Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. If I did, I would not be a poor college student.
A/N: So, I haven't written, let alone posted, anything on here for 2 years. And I apologize for anyone who has waited patiently for me to do something. My life has changed in those two years, and I had a personal experience today that influenced this story. Keep in mind, I wrote this during my evening class.
The people I interacted with at a young age cringes in fear when I told them my name. To be honest, I got off on it. Why wouldn't they? I was one of those people who would rather be feared than loved. And in fourth year, I still didn't bat an eye when I learned why people reacted that way to my family's name. I mean, I was 14. My only belief was that my family was bad ass because we served for one of the most powerful wizards in the worlds. But I was so naive. By my sixth year, my father was sent off to Azkaban. And the severity of my family's position in the wizarding world was made clear to me. I was now just as terrified as everyone else. With my father gone, I had to fill in his role, and I was highly unqualified. But I was stuck with it. Everyone else could run and hide from these horrible events or die trying. But in reality, those who were afraid were the lucky ones. I had no where to run, and now where to hide. I couldn't switch sides. Death would be my punishment. But would it be worth it? Is death better than fighting a battle where I could never win? I'm beginning to think it is. And that's what scares me the most...