A/N Yes, I am back in the world of FanFiction. This does not mean that I will necessarily be updating Betrayal…I just think that there are much better stories out there with the same ideas I've got in there. So, barring some sudden plot bunny, that will remain un-updated for a while longer. As usual, I don't own the HP characters and have no desire to make any sort of money out of these ramblings, so don't sue.

Betrayed.

No other word sums it up.

Betrayed.

Betrayed AND used. That's a better summary.

Betrayed, used, and royally pissed off. That's even better.

Maybe I should have listened to that damndable hat so many years ago and had it put me in Slytherin. At least them I would have been prepared to be betrayed and used. It wouldn't hurt as much as it does…did…does…who can tell anymore.

And I've got all the time in the world to think about it. I did what the world commanded of me, and in a lovely showing of appreciation decide that if I could do it, then I must be even worse than him, so they ought to preemptively lock me up. In Azkaban. To rot with the dementors and death-eating scum who I struggled against for soooo long.

At least I don't pass out from them anymore. I got over than in my sixth year. I've seen too many horrors in real life to be bothered with imaginary horrors from something that looks like one of Snape's cloaks only animated. People used to visit…I just loved it when that traitorous former friend of mine Ronald "It's for your own good, really" Weasly dropped by to try and convince me of the altruistic reasons behind their decision to lock me up. If anything, traitors should be locked up, rather than those who risked their ass to save theirs. Ungrateful swine.

Another dementor passes by, and I shoot it another glare as it scurries away. I don't even hear the other prisoners' screams anymore. They may be dead, they may have been let out, maybe I just have learned to tune them out…or maybe I went deaf.

No…I heard the metal bowl with the water clang against the stone floor. Not deaf. Pity…that would have made life maybe just a tad more interesting.

Could I escape? I'm fairly certain I could. But where would I go? What would I do? Merlin knows how long I've been here…I stopped counting after the first year. I haven't a clue where I would go…much less how I would survive once I got there. I'm sure Traitor Weasly would have looted every last knut out of my family vault. Why I ever let him talk me into sharing it with his family during the war after Arthur was murdered is beyond me.

So many deaths. Arthur would have at least attempted to keep my out of Azkaban. He died a good year before the final battle. Molly was just so crushed…who knows if she ever pulled out of it. Ginny told me once that she had to take 7 potions a day just to function as a shell of her former self. Hard to imagine why, with what she went through. As if losing her husband was bad enough, having one of your own sons as the one responsible defys explanation. That damn Percy couldn't have even used the Killing Curse…he had to result to less…clean…ways. Looking back I was certainly not surprised he ended up joining Riddle. It was a slippery slope after his first appointment into Fudge's office, and he was so blinded by ambition that even an ugly, painful tattoo that bound him to serve Riddle was no cost in becoming Minister of Magic someday. The trial showed that Riddle had Percy hatchet his father as proof that Percy had the "bullocks" to be Minister one day. Riddle was a master at manipulation. I'll give him that much.

Speaking of master manipulators…I often wonder if Dumbledore would have been able to keep me out of here. It seemed like a national, if not worldwide, movement to condemn me after all. It would have taken more than his work. Even if he would have believed me over them. Our relationship was just too strained after that lovely fifth year to reconcile. Sure, we were allies, and if it weren't for his sacrifice I may not have been able to finish off Riddle once and for all.

Many sacrifices which led to many noble deaths. But for every noble sacrifice there were just as many people sacrificed to save their own hides. I'll never forget Ginny Weasley, who I thought I knew so well, throwing Luna Lovegood in front of her to separate her from Tom. Sure, it gave Ginny enough time to get her ass out of the line of fire, but as what cost? Shouldn't she be in here instead of me? But, alas, no, she's lauded as a hero and given a cushy job in the Ministry, no doubt. When I was thrown in here the Ministry was in shambles anyways…I'm sure they hired every student coming out of Hogwarts to work for them, no matter the cost.

It seems whenever I close my eyes I see blood. I see death. The "Final Battle," as the scavengers in the press called it the next day, was the bloodiest thing I think I could ever imagine. Killing curses either weren't working, or were discarded for more…personal…forms of murder and revenge. After all, I had to lop off Riddle's head with the Sword of Gryffindor, while chanting this bloody obscure ritual to cleanse the soul of evil. That neck gushed blood all over me. I was covered in blood, which made for great pictures the next day, of which I am quite certain caused me to land in here. Seeing their savior coated in the blood of his worst foe could cause the sheep (otherwise known as the readers of the Daily Prophet) to become slightly disillusioned. I'm no fool…I understand why they were afraid. Its just too bad they were completely wrong about it.