Disclaimer: Strange as it may seem, I don't own anything you might recognise. I bet none of you could have guessed that by yourselves, right? Thanks go to Raw Gold (jamaillith on livejournal) for the challenge – which was to write something including doves. Reviews, as always, much welcomed.

The Blood of Doves

Harry Potter dies.

It is not the glorious death he deserves. He does not go down in a blazing battle that people will remember for a thousand years. He has no time for last words, no time for a speech to inspire the masses to fight after he is gone.

Instead, he dies in a mess of bubbling blood and shocked eyes as acid rakes over him, rendering him unable to even scream. It had probably taken the Dark Lord a long time to plan out the death and it was viciously effective.

Harry Potter is dead.

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In the wizarding world, a dove represents the hope of a single person. It is considered a sin to kill a dove, for who knows whose hope you are killing? Even the worst of Death Eaters hold back in fear that they may be harming something they do not understand.

The sight of white feathers in the air is considered as good an omen you can get, and in antiquity many wizards refused to battle if there were no doves to herald the coming fight. The dove is purity, is light, is hope.

Harry Potter is the heart beating in many of these doves. He is the figurehead on which fragile hopes rest. Their white feathers depend on his willpower and his strength. Harry Potter holds hope in his every breath.

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Lord Voldemort is the devil and his hands are red with the blood of the doves he has killed.