After the war, they said we got a second chance. I never understood that. If I had been in their place, I'd have shipped the lot of us off to Azkaban in a second. Yes -- I would have condemned a group of teenagers to hell and eventual insanity. And you, I would have slept sounder afterwards.
You see, I understand the Dark Arts in a way that the Ministry of Magic never could. It is not their use which defines the evil inherent in them -- if that were so, why would they be called the Dark Arts?
No, the Dark Arts corrupt the very fabric of our beings-the soul. They twist your being, they change you at a basic level. Everything has a price, my friend, and power costs most dearly of all.
And if nothing else, the Dark Arts are powerful -- oh, so powerful...
Once they touch you, they don't let go; forevermore calling to you. It depends on how much you've used them, and how much you wanted to use them when you did, but the call is always there. Maybe it's hidden, deep down inside you; maybe you can ignore it because it's so quiet; maybe you just pile memories over it in the hopes that it will eventually go away. But it never does.
The seductive song the Dark Arts play for your soul is defined specifically by what you use them for, because after using a Dark spell once, it seems so much easier to reach your goals by using it again. And again, and again, and again... which would be fine, if the Dark Arts weren't entirely comprised of spells designed for the subjugation, torture, and killing of others through the most creative means possible.
The power isn't all that's addictive about it, though. Darkness is a generous force; it offers you concealment. A small gift, you think, except that it's not at all. The gift is thrice given:
Firstly, to conceal you from your enemies.
Secondly, to conceal your enemies from you -- for if you saw what they were too clearly, they could no longer be your enemy.
And lastly, to conceal you from yourself, so that you don't need to feel guilty about what you've become.
Yes, the darkness is alluring. I know. It beckons to me every day -- and perhaps that is the hell of it, because it's not a malicious call, but a gentle one. Friendly. And terribly, awfully tempting.
I struggle to conceal it, to hide it as deep down as I can. If my family ever was to see the black stain upon my soul, they would forsake me in an instant -- there is no doubt. Gentle, kind, loving Astoria, and sweet, inquisitive little Scorpius would never want to be around me again if they knew of my terrible thoughts, my dark dreams of torture and suffering. And who could blame them? I wouldn't, never.
Maybe the worst bit, though, is that I can feel the power at my fingertips. I know that if I wanted to, I could become the next Dark Lord -- I have the power, the skill, and the knowledge. I saw Voldemort's mistakes firsthand, and I could avoid them. With the gifts of the darkness, I could have the world.
I feel this every day. And every day, I give up the world. For Astoria. For Scorpius. But mostly for myself, because in the end, I'm too selfish to let my family go -- even if it means faking it for the rest of my life.
So that's why I would have condemned us to Azkaban. I've been paying attention over the years, and all of us, the ones that were touched by the Dark -- Goyle, Nott, Flint, Parkinson -- all of them have lost it at some point. Gone mad, tried to set up as the next Dark Lord, and been subsequently stopped by the Ministry (which is code for 'executed by Potter'). All except me.
I am the last. I am the strongest. I am the smartest.