Disclaimer: Harry Potter and characters are not mine, but I like to mess around with them a bit. I apologize profusely.
A/N: This should be read aloud with a proper Londoner accent. (as should all the books for that matter.) I wrote this ages ago, and it really inspired the 'Luna' incident in my story 'Harry Potter and Dumbledore's Army'. It isn't exactly the same, but the idea started out this way. Just thought it might be fun to post it, and see what happens.
The Right Reasons
By Cat Calls
I regret so many things from my younger years.
If I had one thing that I could tell my younger self, it would be that the saying "It's better to be the devil's right hand than in his path" is untrue.
I wish it hadn't happened to begin with, but I realize now my mistake. I did not see that everyone who catches the Dark lord's eye is doomed no matter to whom they pretend to ally themselves. I believed that I was saving myself that night when I sold my soul to my master.
Now I sit in the darkness waiting for the end, and it can't come soon enough. I've had that wand pointed at me now for so long, that I no longer feel any pain. I am no longer frightened of death.
And this is not the first time he's done this. But it will certainly be the last.
The first time I was on my way home from a meeting with the Order. He never knew the place that I had come from no matter how many times I told, but he understood that it was not truly my secret to tell. He cursed me that evening when he asked me to join him, and join him I did, because I was afraid to die, and I wanted to feel appreciated and useful. I was very useful to my master. So useful sometimes that he would reward me by not torturing me afterwards.
I felt the cruciatus that first night though, as I do again now.
Those thin white hands do not shake as they tear my insides apart. Reach into my skull and remove my brain. He is taking my essence and turning it into fear and pain and suffering. Then he takes all of those parts of me and brings them into himself. The anger feeds him, makes him stronger. And yet now I see that he is not strong at all, but weak, and cowardly, because that is what I always was. I only see it now because I am not afraid anymore. I am no longer weak and cowardly.
His red eyes show me everything.
"My lord y-y-you are afraid." I whisper to him in a shuddering voice. I shudder from pain, but I am not afraid and I am not ashamed. Stronger men than me have died by his hand. I will not die in fear.
He hisses back. "I am never afraid! Rat!" And hits me with the cruciatus again.
This time when I am able to talk again my voice is strong. I will die, I know that, but now I will die for the right reasons. Hopefully those that I have sinned against will be honoured by my strength here tonight. "My lord you are terrified, and you will always be terrified. I have wronged you tonight, and so you feel that I must pay, but that will not make Harry Potter forget what I have told him."
He hits me with the curse again, and I feel its strength only by how raw my voice is when it ends.
James' face flashes into my mind when the dark lord looks into my eyes again. Oh Prongs.
"How dare you!" My master screams.
Indeed, how dare I. I am mortified of my actions against my good friends all these years, and I want to die soon. "I should never have joined you my lord." I am inciting his wrath on purpose now. I must get this out. "I joined you my lord, because I believed that you would kill me if I did not. But I did not realize that anyone who catches your eye is doomed anyhow. A life of pain, regret and servitude are not worth the survival of this body."
He shoots the curse at me again, and this time, Lily's face appears in my head. I always saw her as the doe, even though she never started out as part of the marauders. She never had an animagus form either, but as the husband of our token stag… well… Now I see those forlorn doe eyes accusing and pitying on my pallid skin. They are the same eyes that pitied me earlier today. Harry's eyes.
I lie breathing puffs of dirt from the torture room floor trying to recuperate, even if just for a moment. "If I had not joined you, you would have killed me then, but I would have died for what I felt was right."
Again, the curse fills my lungs with screaming.
"Harry Potter is right." I say hoarsely, without giving my body time to breathe. The words are painful and soothing.
This catches him off guard.
"What?" he asks, confused. But I can see the anger strengthen in his flashing eyes.
"He's had a horrible life." I say. "And yet he is beautiful."
My master cocks his head and gives me a searching look. Despite his anger, he is interested in what I have to say.
"He is that much more powerful than you, because he is able to see the good in evil. You, my lord are seeing evil in good."
He leaves my side for a moment, staring into the menacing forest out the barred window.
"You dare to tell me that I am less powerful than a child?" His sharp voice makes me know for certain that I am going to feel a lot of pain soon.
"You certainly are." I say firmly, forcing him to do his worst.
He shoots the cruciatus at me again, and I feel nothing. I see Sirius. I killed him in a way too. I should not have gone to find my master. Waking him up again after so long killed Padfoot. I forced our friend, the dog star up into their depths. My only hope is that he somehow found peace there. Twelve years, imprisoned for my crime. Sirius had surely lost some measure of his sanity there.
"It matters not that you have cursed Hogwarts my lord. Harry will find a way to defeat you with or without the proper training. Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher is only a title. It can be circumvented."
"How do you mean?" He asks in a distrustful voice. "That curse of that position is one of the strongest things I have against Harry Potter. He has no one to train him. He will fail!"
I smirk. He doesn't realize that Harry Potter has started a group to learn defense. I have only learned this a week ago, and I meant to save the information for a time when I wished my lord to go easy on me. He always rewards his faithful spies, however I will not tell him now. Not now that I want him to kill me.
He doesn't like my smile. He curses it from my lips.
I see my three friends.
Dead.
They do not hate me, but nor will they ever forgive. I was so wrong.
I see Remus. The last of our kind. Moony our saviour. Funny that it should be the weakest of us who is the last to go. Mind you, no one could ever really call someone who endures agonizing transformations into a hideous werewolf once a month "weak". No, to be honest he was the strongest of our lot. He only has a frail human form.
He would know when I am dead. He would be glad of it, I'm sure. One less traitor in a world of horror and pain must somehow bring him relief.
But he will know immediately that I have given my life for our cause. I wonder if this is such a good thing for him. Will he hate hearing how I was only wise enough, only smart enough to atone for my sins when it is too late? Will he understand the darkness that pulled me under the water for so long.
I have surfaced now though, Remus, and I am so sorry. I do not ask forgiveness, my old friend. I only ask for a place in your memory where it doesn't cause pain or grief.
What are the right reasons?
They are memories, plain and simple. The right reasons cause warmth and pleasure, and the wrong ones cause agonizing pain.
Remus will know of my act, just as I knew when James and Sirius were dead. I remember the pain I felt as the skin on my right arm was pierced anew and bled in shame. It's happened twice now. Once for James, and once for Sirius.
Neither of them have healed properly. They remain red and raw and burning. The are the only connection I have to my murdered friends, and I welcome the angry sting.
The scars here are nowhere near only physical. I felt them deep in my heart, tearing a wound so long and deep that I forced myself to stop caring.
It was a suicide of the soul.
The scars are all that is left of a pact the Marauders once made, that said we would all die for each other. I am the only one who has ever violated this pact. It cost me the same as it did Salazar Slytherin a thousand years hence. The price was that of friendship. The heaviest fine of them all, and the most difficult to earn back.
I remember as if it were yesterday when we sat together in the shrieking shack after our last adventure as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.
The ceremonial knife we had was long, gaudy and bejeweled. One of Sirius' hated family relics, but it would serve our purpose. Remus held it first.
"By these cuts, I hereby promise to forever be faithful and die if I must for my friends and what is right. I invoke the founders pact set by Ravenclaw herself into her three." Said Moony, as he sliced thin lines of red on each of his friends' arms. He touched his wand to each of the places, healed the wound so it was invisible, and said his full name. He passed the steel blade to Sirius.
"By these cuts, I hereby promise to forever be faithful and die if I must for my friends and what is right. I invoke the founders pact set by Griffindor himself into his three." Said Padfoot, as he sliced open his friends. He touched his wand to each of the places, and said his full name. The blade came into James' hand.
"By these cuts, I hereby promise to forever be faithful and die if I must for my friends and what is right. I invoke the founders pact set by Hufflepuff herself into her three." Said Prongs, as he sliced open his friends. He touched his wand to each of the places, and said his full name.
I shuddered here, as I knew my place in this wizard's circle. I had winced with each cut as if each were made into my own blackening heart.
The knife felt heavy in my palm.
"By these cuts, I hereby promise to forever be faithful and die if I must for what is right. I invoke the founders pact set by Slytherin himself into his three." I said as I sliced open my friends. I touched my wand to each of the places, and said my full name.
I lied.
I will, at the very last, be strong enough now to name my killer, even if the true murder happened by my own hand years ago. "You are nothing but a cowardly terrified creature Voldemort."
The two scars left by the deaths if my friends sting angrily on my skin. The last one, still invisible, that was cut by Moony in the name of Ravenclaw, feels hollow.
As I die, I invoke the pact of Wormtail in the name of Slytherin regardless of my sins. I am now dying for what is right. I am dying for my friends.
Somewhere far away in the castle of the four founders, Harry Potter awoke with his scar burning.
In a nearby dark lonely London mansion, Remus Lupin woke and clutched fearfully at his arm while the telltale gush of blood oozed through the sleeve of his night robes.