It's cold. I lie on my back on the floor, feeling the blood seeping underneath me. The surroundings are very bleak -- they always are. The torn window hangings, the shredded bedding, the half-destroyed furniture. Home for one night a month. The windows are boarded up, and the entire village believes the place to be haunted, but I'm afraid I'm the only monster who will ever haunt the place. My screams are the only noise to penetrate the silence, but as I lay on the floor, I'm too hoarse to make a sound.

It's getting colder. I shiver, but my body refuses to allow me to rise. My hands and arms are a bloody mess, and a long gash runs along my stomach. I am naked, but otherwise covered in red substance. Enough blood to pay for my sins.

The cold is endless. It always is. Every month this is repeated, and I never think that I can go on. I can't go on. But I do go on. It's something I must do. For them. For me. For my parents. Sometimes I wonder if I should just stay here and allow my life-blood to spill until there is no more. I do not wonder that this time.

Because they know. James, Sirius, and Peter know. They don't mind. They love me for me, and they've assured me that nothing will ever change that fact. And that has made all the difference in this fight. That is what makes it worth fighting.