Disclaimer: All characters are property of their creator and owner. I in no why make any monies off of this story, and it is purely for entertainment purposes.

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They said I was insane...

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I didn't believe insanity could happen over night. It wasn't one of those things were you go to sleep and then wake up crazy. It didn't work like that. There was always a catalyst, something to tip you over that edge, push you over that fine line. That's what left me confused when I was hauled off to the mental ward of St. Mungo's. I asked, pleaded, for them to tell me what was wrong; what had happened? I got pitying looks and head shakes for my efforts. Hermione cried. Ron turned his back and walked away. There were no words exchanged, as if I was less than nothing since I committed whatever crime they had imagined.

The room they stuffed me in was painfully white. So white it seared my vision and burned my brain. Confusion gave way to rage and I screamed. I cried and yelled until my throat was raw. I begged and pleaded for them to just tell me what I had done. Finally, when I resorted to throwing things, destroying things, they stunned me and I woke up in a padded room. It felt like I was in some B rated movie, but at least this room wasn't as white as the other. I had to wonder if they put me in here to drive me insane, that it was the only way to move me aside, off the board. The Chess game was being played around me. What piece was I?

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St. Mungo's was being attacked. I could hear the screams even through the walls, only charmed to keep the noise in, not out. Voldemort was so pleased, and I wasn't sure if that worried me more than him being angry. The door opened slowly, and he stepped through, cloaked, with a heavy hood pulled down to hide his face. I stood to face him. Nothing was said between us, there wasn't a need of it. Voldemort handed me a cloak of my own to don, exactly like his own, and I followed him out. Death Eaters flew through the halls, masks smiling as they terrorized the patients and healers, but never harming them. I think it was a rule I had read once, that healers were neutral and were rarely tortured or killed. I had to wonder if Voldemort would kill them just because.

We stepped through the doors to see Aurors appearing with the sharp crack of apparition. The Dark Mark burst into the sky, cast by one of Voldemort's loyal followers. He took me by the arm and we disappeared along with the Death Eaters. I couldn't deny that I was amused by the horrified faces of those Aurors. The mark was a sign of fear, a sign of some one who they couldn't even name. How pathetic of them. I could almost feel as if they deserve everything Voldemort gives them. Merry Christmas, you wizard bastards.

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Voldemort gave me my own room. Not in the dungeons like I was expecting either. It was dark, with shades of green and silver accents. Slytherin colors didn't bother me. He did lock the door though. I couldn't bring myself to care much. I'd been lock away for almost two months. That's what I was told. Like an animal at the zoo. Come! See the Boy-Who-Went-Mad! I've little doubt they sold tickets. I was given a journal. It had a black felt cover with unlined pages. It was the only thing there to occupy my time. Everything else was empty. New clothes arrived everyday along with breakfast and dirty ones disappeared as I was in the shower.

So I wrote a lot. Things from as far back as I can remember all the way up until now. Just snatches of memory written down, scrawled across the page messily. I dated them as best I could, estimating the time by hours in which I slept. It made me glad that I kept a fairly regular schedule. I have to wonder how long I'll be locked in here.

I know that Voldemort touches my mind. In those places between wake and sleep I can feel it. He slips in, so snake like, and browses my memories. What's he looking for that he can't ask me? I'd tell him, just to spite the other side. Then again, I might consider that he's putting thoughts in my head. I've never before held such defined edges in my world. It had never been just light and dark or good and evil. I had always been able to see the gray, but that's slowly fading away. Maybe its the room? My sense of self becoming skewed? The more I think about it, the less it bothers me. That should bother me more than anything else.

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I was finally let out. It was a strange feeling, freeing, but frightening, like the spaces were to big. The paranoia was probably just a symptom of being stuck in isolation for so long. With waking and sleeping, I could only guess that I have been the Dark Lord's guess for little over a month. He didn't know what to do with me. After all, I had just walked out with him at St. Mungo's. No fight. No argument. Not even a token protest. I bet I confused him with that. I wish I could have seen his face. The Death Eater, I think it's Lucius, takes me to a study and leaves me there. Voldemort looks up at me. I refrain from snorted. I had pictured something gaudy, like a throne.

"That's for my Death Eater meetings." He says as he stands and paces toward me.

I don't even flinch at the obvious invasion to my mind, or maybe I spoke aloud. Hmm, something to think about. They do say that the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself. I meet his crimson eye unwaveringly. If he wants to kill me, let him. Nothing left to lose does that to you. He smiles, as much as he is able and as if he has seen something he likes, and he grabs my arm. It only takes a few minutes, but when it's done, I'm one of his people now. I look down at the black mark, a skull and snake. It looks like it's smiling at me. I smile back.

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Bellatrix is my favorite. She teaches me things. Dark things. Curses, hexes, how to use the unforgivables properly. It made for an interesting time. I can understand why she like crucio. The way they scream and writhe on the floor. It can only be humorous. She tells me I'm like the child she never had, that I'm such a good little protégé. At least, until we start cursing on another. I'm starting to get the upper hand. I out power her, and I'm faster. The only hope she ever had was her repertoire of dark curses. That doesn't save her as much any more.

I don't write in my journal any more. In the times when my mind doesn't wander or I'm doing something for the Dark Lord, I had liked to read back over my thoughts. In the beginning, when I was first writing, it was fine, coherent. Now, I write ramblings. It's nothing to bad, not about how the walls are bleeding or some such rot, just rants about people I used to know. I don't like reading them, so I don't any more. I mentioned it to Voldemort once. He just gave me another of those lipless smiles. He reminds me of the mark he gave me. I smile back.

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I go out on raids now. Bella and I. I've garnered quite the reputation. It's my name they scream when we two appear, but I think that's most due to the fact that I don't hide my face and Bella always has to start laughing before people recognize her. I join her in crucio-ing people as our comrades set fire to the houses around us. We kill as many as we can. Blood paints the streets, running in small rivers as it collects together. With the final good by (morsmordre) we leave before the Aurors can even respond.

I finally found out why I was thrown into St. Mungo's in the first place. Apparently I had brutally killed a Slythering with the entrails expelling curse. Funny thing is, that same student spends time at the Dark Lord's manor. He isn't a ghost, so apparently the got it wrong. Another funny thing was that that particular plan had nothing to do with me. The Dark Lord had particular use for him and didn't want teachers or others to be asking questions they shouldn't. Good fucking deal, eh?

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We've one. It is a strange though, a foreign concept, but there can be no other reason for the people here, kneeling before us. I stare down at them from my seat beside Voldemort's thrown. I think he considers me more of a pet than anything. It doesn't make a difference though. I can see the horror on them, smell the fear. I know Voldemort's smiling again. He's pleased. A deathly pale hand slips into my hair, carding through the dark locks, and I get the pleasure of seeing that damnable twinkle fade from the headmaster's eyes. Did he honestly think that I was still on their side? Fools.

"Go play." I know who he's talking to.

I take to my feet, Bella automatically appearing at my side as if I had called her. Perhaps I had. I don't remember such things any more. They're not important. We stand before them, raising our wands together with practiced movements, and then we cast. Two of them flop on the floor, mouths open, eyes rolling wildly, and screaming those delicious screams that we love so much. Our laughs echo in the room, so much louder than their shrieks.

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They said I was insane... and that's probably why I enjoy this so damn much...