5Most would say that Harry would kill him for such, destroy him utterly. But are we not thought that revenge, be it for friends or for family is not the path a true hero would walk? How then would things fair if Ron Weasley were to be killed?
-Flameraven
I own nothing, all of this belongs to J.K. Rowling I'm merle having some fun with how the 7th book might turn out.
Death of a Shadow.
Harry stood frozen as the tableau was played out before him. Death and destruction raged through out the school grounds. Bodies of death eaters, their makes gleaming in the fire light from the burning castle lie strewn about. So too were the bodies of students, teachers and ministry wizards alike, but sill the death eaters came.
At the forefront of their unholy army stood the man, no the monster, that had caused all this pain. His soulless red eyes surveyed the battlefield and finally thoughts burning crimson orbs came to rest upon the small continence of boy who had not yet reached his eighteenth birthday.
And so, as it had always been mente to be, the-boy-who-lived faced off against a man who lived once more. The dark lords slit of a mouth quirked up in a grim mockery of a smile, and me spoke but a few words to the masked man and women surrounding him. The words, more like a snake hiss then anything that a human throat should be able to produce, sent shivers down young Potter's spine.
"Potter is mine, fan out and kill the rest... But bring me Snape, I whish to... reword him personally, for all his years of service."
And fan out they did, leaving three young people on a knoll to face the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever known. Voldemort's eyes moved from face to face, taking in all that his enemies let be seen. Their fear was almost intoxicating, and it only served to edge him on. Served to make him decide that death would be far to easy for this boy who once again dared to stand in his way.
No, this time Harry Potter would lie broken and sobbing for the mercy of death, a death that would be years, maybe even decades, in the making.
The Dark Lord's red eyes once again came to rest at a pair of defiant green pools, green pools that had once almost killed him. But that was another life, when he had been weaker, and far to arrogant of his own good. Now, he no longer had anything to fear from those eyes.
He looked away dismissive and found himself looking into the face of young women. Hermione Granger, was her name and he new all about her. It was a shame, really that she had to die, but Lord Voldemort wouldn't allow for her tainted blood to stain the rest of the wizarding world once this day was done.
As it was, her whole family would be eradicated, so as to not have a chace of a another muggle born witch or wizard to arise. It never hurt to be tidy after all. "Is this why you never joined me Potter?" The dark wizard asked, before answering his own question. "No... no, I guess not. You've got far to much of me in you to let even you stoop that far, don't you Potter? I may have to find your lady love, I could go for a good tumble with a pure blood after today's work. I'm sure you'd love to watch." That last was spoken with that evil, twisted smile and his eyes shifted once again. This time to the third member of the small band that dared face him.
Voldemort's burning red eyes met and held onto a pair of ice blue ones, blue one's that also seemed to be burning with an inner fire. The anger and hate was radiating off the red headed man in waves. The time of purification had arrived.
"Ah, my dear Mr. Weasley, how I've missed you these past few days. You could have been grate Ronald, grate. But now you will be nothing but a memory, lost and forgotten and why? All for your muggle born hoar over there? You don't know how much this pain's me Ronald, I had such grate hopes."
And then with a few muttered words and a flash of green, the life of one Ronald Arthur Weasley was over. The killing curse was fast but by no means was it painless but Ron did not scream once. He merle crumpled and then lied still. His death did not bring any feeling of fulfillment to the Dark Lord's blackened heart though, he had spoken truth.
Killing Ron had pained him, not because of any sentiment mind you, but because it bruised his ego to know that his greatest victory, the subversion of both the son of the greatest muggle lover in all of England, and Harry Potter's best friend, who just so happened to be a Gryfendor to boot to his cause had all been a ruse sense the beginning. A carefully contrived lie built by Dumbeldor to slip in a spy once Snape had been discovered.
As a hart broken wail split the sky only secants after Ron's body had hit the ground Voldemort did feel some satisfaction then. The Granger girl was the problem, had to have been. Just another stinking muggle who corrupted yet another wizard into paying the price for love. And as Voldemort new, and as his mother had found out, that price was death.
He looked on as the girl wept over the fallen boy, his head in her lap as she denied the possibility of what had happened, begged, pleaded and commanded that he live Voldemort couldn't help but release a sardonic chuckle, for although he had seen such things hundreds of times the such a sight never ceased to amuse him.
And now with one chore out of the way he decided it was time to finish another. "Are you ready Harry? I believe we have a duel to finish." And the Dark Lord chuckled once again as the face that the young Potter was giving him. Fear, anger, resignation and determination all were their, but not a thrust for vengeance.
Oh how little did this boy know of the world, of his parents and of his so called friend. In that ley Voldemort's ultimate victory. He wanted it more. By pure strength of will would he overcome all, for the Potter child would not, could not stop him, for his own ideals were doing nothing but holding him back from the route of true power.
And so their battle raged, on and on it went and wizards and witches died by the score around them, Harry was good but Voldemort had a few tricks that Harry could not, would not use and in the end that was what mattered. Harry felt his whole body cease up before the torment began. It was a modified version of a curse he had felt a few times in the past, one that even he couldn't seem to shake off. His eyes filled with tears and in the moment it took for him to blink them away he found himself face to face with the man who had twice now ruined his life.
"I'm sure wherever Ronald is now he is cursing your naivete Potter."
"Hardly," Harry respond through clinched teeth, "He is only cursing you." Voldemort laughed then, an full easy laugh of a man who knows victory is assured.
"Oh, how little you know about anything Mr. Potter. Your dearly departed friend might have been Dumbledor's spy, but he was also one of my death eaters. He killed and terrorized, and I watched him revel in it. He would have been grater then you ever would have been if it hadn't been for that muggle born bitch back there.
"He hated you Harry. He hated you for what you had, for what you were given and most of all he hated you because you took his being there for granted. He joined me for you, he killed 'innocents' for you and just now he died for you and you couldn't even strike back at me for it because 'he wouldn't have wanted me to become like you' and all that, I'm sure.
"You ma-" and with that the creature who used to be known as Tom Riddle broke off and spun, his wand tumbling out of his suddenly numb fingers and his arms wrapped around his stomach and his whole body suddenly felt as if it was on fire. His eyes wide and incredulous as he saw who had just lade him low.
Their, not more then twenty paces away, silhouetted by the still burning castle was a young women, her hair writhing around her head seemingly like a living thing, and tears still streaming down her face, she was the most beautiful, and the most terrifying sight either man had ever seen, and as Voldemort's shriek of denial rang out to the volts of heaven, and Hermione sobbed out three last words, the blood magic that she had cast entered its last, devastating, conclusion. With a flash both Wizard and Witch were gone, gone for all eternity.
As the curse that had held him ended with Voldemort's demise Harry fell heavily to the ground. It was over, it was finally over, and in away it was fitting, killed by a muggle born and all. Harry tried to smile at the thought of poetic justice but instead he just broke down and sobbed.
Never in his life had he ever felt so alone. So completely and utterly alone. For not only had he just lost his two best friends in the space of one day, but Voldemort's accusations still rang in his ears. But even that was not what truly got to him, no. It was the last words his friends had said on this earth.
One had been a good-bye, the other a promise. And nether one had been directed at him. He had lost his best friends to each other, something he had been fighting against sense filth year. His sobs grew stronger at that, he had known that they would be together but he hadn't wanted them to be. For if they found solace with each other then were would that have left him?
As the magnitude of his selfishness hit him squarely in the face he felt small hands come to rest upon his shoulders and a soft voice called his name. Ginny had come looking for them. "Their gone Gin, their gone." He somehow managed to croak out between his sobs, she held him a bit tighter then and he felt some comfort from her touch. It was ironic really as she was a girl he had spent almost his whole school career running from.
As he turned in her embrace, and held her now trembling form close to him, Voldemort's words came back to him, "You've got far to much of me in you..." and perhaps it was true, for tonight he knew that just like Tom Riddle before him, Ginny would give and he would take.
But perhaps... perhaps, their was some hope for him, for he also knew he would hate himself in the morning...
-fin.
