Title: Madness

-.-.-

A/N: Prompt: Anger, forbidden: anger,

-.-.-

The air seemed to get significantly warmer, rain poured down at an almost boiling temperature and the wind seemed to be nonexistent, as if the air itself was afraid to move out of fear. The ground was cracking, and emerald green eyes shook with rage, Harry's face was scrunched up with such wrath, such fury as he glared back at those scarlet eyes responsible for the whole mess.

Voldemort had succeeded long ago. He had won the war. Out of spite and nothing more, he left Harry alive, powerless and with no magic – it was restricted by a charm that Voldemort held himself. Underground, muggleborns were imprisoned and their magic drained from them. Overground, muggles were treated as the lowest of the low beings, used often as test subjects for magical purposes or as food for acromantulas and dementors and the like. Every child, every person, every thing that died was another candle in Harry's heart, until there was no more room and the wax melted, leaving nothing but burning flames that could not be quenched.

Fifteen years of this, and Harry was forced to stand by and watch. He was powerless, weak, and the rage had risen inside him every day as he watched Voldemort's reign of terror, his descent to further madness.

Even the death eaters had begun to steer clear of Voldemort with his most recent ideas. Somehow Voldemort had gotten it into his head to fight death itself, one on one. Voldemort began to try to open the gates of hell – to bring back the fiery demons that lay beneath.

Harry clenched his fists, fire burning behind his eyes, having risen from his heart, his heart that connected every being that was horrified by Voldemort's victory.

It was the demons that did it ultimately. One in particular that got out had destroyed an entire continent already. Voldemort didn't even flinch. He tried to control it, his powerful magic fighting the demon's darkest magic. It didn't work. The demon simply took it in and it seemed all was lost – Voldemort needed all of his power and he forgot all about Harry. In that moment, Voldemort's spell broke and Harry regained his strength and took advantage of the magic that returned to him, the magic that was long lost.

His scar hurt.

He ignored it. He had felt too much pain, too much suffering to even feel pain anymore. No, all he felt was fury. And if the world was doomed to die by the demon, Harry wanted just one thing first, one thing he knew he could have.

Revenge.

It seemed that desire, that desire fueled by thousands of candles that created that unquenchable fire inside of him, brought about a strength he didn't know he had, he felt it in the very air around him.

It didn't take long after that. The demon sensed this strength, and it sensed the direction of the powerful emotion, but most importantly it noted the source. And for some odd reason, it responded.

Harry could feel the demon's magic merging with his own, whispering into his ear.

Do you want revenge? Do you want the power to win? Do you want me to give you strength, give you power?

"YES." Harry screamed at the top of his lungs, surprising everyone around him, the death eaters, but most of all Voldemort who couldn't understand. Voldemort who was unimpressed with Harry's show of strength, just mildly amused that he himself had let the constraints go.

Voldemort lifted his wand to speak "Avada-."

There is a risk-.

Whatever the demon had to say didn't matter. Harry's voice boomed, raw and powerful.

"I DON'T CARE!"

The demon merged with Harry. It was hell. He was burning, his bones were burning, he screamed as his insides wished to leave his body from the sheer pain, every molecule was in pain. Yet he was happy. He was hysterical. He was winning.

Harry's eyes were red with literal fire as he laughed. He laughed, the dark emotions that were running rampant inside him, he could feel now the thousands of burning, decaying, dead souls within the demon screaming and writhing and telling him to do it, that Voldemort deserved it. He heard their pleas, their desire for revenge.

He felt their fury.

Harry barely had to think it as the world came crashing down on Voldemort, sucking his soul pieces out of their hiding spots, forming them back together in front of Harry and Harry laughed cruelly.

"This is what you deserve." Harry said with enough spite, bitterness, and hate to make even Professor Snape proud, a thought that left another pang in Harry's heart. "You deserve this."

Then the torture began. The death eaters watched in horror as their master experienced a pain that was beyond physical – it was a soul they could all see, they watched as the soul screamed for mercy, the soul of Tom Riddle, the soul that looked human even.

It was wrong. The death eaters got to their knees and averted their eyes, some covered their ears as their faces scrunched in horror that even they couldn't imagine.

Harry ripped the soul to shreds and brought it back together. He made it experience the pain of thousands over and over, he made it experience hell itself over and over.

And he was just getting started. With his new found powers Harry didn't even tire. His burning rage hadn't subsided yet.

Days later it still didn't subside. Harry was still recklessly pouring his heart out at Tom Riddle's soul when a hand reached out and touched his shoulder. It seemed a death eater had finally became so afraid he had gone down to fetch a friend of Harry's, to calm him down.

Harry glanced over and saw his best friend, scarred, without a leg, blinded in one eye and bitterly attempting a smile. "Harry?"

Harry screamed.