"You know, it's kind of stupid-everyone chasing after the Deathly Hallows all this time. Wanting to be the Master of Death. Like it's some bloody amazing thing, yeah?

"I can't help but think of that story by Lord Dunsany about Death and Odysseus. Odysseus calls Death his old servant and asks how his masters have been treating him since Odysseus made Death work for him.

"That's the thing about it-any man can be the Master of Death if he's willing to make Death work for him." Harry leaned back in his chair, reached for the bottle of firewhiskey and took a gulp, "If he's vicious or stupid enough."

A tired grin slipped onto his face as he continued his monologue, "The Hallows ensure their owner is the Master of Death. Each is cursed. Makes whoever has 'em a little more vicious, a little less caring about other people. The wand's the worst, you know. Amazed Dumbledore wasn't worse than he was, holding onto that thing."

The grin become unsightly, cruel, and made him look deranged as he continued, "All three, though? Makes you want to kill. Want to. Have to — and you can't stop.

"I've tried, you know. To turn myself in. Head to Azkaban. It all got twisted around. And when I realized Hermione had figured me out? I was so happy. So very happy — it could finally end."

He sobbed for a moment, his hands running up his face to bury themselves in his hair, distraught. It wasn't very long before he pulled himself together, though, and continued, "Only it didn't. The Hallows don't want to let me go. They drove me to it. Made me kill her.

"You know that, don't you? That I wouldn't do something like that if I could stop myself? I wouldn't. I'm not some monster. But I can't control it. Can't stop." He was leaning forward intently, staring across the desk with such an earnest expression on his face.

He shook his head, "And then Ron. Ron, ha! Just had to go through Hermione's papers. Just had to find her suspicions." He slammed a hand on the desk, "Just had to confront me.

"You know he's one of only just a handful of people I've used the killing curse on? Don't like it. No artistry. No sick satisfaction that all of my planning, all of my work has come off. Just a couple words and they fall over! Not right. Not right, at all."

The deranged grin was back, "Covering it up though? Making everyone think he'd got drunk and missed the fireplace with an incendio when wanting to warm up and burned his whole house down with him in it? That was nice. Watching everyone fall for it, completely buy the story I built there? That was fun."

The grin slipped and a solemn look stole over his face, "I mean, the wand, it makes me enjoy it. Must be. I wouldn't be happy about getting away with my best mate's murder, otherwise, yeah? You can see that, can't you?"

He nodded and went on, "I wouldn't even think about doing anything like this, here, with you. Damn the wand. That deathstick, I hate it.

"Anyway, it's late, and I'm wanting to get to bed, so Ginny, I'll make this quick." Her jaw was clenched tight and her eyes red rimmed from tears, but the silencing and restraining spells meant she could only sit there across the desk from Harry. Unable to stop him in his madness.

"I hope you know I love you. So much. I hope my next wife is half so good as you. Perhaps not half so clever, though; I'd hate to have to do this again." He was smiling an amused half smile as he lifted his holly and phoenix feather wand, aiming it at her.

The last words she heard were muttered at the wand. "Damn deathstick, forcing me to enjoy things like this."


The story by Lord Dunsany mentioned is the short story Death and Odysseus found in his book Fifty-One Tales.

And in case anyone misses the point and figures they need to bring it up, I'm aware his holly and phoenix feather wand is not the deathstick, figure it out, if you haven't, already.