He was evil through and through
"How I hate them" he would boast
But sometimes they said "I love you"
And he thought, that's what hurt the most
He did say it.
In his seventy odd years those three words graced his lips only once. But even that was more than expected.
He had always had an unhealthy obsession with fire. It fascinated him in every way possible.
To him it seemed that fire burned with only a single motive: to destroy, and that's exactly what he wanted. Destruction, obliteration, demolition, annihilation; whatever you want to call it. He just wanted to see them in agony, and he longed to hear them scream.
"God I love you", he all but whispered.
His lips skimming the smooth wood. He didn't even mean it. Even feel it. It was like a reaction.
The dream was something he never understood.
But it was always so clear.
He saw a face. Just a face. Then a glimmer of wings, and blinding halo, that he more felt rather than saw
Then upon hearing his own words of love in his ears a defending crucio echoed around the room, all his rage aimed at the motionless victim on the cold cold floor
In his last moment, he didn't think of the Death Eaters or the Hallows or how many lives he had left, he didn't even see Harry Potter in front of him.
He remembered the hate and the love, the definition of forgiveness and the angel of his nightmare.
And the fire...
The fire...
He took little comfort in the fires of hell.