Title: Facts

Author: Mithborien Mornamar

Rating: G

Summary: Voldemort is just a name. The-Boy-Who-Lived is just a label. Gryffindor is just a house. And Harry is just a kid.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Notes: The first paragraph was just a set of random thoughts that popped into my head and things grew from there. 375 words.

Voldemort is just a name.

The-Boy-Who-Lived is just a label.

Gryffindor is just a house.

And Harry is just a kid.

"Wand high, that's it. Aim for the chest."

He can hear the clunk of Moody's fake leg as the ex-Auror moves behind him, the clockwork pounding a sickly counterpoint to the insistent beating of his heart.

"The wand movement is not that important to the development of the curse but rather serves only as a guide. Keep the wand steady, if your hands shake it can throw off the spell."

A wand is just a stick of wood.

A spell is just a few murmured words.

The Avada Kedavra is just a curse.

Harry is just a wizard.

He's tired and the air is stale in the old warehouse. The only furniture that is left has been smashed to pieces. Moody says it reminds him of a battle field.

"The most important thing is the intent. You have to mean the spell. Truly mean it. It's not just an off hand bit of magic like lumos or accio. It's a curse, boy, the strongest and worse of the lot. And if you intend to use it, then you better be bloody sure about it."

He hears Moody pause. "It's called the killing curse for a reason. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget that you are taking someone's life. If you remember that, you'll survive."

His parents are just a memory.

Revenge is just an ideal.

Motive is just an excuse.

Murder is just a fact of life.

His palms are sweating and his hair sticks uncomfortably across the back of his neck. His scar is itching again.

"If you can't do this then he will kill you. You know this. You know the Prophecy. You know how this must end."

He sighs and nods.

"I never wanted to teach you this," Moody's voice sounds tired. "But it's something you have to know, have to learn and he won't ever stop until someone stops him."

He knows and raises his wand.

"Then again and this time… don't miss."

Tom Riddle is just a face.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is just a myth.

The Prophecy is just a few forgotten words.

Harry James Potter is just a boy.