A/N: Little one-shot I wrote in five or so minutes. A plot bunny somehow got into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I fufilled it's wishes. So - voila! Have fun ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. It's all JK Rowling here people.
He sat on his throne, gazing down on his newfound kingdom below him.
He had won.
The body of his once mortal enemy lay in front of him, a look of eternal shock on his inhumane features. A line of blood streaked down his chalk-white face, bringing a laugh to his defeaters face. A laugh that the deceased himself would have been proud of. A cold, deep, taunting laugh. One used only by the most evil – only achieved by the most evil. It was something to be proud of.
As the laugh racked through the man's slim body, he noticed a figure moving between the rubble and corpses – a single survivor. His victory-ridden face twisted into a scowl, lines of rage and annoyance cutting through his features.
He waited as the witch struggled to her feet, her breathing ragged and her robes and face stained with blood. She looked absolutely terrible. He could barely suppress a half-amused smirk.
"Why are you doing this?" she shrieked, her voice high and choked, her eyes watering with unshed tears. "Why? Why did we deserve this? Were we not good enough for you?" Her voice reached a piercing soprano, his smirk quickly dissolved once more to a scowl of irritation.
Her eyes flooded with wasted fluid, she stared at him, desperate, pleading. "Tell me! Why did you do this to us? Please…please tell me…" her voice caught, and she struggled to release a strangled sob. Falling to her knees, she never took her eyes off him. For a moment, he was unnerved. He had faced those eyes many times before, each time waving them off without another thought. But – now – they seemed to pull him in…memories of his earlier days flooded his mind, her smiling face making feelings within him stir…
But his eyes snapped to cold fury, and his grip tightened on his wand. He was no longer that pathetic boy. He was all-powerful – undefeatable. Untouchable.
But no power in the world could stop a throbbing, vaguely familiar feeling that pierced his words as he spoke to the broken woman before him. "Why, you ask?" he hissed, his words soundly pleasurably cold, and unfeeling. His face broke into a grin that was far past horrible. His features stretched, and his eyes glittered with that awful, glittering madness that one would have never thought possible to be present in those eyes. He stood silkily, gazing across his accomplishments with pride. "Because I can."
He raised his wand, and a small whimper from the limp body before him told him that the deed was done. He twirled the wooden object playfully through his fingers, before placing it into the back pocket of his jeans, now clearly visible to the world, after Voldemort had managed to curse through his robes.
And Harry Potter once more took his throne, his green eyes glittered with mad success.
A/N: If you get it, you get it. If you don't...well, you don't. But if you review, I'll happily answer any questions you may have :):)