Make a Heaven out of Hell
" I'll follow you and
make a Heaven out of Hell, and I'll die by your hands,
which I love so well."
– William Shakespeare "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
Disclaimers: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. Everything is canon until the final battle after Voldemort's death. The Epilogue is not exist.
warnings: Violence, sexual content (briefly), disorders, gore
summary: Harry Potter has defeated Lord Voldemort and everyone assumed that was the end of it.
But Harry knew the truth. It was far from over.
He has to clean this world.
One year after Voldemort's death, Harry is known as the Wild Card at the ministry whose job is to get into psychopaths mind and kill them if it's necessary. Everyone's trying not to get in his way of justice. They know that their heads would end up on a stick. Harry is also chasing down the left of the Death Eaters unsuccessfully.
Until the day his partner captures Draco Malfoy for him.
Has Harry fallen too deep? Or is there more deep after even this?
He felt it when he died.
Not because of the power he felt in his soul, in his veins. Not because that was the moment when everything had to end. Not even when he saw his dead body. Not able to breathe. Not able to lift his wand, which hasn't been in Voldemort's hand anymore because it was in his.
People started to gather around when they saw him fell. When they heard him fail. Everyone cheered, clapped and shouted because it was over. They had won and that's when he realized something.
Harry hasn't heard any of that. He hasn't even looked at everyone's faces, because all he heard was silence. All he felt was calmness. All he saw, was Voldemort's dead body in front of him. His parents' murderer. His friend's families murderer. Snape's murderer. Albus Dumbledore's murderer. He saw him, lying on the ground, lifeless, people already coming to get him. His blood was boiling in his veins and he raised his chin. He clenched Voldemort's wand, hands shaking a little.
You were in my soul, he thought and smiled with full teeth, sharp as a razor. I gave you a quick death.
He hadn't wanted to. He wanted him to crawl beneath his feet. Ha wanted him to beg. He wanted to hear his scream with full of pure agony.
"What a pity." He breathed quietly as he thought what could have happened: Voldemort's crying endlessly because of the pain, because Harry was cracking his bones one by one. His screams could have been so loud, his voice eventually would have died down. Voldemort couldn't have commanded to anyone to save him. He would have been at Harry's mercy, for once.
Voldemort's wand started to burn in Harry's hand, with a unusual light caress. Like if the wand had known that his brother – Harry's wand – had died too. Which it did.
Which I don't need anymore, he stared at the Elder Wand in his hand. The majestic thing is already fitted in his hand. Much more than Voldemort's wand's brother ever had.
He stared then the beast's wand. The monster who had ruined his life, who made him feel empty all the time. Who had put filth in his soul.
Who he had not cursed the Crucio at.
"That is really unfortunate." He whispered with a bitter voice. Adjusting the poisoned anger, like a smoke, building up inside him, circling in his head and he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He turned around just to see Hermione's eyes.
She was smiling. A big smile that reached her eyes. Harry couldn't remember when was the last time he had seen Hermione smile.
" It's over." She said gently. "It's finally over."
Harry stared down at Voldemort's wand again in his hand, with a smoke still in his head. He traced the wood with his fingers.
What a pity.
He sighed, broke the wand and let it fall to the ground, covered full of ashes. Then he raised his head and smiled at Hermione. The smile probably couldn't resemble a rich smile, because she frowned at it, like she always did at things she didn't understand.
"It's over." He said it. In his voice, there hadn't been any emotions. It was not a relief that it had ended.
I feel I've lost.
And he lost really. Against Voldemort. Again. That bastard had still won. The smoke in his chest and in his head grew so big, Harry started to laugh so loud, the sudden sound hurt his throat. Hermione flinched.
Because everyone cheered. Everyone thought he just have saved the whole world. Everyone cried out of happiness. Everyone shouted his name because they thought he had won, but in reality. This was a filthy place because of him. It was still full of Death Eaters, who had run away. There were people who wanted to be Voldemort. Gifted with mad strong power. Who had worshipped him, passively. He laughed with a cracking, bitter sound and he shut his eyes in disbelief.
I've never had the chance to win in the first place.