They're not mine. Never will and it's okay this way too. I'd never be up their standard like JKR is.

To Sirius Black

I wouldn't be here, had the old man not practically forced me to. Now I watch him, praising and honouring the late Black to the small number of people around the table in the headquarters' kitchen.

Sirius Black is dead.

I steal a glance towards the Potter brat who is now close to tears, framed closely by his hovering sidekicks who look at him with compassion. I know that the spoiled brat is the only reason why we are here now. Dumbledore wants to help him get over his loss. Wants to show him that we all are sharing his grieve. What a laugh. Were it not for that pathetic Gryffindor boy, who, to my misfortune, is the one destined to defeat the Dark Lord, I could be somewhere else, doing something useful and enjoyable, instead of playing this stupid farce here. The boy meets my eyes and I see pure hate shining from them. I fight back the bark of laughter that wants to erupt from my chest and sneer instead. It would be of no use to anger Dumbledore. And he would be angered without any doubt.

Sirius Black is dead.

And Harry Potter blames me for it.

How ironical can life get? Really.

I told the headmaster and the boy that I tried to keep Black the idiot from going after Potter. Of course, Dumbledore believed me. And, of course, Potter did not. Or maybe he did, but he is too thick to acknowledge the facts as they were presented to him. Ironical indeed.

It's all about power, the Dark Lord once said. Who holds the power is the one being acknowledged. I am not, apparently. I don't hold much power, they think. Albus Dumbledore's tame pet Death Eater, Moody calls me. Greasy Git, the students say when they speak of me. Snivellus, the marauders named me.

Fools. All of them.

Still....

Wasn't it me who was the fool back then in school?

I probably was.

Because I let them hold the power. I let them take away my control. I don't like losing control. Like back then, when Black thought it hilarious to lure me into my doom. Into a place where he knew danger, even death, lurked for me. He sent me there, directly into the waiting arms of death.

I told Dumbledore that I tried to keep Black safe. He believes me, and he always will. After all, I'm his favourite tame pet Death Eater.

Suppressing a grin becomes quite difficult, as I recall Potter's accusations. Maybe I should tell him...Maybe... but then again I am too much of a Slytherin to do that. Too smart to doom my own life for this bit of satisfaction. Yet, it is very tempting. Very tempting indeed.

The members of the order raise their glass for a toast to Sirius Black. Dumbledore looks pointedly at me. I can see it in his eyes that he believes I will be stubborn and not play along. It is satisfactory to watch his eyebrow arch all so slightly when I do take the glass in front of me and lift it with all the others.

"A toast to Sirius Black," I say along with the others. 'I hope you roast in hell,' I add in thoughts. 'Payback is a bitch, don't you think, Black?'

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The end

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