Humans are such strange creatures, their loyalties change so easily and they're nearly always concerned with what others think of them. I don't quite understand what they're all so worried about all the time. But looking at the twisted terror that flashes on each individuals face just before they're shot down by multi-coloured lights its obvious that what they fear most right at this moment is the looming death before them. The death that is currently being dished out by the pale, snake-eyed man grasping me.
This strange man didn't always wield me; I once had a loving master, one who never used me for evil. It wasn't that long ago that I had been torn from my old master's still hands. This man, Voldemort, if the screams are anything to go by, is nothing like my grey old wizard.
I can practically feel the frustration roll off of him. Surely by now he must be realising that he isn't actually my new master. Simply holding me doesn't mean you control me, idiot.
I really do hope the young boy Voldemort seems so hell-bent on killing figures it out soon; I don't like the weird way this ones fingers fit around me, it doesn't feel right.
I don't think I've ever been so disgusted by someone's reckless use of power before, although this is no where near the worst thing I've had happen to me.
Do you know what it's like to have a small part of you torn away? Knowing that there is no way for you to get that little piece back or heal the gaping hole it left behind. Every single master I've had has kept a small piece of me. Sure you may look and think I'm whole, that there is no damage, but you wouldn't realise how wrong you are. No one ever realises the effect they have on the things that appear to be nothing.
I remember the loss of my last master. Many would be surprised to learn that it isn't their deaths that tear into us. When someone disarms them, the bond we've formed breaks and the backlash is like being hit by a 20 tonne lorry. Almost immediately after that connection breaks, a weaker one forms with a potential new master, the person who disarmed the old one.
The thing most people don't realise is that if that potential new master never picks the wand up, then the bond never fully forms and so it is incredibly easy for someone else to claim us. In this case all it took was a disarming spell on the poor child's other wand.
Waiting for the young one to acknowledge the thin bond that stretched between us was agonising; he was trying so desperately hard to take down Voldemort, but all he really needed was to fire one well aimed curse and it would all be over. It didn't even matter what curse he threw, I wouldn't be able to stop it.
Curses continued to fly through the air as the clouds above began to swirl, the child stood opposite Voldemort with his wand raised directly at me. This was it then, what I had been waiting for, time to give baldy the shock of his life... hopefully the last shock of his life.
The separate spells clashed together with a deafening crack, this is it, this is where I give up and let the kid win. Turns out that's easier said than done. I had underestimated the will of Voldemort- he really wanted that boy destroyed even if he goes down with him.
I could see that the boy's spell wasn't going to do anything if it continued to be battered by the strong will of the one who fears death. I figured then was the time to be brave and do something, even if there is never any recognition in it.
I regret ever complaining about the small holes my past masters have made, because the pain those caused was nothing compared to the devastating crack as I allowed my outer shell to split. It was even worse when the spell hit.
The lightning bolt rushed through me before hitting the impostor that held me, and as he broke into thousands of tiny flakes I clattered to the floor. Finally, it was over.
I would have been quite content to just stay on the floor, and eventually be swept away with the rumble and the dead. Apparently I wasn't going to be allowed any rest; while my magic worked on healing the cracks, the hero of the hour slowly wandered over.
Once he picked me up the thin connection that had been there for a while now became stronger, and judging by the gasp that escaped scar head, he could now feel the connection. Perhaps he even now understood what had just happened.
It wasn't long before I found myself being held gently by the young hero as he discussed the final battle with his friends. My wounds were nearly all healed, and I was really hoping that once this was all over I would never be forced to fire the killing spell again.
Perhaps I would be taken to a new home where I would no longer have to worry about being the most powerful wand. I would just get to be normal and move things around or be a night light for someone.
It's a shame very few people get what they want. The last thing I remember is the red one looking at me before muttering about my power, and Harry telling them how he had won with the help from a very special wand.
I wasn't quite expecting what came next, I suppose no one really expects their own destruction at the hands of the person you just helped. The crack seemed to fill the dead air, the last sparks of magic left my now broken body as I was flung away. I should have known that there was no happy ending. There never is.