Hello out there! So I don't usually find myself in the Harry Potter section, but I had this short little fic written and I was just itching to post it. I figured there would probably be a few people out there who might find it to be a worthwhile read, so here it is, for your enjoyment... hopefully.

For some reason breathing seemed quite difficult at the moment. There was a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't explain, and a distinct sense of vertigo that was making his head spin and his stomach lurch. For a moment he thought that in his sickness his vision had gone dark as well, but then he soon realized that his eyes were merely closed. Opening them slowly, the scene before him began to focus and come into view. The room he was standing in was dark and dank. Staring at the stone ceiling above him so his eyes could adjust to the scarce lighting, he noticed several patches of mold growing out from between the water-filled cracks. Even if he hadn't been able to see the foul patches of growth, he could certainly smell them. But there was another scent in the air –more metallic and pungent. A sense of familiarity and dread quickly spread throughout his entire body as something in his mind registered, and his eyes began to dart around the room in panic. As he spun around he noticed a large lump on the floor in front of him. His breath instantly caught in his throat, and a feeling of tingling numbness drifted through his limbs. Lying there on the ground before him in a puddle of his own blood was his best friend, Ron Weasley.

He wanted to yell –to scream –but he was paralyzed by the sight before him. Suddenly the sound of a muffled sob caught his ears, and he looked beyond the body lying at his feet toward the far end of the room. Hermione had apparently fallen to her knees in grief, one hand covering her mouth, while the other clutched desperately at the floor for balance as her eyes were completely blurred from the torrent of tears seeping down her cheeks. Another sob and a choking gasp as she pulled her hand away from her mouth, shakily moving her gaze up to look into Harry's eyes.

"H-harr-y…" Her voice broke and she had to swallow before she was able to continue in a whisper. "Harry, w-what have you d-done?"

Harry's heart seemed to have skipped at beat at that moment as his mind did a sort of double take. Shock wasn't the right word for his feeling, and surprise didn't quite seem to cover it either. What exactly was Hermione implying? Surely she didn't think that… that he…

But staring at her expression, he could find no words to express his thoughts. Several moments of silence passed before Hermione's broken sobs continued. Harry, who had been standing there completely frozen, looked down at himself for the first time. His robes were splattered down the front with what appeared to be blood, and his wand was tightly grasped in his right hand. Now that it had come to his attention, he could feel the familiar gentle hum that his wand always emitted after casting a spell.

I didn't do this… Hermione, I didn't do it.

He tried to say this aloud, but the words never reached his mouth. Though perhaps Hermione had heard his thoughts after all, since she suddenly dropped both of her hands to her lap and looked up at him, no longer sobbing.

Now is my chance. If I stay calm, I can make her understand.

But again his mouth remained silent.

"Harry… Stop. What are you doing?"

Hermione's eyes quickly filled with terror as Harry saw his arm rise disobediently before him, as though acting of its own free will, pointing his wand directly at her chest.

"Harry!"

He wanted to tell her to run –to get out of there and save herself in some way. But instead of hearing his own words of warning, a different voice –high and cold –emitted from his mouth. Completely helpless to regain control and utterly terrified, he felt his lips move to form the last set of words he would ever think to say…

"Avada Kedavra!"

Suddenly there was a shrill scream and a blinding green light that pierced through all of his senses, completely overwhelming him.

The next moment he was gasping for breath, shakily taking in huge gulps of air as though he had never breathed before. Looking around, Harry quickly realized that he was lying in his bed at the Dursley's, apparently having just woken up from a terrible nightmare. Still shaking, he reached up with his hands to wipe away the sweat that had formed on his brow. And then he felt it –a sharp pain quickly split through his forehead, stronger than he had ever felt it before, and a high, maniacal hissing laughter echoed through his mind. It belonged to the same voice that had uttered the curse in his dream –a voice that, unfortunately, he would recognize anywhere.

Instead of fading away, the laughter grew steadily louder until he could no longer hear the sound of the crickets outside his window. Then the laughing ceased, and the voice spoke.

"Truly we are not so different, you and I," the voice hissed.

Harry couldn't help the cold chill that shot almost painfully down his spine at hearing Lord Voldemort's words.

This wasn't true at all. There were loads of things that separated him from this loon. They had nearly nothing in common, except for a few similarities in the circumstances of their childhoods. But aside from that they were as different as night and day. Voldemort was evil incarnate, and Harry was… well, good.

"You can try to convince yourself all you want young one, but in the end we are the same."

Suddenly Harry lost whatever nerve he had left, and he shrank back into his covers, pulling his knees up tightly against his chest, as though trying to form some sort of barrier between himself and the taunting voice.

"After all," the amused voice continued, "we have both realized that in the end, friends are nothing but a hindrance in our paths to glory, and they must be overcome."

Another laugh rang in his ears, and Harry fisted his hands in his blankets, pulling them even more tightly against him.

"There are great things awaiting you in your future, Harry Potter. Greater than even I could have achieved..."

And then the echoing voice died away, leaving Harry more alone than he had ever felt, in the deafening silence of his bedroom.

So there it is... It's a little bit depressing, but this was actually part of a homework assignment for a class of mine, and this was the idea that finally won out in my head.

I'd never been told to write a fanfic for homework before, so I was actually pretty excited. But then our student instructors never even read them and I got no feedback in the end. I thrive off of feedback --even if it's just a short little "good", or "it could use more description". I'm not asking for much. Soo... If you guys could just do me the TINY little favor of clicking that button and just writing a few words about what you thought, I'd really appreciate it. I'm curious to see whether or not people approve of my new writing style.

Thanks for reading my story, I hope you enjoyed it. (Criticism welcome --flames too, they amuse me to no end.) R&R!!