The Series of Events

It is difficult to understand why we make some decisions in our lives, isn't it? I suppose there is always a series of events that leads to an inevitable conclusion, though.

I was always top in my class. Always a loyal friend. Always giving and helping and caring. Harry and Ron liked me. The Slytherins hated me. Life was so simple.

Then came Ginny. Perfect, beautiful Ginny. I loved her, and she loved me.

After Ron found out, the equation changed. Ron and Harry hated me, and so I hated them back. Ginny and I became outcasts.

The Slytherins were oddly cordial with us after being ousted from the aura of The Boy Who Lived. They seemed to think that if Perfect Potter and Weasel King hated us, we could not be too bad.

The war started in earnest shortly after I found my love. The Order's newest recruits, Fred and George, were the first to die. They fought back to back against a dozen Death Eaters. Took four with them. They died like heroes.

The next few to die went in a less glorious fashion. Kingsley was tortured for two days before he broke and gave up Mad Eye. Tonks got away, only to be caught again. They found bits of her in the Dursleys' garden. I suppose Voldemort found out about her relationship with Harry.

Mad Eye cried like a baby when they got him. Goes to show, you never can tell.

Ginny was even more of a hero than her brothers. She followed Snape to a meeting one night and took out half the Death Eaters. They caught up with her two days later. From the state of her body, Lucius Malfoy did a real number on her before killing her.

I was the one who found her. I'm glad I did. I had the chance to make her decent before anyone else saw her. She was still beautiful. Still full of boundless energy. I love her still, and I will always hate the Death Eaters for what they did to her.

I have learned, however, that the Dark Arts and Voldemort are two separate entities. Millicent taught me that. She was there. In the dark wood the night I found Ginny. She watched my grief from the shadows. She cried her own silent tears. She held me for hours after I found Ginny.

That was the day I realized that not all Slytherins are bad. The day I realized that the Dark Arts are not all bad. Millicent dabbled in the Dark Arts, to be sure, but she was never a Voldemort supporter. She hated Voldemort for his pride and his discrimination. She loved me. She always had, but she tried to save Ginny.

She tried to save Ginny though it meant saving the one person with all of the happiness she wanted. She tried to save Ginny though it meant almost certain death at Lucius Malfoy's hands. She had tried, but she had failed. I loved her despite her failure.

I became Millicent's Secret Keeper and her lover. Millicent had a desperation about her, stemming undoubtedly from her proximity to death. She held me as though I were a jewel. A fragile egg about to break. She held me and cried, mourning the loss that was sure to come.

The day she died was the end for me. I was sure, when I found her gone from her home, that she had left of her own accord. I looked for her body. I knew she would be dead. I did not know that it was not Voldemort that had killed her, it was Harry.

The Boy Who Lived killed an innocent woman because she was a Slytherin. He had killed her because he assumed she had been in league with Voldemort. He had not cared that he had been wrong. He was as bad as what he was fighting.

Now I lie in wait. Hiding behind a rotting wall. Watching the duel before me. He Who Must Not Be Named against the Boy Who Lived. And here I am, waiting in the shadows. Waiting to kill or be killed by whoever is victorious.

I hate them both. I want revenge. The only question in my mind is what I will do with my life if I live through this night.