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The first thing to really remember about all this is that I am—as much as anyone else—the product of the environs in which I was reared. I’ve once been told that the markings of my flesh now reflect the madness within. Remus doesn’t know how right he is; though my flesh reflected the madness within years ago during the time of our first war with Voldemort. It is only madness that allows a man to do things he knows are abhorrent; that enables him to see symmetry among the alien angles that such magic bends the mind around. You have to steel yourself, and hope that you don’t come out the other end raving.
I walked where angels fear to tread; I did the things that Dumbledore wouldn’t ask of anyone else. No-one else was capable of doing them; nor were they willing to dirty themselves with spells that do things necessary. Who else but the Mad Dog Black could have burned out a nest of vampires—caring nothing for the newly turned that might have been salvageable. Someone who’s morality was bendy enough; should the target deserve, to torture, kill, or worse. War calls for these things; it called for a lot of things. It’s why I’m the only Order member to have no patronus. It isn’t that I can’t be happy; but in order to do the things I did, you have to have a deep well of hatred to draw on. And I hate dark magic; it’s users, the culture, everything. The way it insidiously creeps into your soul and begins to hollow you out. Very few people think about the power they use, and what power does to the mind of one who uses it. And that it warped me as well; twisted me into a terrible friend and a worse cabal mate, it's a heavy damn cross to bear. I heaped accusation on my friend; while shouting down Crouch at his gall to suggest that Remus had turned against us when cubs started defecting en masse. I became the one warlock in a society of light and hope. No wonder it was so easy for everyone to believe that I'd turned. With the things I did; plans I made and fires I started, one starts to think that they see the bigger picture over everyone else. That little bit of separation led me right down the hubris chute to shitetown.
The worst of it was; that I thought outside my role, as it were. Granted; I still don’t trust Dumbledore—especially not after rotting in prison for thirteen years, but when one gets down to Bludgers… This is all my fault. I thought I could out fox them both, yeah? I’d slip out of the Fidellius to get back to doing what I liked second best—brutally cursing the people I hated. I thought that Pettigrew was beneath notice, especially with the way Voldemort only came for the strong. The weak offered him nothing and Nothing was exactly what they got. With so many of us dying in the war; every wand arm was needed and mine was one of the few that could counter some of the Inner Circle in skill. Arrogance or not; what’s done is done. I convinced the rat to take my place in the Charm—but he probably didn’t take much convincing. Bastard ran straight to his Master as soon as he got the secret; just as I began a small hunt for a certain blonde ponce that I’ve hated since I knew he existed. I never found Lucius skulking about; but when I returned to check back on them, the unthinkable had happened. He was standing there in his pompous, purple robes; on the outskirts of the wreckage with a bundle in his arms. "You're his godfather Sirius; we must make haste before Voldemort's followers come to see their master's handiwork. Take him to Petunia Dursley's home in Surrey and remind her of her last promise to her sister. She should honor it now..." Why he didn't think that I wouldn't hand the charge off to someone more centered and dash off to go rat killing.
I think he knew it all; Dumbledore did, and that's the part that fucks with me the most. I think he knew that Peter was slimy; like he knew that James and I wouldn’t turn down his offer at the end of our seventh year. I wonder if he knew Voldemort before he was that twisted; if he knew he was rotten from the start, or if he became rotten, twisted by the world around him until he reflected what he’d been shown. Like I did; we all did. Somehow, I feel that this is simply the way the world is. That it’s entire premise is this cycle of suffering; one half stabbing the other just so that they both can feel again. Prison does that to you—dementors or no, imprisonment is only a way to brew a simple malady into a raging psychosis that burns all around it. That’s why Bellatrix is so mad; after being locked away, the only one to come for her was Voldemort. But, in the end it was their choice. Every one of them: Narcissa, Bellatrix, Regulus… They all had the same choice I did; but it seemed that I was the only one brave enough to actually make a bloody choice. The rest of them just trudged on their assigned path; no regard for what that path may do to them in the end. The same could be said for me; fate being the smug, evil cunt that she is. Dumbs knew I was a rebel at heart; and shamelessly encouraged Prongs and I to many of our (non-violent) shenanigans. After that hat landed on my head and I actually got to talk to something else that didn’t want to control my thoughts; only listen, my path was struck out before me with no alternate.
It’s getting darker now; maybe it would be a good time to start a fire and talk to Harry again. If I had to apologize to anyone, it would be him. Sorry, kid. For my hubris, for your parents… For everything. If there’s any consolation to this; it’s that you’ll take him out. I’ve got to hold faith in that at least; lest Mooney come back to find me swinging. Heh. Poor bloke doesn’t need any more shocks; he’s going grey before any of the rest of us. It’s bad that being locked in Azkaban didn’t run me like this; but a few months back in Number Twelve and I’m ready for a short hop and a sharp drop before Christmastime. But I know that isn’t what fate has in store for me. There are two now who could do me in; and I’m certain that one I can kill, if our previous brawls were any indication. One wonders if the few wizards guarding that place ever thought that we shouldn’t have yard time separate; but I think they were trying to get us to kill each other.
Whatever happens; I know where this ends for me—as it should for any who walk my path. When your mind does damnable Work; your Art will reflect it. Ah, there’s the door now. Mooney’s just returned—so I wager the rest of the Order will show up soon. Maybe I’ll get to have a go at Snivellus and work out some of this doomy feeling.