Unforgivable
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Harry's room, casting a warm, golden glow on the luxurious furnishings. Harry lay in his four-poster bed, his emerald eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling overhead. He felt a sense of dread gnawing at him as he thought about the upcoming training session, where he would be forced to learn the Unforgivable Curses. The promise he had made to save Ron weighed heavily on his conscience. He couldn't see a way out of it without provoking Voldemort into doing something worse to his friends, and he had sealed his obedience with the vow. He was such a fool.
With a sigh, Harry swung his legs over the edge of his bed and pushed the heavy covers aside. His thoughts were a tumultuous mix of anger and frustration at being tricked into making the promise. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was sliding further and further into darkness despite how hard he tried to fight against it.
The soft pop of apparition signaled the arrival of Tipsy; her tiny frame proudly clothed in the green and silver representing the Slytherin house she served. The slight elf set a tray laden with breakfast on the small table beside Harry's bed. The scent of freshly baked bread, perfectly cooked bacon, and brewed coffee filled the room. Tipsy gave a respectful bow before squeaking, "Master Harry, Tipsy has brought you's your breakfast!"
"Thank you," Harry replied, managing a small, appreciative smile. The house-elf had been nothing but kind to him, despite her master being the darkest wizard to ever walk the wizarding world. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt that such a kind creature had to witness the atrocious actions she must see on a daily basis.
As Harry forced down his breakfast, he noticed a piece of parchment on the tray. Unfolding it, he found a message with a time and location that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the usual morning meeting time with Voldemort, and the location was unfamiliar. He sighed, clinching the note in his fist. To not go would only make things worse. He truly saw no way to avoid the lesson that didn't end in bloodshed and torture-not just for him, but for those he'd made these sacrifices for to protect in the first place.
After finishing his meal, Harry made his way to his wardrobe and retrieved his training robes. They were exquisitely tailored to fit him perfectly, a stark contrast to the plain Hogwarts robes he had worn for years. As the weeks had turned to months, he noticed that new garments appeared in his wardrobe every few weeks. They seemed to reflect Voldemort's satisfaction with his progress. What had originally been plain but high quality now had embroidery that showed skill and money. As he dressed, the dark fabric seemed to cling to him, a physical reminder of the path he was treading.
With slow steps, he made his way to the other side of the manor, following the directions he had received. When he entered the new training room, he was struck by its sheer size and imposing atmosphere. The walls were lined with ancient, dark wood paneling, and a massive fireplace dominated one side, casting flickering shadows across the room. Training dummies stood at attention, silent sentinels in the chamber. Did Voldemort have a training room that only he used? This one was so much larger and more elegant than the one they usually occupied.
The teen glanced around; he wasn't alone. In the center of the room was a large cage, and Harry's heart sank as he approached it. Inside were three rats, their beady eyes darting about nervously. They bore an uncanny resemblance to Wormtail, the traitor who had betrayed Harry's parents. It was clear that Voldemort had orchestrated this, knowing that the memory of Wormtail's treachery would ignite Harry's raw anger and hatred, emotions needed to cast the Unforgivable Curses.
Before Harry could contemplate this any further, Voldemort appeared silently behind him. The sudden ominous presence of the Dark Lord sent a shiver down Harry's spine as he turned to face him. Voldemort's crimson eyes bore into Harry's green ones, and for a moment, all Harry could feel was the weight of that gaze. This wizard would never stop trying to control him, the teen was certain. And with each passing day, Harry could feel his resolve to resist decreasing. He'd already compromised so much to save his friends, to try and guarantee their safety. What was one more spell or curse to add to his already mountainous list of exposure to the dark arts if it kept them safe?
Voldemort's smooth and measured voice broke the teen's melancholy thoughts. "Are you ready?"
Harry looked up at the wizard, squaring his shoulders, trying to appear braver than he felt. How could someone ever be ready for something like this? He forced himself to nod.
The Dark Lord continued, seeming to accept the Gryffindor's force bravado. "You have shown strength and growth beyond even my expectations. I am impressed with the power and control you have displayed in the two months since joining me." His lips twitched into a slight smirk. "Today marks an important milestone in your training, I expect you to master power that many fear and refuse to learn."
Harry, torn between admitting the praise as genuine and despising the fact that it came from the Dark Lord himself, frowned. He hated that a small part of him had started to crave such approval, that he secretly preened that he could impress someone as advanced in magic as the Dark Lord. And he hated all the more that the praise came at the price of growing his skills in the dark arts.
Not having a response, Harry merely nodded again, turning back towards the rats. "A pity the one rat I would want in that cage is not here." Harry snapped his mouth shut. He could scarcely believe the words had left his mouth even if in his heart they rang true. The thought of Wormtail, the one responsible for his parents' death, being at his mercy was both tempting and repulsive.
Voldemort's crimson eyes bore into Harry's, sensing the turmoil within the young wizard. "Would you cast the Killing Curse on him if he were here?" Voldemort asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
Harry hesitated, his eyes fixed on the cage of rats. He felt a mixture of emotions swirling within him, a chaotic blend of hatred and vengeance, but also a nagging sense of his own morality. "I would prefer not to find out," Harry replied honestly, his grip on his wand tightening. "Our agreement was that I would not torture or harm people. Despite how much I despise him, I'd rather keep my soul as intact as possible."
Voldemort emitted a soft, almost amused chuckle. "Harry, if the day ever comes when you wish to practice on him, all you need to do is ask. I would deny you nothing."
Shuddering at the thought, Harry continued to gaze at the rats, lost in contemplation. "Is there any bargain I can make that would change your mind?" he finally ventured.
Voldemort regarded him with an considering look before shaking his head slowly. "No. We both knew this day would come. I will accept nothing less than my apprentice being able to cast these spells. It is not only for your ability to defend yourself but also to ensure you can control dark magic, rather than letting it control you."
With a resigned sigh, Harry turned his attention to the crackling fire, his thoughts lingering on the conversation from the previous night's dinner. The notion that dabbling in dark magic could transform him, fostering hatred and darkness within, stirred a haunting anxiety deeply rooted in his already wary mind.
"You would see me destroyed, wouldn't you?" Harry muttered, his voice coated with bitterness. "That I cease to be myself."
A firm, pale hand came to rest gently on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Harry felt the weight of the gesture but refused to acknowledge it, his body stiffening in response.
"To the contrary, my little lion," Voldemort murmured, his voice low, calming. It was no wonder this man was able to trick so many into following him. He seemed so genuinely compassionate that Harry almost wanted to trust him, if only he weren't the same twisted murderer who had killed so many of the Gryffindor's friends and family to get at the teen. "It's your stubbornness and passion that intrigues me. I want you to submit, but I have no desire for you to change. You are powerful, and I only wish for that power to grow."
Harry's voice shook as he voiced his deepest fear. "For me to become your weapon."
The hand on his shoulder tightened, a subtle warning. "Have I ever sent you out to do my bidding?" Voldemort countered. "I allowed your condition that you would not inflict torture for me. No, Harry, you are not my weapon. In time, you will come to realize that my path is the right one. For now, it is enough that you are not a weapon of the light, to be used against me."
As Harry continued to stare into the crackling flames, his mind raced with questions and doubts. He couldn't help but wonder how Dumbledore, his friends, and even the members of the Order saw him – as a weapon, a pawn to be used in their own battles? It was a disconcerting thought, one that had plagued him for some time now. Had he always been perceived as a ticking time bomb, waiting to detonate on their behalf?
His thoughts spiraled into a whirlpool of uncertainty. Forcing resolve he did not feel, he voiced the lingering question to Voldemort that he had been debating for weeks. "There are so many of your followers who would kill to be your apprentice, who would not hesitate to become your weapon. I still don't understand why you are spending all this time training me. I get that you don't want me to fight against you, but you could have used threats against my friends to make me agree to stand down. Or you could have simply locked me in a cage until you won. Why invest so much time and effort in training me?"
The question had gnawed at him, growing with each passing day. Voldemort had become a constant presence, devoting nearly every day to Harry's training. It made little sense to the young Gryffindor. Surely the heir to Slytherin had more pressing matters to attend to in his quest to conquer the wizarding world. Harry had lost all connection to the outside world, but he doubted that Voldemort had halted the war just to focus on teaching a sixteen-year-old.
Voldemort responded by pushing Harry's shoulder, silently instructing him to turn and face him. Harry reluctantly obeyed, meeting the piercing crimson gaze. "Soon, you will start attending my meetings. You have grown strong enough that I will trust you to be around my followers without being defenseless," Voldemort explained, his voice carrying an air of authority.
Harry blinked, taken aback by the unexpected development. Joining Death Eater meetings did not sound appealing in the slightest. The thought of hearing about their murderous exploits was repugnant. Most of them were unhinged, he wanted nothing to do with them.
Voldemort continued, "I expect you to listen and learn from the meetings I allow you to attend. I will want your opinions, even your advice."
The statement caught the Gryffindor by surprise. Harry found it very hard to believe that Voldemort would ever genuinely value his input. That him presenting his views would do anything other than anger the volatile Dark Lord. "I doubt you want or need my advice," he retorted, his skepticism evident. "You already know the type of war you want to wage. You don't care who you hurt as long as you win. I have no desire to join you and just watch that happen."
The older wizard's eyes darkened with an undercurrent of annoyance at Harry's attitude. "So, you're saying that if given the chance to temper my actions, to protect those you care about, you would refuse simply because you are too stubborn to sit through a meeting?"
Harry paused, grappling with the offer that seemed almost too good to be true. Could his words truly influence Voldemort's actions? Did the Dark Lord possess the capacity to listen to Harry's advice? He regarded Voldemort with a mixture of doubt and contemplation. "Would my words have any power to influence you?" he asked, his doubt lingering in his tone.
Voldemort returned Harry's gaze with his own scrutinizing look, his piercing crimson eyes assessing the young apprentice before him. "If you can devise strategies that further my plans while reducing death and destruction, I am willing to consider them. Contrary to what you may assume, I find all magical blood precious. I derive no pleasure from spilling it. I wish to conclude this war swiftly. I do not seek to burn everything you care about to the ground. If I can achieve victory without killing, then yes, I would consider it."
The words sounded inviting, even seductive, but Harry struggled to reconcile them with the man who stood before him. This was the same wizard who had murdered his parents out of fear of a prophecy, the same man who had subjected Neville's parents to unspeakable torture and insanity. Flowery words did not align with Voldemort's actions. Harry could hardly imagine a world ruled by the Dark Lord that would be any less terrifying than the current war-torn world he currently existed in.
"You value control so much that any world ruled by you would result in far fewer freedoms than you claim," Harry offered quietly, striving to convey his point without provocation. Over the past few weeks, he had finally learned the nuances of disagreeing without risking torture. As long as he remained deferential and avoided aggression, he could sometimes express dissent without ending up gasping on the ground, clutching his throbbing forehead.
Red eyes assessed him cooly. "You think you know me so well? Only time will reveal the truth, but can you afford not to try? It's an offer no one else from the light will ever receive." Voldemort retorted, willing to take the dissent without punishment.
"Because they oppose you, and always will."
Voldemort shrugged. "Perhaps, but it is foolish for them to do so. They will not win. It would be better to salvage what they can before they lose everything. Isn't that what you've done, my dear apprentice? You've accepted that the only way you can protect anyone is by accepting my teaching." He paused, tilting his head to the side, considering the teen. "Which brings us back to the task at hand. It is time for you to learn the Unforgivables." His eyes locked onto the teen who stood resolutely before him, his wand hanging limply by his side.
"The Unforgivable Curses," Voldemort began, "are spells of great power. They are unforgivable because they cause immense pain and suffering to their victims. The Cruciatus Curse is a tool of exquisite agony. To cast it, one must truly want to cause pain. You must feel it in your very core, channeling your hatred and malice through your wand. It is not about the words or the wand movements, but the intent. Feel the desire to hurt, and the curse will follow."
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with veiled excitement as he continued, "The Imperius Curse, on the other hand, is a tool of absolute control. To cast it, you must suppress your own will and impose your dominance upon your victim. It requires focus and a powerful desire to manipulate. Your victim's body will become your puppet, and their thoughts your plaything. You see, my apprentice, it's all about the power of the mind."
"Now, the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra," Voldemort whispered with a chilling reverence. "A curse that cannot be countered, with only one exception," he eyed the boy knowingly, Harry shivered. "The curse that ends life with a flick of the wrist. It is not about wanting to kill; it's about the absence of remorse, the cold indifference to another's existence. To cast it, you must truly believe that the world would be better without your victim. It's about the unwavering conviction that their life means nothing."
Taking a deep breath, Harry stared at the rats. This was it; he was really going to learn the Unforgivables. It felt like he was walking down a path he would never be able to return from. "Do you really think I can learn these without being changed?" His voice was no more than a whisper. He feared the answer, that Voldemort would just lie regardless of the truth. He wasn't sure why he even asked.
Voldemort assessed Harry, his eyes narrowing, "These curses are not to be taken lightly, Harry. There is also a reason I have you practicing Occlumency at night. Clearing your mind will help you come to terms with casting these spells without them controlling you. There is darkness in their casting, but only the weak allow themselves to be controlled by it. I want you to clear your mind like you do each night. Be void of emotions, neither good nor bad.
From there you can intentionally call upon the state of mind you will need to cast it, but then discard that mindset as soon as there is no need."
Nodding, Harry began the motions of clearing his mind. It was much easier than it originally had been. Voldemort occasionally tested his shields. Harry felt confident he was improving, that he could now fluidly create and immerse himself in his mental landscape with little effort. The books he had been given on controlling his mind were much better than anything Snape had ever taught him.
Both master and apprentice turned their attention to the cage containing the huddled rats. Voldemort effortlessly summoned the cage closer to them and silently opened the wire door. With precision, he levitated a squirming rat out of the cage, offering it to Harry. "I assume you'd prefer to start with the Imperius?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably, a sense of unease coursing through him. He couldn't forget the lesson he had endured from the impostor Mad-Eye Moody, who had forced spiders to perform horrific acts. He hoped that Voldemort wouldn't subject him to something equally twisted.
"Do you know how to cast it?" Voldemort inquired, his tone soft and demanding.
Harry nodded, the memory of the spell's intricacies imprinted in his mind. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Voldemort had tasked him with studying the Unforgivable Curses after their initial agreement, stating that the day would come when he would need to cast them, even if it wasn't that day. Harry had reluctantly obeyed, finding books detailing the three forbidden spells appearing on his desk in his room that very night.
"Prepare yourself, clear your mind," Voldemort instructed.
Harry clenched his holly and phoenix feather wand tightly, his gaze locked on the rat before him. He forced himself to clear his mind, to enter his mental landscape. It was an open meadow with a soft breeze, vibrant wildflowers, tall green trees, and the fragrance of fresh air. In this mental space, he felt as if he were soaring on a broomstick, the wind rushing beneath him, all while standing in one spot. Here, he felt free, unburdened by captivity under Voldemort's control and far removed from the wretched training room where he was about to cast forbidden dark magic.
In this serene landscape, he gradually let go of everything else, allowing himself to simply be. From this place of mental clarity, he reluctantly brought the incantation and wand movement to the forefront of his thoughts. The spellbook had emphasized the necessity of feeling detached yet in control, stronger both mentally and in magic than the intended victim.
Harry summoned those feelings as he envisioned the rat as Wormtail, hovering before him. With immense discipline, he maintained a mental blank slate, except for the singular desire to dominate the rat, to make it obey his will.
A subtle probe against his mental defenses rippled, not powerful enough to breach them but sufficient to indicate Voldemort's scrutiny of his thoughts and the barriers he had established.
"Good," the Dark Lord murmured. "Now cast it."
Refusing to allow hesitation to creep in, to truly contemplate the act he was about to commit, Harry raised his wand and cast the spell. "Imperio."
The rat went limp. Harry felt an instant connection, as if their minds were intertwined. The creature was frightened yet also dazed, and Harry could sense the point where their wills merged, where he could gently nudge the rat to follow his commands. It was almost as if the rat yearned to relinquish control, to cease being afraid and surrender to mindless obedience.
Voldemort carefully lowered the rat to the stone floor, where it sat placidly, its dull eyes fixed on nothing.
Harry sent it a thought through their mental link, instructing it to curl into a ball and take a nap. The rat responded promptly, padding in a circle before curling into a ball and closing its eyes. Harry sensed its consciousness fading as it succumbed to slumber.
"While not a very exciting command, well done. You have successfully cast it," Voldemort praised, his words washing over Harry without much effect. He still felt the connection to the rat, their minds intertwined. It was a strangely addictive and terrifying sensation, revealing just how tempting control over another being could be.
"It's easier than I thought it would be," Harry remarked cautiously, stealing a glance at the Dark Lord. He severed the mental link with the rat, which continued to slumber on the stone floor.
"Yes, you are powerful, so I'm not surprised. But that was an animal, and its instincts, while chaotic, are not as robust as those of a human. Even the weakest of human minds would resist you far more vigorously than that creature. Moreover, it likely sensed that you meant it no genuine harm, making it more willing to yield to you, placing it in a lesser state of fear than it was moments ago. If you commanded it to harm itself, it would not be as docile."
Harry took a shuddering breath, his eyes warily scanning Voldemort. "But it seemed so willing….You're saying if I had tried to cause it harm, it would have resisted me more?" He immediately regretted asking the question; he didn't want to test such a horrifying possibility. His voice quickened as he spoke. "Please, don't make me do that. I've learned it, and I'll cast it again if needed, but please don't make me torture it."
The Slytherin's countenance shifted, darkening with a hint of menace. "You think you can dictate what commands I give you?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably, running his non-wand-wielding hand through his messy black hair. He had grown unnervingly accustomed to the unpredictable mood swings of his captor. One moment, he was being praised, and the next, he was teetering on the brink of unbearable pain. These shifts happened every time he was seen as resisting, even slightly.
"No, that wasn't my intent," he quickly placated, hating how meek he sounded but unwilling to let the conversation spiral. Now was not the time to contest wills, if he wanted to escape this lesson without a rat blood bath, he would need to keep Voldemort in decent spirits. "I'm asking; I didn't just refuse."
Under the piercing scrutiny of the Slytherin heir, Harry's breaths felt shallow and strained. The teen tensed, trying to appear calm and hide the fear coursing through him. The rat he had just controlled was now in a state of calm, and the mere thought of waking it up and establishing the mental link again, this time while it was in a state of panic and pain, filled him with abhorrence.
His eyes darted to the two remaining rats in the cage. They were frantically scrambling over each other, desperately scratching at the cage's bars in an attempt to escape. Harry knew that the torture curse was next, and if he could cast it successfully only once, without causing unnecessary extra suffering to all three creatures, then perhaps the day wouldn't turn into the complete nightmare he had resigned himself to.
"The next curse is torture, and I know I can't escape casting it," Harry implored, his voice hollow. "You were pleased with me a moment ago. Please, let us move on."
"And what if I want you to torture all three rats? Not just one of them?" Voldemort's voice carried a malicious undercurrent.
Harry swallowed hard, a sense of hopelessness washing over him. He felt utterly lost, standing there, already committed to learning these dark curses and seeing no escape. It was better to use them on rats than to watch Voldemort demonstrate on humans, which he knew would be the escalation if he rebelled.
"Please," he repeated, his voice soft. He didn't know what to do. To resist was to put his friends at risk, but to blindly obey was to risk losing his soul. "I successfully cast it. That was our agreement. Let me show you I can cast the other two and consider it fulfilled."
"You think this will end after casting each curse once, that I will be satisfied?" Voldemort probed, his red eyes gleaming with an unsettling knowingness.
Harry's heart raced, his body rigid as he tried to remain strong before the wizard who had killed his parent and who he was now forced to call master. A renewed wave of dread washed over him, reminiscent of his first days in captivity. He needed to move the conversation away into a direction he could control. He would rather offer than feel forced. "What if you gain something you desire more instead?"
"I desire for you to obey me, to not question every command." The Dark Lord stepped nearer. "And for you to demonstrate you have mastered these spells. That is the satisfaction I desire."
Drawing upon his mental refuge, Harry compelled himself to maintain composure. He knew that Voldemort would respond violently to emotional outbursts, and any sign of resistance could provoke the Dark Lord into forcing him to harm the slumbering rat. Harry needed to tap into his inner Slytherin, employing cunning and strategy.
"You will be more satisfied if I willingly submit to you," Harry asserted. He had begun to understand that this was Voldemort's ultimate objective. He had never openly broached the topic of submission before. His words immediately drew the weight of Voldemort's unwavering attention. "Hurting a couple of rats is not what you truly care about. And forcing me to perform these curses repeatedly will only strengthen my resolve that you and I can never coexist. That I could never submit willingly," Harry avowed. "You once stated that you don't care about the means of my submission, as long as I obey. But I suspect you would prefer a willing servant."
"And are you now offering to become a willing servant? I never thought you would stoop so low," Voldemort responded, his voice mocking. Harry knew he had the Dark Lord's full attention, that he was keenly observing the teen, waiting to see what his next move would be. A cat thoroughly enjoying the game of chase with the mouse.
Harry hesitated, his words carefully chosen. He needed to be persuasive without making explicit promises. "You just told me that you would listen to me, that you expect me to attend meetings and offer my thoughts. If I can help you achieve your goals without unnecessary bloodshed, you claim you will allow it."
Harry glanced at the rats. Such tiny and small creatures, how could something so insignificant be the focus of such an important decision? "I'm asking you to prove it. Demonstrate that you can compromise and that you will listen to me. You want me to cast all three Unforgivable Curses. Allow me to do so with minimal harm. Agree that the torture and killing curses will only be used on one of the rats. Spare the other two. You do not care about these creatures." Harry closed his eyes, taking in a large, calming breath. How had it come to such a point where he was bargaining over how many animals he had to torture, control, or kill? "Give me this, and it would demonstrate your sincerity. It would show that if I obey, then it does not have to always result in torture and death."
Voldemort released an amused laugh, acknowledging Harry's attempt at manipulation. "So, you are willing to play this game, my cunning serpent. I am pleased. However, remember that you tread on dangerous ground. Do not dangle your submission as a prize unless you are fully prepared to accept the consequences. I will stop at nothing to obtain it."
A mixture of relief and unease washed through the teen as Voldemort contemplated his offer. The room, previously steeped in oppressive tension, now hung in a suffocating silence, occasionally broken by the faint sounds of the rats in the cage and the dying wood in the fireplace.
Seeking calm and clarity, Harry immersed himself in his mental refuge, determined to maintain his composure even as he teetered on the precipice of a decision he wasn't entirely sure he was willing to make. He knew that offering genuine submission as a bargaining chip was a risky move, but it was a calculated gamble. And it was the only leverage he still held. He needed a way to temper Voldemort's sadistic nature, something he could offer that would encourage the Dark Lord to not force him to torture innocent creatures until Harry himself went insane.
Voldemort's chilling laughter reverberated through the room, sending shivers down Harry's spine. It was a sound straight out of nightmares, serving as a stark reminder of the power and cruelty of the man before him. "Very well, Harry," Voldemort finally conceded, his red eyes glittering with amusement. "You have persuaded me to allow this demonstration without excessive harm. Successfully cast the last two Unforgivable Curses in whichever manner appeals to you the most, and we will consider our training for today complete."
Harry nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he raised his wand. He focused on one of the rats still confined in the cage, the one bearing the closest resemblance to Wormtail.
"Crucio," Harry whispered, his voice steady as he cast, compelling his caged mind to fixate solely on the traitor who had played a role in rendering him an orphan. Wormtail, the man who had knowingly betrayed Harry's parents, caused their murder. The rat plummeted to the floor, writhing in agony, emitting a screech that sent chills down Harry's spine. Quickly, he released the curse, knowing he had succeeded, its power surpassing even the one he had cast on Bellatrix. The rat lay shivering and twitching, curled in upon itself, while its remaining cage mate hovered in a corner, hissing at the evident danger that had befallen its cellmate.
Voldemort watched him closely, his expression inscrutable. "One more to go, Harry," he reminded, a hint of anticipation in his voice.
Harry nodded, realizing there was no turning back now. He had to see this through. The gravity of what he was about to do weighed heavily upon him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was teetering on the precipice, one step away from losing himself to the encroaching darkness. He was about to willingly cast the curse that had killed his parents, that had nearly killed him. And he was doing it because Voldemort commanded it.
His gaze remained fixed on the twitching rat, unseeing. Its labored breath served as the resolve he needed to finish the act. The creature was in excruciating pain, Harry knew that. Such torture, even if only for a few seconds, would leave the creature scarred forever. While it did not deserve death, Harry realized that following up the torture with swift death was a more humane choice than letting it languish in agony, prolonging the suffering when the ultimate outcome remained unchanged.
Steeling his nerves, Harry once again retreated into his mental refuge, clearing his mind. This time, it took longer, as competing thoughts of fear, hysteria, and uncertainty clawed at his consciousness. Closing his eyes, he took deliberate breaths, one after another. Gradually, his heart rate slowed, his breathing steadied, and he forced his mind to yield, drawing forth calmness and determination. He was in control, and he had to end the life of this creature; there was no alternative.
Staring at the suffering rat, he compelled himself to visualize Wormtail, allowing the intense hatred he felt to surface. The creature had to die; there was no other way.
"Avada Kedavra."
AN: reviews and thoughts are always welcomed! Thanks for reading :)