A/N: Not all wands are loved as others. A short fic about being a wand, in particular, Tom Riddle Jr's wand.

Submission for:

Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge: Nine of Diamonds: Write about a wand

The Sorting Hat's Challenge: Which Spell would you most like to master? - Avada Kedavra

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A wand chooses the wizard or witch. You could say then that a wand is alive. It has a mind and a soul, feelings and wishes.

But afterwards, the wand is at the mercy of its owner. It has tremendous power but no longer has a choice in where it goes or how it uses it.

It can cast the simplest of spells. The happiest wand is used to levitate objects and to turn pincushions into hedgehogs for the rest of its life. It is used to alter dresses and to wash dishes. It is cared for and loved, polished and stowed away for safe keeping.

Not all wands are as loved as others. Some are used to do horrible things. Some wands would rather be broken than to continue hurting others. Some have to inflict pain, listen to the screaming of others as their owners squeeze their bodies tightly. Some have to control others, the light touch on them contrasting with the tight hold on the victim's mind. Some shine a green light to suck the life out of another. Those wands cry the loudest and the longest. Those wands are happy when their owners have died or disappeared. They are able to rest and never hurt another soul.

The yew wand was happy, safely put away and forgotten in drawer for the rest of its existence. It has had a hard past, its owner sadistic and crazed with power. It has inflicted pain with curses not even meant to be used that way. It has heard the screams of thousands, children and parents, men and women. It has taken more lives than it can count. Its owner would laugh in glee but the wand would mourn every time.

But suddenly one day, it was rudely disrupted and moved about. It had gone years without interaction. The last thing it had heard were the screams of a man, then a woman then a child, before it was left alone. Now, it was being shaken and jostled. Then it felt the familiar hold on its body, cold, thin fingers wrapping around it, and the warmth flew from the wand to the owner. The wand knew he had returned. The wand cried out as it had to do its owner's will again.

"Let me give our guest a proper welcome," its owner's voice rasped.

The wand wished it didn't have to obey but the magic rushed from its owner and through its core.

"Avada Kedavra." The light was green and the wand cried for the death of its newest victim, knowing it wouldn't be the last.