Post by paintedmusic on Mar 2, 2008 1:13:44 GMT -5
Author's note: This is my first - and most likely will be my only - Harry Potter fanfic. Honestly, I wrote this ages ago and just found it in a notebook covered in dust, hidden beneath papers. Even though I don't do much Harry Potter (or anything besides Charmed if I'm completely honest with you), I decided to post this - because what else would I do with it otherwise? So here it is: make of it what you will.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter. So please don't so me. I'd be sad. Or pissed. You don't want me sad, but you definitely don't want me pissed...
Snakelike slits flared, and brutal red eyes narrowed. A pallid arm arched over a bald head, and then the wand swooshed down, words hissing past thin lips.
“Avada kedavra!” The killing curse echoed in the empty graveyard – How appropriate, Harry thought briefly before all thoughts vanished from his mind – and a jet of green light snapped through the air, darting towards its intended target. Numb, all Harry could do was watch the killing curse as it snaked towards him, the sky alight as if someone had let off the fireworks for the Fourth of July one week too soon.
At the last moment a voice cried, “NO!” and an already bloody form jumped between Harry and the Dark Lord’s curse. Instead of coursing through Harry’s body, killing him instantly, the curse took the other’s body. Flaming red hair fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
More than anything Harry wanted to scream Ron’s name, but with a throat as dry as sandpaper all that emitted was a faint, disbelieving squeak. If even he could speak, he wouldn’t have known anything to say. He had seen the killing curse used enough times that he possessed no false hopes of Ron somehow – miraculously – surviving. People didn’t live just because he wanted them to; Sirius proved that, as did Dumbledore and his parents. In fact, anyone who had come into contact with Harry – anyone he loved – pretty much proved that.
Voldemort hissed, “I’ve grown weary of your meddlesome ways, Potter. This will end now.” Wand held loosely in his right hand, he narrowed his eyes to mere slits; and Harry found that this look suited him better, that he somehow appeared even more like his precious Nagini. “There’s no one left to jump in front of you and protect you now, is there?” he taunted, words slithering past his lips.
Bloody, bruised fingers tightened on the large boulder by Harry’s side. There was no time to feel, to think, to mourn – only to act, and that he had to do immediately if he wished to survive. Then again, with everyone in his life dead, did he really want to live? he wondered; but since that wouldn’t help him stay alive, he quickly pushed that contemplation to the back of his mind as well.
Raising his wand with catlike reflexes, he uttered the killing curse once again; and as a jet of green erupted from his wand, Harry swung himself to safety behind the large boulder. At first the frantic thought that flashed through his mind was, I can’t do this alone! But when his eyes strayed to Ron’s corpse, practically smoking from the force of the curse, that emotion was instantly replaced with anger that surged violently through his veins. Voldemort had taken everyone he ever loved: his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore; and now Ron… Ron…
Hate bubbled lividly within him, and he knew only one thing: he wanted to kill Voldemort. Not just that, though; he wanted to make him scream in agony, wanted him to beg for mercy.
Adrenaline pumping through his veins and drumming in his ears, he jumped up from his position – wand raised – and glared at his mortal enemy, eyes boring into those deadly, red slits. This was it, he realized with a start.
And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… This was the end; only one would walk away from this fight tonight, Harry knew.
A callous laugh rang in his ears; Voldemort’s shoulders shook as the heartless sound pierced the night. “Still so brave, Potter?” he wondered, then contemplated, “Or is it just foolishness that makes you act so defiantly in the face of death?” Lowering his wand, he taunted, “Go ahead, then, boy; kill me.”
Seizing the opportunity presented, Harry’s wand arm swung into action before the Dark Lord could have a chance to change his mind or react. This evil, this creature – he was no more than a black hole, sucking the life and soul and hope from anyone and everyone, even those who had sworn fealty to him. He needed to be stopped; Harry needed to stop him.
Eyes hardened, memories flashed through the teenager’s mind, recollections of all he had lost, of all Voldemort had cost him: the chance to know his parents, fourteen years with his godfather, a normal childhood. All this he could never obtain, would never feel thanks to the wizard that stood calmly before him now, hand slack as if he had no worries about the harm Harry Potter could cause.
Blind with fury, his wand sliced the air and his voice rang out: “Avada kedavra!” A feeble wisp of green smoke trickled from his wand, quickly fading into the atmosphere.
Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice echoed in Harry’s ears, reminding him of what she had long ago told to him, words that mocked him then because she thought he couldn’t do it. How appropriate that it had been he who raised his wand against her only a few hours ago and cast the spell that ended her life. “You need to mean them, Potter!” she had shrieked. “You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it.”
I will enjoy it, though, he insisted to himself as Voldemort’s high-pitched laughter sent shivers racing down his spine. A more powerful desire he had never known, not when his heart ached for his parents, not when he wished for his godfather’s return the summer after his demise, not ever. To show Voldemort all the pain he, Harry, had known – and increase it tenfold – was all that Harry wished for now. No one deserved pain more than the Dark Lord, and no one deserved the honor of giving that pain more than Harry Potter.
“Silly boy,” Voldemort sneered, “You think you can defeat me? You are nothing. The only reason you are still standing here today is because people have been helping you with every step you take. Your precious mudblood mother and her love – but that’s gone now, as is Dumbledore. It’s just you now, Harry; and I’ll show you just how powerful Lord Voldemort is!”
Lifting his wand into the air, he parted his lips to cast the curse. With a sudden burst of panic, Harry cried out the first words that came to his mind, words he was sure – in his right mind – he never would have uttered. However, there was no debate that he was no longer in his right mind and perhaps never would be again. “How does it feel knowing you are the very thing you despise?”
“What?” Voldemort hesitated briefly, confusion flickering past his eyes. Inch by inch Harry slid farther from the Dark Lord, closer to Ron’s body. It was like déjà vu: grab the body, run to the safety of the portkey… except there was no portkey this time, no safety. In an impossible battle, Harry was all alone.
“That’s right,” Harry continued challengingly, now only a mere feet away from Ron, so close he could smell his best friend’s sweat roll off him, could see the whites of the redhead’s frightened eyes. “Your father was a muggle, which means you’re no pureblood. How many of your Death Eaters know about that, huh?”
Too late, Voldemort realized what Harry was attempted. “Avada kedavra!” he yelled as Harry lunged for the body. The curse missed him by mere inches.
Although difficult to attempt when in a weakened state, Harry focused his thoughts on apparating out of the graveyard, despite not knowing where he could go that would take them out of danger. But Harry went nowhere, apparently drained more than he had thought. Or perhaps it was more difficult for a novice to apparate with a passenger, but Harry was unwilling to leave without Ron.
Cold, high-pitched laughter rang through the empty graveyard, resonating past the headstones when the Dark Lord suddenly understood Harry’s dilemma. When the echoes died down, muffled and diminished, he taunted, “What’s the problem, Potter? Can’t leave behind your dear friend’s rotting skeleton?” Two gaunt arms opened in a wide circle, as if embracing his surroundings or offering to give Harry a tour. “Why not? This is a cemetery; what better place to leave someone in their death?”
Harry could literally feel the power boiling just beneath his skin, radiating heat and white-hot fury, power he had never before experienced. Threatening to overwhelm him, he knew – had he been standing – he would have dropped to his knees now, unable to control the surge of power or the rawness it left him feeling. Eyes blazed with a raging fire he had never known existed within him before. This time, when he raised his wand and spoke the curse, he meant it and wanted it with every fiber of his being.
“Avada kedavra!” two voices cried in unison, swirling around each other and intertwining as if they belonged together, as if this was the fate that beseeched them for sixteen long years.
This time, neither curse missed its intended target. Two bodies fell, both with eyes and expressions set with grim determination, unwilling to let the other prevail. For neither can live while the other survives… The prophecy had played out in truth as prophecies always did: neither had lived while the other survived. Now, splayed face-down in the muddy ground of the cemetery, two leaders – one a monster, the other a savior – lay forevermore, neither climbing to his feet, neither crying out in victory, neither rejoining his followers.
Yes, two more bodies were added to the list of casualties that night, a night of devastation and annihilation and a night of renewal.
Please let me know what you think, guys! I didn't know how to end it, so I ended it like that, with the "night of this and that, etc." *shrug* I just didn't like how happily-ever-after Rowling finished everything off, you know? This is something along the lines of what I would have expected from her, but I suppose with all the millions of people counting on Harry in the real world, she couldn't very well do that, could she? *shrug* Whatever.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter. So please don't so me. I'd be sad. Or pissed. You don't want me sad, but you definitely don't want me pissed...
Snakelike slits flared, and brutal red eyes narrowed. A pallid arm arched over a bald head, and then the wand swooshed down, words hissing past thin lips.
“Avada kedavra!” The killing curse echoed in the empty graveyard – How appropriate, Harry thought briefly before all thoughts vanished from his mind – and a jet of green light snapped through the air, darting towards its intended target. Numb, all Harry could do was watch the killing curse as it snaked towards him, the sky alight as if someone had let off the fireworks for the Fourth of July one week too soon.
At the last moment a voice cried, “NO!” and an already bloody form jumped between Harry and the Dark Lord’s curse. Instead of coursing through Harry’s body, killing him instantly, the curse took the other’s body. Flaming red hair fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
More than anything Harry wanted to scream Ron’s name, but with a throat as dry as sandpaper all that emitted was a faint, disbelieving squeak. If even he could speak, he wouldn’t have known anything to say. He had seen the killing curse used enough times that he possessed no false hopes of Ron somehow – miraculously – surviving. People didn’t live just because he wanted them to; Sirius proved that, as did Dumbledore and his parents. In fact, anyone who had come into contact with Harry – anyone he loved – pretty much proved that.
Voldemort hissed, “I’ve grown weary of your meddlesome ways, Potter. This will end now.” Wand held loosely in his right hand, he narrowed his eyes to mere slits; and Harry found that this look suited him better, that he somehow appeared even more like his precious Nagini. “There’s no one left to jump in front of you and protect you now, is there?” he taunted, words slithering past his lips.
Bloody, bruised fingers tightened on the large boulder by Harry’s side. There was no time to feel, to think, to mourn – only to act, and that he had to do immediately if he wished to survive. Then again, with everyone in his life dead, did he really want to live? he wondered; but since that wouldn’t help him stay alive, he quickly pushed that contemplation to the back of his mind as well.
Raising his wand with catlike reflexes, he uttered the killing curse once again; and as a jet of green erupted from his wand, Harry swung himself to safety behind the large boulder. At first the frantic thought that flashed through his mind was, I can’t do this alone! But when his eyes strayed to Ron’s corpse, practically smoking from the force of the curse, that emotion was instantly replaced with anger that surged violently through his veins. Voldemort had taken everyone he ever loved: his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore; and now Ron… Ron…
Hate bubbled lividly within him, and he knew only one thing: he wanted to kill Voldemort. Not just that, though; he wanted to make him scream in agony, wanted him to beg for mercy.
Adrenaline pumping through his veins and drumming in his ears, he jumped up from his position – wand raised – and glared at his mortal enemy, eyes boring into those deadly, red slits. This was it, he realized with a start.
And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… This was the end; only one would walk away from this fight tonight, Harry knew.
A callous laugh rang in his ears; Voldemort’s shoulders shook as the heartless sound pierced the night. “Still so brave, Potter?” he wondered, then contemplated, “Or is it just foolishness that makes you act so defiantly in the face of death?” Lowering his wand, he taunted, “Go ahead, then, boy; kill me.”
Seizing the opportunity presented, Harry’s wand arm swung into action before the Dark Lord could have a chance to change his mind or react. This evil, this creature – he was no more than a black hole, sucking the life and soul and hope from anyone and everyone, even those who had sworn fealty to him. He needed to be stopped; Harry needed to stop him.
Eyes hardened, memories flashed through the teenager’s mind, recollections of all he had lost, of all Voldemort had cost him: the chance to know his parents, fourteen years with his godfather, a normal childhood. All this he could never obtain, would never feel thanks to the wizard that stood calmly before him now, hand slack as if he had no worries about the harm Harry Potter could cause.
Blind with fury, his wand sliced the air and his voice rang out: “Avada kedavra!” A feeble wisp of green smoke trickled from his wand, quickly fading into the atmosphere.
Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice echoed in Harry’s ears, reminding him of what she had long ago told to him, words that mocked him then because she thought he couldn’t do it. How appropriate that it had been he who raised his wand against her only a few hours ago and cast the spell that ended her life. “You need to mean them, Potter!” she had shrieked. “You need to really want to cause pain—to enjoy it.”
I will enjoy it, though, he insisted to himself as Voldemort’s high-pitched laughter sent shivers racing down his spine. A more powerful desire he had never known, not when his heart ached for his parents, not when he wished for his godfather’s return the summer after his demise, not ever. To show Voldemort all the pain he, Harry, had known – and increase it tenfold – was all that Harry wished for now. No one deserved pain more than the Dark Lord, and no one deserved the honor of giving that pain more than Harry Potter.
“Silly boy,” Voldemort sneered, “You think you can defeat me? You are nothing. The only reason you are still standing here today is because people have been helping you with every step you take. Your precious mudblood mother and her love – but that’s gone now, as is Dumbledore. It’s just you now, Harry; and I’ll show you just how powerful Lord Voldemort is!”
Lifting his wand into the air, he parted his lips to cast the curse. With a sudden burst of panic, Harry cried out the first words that came to his mind, words he was sure – in his right mind – he never would have uttered. However, there was no debate that he was no longer in his right mind and perhaps never would be again. “How does it feel knowing you are the very thing you despise?”
“What?” Voldemort hesitated briefly, confusion flickering past his eyes. Inch by inch Harry slid farther from the Dark Lord, closer to Ron’s body. It was like déjà vu: grab the body, run to the safety of the portkey… except there was no portkey this time, no safety. In an impossible battle, Harry was all alone.
“That’s right,” Harry continued challengingly, now only a mere feet away from Ron, so close he could smell his best friend’s sweat roll off him, could see the whites of the redhead’s frightened eyes. “Your father was a muggle, which means you’re no pureblood. How many of your Death Eaters know about that, huh?”
Too late, Voldemort realized what Harry was attempted. “Avada kedavra!” he yelled as Harry lunged for the body. The curse missed him by mere inches.
Although difficult to attempt when in a weakened state, Harry focused his thoughts on apparating out of the graveyard, despite not knowing where he could go that would take them out of danger. But Harry went nowhere, apparently drained more than he had thought. Or perhaps it was more difficult for a novice to apparate with a passenger, but Harry was unwilling to leave without Ron.
Cold, high-pitched laughter rang through the empty graveyard, resonating past the headstones when the Dark Lord suddenly understood Harry’s dilemma. When the echoes died down, muffled and diminished, he taunted, “What’s the problem, Potter? Can’t leave behind your dear friend’s rotting skeleton?” Two gaunt arms opened in a wide circle, as if embracing his surroundings or offering to give Harry a tour. “Why not? This is a cemetery; what better place to leave someone in their death?”
Harry could literally feel the power boiling just beneath his skin, radiating heat and white-hot fury, power he had never before experienced. Threatening to overwhelm him, he knew – had he been standing – he would have dropped to his knees now, unable to control the surge of power or the rawness it left him feeling. Eyes blazed with a raging fire he had never known existed within him before. This time, when he raised his wand and spoke the curse, he meant it and wanted it with every fiber of his being.
“Avada kedavra!” two voices cried in unison, swirling around each other and intertwining as if they belonged together, as if this was the fate that beseeched them for sixteen long years.
This time, neither curse missed its intended target. Two bodies fell, both with eyes and expressions set with grim determination, unwilling to let the other prevail. For neither can live while the other survives… The prophecy had played out in truth as prophecies always did: neither had lived while the other survived. Now, splayed face-down in the muddy ground of the cemetery, two leaders – one a monster, the other a savior – lay forevermore, neither climbing to his feet, neither crying out in victory, neither rejoining his followers.
Yes, two more bodies were added to the list of casualties that night, a night of devastation and annihilation and a night of renewal.
Please let me know what you think, guys! I didn't know how to end it, so I ended it like that, with the "night of this and that, etc." *shrug* I just didn't like how happily-ever-after Rowling finished everything off, you know? This is something along the lines of what I would have expected from her, but I suppose with all the millions of people counting on Harry in the real world, she couldn't very well do that, could she? *shrug* Whatever.