The wind blows, racing across my skin and brushing the dark hair from my eyes. I sit still, heart racing, body trembling. The nightingale sings on without my response as I sit in the shadows of a muggle street.

Oh Merlin, have pity on my soul.

I have a secret. Ha, the line spoken by every child searching for ways to feel important. It's not for attention. In fact, I'd rather the affected party didn't react at all, but they will. Only a fool would think they could escape it.

And despite my desperate folly in the past, I refuse to die a fool.

All heroes have secrets, but I am no hero. I have killed, and I have tortured. Families were ripped apart by my hand. Friendships were broken.

Yet, many of those I love consider me to be a hero. Though, some not any longer. Some will forget of the things I did for them when they learn of my betrayal. That is - if my enlightenment could be called a betrayal. I do not see it as such - only an awakening, a soul cleansing. My soul is too black for redemption. It will be destroyed. For my mind was mad, but my soul was sane.

Now, upon my dawning, my mind is sane.

My soul - however - pleas for sudden, quick death. It fought with insanity that leaked from my now-intelligent mind.

And it lost.

Mother always said that I was the hero that saved the Black family. Now, I'm slated for death. I have no heir. And it does not bother me.

And I a shallow man? For my values, my morals, have changed. My mother's opinion no longer seemed to matter.

Kreacher says I am a hero to him. Why? For the simple reason of treating him like a being with true feelings. My brother claims that he is a protector, a hero, for all those worth fighting for. He's always hated Kreacher. Is my elf – my friend – not worthy enough for my brother's standards?

One would think that secrets are interesting, tempting. Many want to know them. Children have them. Those with them receive much attention from the ones who wish to know them, to have something to hide. Faced with harsh reality, men, good men, bad men, all have secrets. Some are small, a betrayal of trust, a stolen kiss when bound to another. Some are unforgivable, a wand pointed at another's neck, a man slipping on a mask...

My secrets are unforgivable; I know it. I'll never ask for forgiveness, no, that would be a waste of time. At least not for this secret. I have another. Who doesn't? Inside of me I realize that all people have secrets, even the "light" side, even Dumbledore. But I can't help but think that my entire existence is a lie.

Do I personally support Voldemort? No.

Am I a death eater? Yes.

Do I hate my brother? No.

Did I tell him that I did? Yes.

I have only one question that I can answer truthfully.

Have I already signed my own death warrant? Hell yes.

It's funny, really, in an ironic sort of way. My biggest secret would remedy the one I had kept for years if it came out. All I had to do was make sure it reached my brother's ears, and he would hate me no longer, nor would he believe I ever hated him.

Then again, he could also say that I'm lying. He could look at me with anger and refuse to help me, saying that I chose the wrong side, and that now I must reap the results. I wish to ask.

I know I can't. This secret has repercussions. I have no wish for my brother to be killed because of it, and I assure you (it occurs to me that I am saying this to myself, and still thinking as if to another person. Perhaps madness and insanity have come over me in the last hours of my life. I have seen it happen to others) he would be killed.

He would be right to tell me that I chose the wrong side. I wanted protection for, yes, myself but mostly for my family.

At the crossroads of my life, I made a sharp turn, and now I'm drowning in it. Actually, hell with the sharp turn, I ejected myself off the broomstick. With my chosen path of darkness, I grew up. At eighteen, I am no child. The mark burns black only once on a child. After that, they have seen things that no child could endure.

What does that make me? A monster, demon, fiend…A mistake. No, my actions were, perhaps, mistakes, but my person could not be. Right?

Years ago, when I was a weak, innocent child, had I been asked about death, I would have said,

'Stars never die!'

That's why my name means. I'm a star, just like my brother. Though. In both the sky and in real life, my brother shines much brighter than I ever will. I'm the heart of a lion. I'm on the inside, unseen, unheard but there. My brother is on the outside, head held high, proud, brave... He was always the lion, but I have only recently accepted the heart. Before, had I been asked about that, I would have said something scathing and thought, once again, if my parents had been drunk the night the named me. Now, I'm proud of that name.

I'm a snake who turned lion. Bravery has never been something I'd claim as one of my traits. Oh no, I firmly believed my brother received that trait, though from where I was never sure. Now, in my present situation, I'm waiting quietly, calmly for death. You can't get much braver the that.

Or much more foolish. Perhaps I am fearless, and therefore: I am stupid. True courage is not the absence of fear. Rather, it is the presence of bravery.
I suppose that my secret isn't a very lion-like thing to do. Neither is my death; slipping out in pure silence, at the dead of night, is not very brave. I should be on the rooftops of London, screaming out that yes, I was a death eater, and yes, I betrayed him. That may even bring my death faster.

Yet, I can't do that. The Dark Lord - Voldemort - will do unspeakable things to keep his secrets under wrap. Unfortunately, his secret became one of mine.
One would think a hero's death would be grand; that he'd sacrifice himself. He'd fall, fighting till the end, weapons still in his hands. One would think there would be a moment of mourning, where everything just stopped to acknowledge the departed soul, and there was pure silence. His lover would sob over the body, breaking the noble, noiseless vigil. Eyes closed, expression closed, calm, brave, showing those he left behind that he felt no fear in the face of death.

I suppose one could say that I'm a hero. Betraying Voldemort, showing this sort of detached bravery, but I'm only a kid. Why does the world not realize that?I have no lover to cry over me once I'm lost; instead, that role will fall to my mother. Why? Because I'm only eighteen. I finished school not even a year ago, and now, here I am, contemplating death as an old man.

That's how I feel. Ancient. I've learned from too many mistakes too quickly. What happened to the naive arrogance of my youth? My older brother still has it! Why have the Fates chosen me, of all people, to fall under with the tide of innocents? I am lost. The rest of my generation will fool around until the last moment, when tragedy will wake them up. I've awoken to the pre-dawn sky, but I will fall asleep quickly.

I can only hope that it is painless, too.

I let out a soft sigh as I watch a dark bird fly overhead - the Nightingale. Then I hear footsteps. They've come. I turn around, only to see a flash of blinding green light. Then it is all gone, and I see nothing.

I blink open my eyes, feeling a sense of gratitude and peace come upon me. There is no need for secrets.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," or Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness.

References:
Nightingale references the night - from "Romeo and Juliet"
The section that talks about the soul being mad but the mind being sane references "Heart of Darkness."
This is for the Magic competition by l0stinl0ve. It is for Colloprtus.