A/N: This story came about through many little nuggets gathered from different stories and my own imagination. Many of you who have visited other stories might recognize a few hints to certain ideas but I do try to get my own spin on the entire thing. All I can say is that I hope you enjoy what I created.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and will never profit from this little fiction.
Prologue:
Standing before him, like the sword of Damocles, ready to reap his life with but the twitch of a brow stood Lord Voldemort. His pale features and narrowed red eyes glaring at him like he had won first place in the world's biggest nuisance contest. But despite this, there was a smile on the man's face as he gazed upon Harry.
They had formed a circle around them both since he arrived in the clearing, hushed whispers echoing around from time to time. The sound of a bound and gagged Hagrid as he cried and struggled to break free reached Harry's ears, but he only glanced at the half-giant before returning his gaze back to the one person that started it all.
"Hello, Tom."
The smile adorning Voldemort's features stretched even further as he fingered the elder wand in his hands.
"Why hello there, Harry. Have you come to die like I asked you to? Have you come to sacrifice yourself so your friends may live? Have you come… to play the hero one last time?"
The chuckles around them and the cruel smile that Voldemort still sported through his little speech would have gotten to a lesser man. Thankfully, Harry was not such a man.
"No. I have come to shake hands and to negotiate peace via an honorable duel that only allows stunners."
The silence that followed those words could have deafened a troll.
"Oh wait, just kidding. I doubt you would agree to that. Only darker spells for you, isn't it Tom?"
This time the smile disappeared.
"I see you can still joke around in your current situation. That is either very brave, or very stupid."
Harry simply shrugged.
"Little of both if you ask me."
Unlike what most might suspect, this response stumped the Dark Lord for a good few seconds before he once again regained his composure.
"I see what is going on here. You have made peace with yourself and truly come to die, haven't you Harry?"
The curiosity in Voldemort's voice was obvious to the surrounding crowd but no one dared to even breath as they waited for a response. Nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's wand when he smiled like that, waiting for his foe to answer.
"Yes, I indeed have. Unlike some who cling to life or any form of such like a cockroach in a nuclear winter, I have long since accepted the fact that death is a part of life. For neither can exist without the other. You should try it sometime Tom."
Just imagining the cold embrace of death however sent a shiver of dread and fear down the Dark Lord's spine, so instead he decided to ignore those last teasing words for now. Potter's time would come soon after all.
"What about your friends that are weeping for you right now Harry? Will you just leave them alone to my mercy without putting up the usual fight? Have you truly accepted the inevitable?"
Voldemort just couldn't help and be curious. Until now, the boy had defied all expectations he had of him. First, he merely saw him as a weak little boy despite the prophecy, but after a few failures that should have never happened he had gotten more careful with his approach. Eventually he had to agree that Harry Potter was indeed a very powerful young wizard. Not at the level of himself or Dumbedore but, and he was loath to admit it, they both were past their prime at this point and while Voldemort could never truly die, he could grow weaker with age.
Compared to his younger self of the same age, the Potter brat had him easily beat in pure power alone by an entire league. He had fought the boy in the graveyard himself and even after the third task and all the magic he used in it as well as the following duel the boy had only been emotionally drained, not magically.
It was frightening to imagine what he would become in 5 years, let alone 10.
This was why he had pushed his war effort the way he had. Because Voldemort had become truly afraid the more he dealt with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.
Turning his blood red gaze once again to the emerald green that was his foe's, he waited for an answer.
The boy closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh before opening them again.
"I am tired, Tom. Tired of constantly fighting for my life, fearing for my friends, being manipulated by others and doing something because fate has decreed it so. I am sick of it all, Tom. You know how I grew up. You have seen it in my mind so it's no surprise that I have hated my life for a long time now. I thought it would get better once it was clear why everyone treated me the way they did but instead of living the life I was promised, I encountered one life-threatening adventure after the other.
My first kill was with eleven. Quirrel, for all his faults and being possessed by you, was an adult that died quite literally beneath my hands. Instead of getting therapy about everything that went on in that third floor, I had one conversation with the headmaster before he sent me to the Dursleys.
In my second year we had that whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing going on. An entire school turned on their savior in the blink of an eye and I had to fight a sixty-foot-long basilisk with only a sword. Once again, no therapy or even a proper check-up. Simply sending me off to my personal Azkaban right after was enough.
This went on every year since I entered the magical world Tom. I can barely go a single week without having to duel, talk some sense into someone or figure out another clue to the various puzzles that Albus 'bloody' Dumbledore loves to leave around.
I'm sick of it all. I just want it to end at this point."
The audience of gathered Death Eaters from all walks of life and even Voldemort himself were stunned at this admission, some could even understand a bit of what he meant. The moans coming from the bound half-giant were ignored by all.
The Dark Lord himself looked back on the boy's life mentally and had to agree that no normal human being would have been able to go through all of that without scars being left behind. And Harry seemed to have quite a few of those still left untreated. Was it really a wonder he had become somewhat suicidal after being given the chance to simply end their little game?
"I must admit this comes as a surprise," he started, weighing his words carefully "but it is not something I cannot get behind. You have been through a lot in your young life, haven't you Harry? Lost so many whom you would call family. Even though I will never be able to understand, I can accept that to others this sense of loss is quite devastating, so I will allow your choice, in my eternal grace. Come before me Potter. Step forward, so you may die."
The grin threating to split his face as he said those words followed by his own feelings that had come close to what others had described to him as joy were a first for the Dark Lord, but a welcome one this time.
And just like he hoped, the boy did as he was told and walked up to him while meeting his blood-red gaze.
He had always admired the spine in the young man that now stood before him. It was something rarely seen these days, he had made sure of that.
With one final glance into those killing curse green eyes he uttered the words softly, merely a whisper in the gathered crowd.
"Avada Kedavra."
The flash of green was as bright as ever and when it faded, only the crumpled form of the boy that had defied him more than any other was visible on the cold forest ground.
Staring at him for longer than was probably necessary, with none of his loyal Death Eaters daring to move during it, he eventually turned his gaze skyward in a contemplative mood. All around him Death Eaters started to slowly break out into cheer as one half-giant began to sob in muffled agony.
After some time however, he was forced to address those that gathered here today and followed him so zealously.
"Storm the castle. Kill all those that resist after they hear the news." He told them, eyes still locked on the stars.
As they quickly left the clearing to follow his orders while flinging curses at the still crying form of Rubeus Hagrid that they dragged along with them, Tom Riddle gazed one last time at the broken form of his greatest foe before turning and leaving to lead his army to victory.
No one saw said body of the Boy-Who-Lived turning into ashes mere seconds after everyone departed the clearing. And with none the wiser, the universe came to a lurching halt, and everything went pear-shaped.
A/N: So it begins...