In
his mind, he was younger; the flashes, the screams and James by his
side. No, he told himself, not James, Harry.
He sent curse after
curse at Malfoy and it felt good.
It had been so long since he'd used his wand for anything other
than a cleaning or cooking spell.
People were fighting all around
him and for a second, he was distracted. Malfoy flicked his wand at
him and muttered something, but the friend beside him yelled
something else, and Malfoy stumbled back.
"Nice one, James."
He
glowed for a moment, glowed that sick, vile green, and then it faded
and he stood there. For a split second, he thought he had outsmarted
his madhatter cousin. After all, why couldn't he be like James, and
survive avada
kedavra?
But
as he slipped through the veil, he remembered. James didn't
survive.
And neither did he.