One-Shot for QLFC.

Wigtown Wanderers

My Prompts-

[object] golden chalice

[character] Gabrielle Delacour

[creature] centaur

Word Count- 2877

Warnings- Multiple Death, Dark thoughts, Evil.

I stood before the night sky covered in a blanket of darkness concealing the stars as if they were avoiding what was about to unfold. It all took place in the Forbidden Forest, a sanctuary for creatures often dismissed as legends. On that night it turned into the setting for my darkest deed.

I had come to understand that true power comes with a cost—power. Not the kind you read about in textbooks, where you simply wave a wand and recite some words. The power I sought was ancient and ominous. On that night I was prepared to seize it.

Three souls were required as payment. Following the age rule of three, I had to sacrifice them. First was Gabrielle Delacour, her innocence and youth starkly contrasting with the darkness. Then came Ginny, once captivating with her spirit and courage. Now just another piece, in my plan. Lastly, a Centaur—a noble creature of the forest—reduced to nothing but a means to an end. Their destinies were sealed from the moment our paths crossed.

I cast the Killing Curse known as Avada Kedavra—a spell I had mastered.

Some people believe that you must truly desire it for a curse to take effect. Trust me I did. Each time I spoke the words I felt a sense of empowerment holding life and death in my hands. This revelation about myself was chilling in its simplicity. The act of taking a life had become not just a means to an end but a source of dark satisfaction. The power to decide life and death with a single word was intoxicating. Each time I uttered that fatal spell, I felt an exhilaration unmatched by any duel or victory in the light. It was a confirmation of my dominion over the most primal force of nature—life itself.

The spirits, now detached from their forms, were linked to an item—a golden chalice hidden deep in the woods. It was no accident that I selected it. The chalice, a symbol of purity, was forever tainted by the souls it now contained.

You may wonder how I came to this point. What led me into darkness. Those are questions with no answers. Perhaps it is as straightforward as the allure of power itself. The temptation of power and the promise of invincibility can transform you. It transformed me.

There was no regret or hesitation. The Harry Potter you once knew, the boy with a lion's heart, was gone. In his place stood a man willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill his ambitions—my ambitions.

This deed, this night was only one step of the journey I had embarked upon.

A path veering away from the brightness and delving into the shadows beckoned me. I welcomed the darkness, allowing it to envelop and transform me. Standing in the Forbidden Forest with the spirits of Gabrielle, Ginny, and the Centaur tethered to the chalice, I realized there was no retreat.

Some may brand me a fiend or a malefactor. Yet these are tags fashioned by those who shrink from what they cannot comprehend. I am merely Harry Potter, albeit in a guise. I am the architect of my future, the controller of my destiny.. this moment. A prelude.

The dawn of the following day arrived with a stillness, a silence with untold deeds carried out under the night's veil. Sleep had eluded me; it was no longer a necessity for me. Rest was for those seeking respite from their reality whereas I had long embraced mine firmly.

The final challenge of the Triwizard Tournament lay ahead of me—a day that should have been met with anticipation and nervous energy. Perhaps for others it was so.

It was another platform for me to demonstrate my newfound strength, a power that pulsed within me to be set free. Standing amidst the champions, my face betrays no emotions. The audience, unaware of the shadows from the night clapped with excitement for the upcoming show. Their anticipation hanging thickly in the atmosphere. How little they understood and how blissfully unaware they were of the essence of the being in their midst.

The challenge presented itself as a maze, a network of hedges filled with perils and trials meant to push us to our limits. I could see it as a reflection of my intricate labyrinth, the dark web I had spun around myself.

As we were given the signal to begin, I entered the maze with the cheers of onlookers fading into silence behind me. I didn't sprint. It wasn't necessary. The energy flowing through me served as a guide, illuminating my path and revealing what lay ahead. The obstacles before me— beings, spells, and enchantments—seemed challenging. I handled them with precision and detachment, my wand an instrument of my determination.

As I strolled along, my thoughts drifted not to the task at hand, but back to the night. The rituals and the offerings had stirred something inside me, a well of power that seemed endless. I contemplated the possibilities, the potential of what I could accomplish. The familiar world could be reshaped, transformed according to my whims. In that moment all I desired was to witness its destruction to reconstruct it in my image.

However there was still the matter of the competition to address. In truth it was a distraction, but a useful way to exhibit my dominance and sow fear among those who dared challenge me.

Finally reaching the heart of the labyrinth, I saw the Triwizard Cup in the light. It almost seemed comical how effortlessly everything had unfolded.

As I reached out for the cup with an expectation of triumph washing over me, reality twisted abruptly. It was the scene I had foreseen; as it turned out the cup was a Portkey. It spirited me away not to a stage for accolades, but into a setting fitting for the dark tapestry my life had woven.

I found myself in a graveyard, feeling a sense of unease in the air. The smell of decay hung thickly around me, welcoming me to this chapter of my life. The moon above watched silently, casting shadows on the tombstones that stood as reminders of mortality. It struck me then. The irony of my pursuit for immortality leading me to a place filled with death.

It was Dumbledore, his presence in this macabre setting a stark contrast to the warm, grandfatherly figure I remembered from Hogwarts.

"You have done well, Harry," Dumbledore's voice cut through the night—one that spoke of long-laid plans coming to fruition. "You have embraced the darkness, a path I carefully prepared for you since your birth."

I stared at him, the shock momentarily piercing the shroud of power I had wrapped around myself. "Dumbledore?" My voice was a mix of disbelief and an unasked question, the pieces of a puzzle I hadn't realized I was part of starting to fall into place.

"Yes, Harry. It was necessary," he continued, his eyes, usually twinkling with mirth, now bore into me with a piercing gaze. "The world needed a force capable of reshaping it, free from the archaic bonds of old. You, my boy, were the perfect vessel for such a transformation."

The revelation twisted inside me like a knife. "You... orchestrated this? All of it?" The weight of his manipulation felt heavier than any curse.

"From the moment of your birth, Harry. It was always my plan. A master to embody the power, and an apprentice to crave it. You were to be the culmination of this vision. Voldemort was merely a catalyst, a means to awaken the depth of your potential."

The details, once obscured, became painfully clear. The trials, the enemies, the losses—each had been a brushstroke in Dumbledore's grand design, painting me into a corner of darkness from which the only escape was through embracing it.

"And what of my choices? My free will?" I asked, the bitterness of betrayal coating my words.

"Free will, Harry, is but an illusion in the face of destiny. You were always destined for greatness, albeit a greatness of a nature different from what the world expected. Your choices were your own, yes, but guided by the circumstances I provided."

His calm justification of manipulation and control ignited a fury within me, yet I found myself ensnared by the logic of his design. He had shaped me into a weapon, honed by loss and tempered by betrayal.

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice once again broke the silence, this time with a tone that suggested a test, a final confirmation of the path I had unwittingly embarked upon. "Your resolve has been tempered in the fires of manipulation and betrayal, yet one question remains. Are you willing to do what is necessary? Even when the cost is as high as the lives of the innocent?"

As Dumbledore's shape merged with the dark tapestry of the night, he brought forth a figure from the shadows—a demonstration not of mercy, but of the harsh reality of power. Cedric Diggory, the epitome of what I deemed weakness, was thrust into the dim light of the moon, forced to his knees before me. His presence was meant to be a test, a final piece in the puzzle of my transformation.

Cedric looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear and pleading for a mercy that had no place in the world I intended to create. "Harry, please... you don't have to do this," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

I observed him, not with empathy, but with a cold, calculating detachment. His weakness was palpable, a stain upon the very fabric of the reality I sought to weave. Dumbledore, in his infinite machinations, had presented me not with a choice, but with an opportunity—to demonstrate the extent of my resolve and the depths of my ruthlessness.

"Weakness, Cedric, is the greatest sin in the new order I am forging," I declared, my voice void of emotion, a stark contrast to the fear and desperation that colored his. "You beg for mercy, not because you believe you deserve it, but because you lack the strength to fight for your life. That very weakness condemns you."

Cedric's pleas grew more frantic, a pitiful display that only served to reinforce my conviction. His inability to stand against the tide of darkness that threatened to engulf him was not just a failure; it was a liability, an imperfection that could not be allowed to persist in the world I envisioned.

"Dumbledore's games end with you, Cedric," I continued, lifting my wand. "Your death will not be a symbol of my submission to his will, but a declaration of my own power. A power that tolerates no weakness, no defiance, no mercy."

The spell I chose was quick, a merciful concession I afforded him not out of compassion, but out of a desire to expedite his inevitable end. As the green light of the Killing Curse illuminated the space between us, Cedric's final moments were not marked by heroic defiance, but by a resigned acceptance of his fate.

His body fell limp, a lifeless testament to the price of weakness in the face of absolute power. Dumbledore had intended this moment to be a test, but it had become a proclamation—the birth of a new era, heralded not by the preservation of innocence, but by the eradication of the unworthy.

I turned to where Dumbledore stood. "Your tests have only strengthened my resolve, Dumbledore, I whispered, "and in this new world, only the strong will thrive."

The graveyard, once a place of solemn rest, had become the crucible in which my destiny was forged. Cedric's death, a necessary sacrifice on the altar of my ambition, was but the first of many. I would carve a path through the old world, guided by a singular truth—that power was the ultimate arbiter of right, and weakness, its unforgivable sin.

Dumbledore a specter unfazed by the display of ruthlessness that had just unfolded. His approach was silent, measured, the air around him charged with an unspoken understanding of the gravity of what had transpired. The night seemed to hold its breath as he drew nearer, the boundary between mentor and architect of darkness blurring with each step.

With a smile that held the complexity of a chess game played across decades, he leaned in close, the warmth of his breath a stark contrast to the chill of the graveyard air. His eyes, those wells of unfathomable depth, locked onto mine, and in them, I saw not condemnation, but a dark sort of approval.

"Power," Dumbledore whispered, his voice a blend of prophecy and warning, "is the storm that shapes the landscape of history. It is relentless, unforgiving, and absolute. You and I, Harry, we are not mere travelers buffeted by its winds; we are its masters, the summoners of the tempest."

His words hung between us, a covenant forged in the shadows of power and ambition. "Together, our will shall carve paths through the annals of time, shaping the future with the force of our intent. Remember, the greatest empires are not those that stand unchallenged, but those that rise anew from the ashes of their defiance."

The intensity of his gaze intensified, burning with a fervor that spoke of visions only he could see. "But heed this, the throne of power is solitary, and its crown, a circlet of solitude. For in the end, only one can shape the storm."

With that, he stepped back, his presence receding into the fabric of the night as if he were nothing more than a figment of the darkness itself. His departure left a silence that was more than the absence of sound; it was the quiet of a destiny unfolding, of futures being written in the ink of power and sacrifice.

"Power is not given; it is taken," I mused to myself, the words a silent mantra that fueled my resolve. "And with each life I claim, my grip on the world tightens." This was the truth at the heart of my journey. From the naive boy who once sought justice and fairness, I had evolved into the arbiter of fate, deciding who would serve my cause and who would be discarded as chaff.

"Morality is the excuse of the weak, a chain that binds them to the illusion of righteousness." How I scoffed at the constraints I once respected, the lines I had been too afraid to cross. Those chains had long been shattered, their remnants discarded in the wake of my ascent. My actions, once guided by a moral compass, were now led by a singular, unyielding vision of the future—a world remade in my image, where the old orders and ancient laws would be swept away by the sheer force of my will.

"Fear is a tool, sharper than any blade." The realization of this truth had been a turning point. To instill fear was to hold power over the very souls of men and women. It was a means to silence dissent, to command loyalty, and to ensure obedience. Let them fear me, I thought. For in their fear, they acknowledge their own weakness and my indomitable strength.

As for those who would stand against me, their fates were sealed by their own foolishness. "To oppose me is to embrace oblivion. I am the harbinger of the end, the final judge of their worth." My enemies were not just adversaries; they were offerings to my insatiable hunger for power, stepping stones on my path to ultimate dominion.

And what of the Death Eaters, those who now followed in my wake, their loyalties as yet untested? "They are but tools, instruments of my will. Their desires and ambitions are subordinate to my grand design." Their usefulness would be measured by their obedience and their ability to further my goals. Any sign of betrayal, any hint of dissent, would be met with swift and merciless retribution.

"The world will know a peace it has never seen—under my reign." This was the promise I made to myself, a world ordered and ruled by the unassailable power I wielded. But it would be a peace forged from fear, an order established through dominance. The chaos of freedom, with its messy unpredictability, would be replaced by the cold, hard certainty of my rule.

But what of the others? The so-called heroes who had fought against Voldemort's tyranny? They would find themselves at a crossroads, their ideals challenged by the undeniable force of my will. Some would oppose me, clinging to their antiquated notions of right and wrong. They would be dealt with, not out of malice, but necessity. For in the world I envisioned, there was no place for weakness, no room for dissent.

And then, there were the muggles. A part of me, perhaps a remnant of the boy I once was, recoiled at the thought of involving them in our world's affairs. But another, far stronger part saw the potential in bridging the divide, in using their vast numbers and resources, to further my goals. Not as equals, but as subjects to a superior force. The possibilities were endless, a new frontier to be conquered and molded to my design.