#leokitty

He explored the shack. Shelter enough. A hunting knife hung in the corner, and he took it down. Drew up his sleeve and stared at the Mark. Angry and black, as always, burning with anger and contempt. A beacon, calling to the master who had betrayed him. Disfiguring his body, a foreign invader. Alien, unwanted. He set the knife just below his elbow. There was only one way to be rid of this thing. Blood welled, pain burned. He had known worse. But he couldn't do this to himself. Too slow. He would bleed to death. And he had always had pride in his body. Small scars, but the brand was the only real blemish. He healed the cut with his wand. Vanished the blood, and conjured a goblet to drink from. He saw his reflection in the mirror, with disgust. A simple spell tidied his beard. If he was going to die, he would be proud to the end. He didn't want to die, but there was no escape. He'd lost his independence when he was too young to understand. It had seemed glamorous then, but no longer.

Duel with TGS Winner: Post-Wizarding War