This broken, dusty, dirty and ruined mess was to be the place for this epic battle? Was this to be my last day on earth? Was this insolent pup the one to be the vanquisher of the Great Lord Voldemort? I had spent a lifetime being careful about my special treasures. Now I couldn't even feel them anymore.
That wretched squib had been the one to chop my precious Nagini like she was a damn potato. And now this insufferable whelp tells me all my anchors are gone. Panic mounting, I cast out with my magic and the very last shred of my eternal soul - and found nothing. Nothing! How on earth did he even find all my anchors?
How? HOW?
This boy, standing before me, dirty, unwashed, smelling so ripe, so ugly, so frail like he had not seen a decent meal in a long time. How could he be the end of me? He was nothing! He was so bloody ordinary that it was insulting.
Even the wand that blasted boy held loosely in his hands wasn't his. I sneaked a look around me, and it was disconcerting how many eyes glared back at me in hatred. It took everything in me to not go back to that tiny little boy in a dirty, filthy muggle orphanage, or worse, the first night in the Slytherin House common room.
But the fear had found it's hook and gleefully sank into my skin and bones, and wormed it's way into my very soul. I had to blink in shock when I recognized the sensation that I had not felt in nearly forty years. I had forgotten the bitter, foul taste of fear than now pooled even inside my mouth. Dare I spit it out, and pretend it was me being spiteful of this dirty, green eyed whelp?
Looking into his glittering green eyes, as he raised his wand at me, I finally realized something. I wasn't the hero of this story. I was the villain. No one was going to mourn my death. They would laugh and sing and dance and even shit and piss on my grave, if ever I got one.
Or worse, I'd be a forgotten footnote in the History of this world I loved so much. All my love, my passion, my struggle and my achievements meant nothing in this final moment. I had failed utterly. I had failed.
And somewhere along the way, I had lost sight of how, where and why exactly I had failed after bringing my side to the very brink of victory. I needed to understand. I desperately needed to. It was too late, though. I have run out of time, and in this moment, looking at those anguished, sad green eyes, glittering like jewels in the afternoon sun, I realized that this boy was a better man that I could ever imagine being - it was regret in his eyes, and the regret was for me.
I could hardly believe it, but the boy still had not even a shred of Occlumency shield to hide the thoughts now shouting out from inside him to me - mind link or no mind link, he was an open book. Beyond my grasp. It stung my pride and fanned the flame of the very pride that was my downfall - this epiphany brought scant comfort to me in this split moment. Was hell this ice suddenly flowing in my veins? Or was it the fire of my rage and wounded pride spilling over?
It was too late for me. For my dreams. For all the futile struggles that had become defining cornerstones in a life that had bled red from the blood I had shed, mine as much as the nameless, faceless thousands that had fallen to my wand. The green eyes of this wretched boy, the same as his equally infuriating mother - the same pity and sadness. The same glitter of unshed tears.
Damn both of them and their horrid green eyes to the fiery pits of Hades! It was the only thought circling my head when I watched my own wretched curse bounce back once again from the same kind of magical containment field on that wretched boy and hit me square in the eye. Once again. 17 years and here I am again. I shattered. I literally shattered. And my world went black. I, Lord Voldemort, knew no more.
It wasn't the comfort of darkness I opened my eyes to. It was strangely bright and light and tooth achingly peaceful and Lighte all around me. The vast emptiness was frightening. Had I still had a body, form and a hand, it would have trembled like a leaf in the wind. But leaves are green. I don't want to think of anything Green. But green is all there is, as far as the consciousness can see.
Death is such vast emptiness. Nothingness. Limbo. No sound, no wrinkles, no ripples. There wasn't even a Me. And the pain of my shredded soul merging. There was nothing like this in any part of any existence. I knew there was a reason I feared death. Here in HIS realm, I was not Lord Voldemort. I was not Tom Riddle. I was not anyone special. I simply was. I simply am.
It's eternity I wanted but not like this. Never like this. This is what my hell looks like. Eternity of nothingness. And the colour of eyes that are the colour of the Killing Curse. Even in Death, that blasted boy haunts me.
Had I known what my hell was like, I'd never have gone anywhere near that blasted boy. There was little I could grasp at even as that thought faded. I had no more thoughts. I had truly ceased to exist. Why did this infernal shade of green infuriate me so? I forget.
I Am Lord Voldemort. And I'm back. At 23 inches taller than average, all ten fingers, toes, blazing green eyes, messy black hair, and all 4.2kgs of me - more than average. Mum is right - I am perfect. And dad is a moron. The foolish man gave me the ignoble and common place name of James Sirius Potter. How infuriating! Don't these blithering dunderheads know? I AM LORD VOLDE...Hungry!