I looked down at the bloody corpse that had been a muggle at my feet, this muggle that I had fed my anger to. It had not been normal anger either, not the kind I felt when my food didn't come as I had wanted it or when I let someone find there way into my mind. But a larger anger, a more powerful anger. Not anger at anything in particular, or anyone that I knew at the moment. Just dry hot anger from every part of me, all the anger I had not been able to feel as the others at that retched school taunted me or as my father beat me.

I had used no spell to kill this man. Only the knife I kept in my belt pocket, I had plunged it into his chest and neck again and again, laughing as I did so. I checked myself over a few times, maybe it hadn't been me, and someone else had done this horrid thing to this man. The blood under my finger nails said different, it said I was the killer who had done this.

How had I come into this mess? I didn't remember why I was here or who with. Who was this muggle and why had I killed him, simply for being there and having no magic powers? Or was there another reason? Maybe he was the relative to someone who did have magic or had something that the dark lord wanted. I didn't know how could I? 'You do know.' Said a voice in my head, and I knew I did as well. It seemed to run away from me every time I got near it. The memories of the night leading up to this point seemed to escape me, only letting me see glimpse of it. Like a photo printed on wet paper.

I could only remember the laughing faces of the boys who use to torment me. I use to wonder why they did that to me. Afterwards did they feel the way I did now? Did they find it fun or exciting? After I had made my escape could they remember what they had done or who with? In the darkest of hours in their dorm beds did they beat off to the look of fear I would hold in my eyes? Was it different for all of them? Did one of them wonder while the other beat off?

I took the man's bloody body in my arms and began to walk away. I finally made it to a river about 2 miles away from where I had been even if it seemed I had only been walking for a few minutes. I dropped his corpse into it and brushed off my hands. I stood by the water for a long time, trying to figure out my next move. I looked down at my reflection in the dark moon-lit water. My pale face painted with blood, some of it my own. Some of it had started to dry on my face. The man's blood was on my face, on my face, MY FACE!

I knelt down in the grassy bank by the river and began to shake. I couldn't think any more, I had felt so numb and out of my body before and now it was all coming back to me, all the mess. I felt sick and dirty and too awake. I felt the burning of the cuts on my face and hands, the crust of the dry blood on my face. The man's blood was on my face! I remember going to the muggle village just for fun with the other death eaters. Just for fun! I had taken the man across the field and cut him with the dagger for a bit, not killing him yet. I had then beaten him with my bare hands liking the sound of his screams. Then to kill him I had stabbed him, plunging into his chest.

I looked down at my hands; his blood was on my hands. I had beaten it on. Images flashed in my mind, of my past, of my present, of the night before. HisbloodwasonmyhandsIfedhimmyangeritmusthavehurtdeargodwhatswrongwithyoupeoplei'mjustasgoodasamugglehalfbloodbasteredpleasedon'tbeatmenomeansnoIcouldonlyrememberthelaughingfacesoftheboyswhousetotormentmeastheybeatofftothefearinmyeyesmypalefacepaintedwithbloodsomeofithadstartedtodryonmyfacethemanbloodwasonmyfaceonmyfaceIhadstabbedhimplungingintohischestplungingintohischestplungingintohischestplungingintohischest.

I must have passed out after that because when I woke up next it was morning. I got up and began to walk, clutching my head in my hands. I began to walk to the only place that was safe in this world any more. To Hogwarts.