disclaimer: these characters aren't mine.
note: this fic was inspired by Moby's "In My Heart." …and Severus Snape.
In My Heart
chapter one
Dumbledore… no, his body, for it was lifeless, raised in the air, contorted like some sick marionette. Thus ends an era.
Thus began my life as the damned, more so by myself than any eternal figure in the sky. I knew long before I spoke those words that I was essentially fucked over for the rest of my life. I knew how it would end, not my life - his, when I woke up with a hangover and the burning fire within me of the Unbreakable Vow. I knew in my heart, but I didn't stop it.
I don't suppose many Death Eaters realize what working for the Dark Lord means. He doesn't say it outright; give me your soul, because you love me. In this way, he is god and not the devil, for he takes and never gives. He makes promises of rebirth, of miracles, of salvation, but those are distant. But he can give me power, Lucius Malfoy says. Protection, Peter Pettigrew says. Of all of them, only Bellatrix Lestrange understands. There is nothing, no end; there is only him.
Dumbledore didn't offer me salvation, only safe haven. I was finished with sacrificing myself for the Dark Lord's sake, but there is no leaving. When Dumbledore asked me to return as a spy, I didn't much mind having to act under the Dark Lord, but I detested the thought of giving myself to him completely. But my excuse allowed me the best of both worlds. I didn't have to openly support him or do anything I didn't want to really, because I had to keep up appearances. Rather convenient, I'd say.
I hated to think of it this way, but now I had an even better excuse. Now I simply had to stay underground, conduct scholarly research. Of course, Dumbledore had been more to me than any other: a friend, a teacher, a supporter. But I hated myself for his death, not for what I did to the Order, for I really had no emotional investment in them. God, for all I cared, they could go to hell. I had no desire to help them; I never had in the first place. But Dumbledore asked, so I did.
Now the games were over. No longer a tool, I could live my own life. I had always owed Dumbledore, that was the trade, the bargain. Now I stood alone. In my heart, I knew things would never be alright, but what could I do about it? I rationalized; life is better than death. This is all I have, as there is nothing more. I hold on so tightly that my hands are rubbed raw and my knuckles seem white
I resigned myself to survival under the Dark Lord. I'll do what I must, but not because I love him. But where do I find happiness? Only in the small things. Often never.
This is the life of a non-believer.