Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Universe, or any of the characters. All I am doing is bending them to my will.
Being on the front lines of a war at age 23 is quite scary. Especially when the weight of the world is on your shoulders. If I fail the whole world goes to hell and the reign of a monster will take over.
I started in this war as a child; very quickly I was faced with adulthood. It basically slapped me in the face. I was no longer that innocent child who did not know the meaning of death; I was a machine, a monster if you will.
Molded and crafted for a single goal, defeating the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. It started as defeating him; it slowly turned into murdering him. There is no way to defeat that monster that is known as Tom Riddle. You can only eliminate him, not defeat him and throw him in jail. No, you must kill him, it. It is a better word for the idea of what he became.
Tom Riddle was packed with hatred at the world from the moment he was created. Abandoned by his family, left to the will of the society. He gave in to the temptation, and let his anger build at the wrong people and things. It overcame him and now he has become an it. Something that hates everyone and everything.
He feeds lies to his mindless servants; they believe they are fighting for his reign over the muggles. Little do they know, their master is planning on taking over everything and even plans on making them slaves among the muggles.
We grew up in similar environments, surrounded by people that hated us. As he gave into the hatred, I fought it and I subconsciously let it build. It grew to a point that it was able to overcome me, and has now consumed me. But unlike Lord Voldemort I do not have it directed at the world, my hatred is focused solely on him and his servants.
I was trained by the best in the world, taught spells by the most brilliant. I had become the beacon of the light. I was the hero; I was the one to end the reign of terror. The perfect example of true power in the light.
I have failed them already. I gave in; the lure of the darkness was too much for me. I thought I could handle it. I was warned the dark arts alluring power was strong. I had no idea how strong it was.
I started out only using the dark arts in tight situations, and by tight I mean no chance of survival. The select use turned more and more frequent. Until it came to the point that I had became a Dark Mage. Darkness flowed threw my body and it felt good. I felt unstoppable, almighty if you will.
That was all until I was put in my place by Voldemort himself. I thought I was ready, I thought I had the capability to finish him. How wrong I was.
The battle was long and grueling. Both sides had lost significant numbers, but that wasn't even the brunt of the aftermath. I had lost hope, I felt as if I couldn't do it. I truly felt that we had lost, that I had lost. I had failed the Wizarding World, my mother, my father and most importantly I had failed myself.
I hadn't been brutal enough. I didn't have the anger; I didn't truly crave the power of controlling life and death.
By a mere chance of luck, Voldemort's followers that remained alive had fled the battle scene. The army of light stood behind their broken hero and looked death in the face. They stood ready to fight. Voldemort had seen this and took his leave. Foolishly leaving behind his chance of killing me.
His fear of death had cost him the only opportunity I ever will allow him again to kill me.
As I lay on the ground broken and battered, I felt humiliated. Voldemort had bested me, and only because of the sheer amount of people ready to fight had he left. It was not due to my power, or the fact that he thought I was going to kill him. It was because he was outnumbered and he knew it. Even someone of his magnitude of power couldn't have killed all of those people.
I left the battle field that day broken. It had taken me weeks after to regain my mental stability to continue to prepare. Now I have even more determination to kill him, but that seed of doubt is still planted.
Everyday I go on a raid, attacking Death Eater strong holds, killing all those I can find, I come closer and closer to understanding and controlling the fate of life. I really had become a monster, a killing machine.
It was not until Death Eaters had attacked the Burrow that I truly had the mental capability to kill carelessly. After every murder before the attack I had been sick. I would throw up in revulsion of what I had done. I knew it had to be done, but it still affected me.
After the attack on the Burrow, where everyone that had ever shown me care and love had died, was I able to get pleasure in the killings. I took a great deal of joy in knowing that I had eliminated another Death Eater. It was then that I had realized I was on the same level as Voldemort, only my goal was to benefit the Wizarding World and society itself, not destroy it.
That did not change the fact that I took pleasure in dominating people. I have even lowered myself to raping the wives of Death Eaters; trying to make them feel the same amount of pain I felt when they killed my family. Even though I do it for revenge does not change the fact that I do enjoy it myself. Right now, even thinking about it gets me excited.
The fact that I know I am truly crazy tends to add to the effect of what I do. What might that be you ask? Inspire fear in the hearts and minds of Death Eaters, Voldemort and anyone else who thinks they can steal the Wizarding World from under my watch.
People know I am dark, that I am not mentally stable but they follow me anyways, because they know that even though I am sick and twisted I will not allow the one thing that ever brought me joy to crumble under the rule of Voldemort.
Day after day passes by and the final battle is getting closer and closer. Voldemort knows it and is preparing, I know it and I am preparing. It will be an all out struggle for the fate of the world. I will either accomplish my goal or I will die trying. But I do have one advantage over Voldemort, he fears death and the only thing I fear is seeing all the disappointed faces of my family if I fail.
Being on the front lines of a war at age 23 is quite scary. Especially when the weight of the world is on your shoulders
A/N: If you feel you didn't like this short excerpt, then by all means leave me a flame, but at least make it constructive. Everything written in this was my take on the final battle and how I feel it should be done.
I also know I am not that great of a writer but at least go easy on me.