AN: Good Day, Sirs! How goes it? Well, I hope. Okay, here's the deal, this is my first Harry Potter fic . . . /ever/ . . . so don't bash me too hard. I'm mostly a Stargate: SG-1 writer, but since the coming of the sixth book, I have found myself back in the HP swing! Anywhozit, I hope you enjoy. . . however short it may be . . .
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling does, the lucky she devil!). Don't own Harry Potter characters (again, I give credit to J.K. sigh If only . . .)
This Is The End
He stands at the ready position, wand pointed and aimed right between those ugly, yellow eyes. Those eyes that reflect so much hatred, so much loathing, so much . . . death.
The death of innocents, of children, of brothers and sisters, grandfathers and grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins . . . parents. His parents.
He is not afraid of this creature, this monster, this extinguisher of the living.
He knows not to turn from that distorted face, and he knows he needs not to. His friends are there, his family, the only comforts he has had throughout these lonesome years. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Malfoy (who, surprisingly, has changed since their years at Hogwarts together so many years ago). Many others back him, some very young, and some very old.
But their purpose is the same. They know that Harry is the one to defeat the Dark Lord. They have known since always. But now is the end. Now is the time to call his cards, to push his bluff just a moment further.
And with a twisted smirk upon his face, Harry spins on his heels, his back to the disgusting creature he has had to hate for so very long.
"Avada Kadavra!" He screams with every ounce of air he has in his lungs. He has mere seconds to see the surprised looks, so full of horror and betrayal. His friends. A flash of green, and they are no longer. Crumpled heaps piled upon the floor, their mouths still aghast, their deadening eyes still shining with tears.
So peaceful and calm . . . and quiet.
A gnarled hand grasps his shoulder, the skin grey and nearly decomposing. A withered voice filled with exhaustion wheezes from above him.
"Well done . . . my son."
And horrible sounds reverberate in his head; his father's desperate screams, his mother's pleading cries . . .
And Harry smiles a soft and tired smile.
This is the end of it all.
AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?
A bit . . . /dark/ I admit. But those are the best kinds, neh/giggles/ Anywhozit, hope you liked. Drop me a review and I'll see about writing more HP fics . . . Hmmm . . .