Cheated
Harry half-expected the Dark Lord to die in some dramatically epic way, perhaps fading completely from existence; but, much like the memory decades of insanity left behind, the body remained intact. Eyes clouding in death, the reptilian man simply shuddered and crumpled to the floor in a rustle of black cloth that meant more to the blankly observing teenager than it would to history. Slit garnet eyes would never again light in triumph and to anyone else, that was all that mattered.
To Harry, every laborious rise and fall of his own chest meant something. Whereas time, when seemingly stilled, was worthless compared to the building rage he could feel pounding on his thoughts. Anger tore at him in deliberate agony, urging him to continue what was, in his mind, unfinished.
He threw aside the traitorous shafts of wood in his trembling hands with an undisguised look of disgust. They'd cheated him and he wanted to scream. Cry, curse until his lungs burst…whatever it took to renew time and grant him the fight he had never lusted for until now. He could just imagine it. Emerald orbs burning with the ire of sixteen stolen years, he would have taken a pale throat between confident fingers, nearly caressing fine, alabaster skin in a parody of affection as he taunted with a silence louder than words. If nothing else, the Dark Lord would have understood its meaning, conceivably finding pleasure in the way his younger enemy's face would contort with mindless indulgence as his own life left in gasps.
He would have shaken the man (no, thing, Harry established mentally) again and again and again until hesitation completely fled his conscience and bruising gave way to bleeding, the hero stepping back momentarily, only to swing a tiring arm and clout his parents' killer in deceptively fragile ribs. When the thing doubled over, Harry would have forced it to lie facing the false sky, its neck baring in an instinctual display of submission, before he brutally snapped whatever appeared breakable.
And Harry would have just smirked, like the Slytherin they both know he is; like the snake they both are.
Instead, Harry was left standing over a bloodless victory, still armed with the weapons that fought his war for him. He felt stripped of a birthright, of a battle, and of a kill. The blood-lust nearly overwhelmed him as he sank to his knees beside the shell of a soul that haunted his every waking moment, both in the past and in what would become eternity. Glassy eyes watched him. They were unknowing of their own mockery and the torture Harry hungered to inflict ensnared him during his moment of weakness, burying itself in a part of him that only one could ever touch.
That one was now gone forever. Harry knew he would never again feel as passionate about anything in life.
His emotions were absent in every way but one as he kicked cooling flesh to take life from a victim that had none left to willingly give; it poured freely, spilling onto shoe and ground alike. He won no satisfaction. The action only served to increase the hollow feeling planted in his chest, but he repeated it to widen the stain left on Hogwarts. The mark was not nearly as severe as the one on Harry's heart, but he supposed it would do.
He felt strangely empty as the shock faded from the faces of those around him, and an auburn blur ran toward him with an unmistakable smile. It took him a moment to register the figure as a woman… Ginny. He remembered her, and remained still as arms touched him, hundreds pressing closer to mingle with his success. The physical contact did nothing to soothe his fury, but he allowed chary, callused hands to draw him aside and wrap themselves uninvited around his neck, immersing him once more in violent fantasy. It was the beginning of a pattern he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to break.
Harry forced a grin as he leaned forward to kiss a future he did not feel was won.