Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, places, and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.
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I will not live to see tomorrow, my nineteenth birthday. They will apparate in my flat within an hour or two. It doesn't take long for news to reach him for he has his spies all throughout the Ministry. While I await their arrival, I will write my story in this journal so that my parents will finally know what happened to me. Perhaps it will give them peace. I purchased this journal from a Muggle shop yesterday. It has a photo of an angel on its cover. At the time, the angel was the main reason I bought it.
My parents had seven children. I was the sixth child, and the only girl. My mother longed for a girl after her fourth son was born, and then she had me, number six. "Six" is my nickname, or at least one of them. I was a great disappointment. It wasn't because I was ugly or anything. All my life I was told that I was exceptionally beautiful. My mother expected a dainty, girly girl, all about dolls, frilly dress robes, ribbons, and teas. I was an exceptionally beautiful, dainty tomboy. My mother would practically beg me, with tears in her eyes, to put on a frilly, lacy dress robe when I was a little girl. She tried to tie ribbons in my hair; I yanked them out. I screamed, kicked, and scratched every time she tried to dress me up like a girl until one day she simply gave up. I broke my mother's heart.
Until I went to Hogwarts, all of my friends were boys. My best friend was Gil. We knew each other since we were four years old. Before Hogwarts, my friends and I played Quidditch on fake and real brooms nearly every afternoon when the weather was nice. I was always the Seeker because I was the smallest. When I was seven years old, my father grudgingly admitted that I had talent. My mother's only wish was that her dainty, petite, daughter would stop playing Quidditch and start being a girl for once. I actually dreamt of being a Quidditch star, for the Chudley Cannons. My friends and I were also very mischievous, constantly pulling pranks. I remember we threw Filibuster fireworks through Madam Grysilda's kitchen and dining room windows while she wasn't watching. We aimed for the pots on the stove and the dishes on the table. Let me put it this way: Madam Grysilda's elaborate reception dinner for her fifteen guests was an explosive failure.
By the time I was ten years old, I knew practically every swear word, and I used them often, mainly to shock my parents, my mother in particular. It galled them to hear the petite, dainty girl, sometimes referred to as "Indian Princess" by the ignorant, using such foul language. I think it literally hurt their ears when I used profanity. Once, my mother forced me to swallow a tablespoon of Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover for using the F word. She had a lot of explaining to do at the hospital. If it weren't for my father, she would have been placed in Azkaban for child endangerment. Shortly after that incident, my father started calling me, "Veleno," Italian for "poison." So, I had a total of three nicknames by the time I started Hogwarts: Six, Indian Princess, and Veleno. My days of using shockingly, ignorant language ended a few months ago.
My ancestors moved to Great Britain one hundred and forty years ago. We still maintain close ties with our relatives in Italy. Perhaps my dark, normally, unruly hair and olive complexion threw some off. They mistook my appearance for that of Indian, hence "Indian Princess." Every one of my family members, immediate and extended, was placed in either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. All of my brothers, except the third from the oldest, were sorted into Gryffindor. Tony was placed in Ravenclaw. I was the only real exception. You might say that I was an aberration. The Sorting Hat placed me in Slytherin. Many relatives sent numerous owls to Dumbledore demanding that I be placed in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. They did not want the shame of having a Slytherin in the family.
I was actually glad to be sorted in Slytherin. It suited me. By the time I was eleven, I was a rotten little girl: potty mouth, rebellious, sneaky, strong-willed, and mischievous. I begged Dumbledore, with much dramatics and manufactured tears, to not allow my family to remove me from Slytherin. In the end, Dumbledore told them that I was happy in Slytherin and did not wish to leave. He added that the Sorting Hat obviously believed I belonged there. I didn't receive any packages or letters from my parents in my first year at Hogwarts. The only letter I received was one stating that I should remain in school for the Christmas holiday, for they didn't want the "atmosphere ruined by the presence of a Slytherin." I added "The Slytherin" to my collection of nicknames. God, did it hurt when I read that letter. I was only eleven years old, and my parents were telling me that they didn't want me. Being the tomboy that I was, I swallowed my pain.
In my second year at Hogwarts, the first part of my dream came true: I became the Seeker for Slytherin's Quidditch Team. Not to boast, but I was good, very good. We won the Quidditch Cup that year. I was carried on my team mates' shoulders, and paraded around the field.
My best friends, at Hogwarts, were Gil, of course; Brigitte, my first friend that was a girl; and Ethan. We were all Slytherins, and we lived up to our House reputation. We often broke the rules. I would gain all of our lost points in a Quidditch match. The head of our house was lenient with me. He was impressed with my Seeker skills, and the fact that I was so intelligent. Yes, I made the best grades in my year.
For some reason I cannot explain, I became a pilferer shortly after I turned thirteen. I just found myself picking up or summoning small items while visiting shops. It wasn't that I didn't have any money or really wanted the items, I just had this strong desire to take. I guess it was a challenge for me, to see if I could get away with it. Filching was exciting, almost like catching the Golden Snitch. Only once I was caught. It happened in Hogsmeade, when I was fourteen, during a weekend visit. I stole some socks and a dress robe, by way of a Summoning Charm, from Gladrags Wizardwear. McGonagall gave me detention, and Slytherin lost 200 points. My parents sent me a Howler. I vowed that I would never be caught again. So, I became more cunning and cautious.
During the summer, just before my fifth year, I spent most of the time sneaking out at night. I would go to Muggle shops to pilfer nice items. You see, at some point I became fascinated with Muggles. Their clothing, magazines, and music intrigued me. My parents became disgusted when I started wearing Muggle fashion. It was then that "Tramp" was added to my growing collection of nicknames. My mother started calling me "tramp" when I began wearing Muggle black leather miniskirts and boots. My father would mutter "veleno," under his breath, whenever he saw me. One night, I was almost caught stealing from a Muggle store. I didn't know Muggles had a howler system that attracted their law enforcement squad. Shortly afterwards, I became adept at preventing the howlers from alarming while I "shopped."
I loved visiting the Muggle establishments. What I couldn't get enough of, besides the thieving, was riding on the escavators and lifts. Sometimes, I would go to their buildings just to ride a lift. I also enjoyed watching their moving pictures called "flicks." Muggles are quite brilliant. They deserve more credit than we give them.
By the time I was sixteen, my parents essentially wrote me off as a hopeless case. They only spoke to me when absolutely necessary. I was almost invisible, a known stranger in the house. They started referring to me as "Her" and "She," occasionally, "Imp," "Veleno," and "The Slytherin." I was the proverbial skeleton in the closet. They were ashamed of me. I ruined our family name and reputation. Even my brothers maintained a distance. I have to admit that it did hurt. I wasn't as evil as they thought I was, at least not then. Incidentally, I never became a prefect. At first, it wasn't because of my grades, but my poor behaviour. I had a reputation for mouthing off at the professors. Later, it was due to my grades.
Shortly after I turned sixteen, at the start of the summer holiday, I had my nose and bellybutton pierced at a Muggle shop. You should have seen the looks on my parents' faces. I strolled into the house proud of my body decoration, wearing a miniskirt and a shirt that didn't cover my midriff. If you have it, why not flaunt it? That was how I, the beautiful thief with an attitude problem, thought back then. My father shouted that he would not have a daughter of his parading around like a whore. He told me to start wearing something decent or leave the house. I packed my belongings and left the house. For most of that summer, I spent it at my best friend, Gil's, house.
It was Gil who convinced me to become a Death Eater, that terrifying summer when I fell into the abyss. His uncle, Lenny, was one, and he always boasted about how being a Death Eater brought you glory, wealth, and respect. Lenny was a foolish wizard, really not bright at all. I have no idea why I listened to him or Gil, but I did. Perhaps, down deep, I wanted to prove to my parents that I was as rotten as they suspected. What better way to prove this? Lenny informed the Dark Lord of Gil and my wish to become Death Eaters. We had to wait for a few weeks while his inner circle conducted a background check on the both us. One day, in late July, Lenny received notice that we were accepted. That night we travelled, by Portkey, to a heavily forested area where four wizards, wearing black cloaks and masks, met us. Gil and I were blindfolded. I felt someone grab my upper arm, and then everything changed. I knew I was no longer in the forest, despite the blindfold covering my eyes, for I had sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Then my blindfold was removed.
I almost screamed; Gil did scream. Standing before me was a demon. There was no way he could be human, for no human had skin that white, except a dead one; no human had slits for nostrils; and no human had red eyes. Later that night, I had the nightmarish misfortune of discovering that he also had a forked tongue. To avoid the horror in front of me, I glanced around. Gil, three unknown wizards, and I were standing in a middle of a circle of black-cloaked wizards and witches wearing masks. We were in a cavernous, dimly lit room. Gil and I were the youngest of the soon to be Death Eaters. I remember glancing up at Gil and seeing the fright on his face. I also saw doubt. Then the Dark Lord began to speak in a strangely high voice. I don't recall all that he had said for I was only half-listening. The only thing I do recollect was that he kept mentioning the words, "servant," "loyalty," "obey," and "command." Also, I recall that we kept saying, "Yes, Master." After the speech or lecture, we were ordered to roll up our left sleeves to receive our signature of total submission and loyalty to him.
Benson was the first to receive his Dark Mark. The Dark Lord clasped Benson's proffered left arm in his right hand. He passed his left hand over Benson's exposed arm, just above the elbow, as though he was trying to peer into a crystal ball. What occurred next was completely unexpected. Benson, an adult wizard, opened his mouth and shrieked so loud that I thought his lungs were going to burst. Then suddenly, he stopped, no winding down, just a cutting off. One moment he was screaming, the next he wasn't. The Dark Lord laughed and said, "You see, my servant, the pain is only fleeting."
Right then and there, I vowed that I was not going to scream. In fact, I swore that I was not going to show any pain regardless of how agonizing it might be. Clark, the next wizard in queue, was apparently thinking along the same line. He only moaned when he received his Dark Mark. Kevin, standing next to me, was positively shaking by the time the Dark Lord reached him. It was kind of funny what happened next. Kevin started gibbering just before the Dark Lord gave him the mark of submission. He hollered once, then fainted neat as you please. It was comical, almost melodramatic, the way he fell onto the floor. I laughed. The Dark Lord joined me with his distinct high, cold laughter. He stepped over Kevin, and towered before me. I avoided looking into his eyes. He prepared to pass his hand over my upper arm and I steeled myself against the imminent agony.
It was excruciating. It felt as though someone had stabbed me through the bone with a poker that had sat in a fire for at least five hours. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from crying out, and concentrated on the blood filling my mouth. Then the pain stopped, no ebbing, just an abrupt end. He lightly traced his fingers up and down the length of my arm. His long fingers were unnaturally cold, as though he had kept them in ice water. I wondered again whether or not he was human. The mark on my arm was that of a grinning skull with a serpent in its mouth.
"Six," he said.
Attempting to prove to everyone that I was brave, I replied, "Yup, that's me."
He loomed before me, seeming to appraise me, and I began to worry that perhaps my pert reply was too disrespectful. "Tonight, you and I will share a special bond," he said, and then turned to Gil. I had no idea, at the time, what he meant by that.
I was proud of Gil. He only let out a whimper.
After the Painful Mark On The Arm Ceremony, for lack of better words, we were directed to another chamber in which food and drink awaited us. Gil and I sat next to each other, feeling immensely relieved that we had survived the ordeal. We admired our Dark Marks and talked about how we could not wait to show them off to our fellow Slytherins. At every opportunity, I teased him about his whimper.
The Dark Lord came by, at one point, to explain to us the practical purpose of The Dark Mark, besides the fact that it permanently marked us as one of his servants. He informed us that we would be summoned through the marks on our arms. When the mark burned and turned red, we were to appear before him immediately; else, we would be severely punished. Since we were still students in Hogwarts, we would not be summoned often. He seemed to know much about the both of us, courtesy of his spies. I was amazed at how much information he had obtained. He knew that I was a thief. "Fur Furis. Thief. That is the name I shall call you by," he said, and then moved on to another cluster of Death Eaters. I added "Fur Furis" to my ever-growing list of nicknames.
About half past midnight, he bade everyone to leave. I started to walk over to where Lenny was standing, but the Dark Lord grabbed my wrist and said, "Not you, Fur Furis." I was excited for I thought that I was being chosen as a member of the inner circle of Death Eaters, the elite. Joining the inner circle was going to be my reward for not displaying any reaction during the Painful Mark Ceremony. I thought, I will be taught powers that I will never learn in Hogwarts, and by the greatest wizard who has ever lived.
The Dark Lord told a Death Eater by the name of Barrufio to remain behind as well. I figured that Barrufio would be assigned as my trainer. By then, everyone had disapparated. He told Barrufio to wait in the chamber while he and I "become better acquainted with each other." I wondered what more he could possibly want to know about me. He already seemed to know practically everything.
How stupidly naive I was. I should have known something was awry when Barrufio said, "Should I remain here until you have, er, finished, Master?" What a foolish, stupid, idiot girl I was. It just whooshed right over my head like a Seeker after the Golden Snitch. I wish I had died.
Still gripping my wrist, he led me, at a fairly rapid pace, down several maze-like, dimly lit corridors. I wondered where I was being taken. Then I was brought into a spacious chamber decorated entirely in red and black. I heard the door close and lock behind us. The room was dimly lit like the rest of the place. Then I saw it. There was a huge, poisonous green snake coiled up in one corner of the room. It was the largest snake I had ever seen, and it was alive. I became afraid. My first thought was that he planned to feed me to the serpent. It was large enough to swallow me whole.
I said, "Please, Master, you aren't going to feed me to that snake, are you?"
The way he gazed down at me. I felt myself falling, tumbling into all the pits of Hades.
"No," he said. "I am going to feed you to myself."
I struggled to free myself from his vise-like grip. Panic set in when he began to kiss me, to lick me with that awful, forked tongue.
I, the brave tomboy who didn't show any reaction during the Painful Mark Ceremony, began to implore and sob. I didn't really know fear until then. Hysterically, I screamed and fought for my life with no wand. Cunning and quick, he had disarmed me without my realising it. Just before The End happened, I shrieked for my parents. Instantly, I was the five-year-old girl again who had wailed in terror, mistaking a Muggle circus clown for a ghoul.
"MUMMY! DADDY! OH, GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!"
I passed out.
I was a virgin.
I wished that I had died. I wished that I had never been born. I was in Hell. I was every bloody, rotten thing my parents said I was. I was nothing.
A long while afterwards, he brought me back to the chamber where the faithful Barrufio awaited. I couldn't stop shaking, nor could I stop the tears. I felt dreadfully cold. All I could think about was death, how I wanted to die. Barrufio apparated me back to my parents' home because that was the only place where I wanted to be.
It was almost dawn when I arrived home. I went to the bathroom, feeling as though I was in a surrealistic world, and vomited. Then I stripped, painfully climbed into the tub, and turned the water setting to "scald." I stood beneath the scalding hot spray and scrubbed every millimetre of my flesh. My skin became raw, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get it off me. My skin began to blister in spots. I sat down in the tub, with the scorching water pouring on my aching head, wrapped my arms around my knees and cried so hard I started choking. I'm surprised I didn't disturb my family. Eventually, I climbed out of the shower, dressed in a clean nightgown, and incinerated everything I had worn that night, including the platform Muggle shoes, and the bellybutton and nose rings.
I went to bed saying to myself over and over again, It wasn't me; I wish I were dead. Hours later, the pounding on the door woke me up. It was my mother asking if I were all right. I mumbled that I wasn't feeling well. She didn't seem surprised that I was back in the house. After I had made sure that everyone had left, I gathered up my Potions textbook and supplies, and cauldron. I brought them into the kitchen and concocted a poison guaranteed to bring death. It was difficult to think clearly because every millimetre of my body was clamouring in agony. The only thought I focused on was my desire to die. After the poison was complete, I ladled some into a goblet, took it to my bedroom, and drank it. The poison burned as it went down. Without warning, I simply shut down.
Mother discovered me. I cried when I awoke to find myself still alive, in St. Mungo's. Perhaps I shouldn't have left the cauldron and the last bit of poison on the table for my mother to find. She returned home about five minutes after I drank the potion. I was told that if she had arrived later, they would not have been able to save me. Too bad she didn't return home later. The doctors healed my burnt skin, and removed the poison from my system. I wasn't grateful. They also told my parents what they had found on my left arm. They were appalled as expected, and it became the family's dirty secret. My mother cried, and asked me over and over how she and Father could help me. According to her, they desperately wanted me to get better, be happy, and live normally. I wanted to tell my mother that she could help by killing me, but I had no desire to talk.
My parents brought me home about a week later. I stayed in my room, except when I had to eat or go to the bathroom. It was as though I didn't really exist. I said very little, even though my parents admirably attempted to elicit more from me besides a monosyllable. During that time, I began to hate Gil and Lenny. I blamed them for what happened to me, for convincing me to become a Death Eater. Yes, I know that wasn't fair, but it didn't stop me from hating them. Then one day, in mid-August, I was summoned. The Dark Mark turned red, and I nearly fainted with terror.
Lenny showed up at my parents' house on the pretext that Gil had some urgent news to share with me. He was there to apparate me to the Dark Lord. My parents didn't approve of his presence in our home and neither did I. I played along with Lenny without saying very much. We arrived at the Dark Lord's, with me shaking like a leaf. I avoided looking at him. He told me that I was summoned to begin training on how to apparate and disapparate, and to learn the Unforgivable Curses. A Death Eater by the name of Beasley was assigned as my instructor. Then it was time to return to Hogwarts. I was glad. It was the only place I felt safe. There was no danger of me being summoned while I was in school.
Everything was different in my sixth year. For one, I was no longer at the top of my year as far as grades were concerned, but I wasn't exactly at the bottom either. My grades suffered. I didn't get much sleep, because of the nightmares. Eventually, I began to fear sleep. My professors worried about me. They noted that I didn't seem to enjoy school and that I was too quiet. Dumbledore called me into his office, and asked what was wrong and if there was any way he could help. I almost cried, but I managed to keep myself together. God, I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn't. I didn't want to be expelled from my only safe haven. He warned me that I would have to repeat a year if I didn't raise my marks. Repeating a year or two didn't sound like such a bad idea.
Second, by the end of my sixth year, I had lost all of my former friends. I had no strong desire to be with them, so I spent most of my time alone in the dormitory. At first, they seemed hurt, and then they drifted away. I didn't care. Gil was the most persistent, and I hated him. I tried not to show it.
Third, I lost our house every Quidditch match. We ended up dead last that year. Being a Seeker for the Chudley Cannons no longer seemed important. I could tell by the look in our captain's eyes that I would not be the Seeker for Slytherin in my seventh year. I didn't care.
The most important difference in my sixth year was Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Ogden became my best friend. One night, after I awoke gasping and shuddering from reliving the experience with the Dark Lord, I sneaked out of the castle. I went to Hogsmeade and robbed the Three Broomsticks of several bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. When I returned to the dormitory, I hid three of the bottles and drank the entire contents of one. It knocked me out cold. I had no nightmares, but I was sick when I awoke. Yes, Ogden and I became very close friends. To cover up my drinking problem, I brushed my teeth a lot and always kept a peppermint humbug in my mouth. Between constantly bathing and brushing my teeth, I was probably the cleanest person in the castle, if you ignored what happened to me.
During Christmas the holiday, I was summoned and given a task. Since I had mastered the art of apparation and disapparation, and was adept at stealing, I was assigned the job of filching certain classified documents from the Ministry of Magic. It was easy. I pretended that I was working on a school project on the Ministry of Magic. The Minister gave me a complete tour of the facility. I acted very ignorant to obtain as much information as possible. All I really needed was the layout of the place. Two nights later, I robbed the Ministry. The papers are in the Dark Lord's hands now. He awarded me 30,000 Galleons. The money meant little to me.
My biggest assignment came during the summer of my seventeenth year on this planet. I was tasked with the job of robbing several Gringotts vaults of their property. It was the most challenging work I had ever done. First, I had to steal a map of the place. Again, I played the role of an ignorant student working on a school project, this one entitled: The History of Gringotts. Three nights later, I obtained a detailed map of the bank located in Diagon Alley. A week later, I successfully robbed ten vaults of their valuable contents. My reward: 1,000,000 Galleons and a hellish week with the Dark Lord. God, I wish I had never existed. I was a thief and a whore.
The Dark Lord has this chamber full of sharp daggers and swords. He likely obtained them from several Muggle museums and a few Egyptian tombs. I had a strong need to seize one of the daggers to slit my throat with, but I couldn't for I was being closely monitored. Most of the reward money was spent on charities. Some, I gave to Muggle beggars I happened to encounter. I looked forward to returning to Hogwarts. My fellow Death Eaters, including Gil, began to shy away after they learned that the Dark Lord had a special interest in me. They avoided contact with me as much as practical. I didn't blame them, for I was filth.
A week before I returned to Hogwarts, I killed a Muggle girl. I accompanied a group of Death Eaters bent on engaging in some Muggle sport. My only role in these types of affairs was to rob the victims. This one night, we came upon a family. The torturing became somewhat out of control. I could see that one of the Death Eaters seemed particularly interested in the girl. She was very pretty. I didn't want what happened to me to happen to her, so I raised my wand, pointed it at her, and said, "Avada Kedavra." She died instantly. I wished someone had done that for me. I thought that she would have thanked me for saving her from a life of torment and shame. Just before I disapparated from the scene, I pilfered cigarettes from her father. I then had two close friends: Ogden and Cigarette. I was glad to return to Hogwarts for my seventh year. My prediction was correct; I was replaced as the Seeker for Slytherin. I didn't mind.
After I graduated from Hogwarts, I moved into a Muggle flat. That was last year. Funny that I felt safe surrounded by Muggles. Besides stealing various objects for the Dark Lord, I killed. My targets were pretty girls, Muggles and witches. I felt that I was doing them a favour. What happened to me could happen to them. I was ensuring that they would never have to experience what I went through. I thought that if they could, they would thank me for sparing them a life of anguish. Then I met this witch who had a compulsion to become a Death Eater. Helen was only fifteen, one year younger than I was when I became a Death Eater. I had promised myself that what happened to me would not become of her. One day, I followed Helen without her being aware of it. That night, I killed her.
In March, almost three months ago, my life underwent a dramatic change. I was stalking this Muggle girl I had planned to murder. She was thirteen and angelic appearing. I cornered her in a deserted alley, and raised my wand. The girl looked so scared and confused. Then I heard this voice in my head calmly say, "Don't steal her life from her." It suddenly dawned on me that I had become the worst kind of thief imaginable. I robbed young girls of their lives. I had become just like him. Crumpled up on the ground in front of her, I cried and begged for forgiveness. Frightened, she ran away. I returned home and drank Ogden's Old Firewhiskey until I passed out. I lay in bed, in a stupor, for about a week. I didn't bathe or eat. Finally, one day, I roused myself to bathe and to eat a little something. Then I contacted my parents. I desperately wanted to visit my Great Aunt Elena who lived in Venice, Italy.
I cleaned myself up, and left for Italy in April. My Aunt Elena is a Muggle, the only Muggle we are aware of in our family. She married my Great Uncle Saul not knowing that he was a wizard. I went to her because I knew that she would be able to help me. I wanted to rest in peace, not end up like Moaning Myrtle.
Ignoring the Dark Lord's summons is punishable by death. I witnessed how the Dark Lord handled Death Eaters who failed to answer his summons. Two Death Eaters of the inner circle were sent to the location of the wayward servant. His arms were shackled, and then he was presented to the Dark Lord. With the assistance of a few Death Eaters, the rebellious wizard was strapped onto a raised gurney. Then the Dark Lord removed, by some form of Dark Art, the heart from the disobedient serf. Holding the heart in his raised left hand, he placed it before the dying Death Eater's eyes. The serf's head was lopped off before the wizard's eyes lost their lustre. Afterwards, the heart was fed to one of the Dark Lord's monsters. The severed head was fed to the fire, and the remainder of the body was deposited in a remote area where it would unlikely be found. He stated that he did this so that the soul would never come to rest. That is my fate, but I am praying that despite whatever happens to my physical body, my soul will return to God, for I have truly repented and atoned for my sins.
While staying with Aunt Elena, I attended church regularly and faithfully. I was baptised, the Dark Mark covered with a bandage. For days on end, I read and studied the Holy Bible. I confessed, with tears, my sins to Father Paolo. I implored him to save me, to ensure that my soul would rest after I had died. Father Paolo blessed me, and assured me that I had been forgiven. I told Aunt Elena everything. She sobbed, and prayed for me. While there, in Venice, I was summoned, but I ignored the call. I had no wish to return to that life.
I returned to Great Britain about a week ago. On Wednesday, five days ago, I went to the Ministry of Magic. I admitted to the Council of Magical Law that I was behind the Gringotts and Ministry robberies, along with numerous others, and responsible for the deaths of thirty-three girls. The members of the Council were furnished a list of the names of all the Death Eaters I knew, the spies in the Ministry of Magic that I was aware of, and the names of those involved in several high profile tortures and deaths. I also provided the Council with the approximate location of the Dark Lord's whereabouts. The Council promised me complete immunity for the information I had given. I told them that I would be dead within seven days.
Now, I wait to be taken to my executioner. It shouldn't be long.
I went to a Muggle shop, this morning, and bought a nice, modest dress. It's very feminine, soft pink. I'm wearing it and my rosary beads. I went to a Muggle hair salon to have my hair done. It's the nicest I've ever seen it. I never realised I had such beautiful hair. If you had run into me earlier today, you would have mistook me for an exceptionally beautiful, innocent appearing, young Muggle woman.
This morning, while showering, I discovered that The Dark Mark had vanished from my arm. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me. I stared at the unblemished spot for the longest time. I hope it means what I think it does.
They should be here in any minute.
My name is Maria.
Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be
