Disclaimer: I retain no rights to the Harry Potter series.

Author's Note: Pulled from my "vault" of unreleased material. As a lifelong Christian, I'd appreciate if no one takes the blasphemy seriously. The following is an excerpt, covering four verses, comes from the New King James Version of the Holy Bible.

:Forlorn:

"Do not fret because of evildoers,

Nor be envious of the workers of iniquity.

For they shall soon be cut down like the grass,

And whither as the green herb.

Trust in the Lord, and do good;

Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.

Delight yourself also in the Lord,

And He shall give you the desires of your heart."

Psalms 37, "The Heritage of the Righteous and the Calamity of the Wicked"

Fierce wind and rain whipped his face and obscured his vision, further casting him in whirlwinds of confusion and disarray as he struggled forward to…somewhere. He had no predetermined destination, only knew how imperative it was he continue traveling as far as possible to protect his loved ones.

The Lord will put no more on you than you can bear, the good Reverend advocated when Ted was a child. The young boy had believed in those words then, wide, chocolate eyes gazing up at God's shepherd as he extended an invitation to discipleship to sinners. Life, then, had been as easy as Sunday morning. Simple. Innocent. He would never have foreseen his going sour.

It's all a load of cadswallop, he thought as grass and mud caked the soles of his boots and sullied his jeans as he marched. So this is what it had come to. Ted had lived and believed a lie his entire life. It mattered not that he had been a moral man, been a provider, been a dutiful husband, and been a loving father. Where was his Savior now? Where was divine intervention when he needed it—as he said farewell to a sobbing wife and daughter as they collapsed to the floor? How was Ted even alive? He hadn't felt a heartbeat in days. The vital organ abandoned him.

The Lord will never leave you, nor forsake you, his parents told him every night. This is the mantra he believed in—the only thing keeping him alive when he lay in St. Mungo's, years ago, fighting off Bellatrix's curse; his sole comfort as he stepped foot from a house he was, truthfully, unsure of ever seeing again.

Fucking shit. Of course, this whole painful ordeal of isolation was all in God's plan. And by "God," he meant the Dark Lord.

Ted couldn't see this "Jesus Christ," wasn't even sure he existed when it boiled down to it. All this talk of a prophet rising from the dead after three days was suspicious. There was no spell in existence enabling resurrection and Ted was supposed to believe that some muggle saint magically overcame his very own mortality?

A likely story!

If such an omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent deity truly existed, Ted would have known it. Omniscience would've manifested itself during his prayers and private talks; surely Jesus would've told him of what lie ahead for muggleborns—even if in a dream—because he does not leave his people ignorant! If omnipresence were to be believed, where was this deity when Ted relied on a tree, an object which barely concealed him, to shield him from Snatchers? Surely this saint, who professed universal love,would have lifted him to the heavens so as to shelter him from harm! And as for this omnipotent business, would he honestly permit individuals to be persecuted on account of something as superficial as blood?

Ted had, in the past day alone, seen three people murdered. And now, everywhere he looked were these….things. Great, ugly creatures with faces of reptiles, bodies like ribcages, and bat-like wings.

Bloody hell! He was hallucinating. These… things weren't real.

And apparently, Ted could now justifiably reason, neither is Jesus Christ.

Death Eaters, unlike Christians, had it easy. Their master was visible; he, Ted could infer, actually informed his followers of what he intended for them. This was much more personal, as opposed to flunkies writing stories.

Fabrications.

Ted rested his back against a tree, head turned upward, anxiously regarding the sky for any sign of hope. Ted didn't care if the sign was a façade. His entire life had been a façade.

Rays of sunlight were stubborn, refusing to pierce the clouds.

Should they have? He had no clue what time of day it was. If morning, it felt like night. Darkness violated him and rattled his emotions, making him delirious.

Ted ran a hand through matted blonde hair, smearing grease over an unshaven face. He hoped his sacrifice would be beneficial for Andromeda and Dora. Just maybe…his departure had restored their freedom—kept Lord Voldemort's knights at bay.

So it was true then.

Azkaban may be prison, but ultimate incarceration is being isolated, destitute, and failing.

And that Ted Tonks was.

Fin.

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