"And so it must be For so it is written

On the doorway to paradise

That those who falter and those who fall

Must pay the price!"

- Stars, Les Misérables

He sat with his cousins and their friends, listening to the eldest members of the group singing the praises of the newest Dark Wizard. Apparently he was the most powerful magician since Grindelwald, destined to rid the world of muggle filth and purify the wizarding community. Others had claimed to be able to do this; they all had yet to succeed. Maybe this man was different; he was already acting on some of the less desirable ideals – the ones that would involve unspeakable deeds – which was a lot more than his competition could claim.

He would have to wait and see.

He flicked through the copy of the Daily Prophet that had been delivered that morning. The chatter in the Great Hall had dulled down into background noise as he turned his complete attention to an article about half way through the paper. It was only a short article – barely more than a hundred words – but it filled him with hope. Already this man was achieving things others could only dream of, and he still had a long way to go before he would be at his most powerful. He would be able to destroy them all and bring them back to their former glory.

He idolised this wizard like no other.

He was sixteen; young and reckless and he felt as if he could take over the world. The sense of euphoria that overcame him as they knelt at the feet of the man – no, Lord – that would soon become their master was like no other. His hands were shaking and a bead of sweat ran from his forehead down to his chin. This was it; he would finally be joining their ranks. He had been waiting for this moment for years, and now that it was here he was determined not to fail. There was one final hurdle; taking The Mark would not be easy – it would be burned into their flesh, and not all were worthy of its touch – but he was determined to make his new master proud.

He took The Mark on his knees.

He watched as a masked Death Eater cast the Dark Mark above the small cottage, thinking of the occupants inside. A pureblood family; a mother and father and two little girls. He wasn't sure what this would do to help them with their cause – he had thought they were only to kill muggles and Mudbloods, not destroy the end of an ancient family line – but he knew better than to question any orders. Even showing the slightest signs of doubt could result in torture or death, and he wasn't willing to face either. They were still making great process in eliminating the filth that had somehow managed to threaten their way of living, and they would continue to do so.

He pushed all of his concerns away.

He had been the first to offer one over when The Dark Lord had requested the use of a dedicated House Elf. He had been determined to show his devotion and loyalty, but now – now – things were different. The Dark Lord had planned to kill it – to kill the only friend he had ever had – and all for the search of immortality. This changed everything; it was as if all this time he had been looking at a picture and only now could he see beyond the frame. He still agreed with the ideals that had been put forth all those years ago, but now he could see beyond the gilded frame to the atrocities that had been committed in the name of purity. This was not what he had signed up for; this was not what he wanted to do.

He had been naive in his youth.

He had grilled his House Elf for hours on what had taken place that night, and he was sickened by what he heard. There was a Horcrux in the form of a locket and who knew how many others; it was obvious to him now that this man – no, he could no longer be classified as that – was entirely insane. Ripping ones soul apart in the hopes of living forever was one of the worst things a wizard could do – it left him vulnerable in ways that he could not imagine; he was not completely whole and he would suffer for it. It was not natural for a soul to be ripped in half, and it left a jagged wound that would not be discovered until it was too late opening him up for a fate worse than death.

He vowed to repent for his deeds.

He crossed the lake in silence, trying not to looks at the pale forms in the water and see their lifeless eyes staring back at him. His House Elf sat across from him, cowering at the bottom of the small boat; he thought of offering some words of comfort to the creature, but when they sounded hollow even in his own head he decided against it. This was something they both knew could not end well; he would not be allowed to live once his actions had been discovered and there would be nowhere for him to hide. He forced the Elf to feed him the vile potion, the liquid burning as it trickled down his throat. He could tell he was begging – for forgiveness; for death; for everything in-between – but it was like he was seeing the situation from afar.

He knew that his death was near.

He made the Elf leave him there, ordering him to take the locket and destroy it as soon as possible. He knew there was no point in him leaving this cave; he would only be waiting for his own death, and he would rather it be on his own terms than living in fear for the next few days wondering. Who would it be? How would they do it? This way, he was in control of his own fate; he had willingly entered this cave knowing that he would never again leave it. He would die alone and in pain, and no one would know.

"But would you have it any other way?"