Zeus
AUTHOR'S NOTE : I don't mention anyone's name as the knife-bearer, but I was thinking of Ron when I wrote it. You could make it Draco if you're a fan, but it's unlikely.
DISCLAIMER: It's not mine, I swear! It's J.K's. All J.K's.
God of thunder/God of light/Please rid me/Of his spite/Give me light/Give love/Give/Give/Give/God of Thunder
I hold the blade [Let it go]
I see him there [I can't say no]
He killed us [Incoherency in the snow]
I raise the knife [Ready for the blow]
I take a life [Let it go]
here he comes [i can't do this] he's going to kill me [i have to do this] or will i kill him [i should do this] he's coming he's coming [help me] the lightning cracks [god of thunder] it almost hits me [god of thunder help me help me now] i'll kill him
His eyes are crimson and cat-like. He's kill the 'us' factor. There is no 'us' any more. Bastard. He killed them. It was him who killed Harry before he died. He who took away Harry's parents, Harry's life before he died, and now he's killed him. He has out his wand. He's going to kill me, the last. The smallest third. Help! Help me! I want to laugh and faint at the same time. Here I am, with only a 4 inch dagger, and he has a wand. The killing curse is on the tip of his tongue. He's going to kill me, kill me. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. Avada Kedavra. He hasn't said it. Not yet. Waiting. Waiting, waiting. He still hasn't said it. He's talking to the Death Eaters, gloating and laughing. Maybe, maybe, maybe I have a chance. I wait. He talks. And as he finishes his speech, I offer up a prayer to the God of Thunder.
God of Thunder, are you there? Can you help me? Please. Distract him. Hit him with your light. Hit him with your energy. But don't kill him. That's my job. I have to kill him. Kill. Kill. Kill. Him. Him. Him. Please help. Hit him, now!
The sky goes white. Clouds tremble and thunder roars. There's a blinding flash. It's going to kill him. It already has. I wanted to. To get my revenge, to avenge my friends. They've killed the bastard. No. They haven't. I can still see his chest rising a little. He's on his knees, his head drooped. But he's alive. I move forwards. I raise my knife. I drive it into his chest as I look away. I let go of it, it's in now. Die, you bastard, die. Go. You caused the pain I live in. You brought it on yourself. Lightning smashes again, and the idea that lightning never strikes the same place twice dies along with him. He topples forward, his head at my feet. He's dead. I killed him.
Goodbye, Voldemort, you bastard.
Dervish
4/01/01
dervish@alohomora.org