Hi, it's me again, Veritas Lily. Thank you to you all who've stopped by to read. In the absence of my beta reader Falconwings14 this is a totally hot off the press thing which came to me once upon a time and which I finally had a reason to write down at 12:20 AM on August 4th 2007. If you like it, great. If not, I don't care because I've realised that I write for no one but myself. This is dedicated to the imaginary friends of our youth because without them, we would not have known the wonder of a true imagination. Enjoy and let me know. Thank you for your time.
I do not own the characters in this story. Nor does anyone else for that matter; the actual identity of the character in question is entirely your choice because it could have been anyone in Voldemorts inner circle. But, for the sake of legality, I'll just say it belongs to JK Rowling. This is a one shot, point of view piece. Thanks.
When I was a child I had dreams of miraculous things. I used to lie asleep at night and maraud and fantasise and drift off, away from everything and everyone. I used to fancy myself as a powerful wizard. I used to think of myself as some hot shot, someone who everyone knew the name of and who everyone admired and looked up to and, dare I say it, idolise. I wanted to be the poster boy to young magical youths I wanted everyone to know me. In truth, I fancied myself a lot of things, even in one dramatic window of lunacy thinking of myself as a teacher of Transfiguration, but never did I imagine I would become this. This thing I am.
Now, times have changed. I lie awake at night wondering where I'll be sleeping the next night if I have to run. I toss and turn in fitful nightmares of my home burning for treachery. I think and think of my own dishonesty and yet it pales compared to what He would do to me if he ever found out I doubted Him. I live to serve Him, for He is the bringer of glory and power. I have seen his power and I have seen what it can do and, honestly, I am afraid. It's not just me I fear for: I have a wife. I have a son. He'll be three months old next week, the whole world lies at his feet and yet I already know how this ends; he'll become a Death Eater like me, he'll be branded like me; and he WILL be proud; just like me. If only.
I have tried, believe me, to respect His Holy Darkness but hey, a man can only do so much when his wife hates him and his son doesn't know him. I hate it all and I damn it all to wherever it is. The funny thing about this entire situation is that at some point I decided that this was what I wanted to be; I chose to be branded, I chose to be a servant; just as I choose to attack muggles every night. Just as I choose to kill and assault and pillage and do whatever I am asked. But the difference between myself in the present and myself right now is that I don't want to do this terrible terrible things; I choose to do them because if I did not, He would go straight for the jugular destroy the only two things I really care about and worse still, he'd make sure I knew it was my fault.
My wife can't stand to look at me. She's disgusted with me. It never used to bother her but now it hurts her, thereby hurting me at the same time. How very formulaic. The guilt eats at me every day. Guilt at my betrayal of the Lord, guilt at me endangering my glorious child and worst of all, guilt at hurting the woman who has stood by me even now, because she cannot bear to leave me behind. More than anything she hates the shell I have become yet there is nothing she can do; exactly what good can a shop assistant in a robe shop in Diagon Alley do? But she doesn't understand, she never could; I'm only doing this for them.
Feedback please. I wrote this in twenty minutes so please, don't be expecting miracles.
I'm also on the look out for beta reading work at the moment. If you need a beta let me know and I'll give you a hand. I'm not fussy really; I'll read anything. It'll be back to you within a week.