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Word Count Without AN - 903
His Green Light
The darkest of magic, is what it is. It's what you enjoy. The warmth, flames of heat, that spread up your arm and through your body from your wand when you cast it. It's intoxicating. It's addictive. It's a power that you have perfected.
A power that surprisingly few people can wield.
You've always known you were special. Darker. More powerful than most. It's always been there, that voice that told you that it was okay to hurt people, because they would only hurt you if you didn't warn them away.
People cause pain. It is a human fault. Completely human, and completely intolerable. You refuse to allow anyone the power to hurt you, to cause you pain, to harm you.
The bright green lights up the room, it illuminates off your skin, the colour of envy, the color of Slytherin.
From your wand; the colour of death. Of safety for you. Of power.
You remember the first time you cast it, the feeling of comfort, the feeling of coming home. It made you feel so free, so powerful, so… unbeatable. It was instant addiction, and you cast it again and again until you were exhausted.
You'd cast other spells, other curses, worse curses. Curses that spilled insides out, curses that set fire to the victim's blood, curses that broke every bone in the body simultaneously, but never before had you felt the power that came from your green light.
With your green light, you would never again be forced to allow anyone to hurt you.
And yet…
It is the only thing you've ever allowed to cause you pain. Your green light, rebounding from the boy's head, and you didn't move. You were blinded by your own spell, broken, ripped apart as it hit you squarely in the chest.
It hurt.
So much pain.
So much fear.
So much destruction.
In your desperation, you fled, and for years, you were haunted by your green light, by the two words you'd long since favoured over all others.
On your return, you were suddenly hesitant to use your favourite spell. You chose to use torture, to delegate, rather than bring forth that glorious green light yourself. You'd listen with jealousy to Bellatrix's laughter as she sang out words that you'd once taken ownership of.
You used it sparingly, but your green light wasn't the same. It was paler, weaker.
You couldn't tolerate weakness; not from your followers, yourself, but especially not from your green light.
You felt in building inside you. The darkness that only that spell could release from you. You felt it in moments of euphoria and anger, until it burst out of you in the middle of Gringotts bank. So many bodies, and yet you felt nothing but relief.
You could use your green light without fear, without damage.
You made up for lost time.
You'd missed your green light the way others missed loved ones. It was a part of you, inside of you, an extension of you.
It was the power of you, the fear of you, the anger of you.
You used it on him again. You could admit, only to yourself, that you feared using it on him. He stood there, ready and waiting for your green light to swallow him whole, and you allowed yourself a grudging amount of respect for the boy.
He stood ready for the one thing you could admit to fearing.
He accepted his death with grace, and yet again, it knocked you over.
Waking, you waved away your followers. Why, why was the spell you conquered so long ago, why was it betraying you so?
"Is he dead?"
You wait, your heart beating hard and painful in your chest, and you truly don't know what the answer will be. You're losing faith in your green light.
"He's dead."
Faith restored.
He is dead.
You will live forever, uncontested.
Your green light has won you yet another battle.
You celebrate, casting your green light again and again at the sky, only wishing to see the colour of power, of winning! You cast it to prove that you can, to prove that with your green light, you are unbeatable.
You are to be feared.
You are to be served by the masses.
You are to be Lord Voldemort, Ruler of the Wizarding World, with your green light for company. With that by your side, you cannot fail!
Out of nowhere, he's there again. You barely hear him speak, his words nonsense against the utter horror you're feeling.
How many times has your green light failed you now? And yet, as the boy raises his wand, his lips forming the words that you know cannot kill you, you still decide that you must trust in your green light.
Surely in this, it will not fail you.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Your green light, strong in colour, lethal, dangerous, heads for the boy.
You know, as soon as the spells meet, you know. You could try and dodge it, but it would find you. Your green light is once more heading your way, and as it hits you, you know that you've been beaten.
Not by the boy.
Never by the boy.
You've been beaten by your green light.
As the world fades to grey, you find you are not angry. If you had to be beaten by anything, you are glad it was your green light.