Around and About
by Polydicta
Voldemort has beaten Albus Dumbledore, and now he turns his attention to Harry.
Disclaimer:
All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.
There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.
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Around and About
Harry dragged himself from where he had landed, his nerves still mis-firing from Voldemort's last crucio.
Dumbledore lay bloody and beaten against the parapet of the fountain. The glass from the offices overlooking the atrium lay like drifts of snow. Snow with attitude. Harry, tired, bruised and bleeding from nose and scar staggered toward Voldemort.
He raised his arm, his hand gripping the holly and phoenix feather wand. His aim was wavering. Harry was close to the end of his strength, perhaps even beyond.
"So, Harry Potter, do you beg yet for death? I am impressed that you still have the strength to fight. There are few who would rise after the cruciatus curse. Of course, I have ways of breaking you."
He spun toward the group of students. Hermione, still bleeding and weak being supported between Ron and Neville.
"I see your mind. I see you care for that one. The know-it-all mudblood. How much do you care for her Harry?"
There were a series of green flares somewhere in the atrium, presumably the aurors were arriving.
Voldemort didn't even look round, After a heartbeat's pause he raised his wand.
"Avada kavadra!"
Harry was already moving, somehow managing to find the strength to throw himself in front of the bolt of green lightning, taking the full blast of the curse himself.
There was a flash of actinic green light as the killing curse was somehow reflected from Harry. Voldemort was thrown across the atrium and lay slowly dissolving – dissolving into a pool of potion and snake venom, a severed hand, a crumbling bone and a smear of young blood.
Harry collapsed onto his knees, somehow turning and facing Hermione as he fell.
Her eyes were filled with wonder, with sadness and fear … and perhaps with love also.
"Harry …?"
There was no breath in his body, merely the dying fire of his youthful life.
His lips moved, framing the words that he would leave behind.
Hermione … I … love … you … forever …
.
There on the floor lay the victorious hope of the wizarding world. A teenage boy, dead, amid the wreckage of the Ministry of Magic.
There, kneeling before him a grief-stricken widow not yet a wife …
… and around and about stood the brave and the coward alike, wondering if victory was worth what they saw.