I've reached the point in my life where I can accept my parents for who they are. Most people who know them have a great deal of respect for them, even me. There was that dark period when I decided to rebel against everything they stand for, and joined the Death Eaters; that came as a right shock, I imagine, like a slap across both of their evil-fighting faces. It's all in the past, really, we've all forgiven each other and tried to make peace. But it's hard to face them sometimes.
Because deep down, I rather miss those darker days.
I don't think anyone would believe me if I decided to tell them, but the fact is that we had a lot of fun. Not the Muggle-torturing, or the killing; they both had their appeal, but my heart was never really in those things. No, I stayed with the group as long as I did for the extracurricular activities. Let's just say that death isn't the only thing Death Eaters like to eat. Even our master got in on the fun; we didn't call him "master" just because he could obliterate any of us on a whim.
Every now and then, in my dreams, I can still smell the fresh leather.
Maybe this diary thing isn't such a bad idea after all. It's kind of nice to have a place to remember.