I Served Him Well

I couldn’t save Ron.

It didn’t really come as a surprise. Ron knew too much; Ron saw too much. More to the point, perhaps, was that Ron was Harry Potter’s best friend. In the end, it was probably that fact and that fact alone that killed him.

Well, and Voldemort, obviously.

No, not even I could save Ron. Some of you might raise eyebrows to hear me say ‘even I’ like that, as if I were someone important; someone powerful. It doesn’t seem very likely, I agree. But I was always ambitious. People used to laugh at me for it. Then they stopped laughing, disgusted. Yes, I had an ambition, and I was determined to reach it, even if I had to betray everything I had been brought up to believe.

I knew about Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. Oh, not all the details. Those, I didn’t want to know. But enough. Enough to be useful. And I was. Oh yes, I was very useful. I knew how to be unassuming, you see. To hover in the background, making the occasional suggestion, dropping the occasional tidbit of information. Voldemort liked that. He liked my submission to his power. He could feel amused and even proud of my ambition because he saw no threat in it. What could a boy like me ever do? That was how he saw me, a boy. Nevermind that I was a man grown; to him I would always be a boy.

And his faith in me was justified. I served him long. I served him well. I never betrayed him; not really. I betrayed Oliver Wood. Do you remember him? A Gryffindor to his toes, one of the best Quidditch players this country had. He would have made the England team, it was only a matter of time, people said. Of course, there was no time. Not when he joined the Order of the Phoenix, declaring his loyalty to Dumbledore. His death was inevitable. I worked very closely with old Marvellus Zabini to work out where he’d be hiding. I’d known Oliver a long time – we’d shared a dormitory for seven years, after all – it wasn’t hard to track him down.

I betrayed Professor McGonagall. Even now I can’t call her by her first name – is there anyone who was taught by her, who was in her house, who can? She will always be ‘Professor’. In the end she trusted where she shouldn’t, and paid the price.

I betrayed Penelope Clearwater. I loved her, did you know? But her brother was making too much trouble. I could quite see why Voldemort wanted them dead, the whole family. Penelope… she had such long hair. I remember stroking it, lying there in the grass in our seventh year. It was hot and we had few demands on our time. We were just lying there, and I stroked her hair in the sunlight. But I could see why he wanted her dead. So I betrayed her too.

And it’s come to this: I can’t regret it.

I can’t feel regret. I can’t feel despair, or grief or fear. I’m going to die; you’d think I’d be able to feel something – a flicker of emotion. But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing left.

People call it a miracle, that they survived.

Not Ron, of course. Nobody could save Ron.

Isn’t it nice, they say. Arthur Weasley, heading up the Ministry, just as he should be. "He’s too important to kill. People will follow him; they know him, feel safe with him. Kill him, and you make him a martyr. If he lives, you can control him." Such a shame about - well, you know – the Imperius Curse, but we all knew it couldn’t really be him, not Arthur, and it all turned out all right in the end.

Isn’t it nice, they say. Molly Weasley must be so proud of her family. "Why bother with her? A Muggle-loving fool like her! Why demean yourself? After all, you are destroying her world – how much more amusing to make her watch it fall, bit by bit." It must have been hard for her, poor dear, especially when Arthur – well, you know – but she’s always come out smiling.

Isn’t it nice, they say. Bill and Charlie Weasley, such lovely men; had all sorts of contacts, you know. "They’re only men, what can they do? Kill them, and you risk turning the dragons and the goblins against us." It must be such a relief for Arthur and Molly to have sons like that.

Isn’t it nice, they saw. Ginny Weasley, such a clever witch, you know. "Ginny. You could have her. Isn’t that you wanted? You had her in your control once; don’t you want to feel that again?" We’ve heard rumours, of course, about what happened to her, but it’s all over now, praise the heavens.

They don’t mention Ron.

They don’t mention Percy.

I sometimes wonder if Voldemort knew. I suspect he must have done. In fact, I suspect he saw right through me. But I don’t care. I don’t think he did, either. I betrayed so many – what was five left alive?

I served him long. I served him well. But now he’s dead. And I will die.

But they will live.