Wanting

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'For this relief much thanks, 'tis bitter cold
And I am sick at heart.'

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I.i.8

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I've been here for over an hour now, just leaning against the turret, looking out over the grounds. Last night I'll spend here. Suppose I really should be down in the common room - there's a party on down there for the seventh years.

Then we graduate tomorrow.

It'll be a beautiful day, it always is. Flitwick'll do some charms or something to make sure of it. Never could be bothered with weather magic.

And we graduate and go out into the world.

It's getting slightly chilly tonight, and I pull my cloak a bit closer as a slight gust of wind brushes the tower. I'm not sure if it is the wind though, I think I'm just cold. Cold inside.

I know how I'm going to be spending tomorrow night.

The rest of them will be enjoying themselves - Dumbledore's organised a good line up for the grad ball - whatever else you say about him, he's certainly got a good idea of what makes a ball. Weasley will disappear off with Granger, and Potter - well, if I'm honest, I don't particularly give a damn.

I won't be there.

The sky doesn't match my mood. It's clear, and I can see the stars, the moon, half-full. Beautiful. I wish I could see it tomorrow, but I have to go home. Pick up my certificate, then fly home. And in the evening...

I'm going to become a Death-Eater.

A few years ago you could have asked me what I most wanted, and I'd have told you, no hesitation, "To be a Death-Eater." I don't know when that began to change, or if it has. Maybe it was after that blasted Tri-Wizards Tournament. Maybe it was when... I don't know.

I just know that when father told me I was to become a Death-Eater, I... I didn't sleep that night. I don't know if I wanted it.

I just don't know.

I'm not in a mood to have fun tonight, and I just wanted to be on my own. I can't deal with Parkinson right now. I'd have thought that seven years might make her grow up, but she's just the same, shallow as ever. I suppose some things will always be constant, even when everything else changes.

And now it's my turn to change.

I can see the lake from here. A couple are walking down towards it - Granger and the Weasel? Could be. Time was I'd have got Crabbe and Goyle, dashed down there, thrown a few hexes, had a fun time.

Yeah, fun.

But instead I just watch them disappear, as some of my hair is blown forward by the breeze. Absently pushing it back, I watch as the night gets darker and darker.

And I still don't know what to do, or even what I want.

I glance down; without realising it, I've been brushing chips of stone off the walls of the tower. My fingers feel the rough stone, and I watch as one larger bits falls off the edge. I watch it briefly for a moment, then it falls out of my sight, into the shadows and the night.

And I stare after it, looking into the darkness.