Chapter 41 ¾ .
Stupid me, Harry cursed himself for falling into such a simple trap. He was hanging on to a broken end of the walkway, catching his breath. His lightsaber was dropped in the explosion and was probably still falling. Stupid me, he cursed again.
Every part of his body was in pain. Every breath brought more pain. His ears were ringing, unable to process his own words—if he was saying any. His vision was blurred, and there was a tinge of red to everything he saw he realized had to be blood.
Still, he held on.
He saw a blurry dark figure ahead. Voldemort, his mind told him, but his mouth wouldn't make out the words. You cheated, he wanted to say.
"Young, brave, naïve, and foolish," Voldemort said. "Power is a much better protector than love. I had realized that before I was your age. That's how I got great. You could have had the same. But instead…"
"You…" Harry managed.
"I'm really doing you a favor, you know. You—"
"No…"
"Avada Kedavra!"