Fairy Tale Ending
By Bohemian Storm
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Notes: I don't know where this came from, but I rather like it. It's not pleasant. You've been warned.
You have won and I have lost. It is as simple as that. There are no grey areas where it becomes hard to tell who wins and who loses. It is black and white, cut and dry, crystal clear to anyone who has heard your harrowing tale of heroes and damsels in distress, of villains and snakes, of the ever shining, ever curing, ever winning phoenix and the demented monster with eyes that can turn you to stone. The basilisk. My child like the damnable bird is yours.
You have won, Harry Potter. You're infallible, aren't you? You strut and you preen and you win time and again. You have faced me three times, three times, and yet, you are still alive. You have won and I have lost. How is that possible? Third time is the charm, isn't it? Third time was supposed to be my charm.
Do you understand hatred, Mr. Potter? Do you understand how deep my loathing for you runs? I feel you in my very bones and I hate you. I want you to die, but I want it to be painful. I want to watch you cry, to watch the blood stream and the bruises form. I want to be the cause of all your pain, Mr. Potter, and I assure you that one day I will be.
I will be your downfall. I will destroy you. I will take away everything you have and crush it before your very eyes.
You don't deserve any of it.
The acknowledgement as the only wizard ever to defeat the Dark Lord? Ridiculous. You don't deserve it at all. You are just a boy and I am Lord Voldemort. You are going to die and I'm going to be the cause of it. You can trust me on this, Mr. Potter, if you want to trust me on anything. I won't let you win again; I can never let you win again.
I have plans that you could never even fathom. I will rise again, whether you think you can stop me or not. You can't always be the winner, don't you know that yet? Have you lost a Quidditch match yet, Mr. Potter? You will one day and then you'll know what it's like to lose. Take that loss and multiply it and maybe you will understand exactly what you'll lose when you come face to face with me one final time.
Have you stopped to think about what you'll lose? Your life is charmed, it seems. Everything happens so perfectly for you, doesn't it? You don't even know what I will do to the people you love. If I hadn't killed them, perhaps you could ask your parents how quickly I destroy lives. They learned first hand of my powers and soon enough it is going to be your turn.
You love that little redhead, don't you? You love her even though you're too young to understand what love means. Your heart thumps when you see her and you feel a little tug of pain, but you don't know what it is. You'll ignore her and you'll hurt her, I know you will. Boys like you don't see what they have right before their eyes until it's torn away from them.
Torn.
Tear.
Rip.
Kill.
That is what I'll do to her, Mr. Potter. I'll make her scream for you, I'll make her cry for you and when you never come to save her, I'll make her beg for me. When her brown eyes well up with tears of pain and betrayal, I'll make her feel things she's never felt for you.
She's a pretty girl, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you ought to claim her before someone else does.
Someone like me.
She won't live to see your smile after I'm through with her.
You were always my target, but I've realized something. I've realized that through your friends I can do more damage to you than I ever thought possible. I can kill you without even laying a finger upon your precious little head. I can break you without even coming within ten miles of you and I swear to you that I intend to do so.
Her brother will go next. She'll die and he'll follow, tumbling head over heels into the abyss of pure torture and pain. He speaks too much, I think. Perhaps I'll cut out his tongue and feed it to him. Perhaps I'll send you pieces by owl post. I'm sure Hedwig would be more than happy to deliver a finger or a toe. Perhaps a lock of red hair; one from the boy and one from the girl.
You love their family like your own, don't you? Should the twins follow their youngest brother or should I go straight to the source of your happiness. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Molly and Arthur. Wizards who have treated you like their own son when you're nothing but a filthy orphan with filthy muggle blood in your veins.
How would you react to see Molly Weasley's throat slit on the floor of her mismatched kitchen? What would you do if you found Arthur Weasley hung from the rafters in the attic. I'm sure even that would be enough to scare away their little problem that bangs on the pipes during the night. Wouldn't you like me to rid their house of their pest, Mr. Potter? It can be arranged. All I need is a length of rope and Arthur Weasley's corpse.
The mudblood would be the next to go, but only because I loathe the thought of laying my fingers upon her filthy body. She's so intelligent, isn't she? Does she think she would be able to defeat me single handedly like the brilliant Harry Potter manages time and again? She's not like you though, is she? She's different. She's smarter, more clever, but more fiery and therefore, more likely to make a fatal mistake.
I will be that fatal mistake.
I vow to you that her last moments will be made as painful as possible. When her pleas for life go unanswered and her pleas for me to stop go unheard she'll begin to beg for her own death. A body can only withstand so much torture before it begins to break down and wish for the end. She'll wish for the end and she'll wish for it to come quickly.
Crucio? No, I can do much worse than that. Give me time, Mr. Potter. I will tear your life apart and tear your friends limb from limb. They will come home to you in boxes smaller than the one they played Peter Pettigrew in.
And yet, there is another twist in this already twisted tale. You have yet to see that fairy tales don't come true and there is no such thing as a happy ending. Your parents thought they might live happily ever after, but they defied me and they paid the price. They were betrayed by a friend and now Sirius Black, your godfather, is dying slowly in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit.
One day soon I hope you will find out about Sirius Black. I want you to know the truth about him because he'll be the last to die. He will be the final blow to your already shattered view of fairy tale endings. You had a godfather, Mr. Potter, you had an adult wizard relation who loved you and cared for you. You had someone who would have taken you away from those horrid Dursleys and I'm going to make sure you never know him as more than a distant dream.
He's haunted now and that makes him more difficult than the others. He's not as naïve. He doesn't pretend that the world will all live happily ever after in a castle with a thousand servants and a million friends. He knows what I can do because he's already seen it, but this experience will be first hand.
I think his legs will be the first.
I'll break them.
Break.
Broken.
Shattered.
He'll die just like the others and it won't be pleasant. He'll go screaming, begging, pleading just like everyone else. He'll try to be brave -- Sirius Black was always ridiculous like that -- but it won't last long.
Nothing ever lasts as long as you might hope.
Not your friendships, not your family, not your life.
Not even peace.
So you tell your fairy tale, Mr. Potter. You tell Albus Dumbledore that the sword, the hat and the bird saved your life. You tell him of your brave moves, your daring defeat of the Dark Lord. Tell the world of your exploits, let them worship you.
A worshipped hero always falls hardest.
And when your fairy tale comes crashing down around you, I hope you see that your happy ending will never come, Mr. Potter.
Happy endings never last.
I am proof of that.
End