I lay here in my bed, waiting, watching.

I am not sure what I am watching for but still I watch.

I listen for the sound of footsteps on the spiral stair leading to the dormitory room. I cannot face my friends.

There comes a flood of thoughts while I wait. I remember vile curses. Ones I have taught, been taught, and am being taught. I think of my task. I wonder how I shall do it. Or if I will get the chance.

I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. I am truly scared. It is times like these I remember Sirius. I remember how valiantly he fought. How he would have killed Bellatrix. Like she killed him. I still do not understand how she could kill her own cousin. But going over to Voldemort could do that to a person I suppose.

The Daily Prophet reported the Dementors have left Azkaban this morning. This makes my reasons for learning the Killing Curse all the more urgent. I need to do something before Voldemort gets stronger. I know he needs to kill me, that no one else will be able to, and that is little comfort.

Dumbledore and I are busy devising plans to confront Voldemort. But I think I should just challenge him, instead of sneaking around.

Then I come to my senses. Things would be much easier if I crept out from a secure hiding place and killed him then. He would have no chance to kill me at all. I understand Dumbledore's reasons for secrecy.

Sometimes Dumbledore is late to our meetings. He has been conferring with the Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore has been looking sallow lately. But I have as well. It is overwork for Hermione and Ron and stress for the Order. Both of those reasons apply to Dumbledore and me.

Another thought occurs to me suddenly. What would it be like if Voldemort had chosen the pure-blood wizard boy, Neville? Would he still be hopeless with simple spells? I know Neville tries so hard but there is something in his mind blocking his memory and ability for spells.

Perhaps something happened for him to receive a powerful memory charm when he was young. Perhaps it was too strong for a small child and permanantly damaged his memory.

I do not know, and do not know if I ever shall.

I know I am rambling, but for some reason I feel it is important to write my last thoughts. I may die after my excursion, but if I survive, there will be no more solitude for me. Not even in my own thoughts will I be allowed to hide from my experiences. I just hope I can avoid this fate, but I know that I cannot.

Voldemort must kill me, as I must kill him. No others may do our bidding. It would be impossible for them to.

This curses me so.

There is no counter curse for what hangs over me. It is worse than any spell could make. I can survive a terrible spell, cast by a wand. But this kind of curse I cannot escape.

We live in a dark time. The centaurs have foreseen this. As they have read the stars that tell them of a war.

The war is upon us, though it is not called a war. A war is between countries, fighting for land or freedom. There is no way there can be freedom from evil. There is no fights for land ownership. Not even the whole of England is fighting. It is just the magical folk.

Someone approaches.

I am still in pain and more in misery.

But the prospect of killing is still black.