I wasn't even old enough to know my name in the last war.

I didn't let the man live. A simple curse, and death. The screams weren't music to my ears. The screams haunt the nights, as I lie in my bed and pull the drapes closed tightly. His face, burned in my psyche. Her eyes wide in sudden death, burned in my memory.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was all promises of glory and power, of joining the right and purifying the community. We are wizards and witches, our families stretching back into the mists of time, pure and true, straight as a line. Purge the community, they promised, keep the blood pure, keep the unworthy out of the lines.

Princes are supposed to marry princesses. Kings and queens, royal and pure of blood. But Prince Charles married Princess Diana. He's in line for the throne, his sons are in line for the throne. Their purity of blood wasn't called in question. They're Muggles, but they're royalty. I'm a witch, and I'm a pureblood. Not royal.

I let them die. I helped. I cast the curse which took his life, tortured his mind. I sent the hex which caught her by surprise. I didn't interfere as the others had their fun, laughing at the pain they caused. I didn't laugh. But I didn't help.

I stood aside. I'm not a sadist, am I? Their pain brought me no joy, and will make only nightmares. I keep doing this day by day, week by week, controlled by the burning in my arm. I am his. I'm not a sadist, but I am his. They made me his from birth, raised in purity of blood. I'm not a princess, but I'm a witch, and I'm a pureblood. It made me proud, in school.

What does it make me now?

I walk alone.

They don't understand.

I'm not a sadist. But I stood back. I watched. I helped. I killed. I let it happen.

I'm damned.