A/N: Welcome to yet another one-shot. This is an angsty, post-final battle, dark-Harry deathfic. Cheery, huh? This is sort of a revamped version of my older one-shot His Fury, or at least, this is what I really wanted His Fury to be like but didn't have the writing capabilities to say back then. Anyway, if you are allergic to angst or death is too much for you to handle, be warned. Otherwise, enjoy! Reviews are always welcome. Pairing is Harry/Ginny, which should be fairly obvious.

Disclaimer: Ack! I hate these! I don't own Harry Potter and I don't want to talk about it.

Devour

The world was hushed. People gathered around the crater in the middle of the battlefield, and the blood-spattered man who stood in the middle.

She picked her way through the carnage, moving towards him slowly but without the hesitation that had held everyone else back. He watched as she got closer.

"You shouldn't trust me." His words were soft, but in the silent world they were as loud as a shotgun blast.

She met his gaze and for the first time hesitated.

His eyes were dark.

Black, devoid of every shred of green.

Dead.

She stared at him for a moment, still and silent before she moved towards him again, breeching the inner sanctum of the circle to where the grass wasn't blackened and charred.

"You really shouldn't trust me." He said, as she stepped within range of him.

"But I do." She replied, her voice even, her eyes defiant.

He shook his head.

"Don't." He whispered.

She took one final step, moving into his automatic embrace. His lips pressed against hers and he tasted blood; whether it was his own, hers, or that of the people he had murdered didn't matter. The metallic tasted rolled on his tongue and he was sure that she tasted it too. She didn't step away though. She acted like none of it mattered.

In that moment his mind was clear, his sanity like ice and just as fragile.

He pulled away and held her close. He felt her eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

"Kill me." He whispered.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin.

"Don't ask me to do that."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her lavender shampoo, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

"Please. Before it's too late."

She pulled back, but not too far. Just far enough so that she could look into his eyes.

"Don't ask me to. Please, please, don't ask me to."

His eyes—black—bore into hers. He held her hand tightly, lacing his fingers with hers. "If you loved me, you would do it."

She closed her eyes, grimacing as if in pain. "How could I?"

"I don't want to be like him, love." He brushed one sooty finger across her cheek, leaving a dark smudge on her skin. "But I can't hold on much longer." There was a tightening in his chest, and he felt power like fire bubble under his skin, raging at him, screaming for release. He gritted his teeth and reigned the power in; his eyes went even darker and his skin went pale. He looked into her eyes.

"Please."

She stared back, her entire body shaking.

"I love you." She whispered.

He kissed her again and he tasted blood mixed with sweetness.

The power roared within him and he broke away; his eyes glowed, not black, not green, but red. Red like the monster he had just destroyed.

She smiled sadly, not fleeing in terror, not even stepping away from the maelstrom of the darkness inside of him.

"I do love you. More than anything." He held onto the power with the last bit of strength he had left; it was straining, reaching out, calling for her blood.

"I know." He whispered.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light couldn't miss.

She knelt by his body and bent her head, her hair falling in a curtain of red around her.

She touched his lips gently and her fingers came away red, stained.

"Goodbye."

And she cried.


Did I do it well? Leave me a note if I did!