Murderer
By: Bando-Eido no Megami-sama
Disclaimer: Not mine! I wouldn't take college entrance exams if the books were, because I'd be an accomplished writer already.
For Erin.
(((((((((())))))))))
I am a murderer.
The words played over and over in Harry's head as he dropped onto his bed. Peace was achieved. Voldemort destroyed. It was irrelevant to the world that he had killed him in order to bring this about...
But it didn't stop the headaches that plagued him daily, or the haunted dreams that made him wake up screaming, tearing his bed sheets apart. Dreams where a young orphan named Tom Riddle stared at him with pained eyes, full of tears, sitting on the dirty floor of an orphanage, him knowing that he had killed this little boy, as well as the Dark Lord, as well as the proud teenager who stared at him with accusing eyes in his dreams.
He turned his hands over and over, staring at them with misery evident in his eyes. I am no better than he was...
Prophecy or no... for the good of the world or not... Killing was killing. Guilt was guilt. Blood on your hands, no matter whose blood, was still cold, hard evidence that you were a killer.
He opened eyes he had not realized had been closed, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hated those bright, green eyes that were now dulled. Hated that messy black hair that was reminiscent of his fathers. Hated that scar. Hated everything about him.
"You are a murderer." He said evenly, angrily, to that hated reflection.
Kill or be killed... be the murderer... or the victim. He trembled as the faces of all who had been killed in the war, just so he could kill one man.
Except that one man had a little boy in him. A teenager. A young man searching for meaning to his existence; for power. He had not just killed the Dark Lord... He, Harry, had killed them all.
The faces passed over his glazed eyes, their names running through his head as their ghosts appeared in his room.
Cedric Diggory. Killed in the cemetery at Voldemort's return.
Sirius Black. Killed by his own cousin in an attempt to rescue Harry.
Albus Dumbledore. Trying to save Harry...
Remus Lupin. Too many to count. Face after face, over and over.
You are a murderer.
The reflection was accusing him. The ghosts persecuted him.
A little boy named Tom cried on the floor.
He shook his head violently, trying to push the illusions away. "It was right... it was right..." The words he'd been telling himself. The words everyone told him to console him in the knowledge of what he had done.
Murderer.
A young teen stood by the dresser, eyes accusing him furiously. An older teen, one Harry had met, stood by the window. The boy stayed on the floor.
He shook his head, trying to think of all the lives saved by one death. All the people who might be dead. Would have been dead.
"No..." The word was torn from him. "I did it... to save... to help." He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back against the mirage, trying to justify murder. Revenge... The benefit of all mankind. Saving lives. Justifications...
The boy cried on the floor.
Harry stared into his reflection's eyes. His own eyes. "I am a murderer."
(((((((((())))))))))
The initial idea for this story came from a line in 'The Order of the Phoenix', in the last chapter, when Harry decides he doesn't yet want to see the faces of his friends when they discover that he must be 'murderer or victim'. It's on page 849, I think... Please review!
By: Bando-Eido no Megami-sama
Disclaimer: Not mine! I wouldn't take college entrance exams if the books were, because I'd be an accomplished writer already.
For Erin.
(((((((((())))))))))
I am a murderer.
The words played over and over in Harry's head as he dropped onto his bed. Peace was achieved. Voldemort destroyed. It was irrelevant to the world that he had killed him in order to bring this about...
But it didn't stop the headaches that plagued him daily, or the haunted dreams that made him wake up screaming, tearing his bed sheets apart. Dreams where a young orphan named Tom Riddle stared at him with pained eyes, full of tears, sitting on the dirty floor of an orphanage, him knowing that he had killed this little boy, as well as the Dark Lord, as well as the proud teenager who stared at him with accusing eyes in his dreams.
He turned his hands over and over, staring at them with misery evident in his eyes. I am no better than he was...
Prophecy or no... for the good of the world or not... Killing was killing. Guilt was guilt. Blood on your hands, no matter whose blood, was still cold, hard evidence that you were a killer.
He opened eyes he had not realized had been closed, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hated those bright, green eyes that were now dulled. Hated that messy black hair that was reminiscent of his fathers. Hated that scar. Hated everything about him.
"You are a murderer." He said evenly, angrily, to that hated reflection.
Kill or be killed... be the murderer... or the victim. He trembled as the faces of all who had been killed in the war, just so he could kill one man.
Except that one man had a little boy in him. A teenager. A young man searching for meaning to his existence; for power. He had not just killed the Dark Lord... He, Harry, had killed them all.
The faces passed over his glazed eyes, their names running through his head as their ghosts appeared in his room.
Cedric Diggory. Killed in the cemetery at Voldemort's return.
Sirius Black. Killed by his own cousin in an attempt to rescue Harry.
Albus Dumbledore. Trying to save Harry...
Remus Lupin. Too many to count. Face after face, over and over.
You are a murderer.
The reflection was accusing him. The ghosts persecuted him.
A little boy named Tom cried on the floor.
He shook his head violently, trying to push the illusions away. "It was right... it was right..." The words he'd been telling himself. The words everyone told him to console him in the knowledge of what he had done.
Murderer.
A young teen stood by the dresser, eyes accusing him furiously. An older teen, one Harry had met, stood by the window. The boy stayed on the floor.
He shook his head, trying to think of all the lives saved by one death. All the people who might be dead. Would have been dead.
"No..." The word was torn from him. "I did it... to save... to help." He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing back against the mirage, trying to justify murder. Revenge... The benefit of all mankind. Saving lives. Justifications...
The boy cried on the floor.
Harry stared into his reflection's eyes. His own eyes. "I am a murderer."
(((((((((())))))))))
The initial idea for this story came from a line in 'The Order of the Phoenix', in the last chapter, when Harry decides he doesn't yet want to see the faces of his friends when they discover that he must be 'murderer or victim'. It's on page 849, I think... Please review!