FicWad

Dark clouds hung in the sky, shrouding the moon, which had moments before cast a silvery glow on Hogwarts castle. I sat on the damp grass, the earth beneath me cold and unyielding in contrast to the warmth that once radiated from the heart of our beloved school. Now, an unsettling silence enveloped everything, amplifying the weight of my despair, rendering the occasional comforting hand on my shoulder futile and distant.

"He can't be dead... he can't be,” Hagrid repeated, his voice tinged with a deep, gnawing denial that mirrored the sentiment lodged in the pit of my own stomach. How could this be the end? This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. The words wavered in the air, heavy with disbelief, barely rising above the soft sounds of anguish that permeated the crowd of students and teachers.

I gripped my wand tightly, the cool surface grounding me as icy fingers of wind danced around my neck. Shivers raced down my spine, not from the cold but from the terrible reality before me—Albus Dumbledore, our guiding light, lay motionless on the Hogwarts grounds. Just hours ago, we had ventured into the depths of a cave to hunt down a horcrux; another piece of an immortal puzzle had been retrieved, but at what cost? Now a pall of darkness blanketed my mind, each heartbeat underscoring a relentless ache with the finality of loss.

The loss of Sirius still felt painfully fresh, even a year later. The sorrow had carved out a hollow space within me, where hope once resided. I never anticipated another wound so soon, one so deep that it left me struggling to breathe.

Tears welled in my eyes as I fixated on the grass, counting blades and tracing their edges, anything to avoid the painful truth. Yet, the realisation sank deeper—it felt cruel to hide, to deny the horror and grief etched on the faces of the mourners, my friends, as they leaned towards me, wishing to comfort me. Though I sensed their worried glances, all I felt was a crushing isolation, alone in a suffocating darkness.

Arms suddenly enveloped me, a protective cocoon that exuded warmth. Yet, I flinched and pushed it away, feeling undeserving of comfort. Dumbledore lay lifeless before me, and those around me were shattered. I tried to take deep, steady breaths, but each inhale turned ragged as deeper panic pushed against my ribs, demanding release. In a futile effort to halt the relentless tide of grief, I pressed my palms against my temples, only compounding the ache.

A soft, trembling voice uttered "Harry...", but its words were lost on me. An overwhelming emptiness had taken hold, a void no language could fill. My throat constricted, rendering me speechless. Any words would feel woefully inadequate to express the heaviness weighing on my heart or make sense of this senseless absence.

As I turned, I caught sight of Ron and Hermione, tears streaming down their cheeks. I yearned to reassure them, to promise that we would overcome this trial together, drawing strength from Dumbledore's teachings. Yet I remained silent, paralysed by the throes of sorrow, devoid of resolve or assurance to offer.

My gaze remained fixed on Dumbledore's unmoving chest, desperately searching for any sign of life. As I finally looked up, I found myself surrounded by a sea of students and professors, their faces a blur of concern and disbelief. The tragedy had seemed to leach all colour from the world, leaving behind only muted shades of grief and despair.

“Harry, we... we should go,” Ron croaked hoarsely, his gaze averted. The simple suggestion carried a weighty gravity that churned my stomach.

Hagrid's gentle nudge on my shoulder broke through the muffled cries and sobs around us. "Let's go, Harry, 'fore the night gets darker," he rumbled, his voice thick with sorrow, yet laced with the kindness that pulled me back from the abyss. I looked around, hoping against reason that magic might conjure him back, his warm laughter filling our hearts once more.

“Harry, let’s go,” Ginny whispered, her voice cracking like glass against stone.

It was then that I realised she was the one sobbing beside me. Emotion churned within me, battling with a pang of futile anger. What good were words when every syllable felt like a betrayal? At that moment, I struggled to find the right way to comfort her. I could barely even console myself.

As I rose, a wave of nausea overcame me, and the world spun. Ginny swiftly caught me, her grip steadying my faltering steps. Without her support, I would have collapsed to the ground, limp as discarded parchment. I felt her heartbeat against my shoulder, a vulnerable yet living presence. In that bleak moment, I realised I was not alone, yet the crushing weight of my sorrow still ran deeper than I had imagined.

The students parted; they watched me with wide, pitying eyes, as if sensing my imminent collapse. Each agonising step was a stark reminder of my profound grief. This ravenous sorrow clawed at my insides, demanding I succumb to its anguish. I feared I could no longer endure.

Suddenly, a searing pain lanced through my scar, far more intense than the persistent ache that had plagued me since that fateful night. Crumpling to my knees on the unyielding ground, I clutched my head, the familiar burden of grief bearing down on my temples.

“Harry!” Ginny's fearful voice echoed in my ears, cutting through the anguish that consumed me. Despite the pandemonium surrounding us—distant shouts and the ominous howl of the wind—I lacked the strength to reply. Sprawled on the ground, I writhed, trapped in a self-inflicted hell.

"Stay with me, Harry!" she pleaded, her grave concern tugging at my heart, but the searing pain radiating from the lightning bolt scar on my forehead consumed my focus.

Agony constricted my throat, choking back my attempts to speak and convey my struggle. Warm, insistent hands gripped my back and arms as I fought to anchor myself in reality amidst the swirling shadows. The once-familiar faces of friends who had fought alongside me now twisted in expressions of horror and helplessness.

As I pulled my hand from my forehead, the air erupted with gasps like the sound of shattering glass. Staring at my shaking fingers, I was horrified by what I saw—my scar bleeding profusely, thick crimson streams flowing and staining my skin with an ancient, fearful trace. This was unlike anything I had experienced before. It felt like a cruel reminder that I could not escape the past, as my nightmares had become reality.

Hermione knelt beside me, her eyes intently examining my injury. "Harry, keep your focus on me," she said, her steady voice cutting through the chaos. "What's going on?"

"I—I don't know," I rasped, the words emerging with difficulty. "It feels—"

Sudden pops and a nearby scream sent my heart racing. A creeping dread washed over me, making my skin crawl. Frozen, I sat paralysed by the unbearable decision weighing on my very being. If I looked up, I knew I would confront Lord Voldemort himself. Yet, for some reason, his presence did not inspire the same terror it did in others, even as I bared my vulnerabilities.

Somehow, he had managed to penetrate Hogwarts' protective spells, likely due to Dumbledore's death and his own formidable magic. The realisation filled my mind with a chilling thought—had we grown so weak?

All around me, people stood frozen in stunned silence, their eyes wide with alarm. Even seasoned members of Dumbledore's Army and the Hogwarts professors were immobilised, many catching their first glimpse of Voldemort. I could feel their terror palpably, a suffocating cloud blanketing the entire courtyard. Voldemort had arrived, and he certainly knew how to make a grand entrance.

A lean, shadowy figure materialised before me, the darkness clinging to his form like a second skin. His lips curled into a sly, cruel smile, exuding an air of unsettling confidence. I drew a sharp breath, my emotions swirling—fear, anger, and a compulsion to intervene. Rendered speechless, I felt utterly insignificant against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume us.

A sudden surge of Death Eaters sprang from the shadows, their black robes billowing ominously around them. Panic swelled within me as they formed a tight, menacing circle—wands drawn, shields raised in unison, a wave of malevolence poised to crash down upon us. In that moment, I grasped the full scale of our predicament—the odds were overwhelmingly against us. They outnumbered us greatly, and any chance of escape seemed a distant fantasy.

The word "No!" burst involuntarily from my throat, a desperate plea for those around me to fight back, to resist the encroaching darkness. But my anguished cries fell on deaf, unresponsive ears. I could feel it then—the rising pressure in my scar—a throbbing that pulled tight like a vice. The pain hit, sharp and focused, launching me into an abyss of agony that tore through my being.

“Ah!” My scream echoed through the night, the sound absorbing the gasps of fear that met it, capturing everyone’s attention. The sharpness reverberated off the castle walls.

Voldemort's gaze locked onto mine, his eyes like swirling pools of serpentine rage and dark victory. For a fleeting moment, I felt a strange connection—a gravitational pull. He was not merely a figure of evil but a reflection of the choices I faced. It was as if he could see into my heart, recognising my fear but also my unyielding spirit.

The oppressive night air choked me with dread, a familiar yet unsettling sensation. I had faced horrors before, but this was different. "Children wandering the castle grounds at this hour," Voldemort's chilling voice pierced the silence. "Such a delightful sight.”

Bellatrix Lestrange's cruel laughter erupted beside him, slicing through the tense atmosphere like a knife. Around me, the people were frozen in terror—whimpering, trembling, some paralysed with shock. I struggled to breathe, the air thick with fear and the lingering stench of decay.

Then there was my scar. It throbbed, a hot serpent coiling around my skull, its grip tightening with each heartbeat. My body trembled. The looming figure of Voldemort drew nearer, his faint red eyes pinning me down, my heart nearly stopping.

With each advancing step, my resolve crumbled, my strength sapping away. Adrift and helpless, I hung suspended like a marionette whose strings had been cut. My wand lay tantalisingly out of reach, but I lacked the courage to grasp it, the effort feeling utterly futile.

Gasping desperately, I struggled to draw in a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would somehow chase away the searing pain. But there was no relief—the angry scar pulsed with a menacing life of its own, and with each throb, my fear swelled, wrapping tightly around my racing heart like the coils of Devil's Snare.

He was right in front of me now, Voldemort's presence suffocating. I could see the contours of his ghastly features, the way shadows clung to him, twisting him into a nightmare made flesh. As I met his gaze, the world around me vanished. Those eyes—they burnt with a vile mixture of hatred and insatiable hunger, embodying all that was wrong in the world.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he growled, his icy voice laced with menace that threatened to bury me alive. My pulse raced, a wild, frantic drumbeat pounding against the relentless chill of his words.

A raw, undignified scream escaped my lips. Tears streamed down my face, blurring the hideous figure before me. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, desperately trying to anchor myself to some semblance of reality. But with each passing moment, the encroaching darkness surged upwards, enveloping me like a familiar, unwelcome embrace.

I blocked out his words, completely absorbed in the pain that was consuming me. It was a blinding, roaring fire in my forehead that spread through my entire body in waves, crashing against the walls of my mind. I could hear the echoes of my heart pounding against my ribcage, a frantic tattoo that synced with a fear I could feel in my bones. Voldemort’s laughter, twisted and cruel, floated around me. It felt wrong, so profoundly wrong, but in this moment, I could hardly focus on anything but the burning agony.

With a cruel snap of his fingers, he wrenched my chin upward, exposing my bloodied face for his twisted delight. Blood streamed down my forehead and cheeks, blurring my vision, yet I could not escape his iron grip. I writhed and squirmed like a cornered animal, but my struggles proved futile.

As if that wasn’t enough, Voldemort cruelly snatched my glasses from my face and crushed them beneath his feet, the sound sharp and final. I felt helpless and utterly blind. The world around me became warped and unrecognisable, shadows merging together, and each figure distant and grotesque.

His face hovered above mine, its malicious glint reflecting in his eyes. “You understand the significance of Dumbledore’s death, don’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. I could barely comprehend the words through the pain and confusion that enveloped me. Dumbledore… the thought of him sent a shudder through my body. The great man who had guided me and believed in me had been taken—taken by the very evil that now toyed with my life.

The curse struck me before I could react, searing my heart like a lightning bolt. Molten agony erupted in my stomach, spreading like wildfire. My body convulsed involuntarily, and I doubled over, retching blood onto the cold, damp ground. The sharp, bitter taste of metal was a tangible testament to my suffering.

Voldemort's cold gaze bore down on my writhing form as he kept his wand trained on me. I searched his lifeless eyes, desperate to find a shred of humanity, but saw only an endless void of cruelty. "I can inflict torment beyond your darkest nightmares, Harry," he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt.

Though I hadn't witnessed his incantation, the palpable effects of the sorcerer's dark, silent magic were undeniable. The ground beneath my feet smouldered like molten rock, and my laboured breaths stabbed sharply through my chest. Desperate to resist, I yearned to scream and fight back, yet found myself sinking further into a suffocating abyss of despair.

Despite my leaden limbs and dulled senses, every word and sound pierced the veil of my agony with razor-sharp clarity. Then, Hermione's familiar voice cut through the encroaching darkness. "Stop!" she cried. "What are you doing to him? Stop it!"

Even though her cry echoed in the air, I struggled to form coherent thoughts. I strained my eyes, desperately attempting to make sense of the blurry shapes around me. All I could discern were silhouettes, but I knew their faces—my friends, my family—captives like me in this nightmare. I longed for the comfort of their presence, yet I felt utterly powerless to reach them, to reassure them that even if I couldn’t see them, I was still here.

“Can you see, Harry?” Voldemort taunted, his words laced with mocking malice. “Your friend wanted to be of assistance.”

Hermione’s voice quivered, a fragile thread of determination amid her sobs. “You’re murdering him!”

“Murdering him?” Voldemort laughed, a cold, hollow sound that chilled me to the bone. “I would never stoop so low—for now." Though I couldn't see him, I felt the weight of his dark gaze boring into me, savouring my torment and revelling in the power he held over me.

His twisted power unleashed another agonising wave that made my body convulse uncontrollably. I coughed up more blood, splattering the crimson liquid onto the ground around me. Each laboured breath dragged the heavy weight of despair deeper onto my chest.

“Please, stop!” Ginny’s voice broke through. There was desperation in her tone, and I wished I could gather the strength to comfort her, to reassure her that I would fight and that I would endure. But the words died on my lips; weakness bound me like chains.

Voldemort revelled in my anguish, clinging to it gleefully. "Do you truly believe Harry Potter cannot endure the pain?" he sneered. "Hear that, Harry. They mistakenly think you are weak."

Amidst the depths of my anguish and bewilderment, I fought the urge to cry out, determined to prove my strength and refuse despair. Despite the mocking laughter of Death Eaters ringing in my ears and the overwhelming temptation to surrender, I summoned every last ounce of willpower to stand firm against this cruelty.

I fixed my gaze on Voldemort's venomous stare, his icy breath caressing my skin. My heart pounded in my chest, drowning out the cries of my friends.

“Don’t worry, I have all the time in the world to break him. This is just the beginning,” he threatened again.

Voldemort forcefully grabbed my hair, yanking me upright. His pale, twisted face hovered inches from mine. Although I wanted to retaliate, to spit in his face and reclaim the fragments of my dignity, I forced myself to see nothing—neither the people around me nor my friends, bound and broken in the shadows. Their survival was worth more than my momentary pride.

Warm blood trickled down my neck as his cruel fingers tightened their grip. Panic flared within me, quickening my breath. Though I struggled to pull away, he held me firmly in place, a predator savouring his helpless prey.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a crimson light streaking towards Voldemort. My heart skipped a beat as I recognised the spell—it had the air of a distraction yet appeared determined and fierce. With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort deflected the curse, his surprised expression piercing through the haze of fear that enveloped me.

His sinister gaze burnt with curiosity as he turned to discern who had dared challenge him. In that instant, the weight of everything crushed me, and I crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. I felt the cool earth beneath me and feebly turned my head to find my friends. Their presence comforted me, as I took solace in knowing they continued to fight on my behalf.

Voldemort stepped back, his wand a dark extension of his hand. "You dare to curse me," he hissed, his voice slithering into the air like smoke.

Even from the ground, I felt the world spinning, but I focused on Neville, whose voice trembled yet held a flicker of defiance. "Yes, I do. But I’m still learning,” he replied.

"Perhaps you require a demonstration," Voldemort responded coolly.

"Voldemort, no!" I croaked, mustering the strength to speak.

Dread seized me as I witnessed Voldemort, a predator, glide menacingly towards Neville. In that moment, I fully grasped the peril we faced. Panic coursed through me, and I strained to rise, but my body betrayed me, sinking helplessly back into the dirt.

Gritting his teeth, Neville called out to the members of Dumbledore's Army, "Guys, let me go." His determination was unwavering, yet I painfully recognised that he stood alone against a monstrous foe.

"Impressive," Voldemort mocked. "You have devoted followers who heed your commands. Are they your slaves?"

"They're friends who support me," Neville retorted, his tone calm. "Unlike you, who have no true allies."

The weight of those words hung in the air like a thunderclap, challenging the very essence of Voldemort. A twisted chuckle escaped his lips. "I have Death Eaters who obey my every command. Shall I demonstrate their loyalty?"

Dread crept up my spine, icy and foreboding. "No!" I cried out, my voice raw and frantic, desperate to ward off the looming peril. Instinctively, I lurched forward, reaching for Neville, but a frigid grip seized me, rooting me in place just as I moved.

"You’re not going anywhere," Lucius Malfoy declared smoothly, his face twisted into a malicious sneer. With a flick of his wand, I was forcefully shoved back to the ground, the cool earth pressing against my cheek.

Overwhelming dread swept over me, rendering me nearly immobile. Still, I had to warn Neville. With great effort, I whispered, "Stand down..." though I doubted anyone could hear me amidst the palpable tension.

Just as I was about to break free, a slicing sound caught me off guard and made my breath hitch.

"You'd do well to show some respect," Voldemort said coldly.

My heart raced with a wild rhythm of fear and fury coursing through my veins. I clenched my fists, glaring at the embodiment of all I despised, my resolve hardening.

But then a sound pierced through my fury—Neville's sickening cry, followed by gasps that echoed like shouts across the courtyard.

“Neville!” I gasped, my voice strained and weary, each syllable dripping with disbelief. "What have you done?" I demanded.

Voldemort's chilling chuckle reverberated through the darkness. "Nothing too serious," he said, "just a minor scratch."

The Death Eaters' laughter seeped into the air, filling me with dread. Through my blurred vision, I saw Neville trembling uncontrollably, struggling to stay upright. A trickle of red ran down his neck.

Did Voldemort unleash a stinging hex? The injury could have been much worse—Voldemort's curse could have severely injured Neville's neck or arm or even caused him to lose an eye. Worse yet, the attack could have been fatal.

“What do you want?” I demanded, my voice surprisingly strong, which belied my inner trepidation. I glared at him, though my gaze wavered. “You don’t need to harm them," I insisted, pounding my chest. “Harm me instead.”

Voldemort crouched before me, predatory, as he contemplated my response. "Harry," he hissed, his voice frigid, "I cannot simply torture you. I must account for the others who wish to be involved. Surely you understand this is not solely my decision?"

Voldemort's cruel words hung in the air, momentarily sowing doubt in my mind. Was I merely a pawn in his larger scheme? But remembering my friends, each bound to this nightmare, steeled my resolve. "I'm the one you want," I shot back, adrenaline surging. "Direct your torments at me, not them!"

Voldemort's lips curled into a malicious smile, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "You're quite brave, but I was merely teaching your friend a lesson. He needs to learn the consequences of crossing me. You know I don't tolerate insolence."

The stinging words cut deeper than any physical blow. Neville was sacrificing himself for me, and I felt overwhelming guilt welling up inside. My heart raced, but I forced myself to hold Voldemort's gaze.

Then, Voldemort changed tactics. Suddenly, I felt his silken yet unyielding grip on my face, and panic shot through me. I tried to jerk away, but his vice-like hold ensured I fully grasped the depth of my dire predicament. The moment his icy fingers made contact, I was thrust into a visceral agony—a sharp, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from the core of my being. As the darkness closed in, bolts of fire erupted across every inch of my body, and I struggled desperately to breathe.

“No! Stop!” I cried out, pushing every ounce of strength into my voice. I begged him with desperation that echoed off the castle walls, “Please, just stop.”

But my words fell on deaf ears. The anguished screams of my friends blended with Voldemort's hollow chuckle, creating a symphony of despair. I could scarcely distinguish their cries from my own agonising thoughts, as the pain consumed me entirely.

Tears streaming down my face, I begged once more, but Voldemort remained unmoved, his red eyes glowing with sinister delight as he toyed with my suffering. The agony intensified, a searing sensation twisting within me like uncoiling venom.

“Please,” I gasped, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Begging will not save you, child," Voldemort hissed. He leaned in, the metallic stench of blood so pungent it churned my stomach. "You must understand the power of fear. Embrace it. See how it transforms you."

The pain surged again at his command, radiating from my scar to my very core. It splintered my resolve, extinguishing hope as hatred's fire coursed through me. Each stab, each jolt, made me want to slip away, disconnect from the reality that chained me to this monster.

The world spun around me, and I teetered on the edge of consciousness. The muted echoes of my surroundings faded into nothingness as my own frantic heartbeat drowned out Voldemort's taunts. I could only muster a feeble attempt to beg him to stop before losing consciousness entirely.