"I hate you," Draco spat disdainfully to a certain Guy Wimsdon, who had apparently been the perpetrator of Draco's graceful meeting with the chandelier. His hands, bound unbreakably with (in all irony) his boxer shorts, formed a cup over his Little Draco and Associates as his fully nude body drifted casually into a stone wall. His right shoulder barely reverberated before he was sent off in the opposite direction and crashed delicately into Dean Thomas, who scowled but refused to break his concentration from the scene below.
Professors Alexis and Chavez stood in the doorway of the small dungeon. They didn't appear to be blinking. Or breathing. Or... really much of anything. They remained deadlocked with the man who was arguably the most powerful and/or evil wizard ever to flick a wand.
"Ah, yes," drawled Tom Riddle, rolling his wand carelessly between his glassy palms. I see you found your way, Mark. And Lexa."
"No, remember? Her name's Desde--"
Lexa stomped roughly on Dani's right foot. She stared painfully at her fellow professor, her former boyfriend. Then she brought her heavy eyes to Riddle's. "I see I'm not forgotten."
Riddle smiled. "Of course not." His wand halted between his hands. Nar breathily gasped.
Dani stood ruefully, the pain subsiding from his littlest toe, when he heard the barest whisper. "Dani... now would be a good time for that macho business." Her fingers brushed his back as she flicked off the light. And before he could question whether he had heard it or not, he felt his body spring forward and his fist follow. He could feel the outline of Riddle's pronounced nose as his balled up fingers connected gruesomely.
The man hit the floor, eyes wide open.
A moment passed. "Holy shit!" Guy proclaimed, making an unrecognizable motion with his bound wrists. "Professor Chavez, that was awesome!" Dean gained momentum by swinging around his body until he was able to kick Guy pointedly in the chest.
And Dani was over the man, delivering brusque, uninhibited kicks to his ribcage, chest, face, arms, legs... Riddle groaned, trying to twist away from his attacker, but he never blinked.
""Why--won't--you--die?!" Dani through the words out through gritted teeth. The lights flickered on; he paused, puzzled. Two bodies lay on the floor, completely motionless while the two guards that had caught Lexa and him minutes earlier forgot the stiffs and whipped out their wands.
"Oh, hello Harry. Mr. Weasley. And as his foot connected for the last time, it hit Riddle square in the jaw.
"Stupefy!" drawled Joel, and Dani fell backwards, his shoulder and head smashing against the wall with the magnitude of broken glass. Lexa screamed as Dani fell forward in an unnatural, unhealthy slump before they petrified her. She was thrown in the same corner as Dani.
"What was that there boy--Mark?--doin'? Oh my lordie, Mr. Dark Lord Sir, 'am so sorry! Joel. Joel, go get dat healer. Now!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Harry lay still--as if he had another choice. A tiny woman in a black apron had leapt over his body like he was a track and field hurdle and was now attending to Lord Voldemort.
He felt sick. Physically sick. Oh Hermione... he sighed silently. I'm sorry. I'm... so sorry. And somehow, some way, in spite of the curse holding him still, Harry vomitted violently. His arms sprung to action; he threw them over his stomach as he knelt over the carpet, retching nothing; there was nothing left to come up.
He was tapped on the shoulder. Harry needn't turn around. "Now that you've had the crap kicked out of you by a Hogwarts professor," he said instead, "maybe you're ready to give her back."
He expected the man to say no, to scoff at him, to tell him that he would die that day, in that room, and never see her again. Harry didn't expect the one thing that possibly could have made him feel worse.
The Boy Who Lived whirled around defiantly, standing up to face the man who shook with laughter. "What?" he dared. "What?"
"Potter," chuckled the man. "Potter, you're too naive." Lord Voldemort shook his head, settling his mouth into a dry, thin line. Harry only stared.
"You see, Potter, I am a man, a wise man I'd like to think. And perhaps you thought this would be like in the fairytales you read; a boy like you comes along, playing the hero, to save the damsel in distress and conquers the--" Voldemort paused, amused. "--evil villain. And then he gets his love back and gallops away on his magic steed."
"I prefer Floo, thank you."
"Shut up, Potter," the "evil villain" snarled, suddenly losing the calm air he had shortly before held. "This is reality, Potter, you can't save her!"
"YES I CAN!"
"NO YOU CAN'T!"
"YES I--"
"NO, YOU CAN'T, POTTER, BECAUSE I ALREADY KILLED HER!"
Silence hung in the air. But Guy, Nar, Dean, and Draco didn't. They clattered to the floor as Ron issued an ill-timed Finite Incantum.
Harry blinked. "Wh--what?"
"I killed her."
Harry blinked again. "You... what?"
"I did it personally. She cried when I came in. Told me you would come to save her." Voldemort shrugged. "Apparently she has that storybook idea too. Had to rid her of that, of course. It was really rather touching. Said she loved you, and in the end she was silent, not even a sniffle, when I whipped out my wand. Square shot to chest."
Mouth open, eyes incredulous, the Gryffindor Seeker, Ron's best friend, the Boy Who Lived, the invincible Potter, the bane of Malfoy's existence, the son of James, the boy with the scar, the love of Hermione, the protector of the free wizarding world, the protige of Dumbledore, the.... He was just a boy.
"And now your turn." The wand jabbed him in the chest. "Adieu, Potter. Aveda Ked--oof!"
Now, Guy Wimsdon is a bright, talented wizard. Not the brightest, or the most talented. But definitely high in each area. Had he been able to keep his wand, I imagine he could have performed an impressive curse. Rather, he took a propelling leap off of a box of clipboards and latched himself onto the back of the one and only Dark Lord.
"Harry, here!" Ron's voice snapped him to attention and he caught the wand before he understand; it was Dani's, and Ron was now rummaging for Lexa's. There was no time. Voldemort unhinged Guy and hit him with the Crucacius curse. Harry felt the wand pulsate between his fingers, felt the blood run cold in his veins, felt the last time he ever touched Hermione, and the wand seemed to point itself. All he saw when he performed the curse was Voldemort's back; later he would find out from Nar and Dean that the Dark Lord's eyes had bulged upon hearing the first word with a look of sheer, shocked terror.
"Aveda Kedavra!" Harry screamed, a sob bursting through the words as his voice choked and fell. The green beam shot out like a sprinkler in the summertime--like an innocent, harmless, child's plaything--and pierced the small of his back.
And later it would be told that even after the body crumpled to the floor, and the wand fell from Harry's fingertips, and the deed had been done, Harry Potter still sobbed the words of the curse repeatedly, shaking, only stopping when Dumbledore arrived and found him, placing his hand upon the boy's shoulder with no words of comfort, for what do you say to a boy that everyone wants to be who just lost so much of himself?
And they say that Dumbledore cried too, just a little, when he met Harry's desolate, hopeless eyes before the boy collapsed on the floor, moaning and weeping like a ghost, like the ghost that Harry wished he could slip away as.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry stared down from the ledge of the balcony, his knees threatening to give way under the strain he was forcing upon them. He would be at peace soon; it would be fine.
No more hate, no more mourning, no more spotlight, no more fucking silence. His hands flew to his temples; suddenly, the silence was killing him, killing him quickly, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't get oxygen. His brain screamed, his knees ached, his temples throbbed, oxygen, oxygen, Hermione, oh god.
"Just do it," he told himself, taking in a raspy breath. "Just do--"
"Harry? Harry, you out there?"
Ron! Harry scrambled to get down, his foot slipping out from under him as he gave his knees slack. He landed hard on the balcony, feeling the bruising from his buttocks to his back. Her journal flashed in sight. Oxygen, oxygen.
Ron appeared in a bathrobe, yawning carelessly--he stopped when he saw Harry splayed on the ground, a tortured expression protruding from his eyes, and crooked his head, suddenly wary--with good reason. "You all right, Harry?"
"Fine," Harry managed to say quietly. "I was just..."
"Just what?" Ron earned no response. "Oh, Harry... you werent..." Ron shot a horrified look at the ledge. "No...!"
"Of course not," Harry snapped. "I was just... reading her notebook." He snatched up the lavender journal and showed it to Ron. "That's all."
Ron still frowned. "All--all right... yeah, it was silly of me, sorry..."
Harry shook his head. "It's fine."
Ron yawned again, leaning against the doorframe. "Go back to bed, Harry, all right? You're worrying me."
Harry forced a smile. He shot a look back at the ledge then pulled his aching body to its feet. "You have no reason to worry, Ron," Harry said. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," said Ron, throwing back the comforter of his four-poster.
"I am," Harry insisted again. Ron snored.
Harry watched the pale, gauzy curtains flutter against the window, watched the moon dip in the sky and the the world outside. He fell asleep to the hum of the breeze, wondering if there'd be a next time, and if there was a next time, would Ron be there to haplessly stop him? He wondered if Hermione was happy, if she liked heaven, and what she thought of him now. But mostly he fell asleep listening to the oxygen flowing into his lungs, breathing in, breathing out, knowing that for another night he was here on earth. And as his eyes dimmed out the vision of Ron sleeping in the next bed with his hand matted against his hair, Harry thought that maybe that fact wasn't so bad.
Professors Alexis and Chavez stood in the doorway of the small dungeon. They didn't appear to be blinking. Or breathing. Or... really much of anything. They remained deadlocked with the man who was arguably the most powerful and/or evil wizard ever to flick a wand.
"Ah, yes," drawled Tom Riddle, rolling his wand carelessly between his glassy palms. I see you found your way, Mark. And Lexa."
"No, remember? Her name's Desde--"
Lexa stomped roughly on Dani's right foot. She stared painfully at her fellow professor, her former boyfriend. Then she brought her heavy eyes to Riddle's. "I see I'm not forgotten."
Riddle smiled. "Of course not." His wand halted between his hands. Nar breathily gasped.
Dani stood ruefully, the pain subsiding from his littlest toe, when he heard the barest whisper. "Dani... now would be a good time for that macho business." Her fingers brushed his back as she flicked off the light. And before he could question whether he had heard it or not, he felt his body spring forward and his fist follow. He could feel the outline of Riddle's pronounced nose as his balled up fingers connected gruesomely.
The man hit the floor, eyes wide open.
A moment passed. "Holy shit!" Guy proclaimed, making an unrecognizable motion with his bound wrists. "Professor Chavez, that was awesome!" Dean gained momentum by swinging around his body until he was able to kick Guy pointedly in the chest.
And Dani was over the man, delivering brusque, uninhibited kicks to his ribcage, chest, face, arms, legs... Riddle groaned, trying to twist away from his attacker, but he never blinked.
""Why--won't--you--die?!" Dani through the words out through gritted teeth. The lights flickered on; he paused, puzzled. Two bodies lay on the floor, completely motionless while the two guards that had caught Lexa and him minutes earlier forgot the stiffs and whipped out their wands.
"Oh, hello Harry. Mr. Weasley. And as his foot connected for the last time, it hit Riddle square in the jaw.
"Stupefy!" drawled Joel, and Dani fell backwards, his shoulder and head smashing against the wall with the magnitude of broken glass. Lexa screamed as Dani fell forward in an unnatural, unhealthy slump before they petrified her. She was thrown in the same corner as Dani.
"What was that there boy--Mark?--doin'? Oh my lordie, Mr. Dark Lord Sir, 'am so sorry! Joel. Joel, go get dat healer. Now!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Harry lay still--as if he had another choice. A tiny woman in a black apron had leapt over his body like he was a track and field hurdle and was now attending to Lord Voldemort.
He felt sick. Physically sick. Oh Hermione... he sighed silently. I'm sorry. I'm... so sorry. And somehow, some way, in spite of the curse holding him still, Harry vomitted violently. His arms sprung to action; he threw them over his stomach as he knelt over the carpet, retching nothing; there was nothing left to come up.
He was tapped on the shoulder. Harry needn't turn around. "Now that you've had the crap kicked out of you by a Hogwarts professor," he said instead, "maybe you're ready to give her back."
He expected the man to say no, to scoff at him, to tell him that he would die that day, in that room, and never see her again. Harry didn't expect the one thing that possibly could have made him feel worse.
The Boy Who Lived whirled around defiantly, standing up to face the man who shook with laughter. "What?" he dared. "What?"
"Potter," chuckled the man. "Potter, you're too naive." Lord Voldemort shook his head, settling his mouth into a dry, thin line. Harry only stared.
"You see, Potter, I am a man, a wise man I'd like to think. And perhaps you thought this would be like in the fairytales you read; a boy like you comes along, playing the hero, to save the damsel in distress and conquers the--" Voldemort paused, amused. "--evil villain. And then he gets his love back and gallops away on his magic steed."
"I prefer Floo, thank you."
"Shut up, Potter," the "evil villain" snarled, suddenly losing the calm air he had shortly before held. "This is reality, Potter, you can't save her!"
"YES I CAN!"
"NO YOU CAN'T!"
"YES I--"
"NO, YOU CAN'T, POTTER, BECAUSE I ALREADY KILLED HER!"
Silence hung in the air. But Guy, Nar, Dean, and Draco didn't. They clattered to the floor as Ron issued an ill-timed Finite Incantum.
Harry blinked. "Wh--what?"
"I killed her."
Harry blinked again. "You... what?"
"I did it personally. She cried when I came in. Told me you would come to save her." Voldemort shrugged. "Apparently she has that storybook idea too. Had to rid her of that, of course. It was really rather touching. Said she loved you, and in the end she was silent, not even a sniffle, when I whipped out my wand. Square shot to chest."
Mouth open, eyes incredulous, the Gryffindor Seeker, Ron's best friend, the Boy Who Lived, the invincible Potter, the bane of Malfoy's existence, the son of James, the boy with the scar, the love of Hermione, the protector of the free wizarding world, the protige of Dumbledore, the.... He was just a boy.
"And now your turn." The wand jabbed him in the chest. "Adieu, Potter. Aveda Ked--oof!"
Now, Guy Wimsdon is a bright, talented wizard. Not the brightest, or the most talented. But definitely high in each area. Had he been able to keep his wand, I imagine he could have performed an impressive curse. Rather, he took a propelling leap off of a box of clipboards and latched himself onto the back of the one and only Dark Lord.
"Harry, here!" Ron's voice snapped him to attention and he caught the wand before he understand; it was Dani's, and Ron was now rummaging for Lexa's. There was no time. Voldemort unhinged Guy and hit him with the Crucacius curse. Harry felt the wand pulsate between his fingers, felt the blood run cold in his veins, felt the last time he ever touched Hermione, and the wand seemed to point itself. All he saw when he performed the curse was Voldemort's back; later he would find out from Nar and Dean that the Dark Lord's eyes had bulged upon hearing the first word with a look of sheer, shocked terror.
"Aveda Kedavra!" Harry screamed, a sob bursting through the words as his voice choked and fell. The green beam shot out like a sprinkler in the summertime--like an innocent, harmless, child's plaything--and pierced the small of his back.
And later it would be told that even after the body crumpled to the floor, and the wand fell from Harry's fingertips, and the deed had been done, Harry Potter still sobbed the words of the curse repeatedly, shaking, only stopping when Dumbledore arrived and found him, placing his hand upon the boy's shoulder with no words of comfort, for what do you say to a boy that everyone wants to be who just lost so much of himself?
And they say that Dumbledore cried too, just a little, when he met Harry's desolate, hopeless eyes before the boy collapsed on the floor, moaning and weeping like a ghost, like the ghost that Harry wished he could slip away as.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry stared down from the ledge of the balcony, his knees threatening to give way under the strain he was forcing upon them. He would be at peace soon; it would be fine.
No more hate, no more mourning, no more spotlight, no more fucking silence. His hands flew to his temples; suddenly, the silence was killing him, killing him quickly, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't get oxygen. His brain screamed, his knees ached, his temples throbbed, oxygen, oxygen, Hermione, oh god.
"Just do it," he told himself, taking in a raspy breath. "Just do--"
"Harry? Harry, you out there?"
Ron! Harry scrambled to get down, his foot slipping out from under him as he gave his knees slack. He landed hard on the balcony, feeling the bruising from his buttocks to his back. Her journal flashed in sight. Oxygen, oxygen.
Ron appeared in a bathrobe, yawning carelessly--he stopped when he saw Harry splayed on the ground, a tortured expression protruding from his eyes, and crooked his head, suddenly wary--with good reason. "You all right, Harry?"
"Fine," Harry managed to say quietly. "I was just..."
"Just what?" Ron earned no response. "Oh, Harry... you werent..." Ron shot a horrified look at the ledge. "No...!"
"Of course not," Harry snapped. "I was just... reading her notebook." He snatched up the lavender journal and showed it to Ron. "That's all."
Ron still frowned. "All--all right... yeah, it was silly of me, sorry..."
Harry shook his head. "It's fine."
Ron yawned again, leaning against the doorframe. "Go back to bed, Harry, all right? You're worrying me."
Harry forced a smile. He shot a look back at the ledge then pulled his aching body to its feet. "You have no reason to worry, Ron," Harry said. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," said Ron, throwing back the comforter of his four-poster.
"I am," Harry insisted again. Ron snored.
Harry watched the pale, gauzy curtains flutter against the window, watched the moon dip in the sky and the the world outside. He fell asleep to the hum of the breeze, wondering if there'd be a next time, and if there was a next time, would Ron be there to haplessly stop him? He wondered if Hermione was happy, if she liked heaven, and what she thought of him now. But mostly he fell asleep listening to the oxygen flowing into his lungs, breathing in, breathing out, knowing that for another night he was here on earth. And as his eyes dimmed out the vision of Ron sleeping in the next bed with his hand matted against his hair, Harry thought that maybe that fact wasn't so bad.