The snow under my boots was not quite white at this time of the day. Everyone was leaving from the ministry to their houses, to reunite with their loved ones and tell them about their day.

Everyone except for me. I walked around London for what seemed like hours. I walked and walked feeling the cold get into my head.

The Thames River was nearly frozen by the edges and more snow was falling on top of my robes.

The muggles that walked past me watched my "silly costume" with curious eyes. Nobody knew. Nobody could. Nobody had to.

I felt the urge to jump into the frozen waters and let me be. What happened, happened. What was meant to be, was meant to be.

I took off my robe and warm clothes. I was shirtless now. My left arm came up to my face immediately, without me even noticing. And there it was.

The mark. The hideous mark. The Death Eaters mark. His mark. The one my father had made me took against my will. I wanted to cut my arm in the very moment he touched it, in the very moment the mark started to take form. He knew of course, and took advantage of it.

I was now cursed; nobody wanted anything to do with me. Not in the magic world anyway. I had lived up to hate the muggle world. I had no idea what to do, where to go. I wanted it to end. I couldn't stay here. They would found out and hate me even here. The muggles couldn't know, they couldn't hate me, they were all I had.

I wondered around the city in my jeans and boots. The snow keep falling, now numbing my senses and muscles because of the cold. Somebody offered me a lift, and a coat, but I couldn't take any of them. I knew I didn't deserve them.

But, what did I deserve? "Nothing…" my brain answered for me. Nothing good I guess.

I keep wondering through the nameless streets of muggle London, when I saw her. A muggle, of course. She was beautiful, breathtaking. She must have felt somebody was staring at her, so she turned to me. Our eyes connected and then I felt it. A warm feeling around my chest. I knew I felt it. Had she felted? She must have felt it.

I was about to take a step towards her, when I remembered. The mark. She couldn't know about it. I tried to keep going on but I was stuck to the floor. Stuck watching her. She approached me and offered me a big, black coat. I accepted it, but when I was putting it on, she saw my mark. She must have thought of it a tattoo because she didn't panic.

I walked with her, we talked for a while and then it hit me. If she didn't know, if she didn't find out, we could be happy. I could be happy, for the first time.

But I didn't deserve it. Did I? I had done so many bad things that I shouldn't deserve to be happy again.

Then she smiled at me, and asked me if we could meet again. Her eyes were shining, and I thought to myself, if I make her happy, I could be forgiven. If she thinks I deserve to be happy with her, maybe, and only maybe, I could forgive myself and be happy again.