A Reason to Act
Summary: Sometimes, despite all odd, despite the fear and doubt, if there is something that has to be done…one will always find a reason to act.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Just read HP & the Half Blood Prince, and this just sort of popped into my head. Maybe I'll expand on it later, but right now, this is all.
He stared grimly at the figure that was on its knees before him. Never would he have thought he would outlast the Dark Lord, the one many had feared but nonetheless named one of the most powerful wizards of all times, in a duel to the death. Who was he? But a boy, shortly before his eighteenth summer. Compared to the being before him, a mere amateur in the magical arts – his six years of magical education could not hope to compare to the decades the other had spent, mastering the dark and forbidden arts, murdering and perfecting his hideous magic.
But nevertheless, the unthinkable had happened. The Dark Lord was before him, stunned, unarmed, his wand several feet away, shocked that someone so inexperienced could have done this to him. It hadn't been like their last duel, when their spells had locked and trapped them inside a spell lock. Somehow, his overwhelming hatred, all his rage, his fear, doubts, sorrow and grief has forced itself past his wand. No longer was it the sibling of the one wielded by the mage who had caused so much destruction; this time, it was the tool that brought about his downfall.
No, he corrected himself, it was the tool that would bring about his downfall. No longer did he feel his wand resisting him in duelling its brother. How it had happened, he couldn't quite remember clearly. The last few minutes had rushed past him, lost in the fear, desperation, and adrenaline. He had been alone when he had apparated to his parents' graveyard, fully expecting a group of Ministry officials to lie in wait for him to reprimand him for the unsanctioned use of magic. That hadn't been quite the case. There had been someone waiting, but it wasn't the Ministry of Magic.
Death Eaters were surrounding him, locked in a bizarre ritual to syphon off whatever protection Lily and James Potter had bestowed upon him with their death. They had been as shocked as he had been at his sudden appereance. His instincts kicked in, honed from the many times fighting the dark forces, and before he had even realized, most the Dark Lord's followers lay unconscious or paralyzed. That was when he had noticed him. He almost snorted as he thought about his arrogance. To think that no one would be able to find his carefully hidden Horcruxes – and carefully hidden they had been, and carefully guarded as well; still it hadn't been enough to keep him away.
The memory burned fresh within him, of the man he had looked up to, the man who had, in a way, been more of a father to him than anyone else, the man who had guided him through the darkest hour during the Dark Lord's return. That very same man, reduced to a terrified huddle, deprived of even enough strength to stand. That very same man, betrayed by someone he had trusted implicitly, killed before his very eyes. Even now, the boy loathed himself for the fact that, hadn't it been for their excursion to the cave that night, he might have survived. That alone was more than enough reason to act; he had to make sure he hadn't died in vain.
Other images came to him, unbidden. Of his godfather, the night he was murdered, killed by his own cousin as they were locked in mortal combat, the shocked surprise on his face when her spell hit, propelling himself into the mysterious room of souls from which his body was never recovered. That same look on his teacher's face. His classmate and friend, as she touched the cursed necklace and screamed in pain. The face of his best friend, contorted in agony as the poison took effect. That alone was more than enough reason to act; he had to make sure none of this ever happened again.
They whirled around his mind in a furious flashback of memories. Each and every single one more than a reason to hate the one at his mercy now. The scenes in his mind crystallized into one last solid image. It wasn't real, but it might as well have been. He knew it was what he had been intending to do after he was done here. He could see it clearly still, it haunted his dreams, his waking thoughts, sometimes dulled by other thoughts but always there in the back of his mind.
It was of the broken body of a young girl, clad in the black robes of Hogwarts, lying in a pool of her own crimson blood. Blood that was as red as her hair. It was this image, more than anything else, that had driven him to new heights of hatred for the creature before him. It was this, which had caused him to hunt down the Horcruxes with even more of a vengeance than ever before. He could, even now, as he faced his tormentor for more than fifteen years, see her battered face as she cracked a smile, mouthing three simple words. "I love you." This alone was more than enough reason to act; he had to make sure it never happened.
It was this, which now made him lift his wand. In an ominous, almost deathly quiet whisper, he spoke two words.
"Avada Kedavra."