I lived here before, before they made me go away. I was a little boy back then, sitting on those grimy steps leading up to heaven. Sitting there, I would listen to the cries of the children across the street, staring bug-eyed at each passing life. They called me names, yes they did.

"Pissin in your pants again, mamma's boy?"

Oh yes, they did. They should have looked away; away from the horror, me. But did they? They played soccer in the street and laughed. They thought something was wrong with me. The way I never laughed, smiled, or even carry the faintest bit of glee. Entranced they looked on. At me.

I remember these steps. The day a man in a suit took my hand, looked through my eyes, and took me away. Away from the jeering. Away from them.

I would forever curse their existence. I saw them as different from me. I called them names in my sleep. I wasn't the one who was different, they were. I couldn't help myself. I was who I was, and will continue to be the one who must destroy their inferior existence. Yes, I must.

Could I have remembered all of this? Was it ever part of my life? I walk along up this street and down the next, thinking and believing: my past.

Shooting out my wand, I send souls away, and forever seal the difference between me, and them. Between the full-bloods and the others.