Quote Me if I'm Wrong

Chapter Eight: The Irony of the Living and Dead: and Everything in General

If I died tomorrow, I would have no regrets. Everyone has an end, so you may as well live your life now. -Lucy Liu

Irony is one of the most substantial things in life. You ask how I can feel the pulsating sour taste of irony when it can be neither seen nor smelt. I answer, because I can see and smell irony, in a kind of metaphorical way. Irony is, at one and the same time, absolutely real and completely nonexistent. It takes experience before you can feel the irony of a situation. Irony is a direct take on patience, you have to wait with steady breaths before the irony appears, and even then it is not always highly amusing or brilliantly obvious. It takes time for irony to work into the weave of life and conversation.

I make a game of searching for the irony in things, people, places.

And I make a point of being the irony.

It takes little talent to find the irony, I'm sure even the most absent of my students could find the irony of Draco Lucius Malfoy, a pureblood Slytherin, being a spy and secretly dating a Gryffindor Mudblood named Hermione Granger. It is blinding, the irony is. Absolutely blaring in these dark times. Yet few notice the irony, maybe it takes practice. Or maybe you have to be highly sensitive of your surroundings to notice that relationship; but then again it is a secret tryst.

I suppose finding irony is a gift, or maybe few people quest for the ironies of life, and perhaps I'm just odd in this part of my life. Though I doubt that to be true, I think I'm probably a rare commodity. Few people are spies in this era, and few know the dangers of being a Death Eater, real or otherwise. Even fewer can rise from the ranks of a filthy Slytherin to become a filthy spying Potions Master. What can I say? I'm terribly scarce, endangered even.

Being the irony of a predicament is a completely diverse job. It is not a role you are allowed to flaunt to your inferiors and wave under the noses of your superiors. Some how I continue to manage becoming the very fibers of irony that hold a series of circumstances together, not quite sure weather that is a blessing of a punishment for trying to kill Potter senior. I'm not quite sure I care about what it is. It is what it is and I do not regret that it defines me, even if I am the only one to see that definition.

At the current moment the biggest irony in my life is not the fact that I am a pureblooded spiteful man who has found a place of belonging spying for an old man of great intention. (Though Albus did allow me to choose 'Salisbury Steak' for his new password.) While it is a large and painfully potent part of my highly ironic resume, the largest piece of ironic activity in my life is that I have outlived the majority of the Marauders. Strange how the death of two men makes me giddy, and I am not the giddy type, nor do I believe in killing people. But the two deadens made my school days Hell on Ice and their girlfriends were just as bad, if not worse. Yes Lily Evans and Charisma Rose were much worse, glad I have managed to outlive them too, but I just barely managed.

James Potter and his cathedral of worshipers, were admittedly everything I was not. With the exception of one talent, but I shall explain that later. They had the girls; they had money, looks, and a whole hell of a lot of power. Power I didn't manage in any field other than torture, which oddly comforts me. Makes me feel worth while. I can, and will, torture people. Morbid, yes, but is it morbid when you are harming for the light as verse the dark? See... irony. Yep, Irony.

Between us, myself, Potter, and Black we shared one common attribute...we were all crafty. If necessary we would bring down the moon and the sun to achieve our goals. With all their compressing ambition I'm devastated those two weren't in Slytherin. They would have done Salazar proud.

Truthfully, I cannot say the same things for the other infamous Marauders. Lupin was, and is, very careful of the feet he has trod on. Well, that is not true, he just doesn't let them know he trod there. He didn't exactly let others take the blame; he just never bothered to get caught. A finder of loopholes, anther who would have made a splendid Slytherin.

Now old Wolfey is washing about in a sea of never ending guilt. Trying to be to Potter what Black was to him. A spot he will never fill and a gap never opened in Potter's heart. Oh well, I'm sure Tonks can help Lupin overcome those urges to be a godfather.

And then there was Peter Pettigrew. Sodding little mama's boy, he prayed to Potter and Black, Lupin never did that. Lupin, Potter, and Black were friends. Pettigrew was nothing more than a rat, funny how ironic that is. But then again I tend to search for the irony of all things related to life. While irony is the ultimate intimacy of my life, I find it can't solve all my problems. For I have always wondered why the hat didn't put Pettigrew in Hufflepuff, he wasn't brave enough for the lion, smart enough for the likes of Ravenclaw, ambitious enough for our noble serpent...so why wasn't he put in Hufflepuff with the righteous badgers. Maybe he wasn't just and loyal.

Yes, loyalty has always been a problem for Peter. I wonder if Peter is aware that there are nine levels to Hell? On the bottom level of Hell, where the devil is frozen, there are three mouths. In the centermost mouth is Judas. The coldest part of Hell is reserved for those that betray. Wonder what Peter would do if he knew that, because it is too late for apologies. Oooooh, more irony, since I'm also a traitor, but I sold out for good. Doubt the devil makes much of a distinction.

I don't know why it makes me want to dance when I think that I have outlived two of the three real Marauders. Okay, that is a lie. Those two dead boys made my seven years at Hogwarts a living Hell. Hell, yes, I know it was Hell. I've been there. (Remember the mouths?)

While those two boys, now cold bodies under piles of dirt, (Well, Black doesn't have a body. But let's skip the fine details. I always do, if I had to obey the details then Draco would not be at the top of my class.) Anyway, those boys may have ruined my life, but their girls contributed just as much pain, agony, remorse, the usual depression aggravators and ideals that would make me want to be a Death Eater.

Lily Evans had this heroine complex, something her son inherited, and I think Hermione Granger channels her spirit. Evans had a tendency to throw her stupid Mudblood nose in where it didn't belong. Never mind that it was a cute and small nose, but it was constantly in my business, always doing annoying things. That nose was infuriating, and ironically I miss the ferreting and twitching.

Charisma Rose was one of those girls who knew her place in this world, she hid herself well in the broad arms of Black. Black was with her for a reason, she was as scanting and vicious as Potter was. She was the queen of comebacks; you could throw an insult at her, and expect it to be spat back with twofold aggression. Or the power was there until she ended up plastered to the ground under the Astronomy Tower. Black was distraught, not that I cared much, it made him easier prey, but that only put Evens up to defending the poor vulnerable boy...and the circle began again.

However circles only go on only as long as there are people to move the circle. Circles don't move with only two people, it takes more than a north and south pole.

Darn. Not too sure I mind the conclusion of that loop.

When my conclusion rolls around, more irony, I won't regret it. I have to die, and I'm thrilled that I have outlived the Marauders. (Stupid Marauders, they are responsible for the establishment of the Weasley twins life of criminal activity. I hate that swamp, not that I minded the effect it had on Umbridge.)