2nd May 1998
It was over.
The dark lord was dead.
The dark marks on his followers arms had faded to almost nothing.
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger where the savours of the Wizarding world.
The golden trio would go down in history books.
Maybe he would as well.
But not for the same reasons.
That's what he thought about as he sat in his dark damp cell in Azkaban.
Would he be remembered for helping in the final battle?
Or would he always be remembered as the bratty, self centred boy that he had been?
He didn't bother wondering about what his sentence would be, nor his future. All he could do was wonder whether or not he'd wronged enough of his rights. If he was to die tomorrow, would he die with enemies? He thought about his mother, how she'd been forced into this life just as he had. He thought about Sirius and Regulus Black. About his Aunt Andromeda. But never his father, or Aunt Bellatrix.
He thought back to his first meeting with each of the Golden trio. If he'd been less of a dick, maybe hey would be his friends. Maybe he could have been like Sirius and Regulus. Maybe he would be happy. He wouldn't be locked in a cell, his father opposite him, his mother in an unknown location.
Azkaban was eerie. He wondered if he would prefer it with the dementors. It seemed that the ministry didn't know if they could trust the creatures so soon after the end of the war. Aurors patrolled the prison day in and out. Occasionally he saw a familiar face but no one he could ask for information on what was awaiting him.
He hadn't slept in nearly 52 hours. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the green sparks of the killing curse, dead bodies of fellow students and death eaters.
But at least it was over.
The war was over.
The reign of Lord Voldemort was over.
And he was free.
All he could do now was wonder.