Author: pathera PM
This isn't the way things were supposed to be. Angsty. Rated for character death. Oneshot.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst - Harry P. - Words: 635 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 09-05-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3769659
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This was written before DH and is now AU. Warnings for character death and suicide. It's pretty angsty, but review anyway.
Disclaimer: I have about four dollars in my wallet. Does that sound like I'm J.K. Rowling?
"This isn't the way things are supposed to be." His eyes, eyes that the entire world knew so well, eyes that were his birthright, his family's legacy, were dead. There was no spark, no emotion. They did not shine like diamonds and their color was nothing like that of an emerald. They were dead. They were lifeless and only a shade above black.
With his dead eyes and his broken body he surveyed the carnage. Broken figures in tattered black robes and white masks littered the once pristine banks of the lake and the open spaces. Human waste littered the battle area. It reeked of death and of blood and of waste. Near the black robed bodies were others, some robed in dark blue, others in dark gray. Some of the bodies were small and youthful while others were fully adult. But they all bore one thing in common. They were all broken.
Bile rose in his throat as the smell assaulted him. It was the smell of blood. It waas the smell of vomit and of urine. It was the smell of flesh scorched. It was the smell of flesh burning. It was the smell of death. He turned away, trying to escape the smell and the sight, but it was all around him. It was in his mind when he closed his eyes. The smells were imprinted in his skin. And the sounds, the screams, the sobs, the shouting rang in his ears still. He couldn't escape the carnage, the massacre of both friend and foe.
His skin was painted with blood and grime. His robes covered. He ached everywhere. And yet…he felt nothing. Nothing until the fury came.
His own short nails dug cruelly into the flesh of his palms, drawing blood. Throwing his head back his dead eyes stared at the twinkling sky. The stars gleamed as brightly as ever, cheerful as though they didn't see the dead. "This isn't the way things are supposed to be!" He screamed and his own scream came echoing back to him. He was alone without a single person to hear his cry.
The legs that had carried him through so many things finally gave out and he collapsed to his knees. Sobs racked his body and his arms wrapped around his own skeletal frame. The grief and the heart-break only doubled as he saw the figure lying dead directly in front of him. It was the sprawled figure of a girl whose once laughing hazel eyes now stared blankly, forever frozen in terror and horror. Red hair stretched out on the ground beneath her. He stared at her through his tears and the fury came.
It filled him so completely, so terribly. It forced him to his feet and he flung his arms out wide, staring up at the sky. Once more he shouted. "This isn't the way things are suppposed to be!" He cursed and he raged and around him a pool of light gathered. It was pure magic, the light, and it formed from his fury. He screamed and the light flashed.
The light was seen miles away as it flashed and seemed to form a pillar with the sky. When it faded and the world rushed to the site of the battle they found only one thing—his body. There was nothing else except for scorch marks on the ground and dust and stains of blood.
His fury destroyed the only thing there was left—himself.