AN: This is possibly the hardest thing I have ever written in my whole life.

For the 'I'm about to die' challenge on HPFC.

From Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:
The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marking the point the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to have full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward."



So close and yet so far.

Philosopher's Stone.

Harry Potter.


Harry Potter.

Invading Minds.

Harry Potter.


Does one feel pieces of their soul become nothing? How is one to know? I was without body when the diary was destroyed. Is it a pained feeling, is it hidden, does such a feeling exist?

I can recover no books on the subject, they have all disappeared.

Does Harry Potter possess these texts?

Does Harry Potter know?

I see the boy now. He scorned me by refusing to die. He scorned me by staying on the 'light', is not the term subjective, light with its positive connotation, the self-appointed righteous calling others 'dark'.

Harry Potter walks with the bravado of a temple guard. He is awake and yet he was dead. The Malfoy bitch assured me he was dead. How careless I was. Such a mistake will never be committed again. I was stupidly drunk with the thought that I had murdered my personal menace.

Yet, how?

This question currently plagues me. How could Harry Potter resurrect? A murky memory resurfaces. A dim classroom, a fat priest, the other scrawny orphans, a story of self-sacrifice, of giving…

Harry Potter is a fool. To sacrifice himself for others, I have won. He can not beat me, not as my soul remains in pieces. I will continue to split, taking lives is nothing.

He can not have battled all the impediments; he could not have achieved this, not within seventeen years.

I am Master of the Elder Wand.

One step and then another, that is right Harry Potter, come closer to me so that I can finish what should have been done so long ago…

It will be too easy the boy is too weak to cast the curse. He is not strong-willed enough to want it enough. Not even to defeat me.

Avada Kedavra

I watch admiringly as my green jet graces the air, as every fool turns their head. One nameless follower hits the floor, everyone has let their shields down. The Malfoys have defected, that red-haired blood-traitor is murmuring archaic prayer and Harry Potter is glaring intently.

The gold reappears. I want the incessant colour to leave. I want it to vanquish, for my spell to blast through the barrier.

I feel my wand slide and I struggle to gain control, IT IS MINE.

I will be immortal.

The wand falls from my fingers.

He can not be the master of the Elder wand.

Spinning across the room.

Could he have found the Hocruxes?

Harry Potter reaches across…

The curse turns,

It will rebound from my body, I who have spent years searching and conniving.

I have but an instant to prepare.


AN: Translated into French, Voldemort (Vol de Mort) means 'Flight from Death'.

I don't want to force my beliefs on anyone but some allegory was written by Rowling. I used this. It is also plausible that at the orphanage some basic religious instruction was given.

Please review.