Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
Chapter Nineteen
October 31, 1981 — The Last Night (of Lord Voldemort)
There was a scream.
There was a flash of green.
Then there was nothing.
He screamed out the agony of his soul tearing, of his body wasting and crumbling, of his bones breaking, and of his mind shattering.
There was laughter.
Was it his?
He didn't know anymore.
He could not think of anything.
Could not feel anything.
Other than pain—
Pain—
So much pain—
He blinked the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he doubled over, his legs slowly turning to dust. His eyes widened as he saw his fingers withering and he choked in a sob.
He wanted to laugh.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted—
He wanted—
Someone was crying.
He could hear it distantly, muffled by his anger, his agony, his anguish, and his terror.
He was dying, some part of his mind conveyed to him.
This was not how he imagined his night to go.
But he supposed that this was supposed to be karma.
Amidst the haze of his mind numbing pain, he could still hear her.
Her—
Her—
He could not utter her name, even in his own head, without wanting to tear his heart out of his chest.
But he could hear her.
Her carefree laugh—
Her snobby voice—
Her unladylike snort—
Her annoyed huffs—
Her absent hums—
Her deep breaths—
He didn't know whether he wanted to cry or laugh.
Merlin, what he wouldn't give to see her again.
But—
She never went away, even as his own magic failed him at saving her.
She never left him, he guessed, not even in death.
Did he deserve her?
Probably not.
He never did.
But that didn't stop him from wanting her though.
"It's okay, Tom," he could hear her saying beside him and if he closed his eyes and wished it enough, he could almost imagine her sitting next to him, watching him with her worry filled eyes— eyes so bright, it looked like gold sometimes.
Merlin, they had made so many plans together— never knowing that it would never be fulfilled.
He cried out— whimpered— sobbed— and finally he laid on his side; the few limbs he had were shaking. He felt feverish and he gurgled as he felt his own bile rising to his throat.
The room was spinning.
There was crying.
There was screaming.
He often wondered if this was what hell felt like.
But no—
No, he already began living in hell when he had lost her.
No, this was not what hell felt like.
No, this was punishment.
This was torture.
This was fate's way of punishing him.
But—
Hadn't fate punished him enough though?
They had already taken her so why did they have to take him too?
The few years they spent together wasn't enough to sate the craving of his soul— his need to be with her.
Would he get to be with her though?
He tried to spell out her name, to say it aloud one more time after so many years of refusing to say it because it brought more pain to him, but his throat was dry and his tongue felt too big inside of his mouth. He could not feel his legs anymore.
No, his mind whispered its answer. He wouldn't get to be with her.
He didn't deserve that—
Her—
Her—
Her—
"It's okay, Tom," he could hear her saying and could almost feel the phantom touch of her hand on his cheek. He wished he had the strength to nuzzle his face to her warm palm. "It'll be over soon enough. You don't have to feel pain anymore."
But he did feel pain.
Pain was his constant companion.
For so many years, he lived in— with pain.
Pain that was the equivalent of a crucio, if not more so.
Pain that started when she left him. Nay, when she was taken from him.
She wouldn't voluntarily leave him.
She was the only thing that mattered to him— and then she was taken.
But even when she was taken, she had never completely left him.
She left an imprint in him that time and madness could not erase.
He could smell her, he thought as he closed his eyes.
The scent of tulips filled the air and he almost sobbed in relief because it really did feel as though she was with him.
Even in his own death, she would not leave him so.
Should he be thankful for that?
Yes.
Yes, he was thankful for her—
Her—
Her—
Her—
Her—
Her—
"—Mione—"
He gasped out.
He could not feel his heart anymore.
It did not beat any longer.
But if he was honest with himself, it was no longer beating when she was taken from him.
"Just a bit more. It's okay." He could hear her crying now. Such a bloody Gryffindor. "Just a little bit more, Tom, and it will all be over now. You're so strong."
But he wasn't strong, he wanted to tell her. He wasn't strong enough to save her.
"Rest now, Tom. Close your eyes. We'll see each other again."
Promise?
"I promise."
And so he did—
But he never saw her again.
He often wondered if this was what hell felt like.