Sorry to repost this, but I found a terrible mistake. This is quite a different style I am trying today.

I was a little afraid to try this, but I admit willingly that reading Possum132 excellent Potterverses gave me the kick to challenge myself. If you have not read them yet, you should.

I wrote it while keeping in mind that the rumoured last HP7 word is "scar".

This is a translation from French to English. If there are weird sentences in this or inappropriate use of words, please do not hesitate to point them to me. I will do the corrections as needed.

Avada Kedavra

This damned day when I spitted out the first of numerous Avada Kedavra curses that would be heard on this bleak field where hundreds of wizards were fighting, the powerful and familiar release of energy almost knocked me over and I stumbled, almost falling on my knees into a pool of mud.

My hands were shaking when I lowered my wand: I saw his blond hair enshroud his pallid face like a luminous aura as he fell on his back, his face frozen in amazement when he realized the extent of my betrayal.

Blood rushed through my heart and under the power of the incantation, I had the absurd feeling I was becoming an Inferi, without a soul, without willpower, propelled only by the strength of my hatred. Whatever heat I had left vanished: I became ice and eternal winter. I knew I was living the last minutes of my life. The mark carved in my arm awoke, like a violent bite, a painful recall of what I had to endure almost twenty years ago.

I could not help but scream in agonizing pain. I was already feeling the stranglehold, the cold fingers closing on my mind. I tried to push back those dark veils that were threatening to make me close my eyes and I tensed my muscles to stay on my feet. The Dark Lord knew now. The game was over. They would be after me and they would not be happy until I would lay on my back, eyes wide open, my arms spread like wings, my body blasted by the Avada Kedavra.

But my feeling of weakness faded a bit when I gritted my teeth and I looked for the Aurors who were moving inexorably towards the battered white house at the end of this field, where death was being sown. I was trying to see red hair, or pink hair, of whatever hair that could indicate me that Potter was near and he was closer to his goal.

I recognized Lupin who dived face first to the ground to avoid a blue bolt. I saw him reciprocate, on his stomach, an arm extended over his head, a violet flame bursting out of his wand hitting his aggressor square in the chest. As if he knew I was looking at him, he turned his head and our eyes met briefly – I am sure he recognized me even with my hood on – but I did not stop.

I ran, almost choked up by a savage laugh. I felt triumph run through my veins: Professor Lupin…this monstrosity was able to draw the energy to use dark magic like the best of the Death Eaters, if the occasion was given to him. I was not different from any of those wizards fighting around me: we were all potential killers, at some point.

An acrid smoke was rising above the muddy grounds and an awful odour of decay seems to be exhaling from the very earth. Bodies were falling before me and I stepped over them, all consumed by my desire of achieving my mission. It was the last, the final battle. My instructions were clear and I was repeating them to myself endlessly, like an obsessive litany for months now, carving them in my mind into ice-cold letters, containing them behind numerous closed doors…but those fortifications were not needed anymore.

I ran, knowing that I was appreciating for the last time the drunken feeling of power that is given by adrenalin, knowing already that my strength would not last. I staggered between the violet, blue and white bolts that were snapping in the humid and heavy air. I saw Moody neutralize two Death Eaters, in a single wave of his wand. I tried to go by without being noticed. My time was running out now: it was not the time to be seen. I could not anymore resist to a simple Stupefix.

That damned day, lashing the Avada Kedavra a second time was so much easier. I knew exactly what doors I had to open to let my magical power go through its destructive path. I shouted and I aimed it right at her face. She fell down, like a black haired ragged doll, her clothes floating around her dead body like a flag. The pain in my arm became unendurable.

I fell on my knees, trying to catch my breath. The Dark Mark's poison was troubling my sight. Through the fog that seemed to get thicker, I saw Pettigrew run towards me, his face distorted by triumphant rage, his wand pointing my face drenched with sweat: "Traitor!"

He was going to kill me but I did find the strength to point behind him with my most desperate expression: "Watch it!" As he was turning his stupid face from me, I firmly grasped my wand and broke the last rule I had not broken yet in the magic world: I cursed him, while he turned his back to me, with my third and last Avada Kedavra of the day, and the rat fell like the others.

I managed to pull my sleeve up, and I saw the black undulating snakes fleeing my Dark Mark, getting ready to attack my vital organs. A few minutes separated me from death now, but my mission was accomplished. The way was now cleared for Potter, The One Who Survived, The One Who Could, The One Who Would.

I fell down on my back, trying to find a second breath, still listening to the screaming and the hollering getting stronger and stronger around me, hearing demented laughs and desperate cries.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, floating on top of me, I saw two sparkling green eyes. The face came nearer and I saw the blood on his forehead, the strong jaw, the scar that was bleeding, and the eyes, those eyes…They were not Lily's anymore, they were his own now, with all his pain, his frights, his disenchantments, his losses, his murders…I tried to speak but Potter said quietly:

- He is dead.

I swallowed convulsively, the numbing coldness of death invading finally my body. I managed to lift my hand towards him. At first he recoiled, but then he understood.

Potter bowed a little lower so I could for the first and the last time of my life touch with my trembling fingers the symbol of my regrets and my torments, his scar.