A Strong Pair of Shoes

I shouldn't be so touchy. I shouldn't be so angry. These are things I tell myself, each day as I walk and work and eat lunch alone. I shouldn't be afraid of everything that comes my way.

I shouldn't be ashamed of my differences. I shouldn't be ashamed of the past, or the future, or every moment of every day.

I say these things as I write, slowly with my lips wrapping around the sentences. I shouldn't be. I shouldn't feel. With each repetition it grows weaker, the meaning more diffuse. With each repetition, I feel less connected to the syllables and the consonants and the vowels, until they are meaningless gibberish not connected in any way to the fire and water and earth and air that mingle together to form my essence.

I should. I should be angry. I should be ashamed. I should be lost and frightened. If I weren't, who would I be? Who would be left were I stripped of those friends who have stayed steadfast through the years?

I sit here before you naked. I sit here before you condemned. No one here will speak my name, or offer defense. I sit before you alone, as I came to this life and as I shall leave.

You ask why I did it, why I chose to be one of the Dark Lord's minions, why I chose to throw my lot in with one so obviously corrupt? I ask you--why not? What shame do you know, what choice have you made that has not come back in some form or another to taunt you, to irritate or accuse you, whether in dream or waking? Who among you does not lack?

For it is lacking that brought me to that place of darkness, and lack that brought me back again. I lacked direction, and He Whose Name is Not Spoken used that void to draw me to his side. I lacked conviction, and those who opposed him used that lack to draw me back to this gray middle ground where now I reside.

Who am I to say that light or dark is better? Who am I to say which is worse?

I am gray, and I shall remain. I shall teach my little wizards and witches and purebloods and mudbloods. I shall watch their Quidditch games and applaud politely at their Sorting Ceremonies. I shall strike fear in the hearts of some, while others will thrill to the power they believe I possess.

I am not a god. I am a man. And men like me make their way through the world in their own path, in their own time. As I travel that path, I can feel the tug of both darkness and light, of good and of evil.

You shall not have me, I tell them both. I am my own, and that will be that.

I look into your eyes, my fellow educators. I see you hurrying about your day, I sense the knowledge in you. It separates me from you, from your lives of dull inclusion. I see the look of fear, of wonder. You hear the rumors, know the darkness will return, and you question.

Will he betray us? Will he return to the dark ways?

My only answer is that I will walk the path I walk.

Again, that path will be walked alone. I do not need friendship to walk this road, only a strong pair of shoes.

And my shoes are strong.