It's short to save you misery-it's really not all that good, bit whiny, perhaps. It's just that I don't like not having at least one piece of un-prose on my account. Read and pretend to enjoy. More importantly, leave a review, and perhaps a link of Kielbasa. That stuff is good.
The shallow breath caught in Ron's throat. Green light flashed around him-not a summer leaves green, nor a key lime pie green, but a sickly, malevolent green. Harry looked up just in time to see Ron fall to the cold hard ground, pale and motionless, lifeless, and ultimately dead.
It is said the cruelest part of the Avada Kedavara curse is not the killing itself, though that is vindictive enough alone, but rather how anyone seeing this can watch the person's life sap, bit by bit.
First the color drains from the victim's face, cheeks, arms, and body, to be replaced by a vile gray. It is a stoic expression that the dead wear, not one of sorrow, a twisted pain, regret nor fear…nothing but an impassive, blank stare.
Next you see the breath being depleted, like a vacuum pulling it out, cruelly leisurely. This serves to make the body flat or limp. By now the victim looks entirely dead except for what is next to go.
The last bit of life is the most important, and though it is no longer in the person, it lives (or dies) on. This step is so quick unless you see it coming you really won't perceive it. A flash of black light-not the black light used in clubs or at parties, but a black, heavy light, almost more like a fog, escapes so astoundingly fast, you may have thought you just blinked. This foggy light almost flutters away, to be replaced by a tiny, yet staggeringly strong white light.
This white light deserves a paragraph all its own-for while it is smaller than the black it is in every person, some more than others. This light comes in infinitesimal patches from both the head and heart of the deceased. It is too vivid to look at directly, yet so piercing that with your eyes closed you can still see it, cutting through your eyelids into your head, and before you get a good look at it…
It disappears.
Harry felt no emotion. There was no grief, anger, melancholy, nothing, until a spark lit in the very foundation of his heart, which had stopped…Years? Minutes? Seconds?...an unusually long time ago. This ember, while small, was like a switch turning on a million lights all at once. He felt once again.
What it was that he felt was hard to say, really. An atypical jumble of remorse, grief, loss…but most of all, anger, odium, malice. He stood up, and with a huge swish of his wand, threw an advancing death eater against a wall so hard that a rather satisfying crack was heard.
The corners of Harry's eyes were red, and he did not consider the staggering odds. He lifted his wand high and a bronze dome formed all around him. Random curses, jinxes, words flew out of his mouth like falcons, not a one missing its target. The last one pulled Ron into the bubble and then he Apparated both of them into a small dark room.
And there he breathed his last breath. It too, was shallow.