Warning: This is a drabble. A drabble is "a story of exactly one hundred words".
She toppled, dead. His insides tightened into a series unworkable knots; arrows of pain shot through his brain and from inside his brain out through his eyes so that it hurt even to see. Something he had thought long dead slammed violently against his ribcage, screaming "No! No! No!" with each anguished beat. A real scream, animalistic and tormented, was ripped unwillingly from his vocal cords. His wand hand tightened; he looked blindly, frantically for what was no longer there, looked for someone to punish.
Lord Voldemort had been wrong. He, too, had a weakness, and her name was Bella.
Author's Note: This idea had been itching in my brain ever since I read the seventh book, and now I have gotten it out where it can run around and play.
Oh, and for a shameless plug of other work, my fics, The Last Battle and Deal With A Devil, love reviews. Please and thank you!
