When the Blood Washes Away

When the Blood Washes Away

He never thought he'd be here. If someone had dared tell him he'd betray his friends and give them all over to Voldemort...It had once been an insane notion. It was an insane notion. He never would have betrayed his friends...He would have rather died. Alas, the Dark Lord promises what one desires most.

He walked around the battlefield. Bodies of former friends, classmates, teachers stared up at him with accusing lifeless eyes. How had he gotten here? How could one fall so far without being caught? How could he have gotten so far without someone knowing the truth, discovering his secret?

No one alive even spared him a glance. He'd long since shed his Death Eater robes and mask. He couldn't face them knowing that he'd signed the death sentence for them all.

He wanted to hide, to die, but he couldn't. Perhaps he should just go hand himself over to Harry, tell him everything. He thought he'd been doing the right thing. Was it even possible anymore? What was right? What was wrong? He'd done what was easy. He should have been in Slytherin. I wouldn't have made it in Slytherin, though. I'm not evil.

Would anyone question if he left? Would anyone come looking for him? He nearly tripped over a body and looked down. The lifeless face of Blaise Zabini looked up at him. The accusing eyes screaming.

"Traitor."

He wanted to hide. He had only done...No he'd done what he had to do for something he wanted. Now the Dark Lord was gone and he'd never get it. He surreptitiously glanced at his forearm hidden under the robe. The Dark Mark was still there, but fading. He didn't know if he wanted it to fade or not. Perhaps it would remain as a reminder of his foolish choices.

"Are you okay?"

He turned, looking into the tired eyes of Ginny Weasley. How he wished to tell someone, anyone of his betrayal even if it earned him a cell in Azkaban. He deserved it, deserved the dementors. How he despised the creatures, but he had done so many horrible, unspeakable crimes.

"No," he answered.

"Harry was asking for you. He's in the Great Hall now with Hermione and Fred..." she trailed off and he could tell she was trying not to cry again. He'd seen her cry many times over her brother's death. George Weasley had died heroically, though. He knew because he was the one who had killed George.

"How're Ron and Charlie?"

She gained control again and shrugged. "Charlie hasn't woken up yet. Ron's demanding to be let out."

He nodded. Charlie had been fighting with the Lestranges. It was unlikely he would be the same when...if he woke up. "What does Harry want?"

"To account for everyone. We're not sure how many...We didn't catch all the Death Eaters. Many fled after Voldemort fell."

He nodded. He hadn't fled. Did it mean he was loyal or a coward? Who was he loyal to now? Harry, Voldemort, himself, anyone? He wasn't sure anymore. Gryffindor was supposed to be the house of the brave. No one had ever thought he was worth much. I showed all of you. I'm a Death Eater. I betrayed the boy-who-lived and his friends. I betrayed myself.

He followed Ginny up to the castle. He had wanted to go to Hogwarts for so long when he'd gotten his letter. He would have been famous. His parents had been famous. They still were but they were dead now. Two more victims for the Dark Lord. Taking St. Mungo's had been childs' play for Voldemort. He had the hospital within an hour and killed most of the employees and patients before anyone else had even been alerted to a disturbance.

After Dumbledore's death, Hogwarts had closed and turned into a headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Alastor Moody had guessed Voldemort wouldn't try to take the castle again once Dumbledore had fallen. Moody had been wrong. I knew Voldemort would come. He told us all two days ago. I could have spared so many.

The Great Hall had changed since he'd last had a meal there. The five tables had held maps and diagrams before this final battle. Now he could see lists of the confirmed dead. He stopped and glanced at one, seeing all too familiar names.

Severus Snape

Blaise Zabini

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Andromeda Black-Tonks

Draco Malfoy

Kevin Summerby

Peter Pettigrew

Hannah Abbott

Colin Creevey

Friends, enemies, they'd lost so many. He didn't even want to glance at the rest of the list. The few names he'd seen were enough to make him sick. He could have prevented this. He could have warned Harry. It would have meant his death, but some things were worth dying for. He followed Ginny to what had once been the Head Table where Harry, Hermione, and Remus Lupin were in deep conversation.

"We need to refortify Hogsmeade," Remus said.

"I know," Harry replied, running a hand through his always unruly hair. "I know. Ginny, go down and talk to Madame Pomfrey. See what potions she needs and then you and Hermione start on those. Remus, organize a team to go into Hogsmeade and assess the damage. Bring the injured and dead here."

"What are you going to do?" Ginny asked.

"I have a meeting with the Ministry in an hour. I...I have to prepare something to tell them about this," Harry answered, motioning to the growing lists to dead and injured.

These people had once been his friends. He had trusted them and they had trusted him. He'd joined them in their fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. They never knew what he really was. He had never spoken a word of truth.

But what was truth once the blood washed away? Did truth matter? I've been in love with Ginny for years. I killed her brother. I was there when her father was tortured and then Kissed. He wanted to scream the truth out at his former friends. I'm a Death Eater. I served the Dark Lord. He promised to help my family. I had no other choice...Then he killed them.

Harry was looking right over him, just like he had in school. Harry had always been popular. I was just following the most powerful one present. Harry was always powerful. How like Wormtail I've become. Thoughts of the sniveling rat made him want to vomit. Wormtail. How alike our histories are...were. Wormtail is dead now, killed by Snape. How appropriate. One traitor kills another. Too bad there isn't one here to kill me. It might be safer than telling Harry the truth.

"Hey, Neville, you alright?" Harry asked.

Neville Longbottom looked up at Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived again and again. How the Dark Lord had hated, despised Harry.

"Just tired," Neville answered. "What do you want me to do?"

The truth can always wait until after the blood is washed away. There is a point in life from whence we cannot return. I passed it long ago.