Avada Kedavra

Pushing, pulling, dragging, swaying, dying, fearing, braving, trying. Almost there, but still not quite.

But I still put up the good effort. He is going to fall.

I can see in his eyes, he's too pompous for his own good.

I can smell his sweat. So he is human.

I can taste his fear. Though he tries to cover it, I know it's there.

I can hear his strain. He is getting weak; perhaps he'll fall.

No. I can feel his weakness. He is going to fall. The only question is: will it be before me?

Many times I've tried to defeat him, but he always comes back. Nothing is successful. Will I ever win? Is this destined to go on forever?

This fight. Always this fight. Always between us. Us, the 'Famous Harry Potter' and the 'Feared Lord Voldemort.' I've got to win. I've got to take him. But can I? Am I strong enough for this?

He whispers something inaudible, and his wand flashes violently. I can feel myself weaken. But so is he. It's the bond we share. It's just how it is.

I must remain as I have always...

Bold, brave, smart, quick, strong, alluring, dramatic, victorious.

I try; he tries harder. I push he pulls. I can feel myself falling. I can feel myself go further in. I have so little hope left. Can I do it?

I cannot hold much longer.

He sways, is there hope yet? Is there hope that this mighty will fall? Am I being foolish?

I fall to my knees. I must try one last effort.

I say what there is left to say.

I say the only thing that can save me now, despite the fact that I didn't want to use it on him.

This is all I have, these two simple words.

They are my salvation. I call them. I must.

He hangs his head slightly, and this is my chance.

"Avada Kedavra..."

I allow the words to hang there, suspended in mid air.

They begin to drift, feather soft, to the ground, as his body slumps and falls lifeless.

Where I was once upon my knees, I find myself falling back onto the soft dirt of the muddy ground. It is cold, and it nips at my cuts. I bleed a victor's blood.

I have won.

I have defeated him.

I can feel myself falling back... I am too weak to go on. But that doesn't matter. I have killed him, and now, those on my side of the war's spectrum can take over. Whether or not they have me.

And it shall go in the history books that I won the fight and killed him.

Lord Voldemort defeats Harry Potter. It'll be in all the papers.

I have won. The Dark Lord reigns.

And with that final thought, and the arrival of the Minister of Magic, I allow myself to laugh in his face, and I close my eyes just as Lucius kills Fudge.

I have won with my two simple words.

I killed Harry first. All with my two simple words...

...Avada Kedavra...