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I'd tell you about the things they put me through,

The pain I've been subjected to, but the Lord himself all would blush.

He countless feasts laid at my feet, forbidden fruits for me to eat.

But I think your pulse would start to rush.

Now I'm not looking for absolution, forgiveness for the things I do.

And before we talk of any repentions,

Try walking in my shoes. –DePeche Mode

Don't you think that's I would quit, if I'd really had a choice? No one would willfully subject themselves to things I do. It's like the horse purposefully hanging a poisoned carrot in front of his face.

I would stop, if I had a choice, if there was a chance that I could have made up for everything I've done.

I sit here, in my office, and I can hear everything that passes, be it the Bloody Baron, or the idiotic children that stream in and out of my classroom all year long. What I would give to be one of them, or to even have been one of them, when I was supposed to have been. I wonder if I would have been in the same position, had I a normal schooling life.

Hells, I would have settled for dull, if not normal.

I got offered a researching position at St. Mungos, as soon as I left school. It would have given me room and board, then a healthy paycheck on top of it all. I didn't even read the entire letter. I barely had it open when the Master summoned us all.

One of the biggest mistakes of my life.

Well, that and taking the Mark in the first place.

I can look back, and see where everything where everything could have been changed, where I could have stood and walked out of the room, instead of listening in rapture to Evans, as he told us of a glorious man who could make our dreams come true. Who could help us bring vengeance upon all of those who scorned us, when we were indeed the purest of blood.

We were fools. We deserved to be scorned, if we thought such a thing were possible. Nobody brings vengeance upon Gryffindors, not a single soul can lift a hand toward those who prance about in their Lions robes, even in the same Lions eat all others without cause.

I think I broke the wine glass, yes, the red liquor could easily be mistaken for blood, as it drips lazily down my hand. For a moment, I do think it is blood, mine and others.

Vanessa's most of all.

It was a group of initiatives, all out for their first raid. You could almost taste the excitement around us.

The building was old and rotting, a muggle orphanage. Each child was to be slain in tribute to out Lord.

The things woke screaming, seeing a group of black-cloaked figures stealing past their beds, until one came to theirs, and their screams stopped.

I stole to one at the end of the room. It was a small and skinny creature, female most defiantly, and not more than ten, if she was past seven. Her eyes were alight with tangible fear, as her small and bony hands clutched at her sparse bedding.

I had stared at her still body long after I had uttered the spell to end her life. She looked even more fragile, splayed on the mattress as she was, as if her neck could be broken as easily as a twig's. I had half a mind to try, when the alarm cry was sounded, the muggle authorities had been alerted, and we were fleeing before the minute was up.

It wasn't until later, when a few of us had the nerve to return, did we see their names boarded onto the bed heads.

We vowed never to forget them, then, because it was our first trophy, something to brag of when our loyalties were questioned. Now, I still remember. It was the night more than twenty young people had been taken into the world, and been damned to the fiery hereafter.

It took at least two years before I realized that it was a hopeless cause. Lives were being lost and no results had come of it. Muggles were thinking a plague had been cast upon them, entire cities were in mass panic, praying to their Gods to save their lives.

Foolish creatures. There is no God, nor Gods, nor Goddess, nor higher powers. We were not put on this earth, we were a grave evolutionary mistake.

I think I should get up, clean the mess the wine has made. Grade the essays I have to pass back tomorrow. It makes it that much harder when you know everything you do is for naught.

Should I happen to live past these times, I don't think I will know what to do with myself. It's become all too easy to be this way, solitary and biting any hand that comes near.

I won't change, I think. I couldn't.