Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Endgame ❯ Endgame ( Chapter 1 )

So, what's up? Anything interesting happen lately? Did anyone new become obsessed with Harry Potter?

I know I recruited at least ten new fans.

And every single one of them are absolutely insane to begin with, so it's all good.

I don't know why, but this fic is….special to me. Call me insane, but I like it.

DISCLAIMER: Nope. Not mine. ….and as far as I'm concerned, anyone who even dares try to sue better go fuck themselves first.

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Endgame

One-shot ficlet

By: Ceris Malfoy

When He came, He came in all His radiant fury. An aura of the blackest night ensheathed him in the most powerful of shields, while His phoenix-feathered wand dealt death, pain, and agony to any who dared move. He swept through the battlefield leaving none alive.

He came alone.

At first the troops had laughed. After all, what good was one wizard against thousands, millions even? But it didn't seem to matter, at least, not then. After all, if He wanted to die, what were they going to do, plead for Him to stop His foolishness? Hell, every single one of them wanted Him dead.

The moon eclipsed the sun and a foul-speaking wind arose. Trees blackened and withered away before astonished eyes; twisting and moaning as the wind battered against them. And in the center of it all, He stood, arms outstretched towards the heavens, His face seemingly set in stone as He called upon the Ancient Magics that belonged to His ancestors.

Lightning roared down upon His now silent form, determined to teach this ignorant mortal a lesson. No one called upon those magics, no one -not even the Gods dared call upon the power. But with each direct hit, He remained standing; the cold fury in His eyes growing stronger until even the lightning backed down and His request was granted.

And then it happened.

From him arose a fearful entity -one that was beholden to no man. Triumphant laughter bubbled forth from His lips, and at once the troops cringed backwards as the high-pitched laughter rose to new heights- piercing even the toughest armor as it sought to bring them back into their rightful positions -kneeling at his feet.

For this day, Death walked among the living; enshrined in a mortal body.

And then the death toll began.

And He laughed.

"Go!" Their leaders had shouted. "Destroy him!" And so the first wave descended, determined to do exactly as their leaders had demanded. And so they had marched out…

…and had died instantly.

For they had daringly looked into His blazing eyes, and found their death written in them. Just like the King of Serpents -the Basilisk- to look upon His eyes was to die.

And everything went downhill from there. He unholstered His wand and began shouting spells that no one had ever heard of before; ones they didn't know how to block. Some spells killed dozens in one go; others merely incapacitated them through agony and suffering beyond their wildest dreams -or their most feared nightmares.

"Dēstrūgere! (1) Hűllefeuer! (2) Fúrebőllr!(3) Deien! (4)" He shouted; with each word He grew that much closer to His goal. Finally, it would end. Finally, He would be free.

And then, Albus Dumbledore showed up; his face a thundercloud of hatred. And the two dueled…

…and Death won.

Albus fell to the ground -his face frozen in a mask of astonishment, as if he had seen something that could not be.

He turned and threw away His wand. At once the remaining troops descended upon Him, knowing that there was no way that He could possibly escape.

Which was, of course, their mistake. They underestimated Him. He raised His arms towards the heavens and, out of nowhere, a black fire surrounded Him. "Kűllen! (5)" He commanded; His voice deep and resonant, carrying upon it all the will He possessed. The unholy fire spread, torching the few remaining troops.

And through the fire He walked, a pathway of screaming corpses plowing the way to His goal -His bonded.

His bonded stank of fear and urine -obviously having pissed himself out of pure fear.

He grinned and bowed.

His bonded simply bowed.

They both drew swords; both wielding the ancient swords of their great House. Green and Red clashed in a battled of mind, body, magic, soul, and will; each risking death- but the reward was more than worth it.

With a savage thrust, Green plunged through Red's defenses. Green laughed exultantly -a cold, high-pitched sound that carried upon it the sound of death, hatred, and soul-lessness - as with a blood-curdling shriek, Red crumbled to the ground dead.

Triumphantly, He raised His sword to the blackened skies above.

"Victory!" He shouted, and turned…

…only to be hit by the unholy light of the Avada Kedavra; thrown by a dark figure with piercing black eyes…

…as He collapsed to the ground, He smiled, His face relaxing from its frozen emptiness for the first time in three years. "Severus?" He called.

The dark figure seemed to glide across the bloody field to Him.

And, in the true nature of the Boy-Who-Lived, He continued to defy the laws of magic just long enough (6) to mutter, "I'm free."

And then, Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, died.

Severus Snape closed his eyes and sighed.

It was over.

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So? How was this fic-let? It turned out a bit longer than was intended….

….but oh-well, I'm sure no one out there is complaining.

R/r if you want, flamers are welcome to flame.

NOTES: 1. Dēstūgere = destroy (late latin)

2. Hűllefeuer = hell fire (german)

3. Fúrebőllr = fireball (Icelandic)

4. Deien = die (middle english)

5. Kűllen = kill (german)

6. You are supposed to die instantly when you get hit with the Avada Kedavra. However, nothing ever goes right when considering Harry Potter…so…