Disclaimer: All of Harry Potter belongs to Ms. J K Rowling. I am but borrowing the plot, using it to create another story.
Dedicated to Silvan and Rod. Happy Easter, dad, mom.
In destroying him, I've met my fall
Prologue
Dear Cedric,
I'm sorry not to have confided in you earlier. It sounds silly, doesn't it? That I have no one here in whom I can trust not to betray the words I've said. You had been my only confidante, one that would listen and understand. Had I told Hermione… or Ron about what plagued me, they would have referred me to Dumbledore immediately, worrying over me like some over-protective mother hen.
Last year had been hell for me without you by my side. I've forgotten that I've left you here, warded so heavily that I couldn't even Accio you back to my side… that stupid git just had to pull me back to Hogwarts before I could even get anything of mine own… all because of the warning that Voldemort might come to attack me before the summer break is over. All of my other things had been sent only the day after I've reached Hogwarts, and I couldn't possibly tell them that you were under the loose floorboard under the bed.
Blabbering aside, I've finally sought revenge, Cedric. For my parents, for you, for your father… and for all the others who had died in his hands. The nightmare is finally over.
He's dead.
Interesting how things - unexpected as it seems - work out in such a morbid fashion. One would pride on our ability to wield wands, and how magic performed through them held such deep effects on a human's body that a mere two words could kill. No one actually thought to discuss how this could happen… well, it is not as if I would even try fathoming it. I am most thankful that I'm immune to that curse, and some things are still best left untouched.
And to think that Voldemort was also immune to Avada Kedavra… he and I really are so similar to one another that it's becoming creepy. But then again, he died under Salazar Slytherin's dagger.
...How ironic.
When that dagger appeared in my hand, the serpent in the blade had spoken. It hadn't been in Parseltongue, but in human speech. A voice… no, two voices had resounded continuously in my head. 'Kill him, Harry', they had said, the deep baritone and light tenor melding into one voice. One that had sounded so… right. I can't explain it well, but the light tenor voice had guided me to Voldemort's weaknesses. Funny as it sounds, they… both of them knew when and where Voldemort would attack, and warned me continuously… Well, the deep baritone warned me of the attacks while the tenor voice brought me closer to the bastard's side. It was as simple as that.
The Death Eaters who wanted to attack had been held back by some forces unknown to any one of us, and no one hex could go pass through the mysterious, shimmering shields. They couldn't apparate or run away either. Something kept them from doing it too. Dumbledore's forces arrived very soon, leaving only Voldemort and me in the last battle.
Oh yes, I was already heavily injured by then. I hadn't been able to dodge all of his attacks, and most of those that I did sustain drew quite some blood. Still, adrenaline pumped in, and despite the chaotic scenes, all I could see, and hear, were Voldemort and the two voices.
Then, Voldemort sent me a strong stunning spell that had me fallen to my knees. My back hurt so badly that I just wanted to lie down and die, but it wasn't over yet.
I was delivered the killing curse.
Strangely, I never died. Neither did Voldemort - the curse wasn't rebounded this time. The green light just went into my body, tearing me body from inside out… but never making me die.
It was at this time when the voices sounded once more, telling me to kill him while he stood, stunned my not dying… again. Somehow, my body acted against my will, kicking his wand out of hand before he could do anything, and my left hand, the one that held the dagger, flicked in an eerie manner, causing the dagger to embed itself in Voldemort's chest, much to the surprise of both me, and Voldemort.
Then, as if possessed, I walked over to Voldemort, hissing in the same tenor voice that had sounded in my head… in Parseltongue. These were the words that had been said.
"You were never my heir Riddle. My child had been brought here, forcibly taken away from me, to bring about your fall."
Voldemort's scarlet eyes had widened so large, his look of fear so evident, that I almost laughed. And laughed I did, a cold one that wasn't mine, for the other voice… the baritone one, had taken over mine.
"Shocking eh, Riddle? Your spell had brought my child's soul here, into this dimension."
The man's voice had then turned very, very cold.
"Sal and I lived in grief for the next few months while Rowena and Helga worked tirelessly to find out how our daughter just dissolved into nothingness before our very eyes. It had only been short of six months later when they found out the cause."
My hairs had stood on their ends when finally the tenor voice took over in Parseltongue once more.
"You had been the reason why I hated muggle-borns, Voldemort. You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, took away my only child. A child that hadn't been over two years old."
He had sounded so very furious that I shivered. But it was his last curse, the one that was uttered through my mouth that made my blood turn cold.
"La figment Dementor's Kiss."
I could virtually see Voldemort's soul torn apart, his mouth and eyes streaking with blood as he stopped moving. By then, I couldn't help it anymore, and sank on my knees on the floor. I was just so tire. The voices then urged me to draw back the dagger, which I did, and it was then did a pair of rings drop into my lap, held in place with a medallioned necklace.
"You've done well, Sandrilene. Go to sleep."
The two voices, melded into one, said. It sounded so soothing, and so… achingly familiar that I complied, and went to sleep. A sleep, that, for once, was void of screams and tortured faces.
It was also the first decent sleep I had that was filled with smiling faces, of my mom and dad, of all those who'd died, and you.
Surprisingly, it had been the start of some very strange dreams…
"Harry Potter!"
A shrill scream sounded throughout the house, and Harry sighed, knowing that his free time is about to end.
I'll talk about that later. Hogwarts been pretty much celebrating, I've tried not to participate in it, but usually get pulled to them anyways. The Wizarding World is still trying to recover from the year's losses… too many people had died last year. I'm really sorry about your father… but your mother is now recovering. I still visit her time and again by floo, and she's staying back with your grandparents, in France. She wanted to get away from the painful past. Not say I can't blame her for that… but.
"Harry Potter! Get down this instant!"
The high-pitched screamed sounded once again throughout the house, and Harry yelled back exasperated, "Yes, aunt Petunia!"
Ah well, I'll write more later. It's time for my own nightmare.
Love,
Harry.
Carefully, Harry blew over the ink, hoping that it would dry soon, before setting a vanishing spell on the words with wandless magic - a skill he'd acquire after the last duel, amongst many others. Then, placing the diary, quill and ink bottle under the loose floorboard, he took a deep breath and walked carefully out of the room, taking care not to upset his back wounds. The final battle against Voldemort had been over for two months, and though he had won, the injuries were not totally healed… even Madam Pomfrey's healing abilities could not speed up the healing of the ruptured organs in his body, not to mention the alarming number of broken bones.Still, he had come back to Privet Drive for the holidays, much to the disparity of Madam Pomfrey. Indeed, two weeks was not enough to heal all of his injuries. Still, Harry had made her promise not to tell the Headmaster about the extent of his injuries, and, knowing that the first diagnosis of his wounds had been after his being awakened, Professor Dumbledore could not have known how drastic his own conditions had been.
Madam Pomfrey had tutted him incessantly the day before the holidays were scheduled to start, muttering something about how idiotically stupid he had been, going back to his muggle relatives when he should be in the hospital wing, recovering. At that time, Harry just smiled quietly, giving her the innocent, lost-boy look like that of when he made her promise not to tell Dumbledore about his condition.
It had been a look that none had been able to resist, and even the ever-forbidding nurse complied, though albeit unwilling.
After all, Madame Pomfrey had started to grow fond of the young boy, and was constantly worried about the gradual change in his medical stats since he entered the hospital wing… something that wasn't exactly good. That was why she constantly sent several vials of potions via Owl Post to him, ordering him to take it if he felt unwell, and that he was to owl her if any of the wounds hurt. The black-haired boy did not do it of course, but at that time, he had acquiesced so as to placate the worried medi-witch.
Carefully walking down to the kitchen, Harry saw his uncle glower at him, and inwardly, the boy sighed, knowing that a day of work would have been scheduled for him already. Tossing a piece of paper towards him, Vernon growled, "Finish the work before we come back home! If not," the whale of a man slapped his belt against Harry's back with malice, "you'll be in for another round of fun, boy."
Harry gazed on emotionlessly, nodding his head in compliance, replying quietly, "Yes uncle Vernon."
At this, Vernon frowned, wondering why the boy no longer seemed fearful of him this summer. Last summer, Harry Potter had still been rather frightened of him, yet this summer, his eyes had turned emotionless, as if he'd seen the worst of evil and lived, as if he'd lived his life and of many others. That look… that impassive expression riled him, and he longed to make the ruly-haired boy look fearful of him once more.
With another whip of his belt, this time drawing blood on the boy's forearm, Vernon Dursley went out of the kitchen, with Petunia and Dudley in tow as they went out for the day. When the Dursleys were finally out of the room, Harry sighed, feeling his back burn once more with pain. The injuries he was sustaining from his stay with the Dursleys was getting worse than before, but still, he never felt anything. To be more specific, the pain numbed his grief…
So what if Voldemort was dead?
He had lost too many.
How do you find this? Ought I to continue? If it does, it'll definitely be HP/SS… though not necessarily slash. You'll understand later on.
La figment Dementor's Kiss: a curse whereby the Dementor's Kiss is performed via wand/wandless magic.