Disclaimer: I don't own HP, just borrowing.

Warnings: non-graphic torture, non-con and suicide

Used

Tired.

So very, very tired.

Tired of life.

Tired of being used.

Tired of being forced to fight in a battle that isn't mine.

By most standards, I would still be considered a child. Not by them, though, not by them. To them, I'm just their perfect little weapon. Something not alive.

Bastards.

My aunt and uncle were the first to use me. I was a virtual slave in their household, doing almost all of the chores by the time I reached my sixth birthday. And in return, I was fed very little. Hunger is a very familiar state of being. And my bully cousin got to beat me up. Pain is also very familiar.

Then, on my eleventh birthday I was introduced to the wizarding world. I hoped there everything would be better. And in the beginning, it was. I made friends, I was fed and the bullying was restricted to verbal harm.

Then I found out my friend were not my friends, they were just using me too. You see, my parents had died to save me, in the process destroying the body of the one that wanted to kill me, Voldemort. But Voldemort was not dead, just reduced a bodiless spirit. So they, and everyone else, decided I was to be the one to destroy him if he regained his body. Which he did when I was fourteen.

Since then, I've been fighting constantly, first in training then for real.

Some of the horrors I saw… Children tortured and killed in the worst sort of ways, people being forced to harm their families, and lots and lots of killing.

In some ways, Voldemort capturing me was a relief. I thought it would be over soon, one way or another.

It wasn't. So far, all they did was torture me. By now, my voice is gone, as is my virginity. Most of my bones are broken, and my body is covered in cuts, bruises, blood and other bodily fluids. I don't care anymore.

In fact, I stopped caring after the first torturing session.

No one is going to save me. After all, what use is a broken weapon?

I have two options left.

The first is to wait out the torture. Sooner or later, Voldemort will come and kill me.

The other is to force my magic through the magic suppressors. I've been chipping at their power, weakening them. Of course, if I do that, my body, and everything in a large area around me will blow up.

Both will mean I'll die.

But I don't care anymore.

And dying the way I want to is the only freedom I have left.

So I force my magic at suppressors, feeling their restrains fail.

I smile.

Freedom.

And everything explodes.