This is it! It's finally finished. All these weeks of laboring have finally come to fruitition. This is for everyone who's stuck with me this far. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Without people like you, I'd have no reason to write.

Any questions, comments, critisms can be sent to me. I would love to hear your thoughts.

A History of Death

Final Choice

Each and every time I lay down my head and close my eyes I wonder if I will wake up again, or if these past few months have only been a brief reprieve in the endless torment. It doesn't scare me. It just…I don't know exactly what it does to me. I've already accepted that possibility might be fact and that there is no changing it if it indeed is.

It's been almost twenty years since I took the potion that should have killed me... twenty long years.

Remus, despite his words of hating me, despite swearing he'd never again fall to my "tricks," despite accusing me of being incapable of ever loving anyone except myself (when I can't even do that), despite my affair with Harry, sought to reclaim me with a brutish intensity. I hated it, but for the longest time I did nothing to stop him.

Then Severus gave me a reason. I realized I was making the same decision that I had sworn I would never make again if I had a chance.

So I fought back. I bucked away from Remus' control. He tried to stop me, so I followed my gut's instinct and made him let me leave. Do you remember what I did to dear Lucius? That little spell, while completely devious and cruel, is very useful. I don't think he'll try again…and I don't think his hand will ever be the same. Madam Pomfrey couldn't even help him, and he'd never be allowed into St. Mungo's. I loved him once. It wouldn't ever work anymore.

I finally told Remus what I should have told him years and years ago. I told him I was done with his sort of love. I finally realized that everyone who ever claimed to love me had lied. They never really loved me because to do so would have been to except me for everything I am instead of loving me for something I wasn't. They wanted me. They wanted to use me. They never loved me.

I was done being used.

Twenty years ago I was abandoned by everyone I thought was my friend. I was totally, bitterly alone for months. And while I was left alone for those months and months, I revisited the cause of my first almost death, but this time I was more careful of where I would cut and how deep. For those months my best friend was a little silver razor, and that little razor never asked for anything from me except a little patch of skin to bite into.

And what a bite it was! A quick, cold bite would send a shiver down my spine and turn into a slow burn as red seeped, and the torment, pain, and loneliness would dissipate for a time as the demons gluttoned themselves on my offering, rejoicing now more than ever in a euphoria that rushed quickly to an amazing climax. The let down back to normalcy was slow, fast, horrible, and great all at once.

I loved the feeling and the high it gave me. I came back to the razor more and more.

If anyone ever saw the scars left behind when I wasn't careful to use a charm to knit back together the skin, they never made a fuss, and for that I was and am grateful. It would be too hard to explain its necessity to day-to-day existence.

I liked my razor, just like James liked his Mary Jane.

I had grown up in the sixties and my teen years spread the seventies. During that era "counter-culture" was a powerful force, and the muggle-born students brought with them their own kind of magic to Hogwarts. Soon the students of even the Oldest of the Old Families were just as into it.

I had gotten my first joint from Gideon and Fabian Prewett (now deceased) in my third year. I had shared it with James. We had snuck out under the cover of his invisibility cloak and onto the roof of the Astronomy Tower, and spent the night well into dawn watching the stars dance across the sky.

The high was great, but I always got sick on the come back down. That never stopped me for joining Jams for more.

Honestly, after everything I've told you, does a little marijuana surprise you? Almost everyone tried it at least once then, even if they won't admit it.

Remus and Peter would join us in our dormitory for future experiments. The weed always made Remus more gentle…al he wanted was food and sex, but not the angry sex we usually had…or if it did hurt, I was too high to know any better.

I'm sorry. It hurts to talk about the good times almost if not more than the bad.

For two months after the Incident I was alone. And then Lily—beautiful, sweet, compassionate Lily—showed my kindness. She gave me comfort when no one else would. In a way I did love her, too. James would hate to know I had her first…I think she might have been the only one to have ever loved me without definition. Too bad I could never truly lobe a woman. Women have hurt me too much to ever open myself up to one completely—my mother, cousin Bellatrix, the Head girl among others.

It wasn't like we meant to either. It just…happened. We had snuck a bottle of fire whiskey into a room called the Room of Requirement, a room I had been staying in for several weeks. We got drunk, and I suppose the only defense I have is it was a good idea at the time. I wonder how many times James and I have used that excuse.

So I claimed the fair lady's maidenhood. I think she was also the only virgin I've ever had. After that was also the filthiest I've ever felt. I felt so down…it was worse than my lowest low and so much worse than any comedown. So much worse. It festered in my gut and made my skin crawl as she laid sleeping with her head on my breast and her sweet-scented hair tickling my senses. Her skin was so soft, so pure, not scarred with the marks of dark magic like mine. She was a flower, so beautiful and fragile yet resilient. That hadn't changed, even to today. I was a cancer, destroying her purity.

It was that moment that for the first time I truly, truly, and completely hated myself.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Sorry, I'll try to stay the random thoughts. There is just so much that needs to be said, and now that I've come to it, I don't know how to say it. To think me without words…

So I had officially stabbed a knife into the backs of everyone I had ever called my friend. I as much a Slytherin as anyone else in my family. Despite hating myself so much, that wasn't the reason behind my suicide. It was only one of the many factors. James again served the role of catalyst to my misery.

It was sometime in March…after the equinox. Or was it the night of? I can't seem to recall. Funny, I can remember every other moment of perfect misery to the exact detail…but I can't remember the night I finally killed myself. Isn't irony deliciously cruel? I have avoided Lily and James and Remus and every other sentient being that day. I locked myself away again in the Room of Requirement and was determined to rot alone. Of course, I still had detentions left to serve for almost killing Severus and Remus, so I had to leave my sanctuary.

Guess who I ran into. James.

I suppose he didn't feel I had properly atoned for my sins, and proceeded to remind me of my mistakes, as though I had forgotten.

What could James have possibly said that would finally drive me to suicide after months and months? "It was just a game to me. You never meant anything to me. Maybe your mother should have drowned you, you lying little whore!" His muddy brown-green eyes blazed and his boyish face contorted in a demonic mask of rage. For a moment I hated him completely with every last fiber of my being. But then I felt numb. I had finally realized that maybe he was right, and just maybe I should show him how right he was.

James could be just as every bit as cruel as me. Is it any wonder we got along so well?

I had kept a vial of the potion in the Room of Requirement…I won't bore you with the reasons why. So I returned and collected the little vial. I wanted to see the stars one last time before I would die. I had always loved the stars. Even when I was locked in the prison of Number 12 Grimmould Place, I always had the stars. The cold orbs of shining light have never abandoned me, unlike my so-called friends. My own star shines brightest of all.

It was these stars I kept in my eyes when I took the potion. I had taken refuge in the Astronomy Tower, the closest place I could find to my precious stars. I suppose it was all very romantic…a little cold but the stars were clear and the full moon cast a white glow on the world and the little layer of snow reflected the glinting light. In the distance you could almost hear great howls mourning a greater loss…

The drought tasted like ambrosia and honey on my tongue. A peace filled me and warm droziness weighed down my lashes. All I wanted was to sleep…the little glass vial slipped from my fingers and shattered in a brilliant explosion of glass on the stone beneath my feet.

Lily tried to save me again. Bless her that she can't see a damned soul when it dances before her eyes! But this time she was too late.

Her brilliant red hair is the last thing I can clearly remember then. She was crying and kept asking, "why?" "Why" seems to be a question many are fond of asking me…

With the little bit of awareness I had left I offered her what little comfort I could. I quieted her and whispered, or I think I did, "Sorry, but I can't do this anymore. It hurts too bad…I miss him, and I hate him…I can't…" I can't remember what came next… This is harder than I thought it would be.

For some reason a verse sticks in my mind…I don't know why it does…unless I made another prophecy. Most seers can't remember, but then again, you already know I'm quite unique. Sometimes I can recall entire prophecies…sometimes only a few words. I've always just attributed it to my blood line…and my birth. Perhaps the Witching Hour caused more than my madness…

The dead do not sleep

They only wait

Hell's gates will open

And the dead shall walk

Forgive me for my egotism when I say I do not doubt this is about me…but why? It's the only thing I can't understand. Allow me but a moment longer to moan. Why me?

And then for all intents and purposes, I died. Finally after all those years, I had succeeded.

That's it. That's what happened. That's the grand story of my life. I bet you're wondering why you even bothered to listen to me whining. Was it worth it? Or is my sob story no different than any other?

The sad part of all of this is that you don't even care. Not really. You don't know me. You only known what I've chosen to share with you. You can't possibly understand. And to think I've wasted all this time conversing with a voice in my head, telling you things I never had any intention of telling anyone…I truly am mad.