There are one thousand, two hundred and eighty-seven steps up to the headmaster's office. Today, for me, they do not move. Today I must climb them of my own free will. If I do not have the will to climb the staircase, then how can I have the courage to do what I must when I reach the top?

Silently, I begin my ascent. The bottom, that is my parents and their fighting. That is where it all began. Then, at school, Potter . . . Potter and his friends, the torments they put me through. Curses and public humiliation. Childish name-calling.

Snivillus, that was their favorite name for me. The steps pass quickly beneath my feet as I remember my tormentors. James Potter, who was constantly torturing me, often no better than my fellow Death Eaters are to Muggles. I fought back, of course, but I was alone . . . I was alone, and Potter had his friends, his fellow Marauders, as well as all the others who believed he walked on water. Even when he had me suspended in the air, flipping me upside-down, twirling me for his own sick pleasure, he was still a saint in their eyes. Nothing could tarnish his golden image.

Soon I am halfway there. After everything Potter did to me, he had the nerve to save my life. One of his friends, Remus Lupin, was a werewolf. Potter's sidekick, Sirius Black, told me how to get into Lupin's safe house.

Potter saved me. Afterwards he pretended nothing had happened. He knew, however, that my life was his. He had a way of letting me know that he knew, and that he knew that I knew.

Three hundred steps to go. The Marauders' torments never stopped. After I left Hogwarts I was offered a chance to get revenge. I was stupid, sure that I could leave if I wanted. Now I must prove that I can.

Five steps, then three . . . two . . . one. I raise my hand woodenly, mechanically, and knock on the door.

Take that, Potter. I am not a sniveling coward. You can defy the Dark Lord, but could you leave the Darks Arts behind, having once tasted their power? Could you attempt to escape him if his Mark burned on your arm as it does on mine?

I am not a sniveling coward, Potter . . . but if you had been in my place, would you be?