Sense 8
It was Harry.
A diary.
A small youthful hand stabbed at the cover, causing blackish blood to seep out of it and over the stone floor.
No good.
Gone.
Mission over on this one.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
A ring.
Not far from here.
He concentrated on the thought of the ring, his death and the other deaths that had caused it.
It appeared as by magic.
A large man.
No such thing as magic.
No post on Sundays.
Kill the spare.
A deep breath.
A steadying breath.
The spare in his mind and the aura that seemed to be around the ring disappeared.
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
A locket.
One that he had himself or thought himself to have held. That no one could open and lay in a black trash can. The image of the locket, laying amongst other trinkets. Of no value but tom be had to hold a value.
Kill the spare.
'Together then?'
But together he had never been.
So alone.
No parents.
Muggles to raise him.
What use for a silly locket?
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
Water so much water. A stone basin full of it.
A cup.
A badger adorning the side.
A harsh light surrounding the goblet. A pale hand that was owner to a head surrounding in black chaotic hair.
No water to come to fill a goblet.
Disappearing.
The light gone.
Kill the spare.
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
A tiara. One befit a queen of the muggle world. One to befit a wizard or witch that showed their high born stature. The red vibe, the glow.
Kill the spare.
Where there any wizarding royalty?
No.
The muggles have no need of jewels to argue over.
No prince.
Even the straggly greasy haired aren't princes.
No head garments.
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
Come now snakelet. Touch my mark. The one. You know that one.
Harry's eyes shot open. Was this him? It wasn't. Sirius? He was alive. Who was Tonks? Severus. Snape? Touch? What? He was weak. He knew the words were meant for him as much as an owl knew to spread its wings.
A hand, not as youthful as the one to touch a fang and stab was, but more youthful than any other reached out and touch upon the mark of a snake which did not belong to a snake.
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.
-8-
Green eyes did not waver from red.
"How can it be that a son of a mudblood would hold so much power as to defeat me? I am invincible. I am Lord Voldemort."
Green eyes were temporarily covered by eyelids.
Kill the spare.
"Power? What power can a half blood know that a wizard as powerful and dark as I that could be used against me? I have your blood. Touch shall no longer be a problem between us my dear Harry. Lord Voldemort can now touch you."
As if to prove a point to the words that seemed to echo strangely around his head. Not like words that have ever been spoken to him before. These words seemed to speak to his very being, seemed to echo and echo.
A bony long finger reached across the small distance between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. A finger that seemed to be able to stretch endless distances.
Kill the spare.
When the pale finger touched his skin, skin not much darker, Harry let out a gust of air. Then pulled that expulsed air back in.
Harry's eyes widened. With the thought that his blood was no longer once his own and held the protective properties that had saved him years ago in his first year in the wizarding world, he hadn't expected what he saw.
With his inhale he saw the hairless body of Voldemort once again flake away.
It wasn't a body.
No one should be forced to look like half a snake, Harry vaguely thought.
With each inhale, unlike the first time where it was with each second that skin contacted predatory skin. Voldemort seemed to disappear flake by flake. The only problem seemed to be that the flakes made their way into Harry's mouth, down his throat and into his lungs.
Gone.
No second life.
No spare.