Chapter 1 : The End
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“Today is the day that you will die,” he said, slipping dark gloves on his frail fingers. His prey laughed wildly.
“You don’t scare me,” she cackled, watching him draw his wand. “Have you no shame? I’ve been through more than you can ever imagine. You fool no one, least of all me. You can threaten me all you want.”
“I don’t think twice when dealing with filth like you. You killed my best friend. You killed my sister. I don’t take kindly to those kinds of actions, Bellatrix.” His unruly hair dangled in front of his blue eyes as he raised his wand so that it pointed directly at the dark-haired woman’s throat. A single tear slid down his fair skin.
“I’m not afraid to die. You have me here, bound, and how many others? It’s too bad the Dark Lord has fallen for the final time - you’d have made a wonderful Death Eater.” And these were her final words, spoken just before his wand sliced the air. Bellatrix Lestrange slumped down into her wooden tomb. He picked her up and placed her to the side, next to the body of her husband, Rodolphus. Then, he slithered into the adjacent room and looked at those he had yet to prey upon. All the Death Eaters who survived the final battle sat against the bloodstained walls, their heads hanging with the weight of the future.
“Mm,” he pondered. “I’ll take you next, Fenrir Greyback. It’s too bad there's no full moon. I would have loved a challenge.”
“And I would have loved to change your sniveling existence into a werewolf, you son of a bitch.” The Killer laughed coldly.
“I am so exceedingly offended. However, I do not have time to develop a temper; I’m too busy killing all your friends. You defaced my brother and killed one of the others. For that I cannot forgive you.”
“You think I’m afraid to die, boy?” Greyback laughed. “You have no idea half the things I’ve seen.” The man then broke free of his bindings and lunged at The Killer. He was dead before his feet left the floor.
“Let this be a lesson to the rest of you,” The Killer snarled. “If you would like to live longer, don’t push me - I certainly don’t want to be toyed with, I have no patience for any of you.” He turned on his heel and went back into the other room, where he contemplated the next person he was to kill. He heard a sob from the room he had just left and his choice became clear.
“Ah, little Peter Pettigrew, my smallest, most happy pet. I would love you to have a spot on my wooden chair.”
“I…. Show mercy, please! I was your rat, remember?”
“Ah, but I do remember. I also remember how you sold out my best friend. I remember how you murdered Cedric Diggory; I remember how you were the major reason for the Dark Lord’s return. I remember how you made my life a living hell. And now I will be ending your life.”
Peter Pettigrew screamed until the very end, sobbing, begging for the same mercy that Harry Potter had once shown him. But the killer did not have time for mercy.
One by one, he slaughtered the remaining Death Eaters, whether it was those who had escaped, or those he had managed to smuggle out of the prisons in the last few days. Since the final battle had ended, and most of his friends had been murdered, The Killer had barely anything left to live for. Even the most beautiful creature in his life, the one he was certain he would end up marrying; even she had died due to injuries sustained in the final battle. Harry Potter and Voldemort had ended up killing each other due to the power their wands released. His sister, four of his brothers, and his mother had all perished for the cause. And for some reason he had not yet discovered, he had been left alive to try and recreate a life.
But he knew that he could never live with all of those who made his life so miserable for so long still alive. And so he killed them, meticulously, carefully, one by one. The last of them to die was Draco Malfoy. He had been the one to give Hermione Granger her debilitating wounds. He had claimed that he was trying to save her, that he had switched last minute to the Order of the Phoenix; he tried to convince The Killer that Hermione had gotten in the way of one of Bellatrix’s spells. The Killer did not believe him, not for a single moment in time, and that is why Draco Malfoy was slaughtered without any final words.
When he was finished, the room in which he had committed his deeds was littered with lifeless bodies. Bellatrix Lestrange’s dull eyes stared at him, taunting him. The Killer screamed, sending more killing spells her way, despite the fact that she was all ready encumbered in an eternal sleep. With every hit, her body convulsed, and The Killer laughed at his power. He had finally been the one to end the wench’s life.
The Killer had a body count of fourteen. He had gone into a Muggle shop and bought three cans of gasoline. Hermione had taught him about Muggle money, and he was thankful she had. The Killer then picked up the cans and doused the room with the foul smelling liquid. Without another word, he vacated the room. He apparated outside the building, pointed his wand at it, and whispered, “Incendio.” The house lit afire, and The Killer turned and walked away, his robes billowing behind him.
He climbed a hill and sat to watch the blaze level the house. Tears poured out of the clear blue eyes as he thought of all those he had lost. There had been so many that had died at the hands of the second war, and it had been over for nearly three months. The Killer was the only one left. He thought of Harry, his lifeless eyes as The Killer crawled over to him after the battle had ended.
“Harry,” he had whispered, reaching out to the raven haired man. His skin had been cold. The Killer had been shaken, and he had gone to find his fair Hermione. But upon arriving to her, she had large gashes on her flawless face, and her eyes were glassy and still. It was at this point that the Killer had lost it, and he had vowed to achieve vengeance.
Now, it was all over. Their deaths had been avenged, and what was left? The Killer’s life goal had finally been accomplished, although all those he cared about had not made it, and the Aurors would probably be after him soon.
“Let them come,” The Killer whispered. He lay down on the soft green grass and curled up in a ball.
When he was younger, this was the position he always slept in. He remembered his mother and father coming in when he was younger to give him a kiss goodnight, and even if he was still awake, he curled up in a ball to let them know that he understood it was time to sleep. They would stand by his pillow, kiss his cheek, and say his name softly, so as not to wake him. The Killer sobbed at the memory, his body convulsing much the way Bellatrix’s had when he so cruelly probed it with the killing curse after her death.
He thought of his mother and father, of his brothers and sister, of his Hermione, and of Harry; he thought of Dumbledore, and Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, of Minerva McGonagall, and Hagrid, all of whom died in the second war or before it had truly begun.
The Killer gritted his teeth, the pain in his stomach worsening with each thought of the past. Everything had been so perfect, and now nothing would be that way ever again.
The Killer stayed on the grassy knoll with his knees drawn in towards his chest as he rested on his side. The day turned to night, and the house slowly became nothing more than a smoldering ruin. No one had come yet, yet The Killer was fine with that. He fell asleep that night underneath the tree that had shaded him during his childhood. He fell asleep to his own sobs at the losses he had endured.
He fell asleep, through it all. And he found peace there, where there could never be peace again.
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