A/N: In case you didn't catch it by the summary, this is a reallllly big spoiler for HBP, so if you haven't read that... don't read this. I just had to get this off my chest to make me feel better... I'm not going to say it's a theory... but a girl can hope,right? I mean, push comes to shove.. if Snape's bad, I guess I'm rooting for Voldemort. Oh yeah, and needless to say, the characters don't belong to me. Book 6 would have ended way different if it did.

xJL

After The Fact

I hate myself. For all the horrid things that I have done, the sins that I have spent these past years atoning for, I can honestly say for the first time that I loathe being me. My skin feels dirty - the kind of filth that you can't spell off, that a vat of scalding water couldn't cleanse. I've tried everything short of drinking myself into oblivion – losing my awareness right now would cost too much, make his sacrifice meaningless. His loss. I hate him too, by the way.

Funny thing is, I think I finally know how I'll die. All this time I thought the Dark Lord would do me in, or more likely, have me done in at one of his private parties. I know differently now. Potter is going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. That little-piece-of-shit-boy-wonder is going to kill me someday and I can't honestly say I don't deserve it. If it wasn't for me he might still have his parents, he might still have his wretched mutt of a godfather, he might still have his mentor… My mentor.

I won't fight him, I won't even try to stop him. I guess in my own twisted way I see it as being the final penance for what I've done, and I look forward to it with whatever humanity that might still linger in me, hidden only Merlin knows where. I do have a few futile wishes though. I hope that I'm there to see that pathetic excuse for a savior take the last breath from the monster I'm forced to serve. I'll fight at his back that day, and then, when the smoke is cleared he'll turn his wand on me. I'd like to think I'll pass into death with more grace than I ever managed in life, and I'd like to think it will be soon. Even more than that, though I'll readily profess that I don't think it likely, I'd like for him to someday know the truth. Years after I'm gone even, if someone – not that I would have any idea as to who – but if someone ever finds the truth of what happened I think the remains of my soul might rest easier.

I had never been so horrified of any request that was ever made of me. I told him no. Actually I told him that he had finally gone senile and we should contact St. Mungo's directly. He was so convinced it was the only way. It didn't matter how much we argued out in that forest, he won. He always won. I regretted it from the moment I finally agreed, wanted nothing more than to cut my own tongue out for uttering such words. The last recognizable part of my soul I'm sure must have perished when I was brought, much too soon, to the time I had to fulfill my hated promises. I wish I had never agreed. I wish that I had finally found a way to tell that infernal man no. How dare that stupid boy call me a coward? He never could have… no I won't allow myself this fury again. He's a child. I hope someone tells him the truth someday. I hope, pettily albeit, that he finally realizes he was just a stupid boy that knew nothing. I hope, for his sake, he never has to know the things I've known. This is war. War has sacrifices. Albus, in one quick step, sacrificed not only himself, but any chance I may have had for redemption. I deserve death for what I've done to him. The man that was so much a father to me. I hate it. I hate myself for doing it, for not finding another way. And it's not just me I hate for this. I hate him too.