Just another attempt at writing in English. If you find any grammatical mistakes, please point them out to me, I’m still learning this language.

On a side-note for my Spanish readers, I’m already working on the next chapter of Eclipse. I should be able to update tomorrow morning at the latest. Anduve planeando y puliendo algunos detalles de la trama, así que… muajajaja.

He was chewing the cap of his pen. He wasn't noticing, though.

He could hear the faintly chatter of a newsreader downstairs. Surely his muggle family was sitting on the couch, drooling and wearing absent looks on their faces. He was sure their basic instincts remained, though. They would get up from the couch only to search for food in the fridge, or stumble into the walls while trying to get to the bathroom. Most of the time they wouldn’t even get there, opting to do their needs on the floor of the once-clean and bright living room.

He sighed. This was getting him nowhere. Why hadn’t he taken care of them yet?

Maybe they’d make a good present to him. After all, it’d be a better explanation than a letter. He didn’t have the ring for it.

An image is better than a thousand words. He thought.

He got up, leaving a mess of papers behind him, and took his wand.

“Such a waste of time, saving your worthless lives…” he murmured as he went downstairs, where he pulled out his wand and killed.

Harry killed, Harry tortured and Harry enjoyed it. He absently noted the blood on the walls, splashed in large red stains. It suited perfectly with the Gryffindor robes that lied at his feet.

“I wonder if they’ll notice…” he said.

He went out of the house and closed the door behind him. The sun was setting, and a wave of darkness was expanding through the sky. He walked the same path everyday; he walked to the park everyday.

And he saw him everyday.

“Hello, Harry” he was greeted by him. He was wearing an elegant black robe, one that Harry himself had bought for him at the end of last year.

“Hello, Tom” he said, sitting on a bench. The park’s lights around them were starting to turn on. “One would think that a Dark Lord has no time for cheeky little buggers like me.”

“One would think that a Gryffindor Golden Boy has not knowledge of the Dark Arts.”

“Touché.”

He smirked.

“They are dead,” said Harry, after some time.

“I thought you said you couldn’t bring yourself to finish them off.”

“Yes, but I thought it’d troublesome. You know, wards, dark magic, Dumbledore. But I had to take the chance. It was all rubbish, though. It was just some pathetic excuse he used to keep me here.”

The Dark Lord chuckled.

“He doesn’t know about the attack yet?”

“No. None of them were there when your Death Eaters attacked. Bella killed Ms. Figg before the attack was started.”

“Bella?”

“Yes, it’s better than ‘Bellatrix’. Sounds fitting only for a nymphomaniac.”

He chuckled. “She was rather enraged when she lost her prey the other day. She doesn’t know it was you, though. She thought it was Greyback, even if there wasn’t any evidence.”

“Yeah, I saw him wandering around Fudge’s mansion. He missed the whole thing though; after all, even Fudge himself didn’t notice he was dying.”

“I’d thought you were going to make it a little bit longer.”

“The fool didn’t deserve it.”

Silence met them. It was already dark, and their pale faces glowed like the moon that shone above their heads.

“What are you going to do now?”

Harry frowned.

“They kept me like a pet. They expected me to die for them. They expected me to be good, gullible, naïve. I refused, and I turned my backs on them. Is it such a terrible thing to be against a manipulator? Is it worth a life-long sentence in Azkaban?”

“We’ll see after the war.”

“We? Aren’t you here to finally kill me?”

“Why would I waste such a precious ally?”

“You don’t trust anyone. You loathe me. You just let me got away with my last wishes before you kill me.”

“You’d be surprised if I tell you, Harry; I am not what you want me to be.”

“You still murdered my parents.”

“And I don’t regret it.”

“Why?” cried Harry. A lonely bird took off suddenly from a nearby tree. “You told me you were going to kill me once I was done with them.”

“Although yes, those were my initial intentions, I don’t see why I should kill you now.”

“You want to see me carry the weight of their deaths? Granger, Weasley, the Dursleys, even Fudge? How long is it going to take until I sink under the guilt?”

“It’d be amusing, but I don’t think you’re going to regret it.”

“Then, why?”

“Aren’t we always asking that?” He smirked and leaned closer to him. “Why would you want me alive, Harry? Why haven’t you attempted to kill me yet?”

Harry backed off, and frowned.

“I…” Harry started, unsure. He bit his lower lip, and finally said “You’re stronger than me. I don’t stand a chance against you in a battle.”

“Liar,” Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowing. His wand was suddenly against Harry’s neck. “You know better than to lie to me, Harry.”

“Kill me then.”

Red eyes clashed against green ones, and the man pulled Harry’s right hand upwards, so that the boy’s wand was pointing towards his neck.

“Kill me,” the Dark Lord whispered. His mouth was merely inches above the raven-haired boy’s ears, and his warm breath made Harry shiver.

His green eyes watered, and he mouthed a silent “no”. The Dark Lord smirked. He didn’t need to look at his face to know what the boy had answered.

“Kill me Harry. Just utter the words. Am I not your nemesis? Am I not the one who killed your parents?”

“Y-you…”

“Who am I Harry? Who am I to you?”

“You said you were going to kill me…”

“But what happened, Harry? Why did you loose the will to fight? Why didn’t you attack me tonight, when you knew you had nothing to loose? You took revenge against the ones who betrayed you… why not against the one who started it all?”

“Kill me… please…”

“You wanted to avenge your parents… what would they say if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do?”

Harry’s tears were now silently falling from his eyes. The black cloak in which he was resting his chin was starting to get soaked in his misery, and the only thing he could think was…

“I’m sorry, so sorry…”

Voldemort smirked again.

“Sorry for whom, Harry? Your parents, your deceased friends, your relatives?” he asked. “Sorry about what? About becoming a murderer, about spilling blood, about betraying your parent’s beliefs?”

“Stop, please… just kill me…”

“Why? Answer me, Harry? Why should I kill you when you don’t want to kill me?”

“Because you… you are Voldemort.”

“Who is Voldemort, Harry?”

Harry buried his face into the man’s chest, and slowly, he said.

“The one I love.”