For the Secrets Competition. My secret was "I honestly believe that I am incapable of being faithful."

Also for the Character Diversity Boot Camp Challenge with the prompt: fake

Your reflection is a pathetic sight to behold.

It's a wonder no one has mentioned to you how horrible you look. It's a wonder no one has caught on to what you've been thinking of doing, or rather, what you are about to do. Your hair has grown long and unkempt and your eyes appear to have shrunken back into your skull. They are haunted because you know too much. It's odd, because Hogwarts had never warned you that there was a danger in knowing too much. Hindsight gets you every time.

You grip the sides of the stone basin and look past that tortured expression and into the depths of the eerily glowing potion. You stick your hand into the basin but it meets a strong, invisible barrier and you realize that everything the house elf had said was true. You brought a cup with you and you can feel it pressing against your leg from inside the pocket of your robes. You can't bring yourself to take it out. Not yet…

The potion sits there waiting for a victim. You foolishly did some research before you came and you know what it will do, but you never really thought much about the description of its appearance. You can't help but notice the sick, green color it gives off and how it reminds you of the flashing lights you see every time you close your eyes. It's the color of death. How appropriate.

It's funny what a year's time will do to a person. You never thought this is where you would end up. You never thought you'd be so weak. Your cousin Bellatrix's face looms to the forefront of your mind and you wonder what she'll do when she realizes that you gave up. She was always so proud of you. She'd practically waltzed you into the Dark Lord's presence and groveled at his feet promising your faithfulness as well as assuring him over and over again of her own.

"Your most faithful… most willing servant, my Lord. You can trust my judgment, Master."

She always used that word. Master. It was disgusting. It reminded you of a house elf, offering up its services. It took you a year to finally realize that to the Dark Lord, everyone is a house elf. Everyone is expendable. Everyone can be forced to do his will.

Except you.

You know that Bellatrix will probably be punished when you are finished here tonight. The Dark Lord will most likely be very displeased that her judgment was wrong. In a twisted way, you hope that she does. You hope that she cared for you enough that when that tyrant curses her one too many times, she will come to her senses and she will know she is nothing to him. But you doubt it. She is faithful in a way that you can never be. You can never sacrifice yourself for the sake of wearing a tattoo on your arm and killing Muggleborns and blood traitors and defenseless creatures. You can never give your life to ensure the Dark Lord will never die.

You cock your head to the side and peer into the murky swirling depths, seeking out the reason you are here. Your vision is blurry with tears that refuse to fall and you wish this could all be over quickly. A faint glint at the bottom of the basin reveals the locket and you know that the moment is now or you won't follow through. You have to follow through or none of this will have been worth it.

You straighten up and turn to face the shivering house elf behind you. He's whimpering and skirting around the edge of the rock you've been standing on. He's careful not to touch the water surrounding the two of you because he knows what will happen if he does. Huge tears are falling from his eyes and he's croaking bitter pleas for you to reconsider.

"Master Regulus does not know what he is doing. He does not want to drink anything. He wants to come back home with Kreacher, he does."

You shake your head no and Kreacher falls to his knees and sobs.

You order him to stop and give him directions in a way that he cannot misinterpret them. You watch as he struggles to find a way to follow them and save you at the same time and he howls in rage when he fails. You can relate to him completely in that moment. You hope that one day he can understand that. You hand him the fake locket to replace the one that is waiting for you at the bottom of the basin and he grips it in his fist, hanging his head in defeat.

You turn your back to him and resume your position over the green liquid. You reach a shaky hand into your pocket a pull out the cup.

"I'm sorry," you say. You're not really sure who you are even speaking to. Perhaps you are speaking to Kreacher for having to endure this. Perhaps you are sorry for breaking your promise to Bellatrix that you could be faithful. Perhaps you are apologizing to yourself for making such a mess of things.

You fill the cup to the brim with potion and raise it to your lips. It won't change anything, but you say it again anyway.

"I'm sorry."