Shattered

Shattered

L.S. Song

People often say that the worst pain is derived from the greatest pleasures, the deadliest foes born from the best of friends.

There is always heartbreak when two people who loved each other part.

There is always shock and anguish when one betrays the other.

But never in my years of life on this Earth had anything anyone said or done would have prepared me for the pain, the shame I felt that fatal night.

I was nineteen, the body of a young man but the dark soul and mind of a war scarred veteran. The dark armies had spread like a plague, the stench of the corpses a noxious fume.

Hogwarts castle was burnt to the ground.

Half the world was razed, burnt, irradiated, Mother Nature a pincushion for the devastating clash of the three way battle between the desperate muggles, the few wizards left resisting Lord Voldemort, and the masses that had turned to supporting Lord Voldemort out of simple fear, or threats.

Those who had not nerves of steel instantly fled to his side with the death of Dumbledore, and those who did, such as I, were persuaded otherwise.

I was to become a Death Eater, Voldemort's inner circle, by the threat on my friends and family.

I joined to protect them.

It was ironic that I ended up destroying them.

***

They say the dark side is weaker, but I'm living proof of the contrary.

As a child, as a teen, I grew up, fought with, bled with my family, and my best friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

When the war erupted, we fiercely fought amongst the best and the bravest against the oncoming onslaught of dark forces.

Many died heroically, many died unaware, and even more died screaming and fleeing. Day by day, it was all the clearer that we would not win, Boy Who Lived or not.

One dark night, Voldemort himself came to my small muggle apartment in foggy Kelsville.

His terms were simple. My beloved sister Ginny was hovering beside him, pale in a state of unconciousness. I was to swear utter and complete devotion to him and his Order or she would die there and then, on the spot.

I had no choice. I may have escaped, but I would have never saved Ginny.

My life was destroyed either way.

For the last time as Ron Weasley, Crusader, best friend and greatest pillar of support to Harry Potter, the last source of resistance to the dark wave that engulfed the world, I looked upon my sister, and realized how she had grown, how we were no longer the children that bickered, the members of a family that was chipped away member by member. She was a warlord, my sister was, a merry joy she exhibited, fighting fearlessly beside us, taking an unusual love to the adrenaline of the duels.

I wanted to tell her I was proud of her, to brag to her that I was right, she did grow to be a beautiful woman, a brave sister, and a spectacular witch.

Instead I followed Voldemort wordlessly to his fortress, the dark abomination that used to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I remember walking in a stupor, my wand gripped tight in my hand.

I remember as suddenly I fell to the floor, my wand flying out and away from me.

I remember being pinned up against the wall, helpless to do anything but watch.

And I remember as Voldemort cast the spell that would bind me to evil, a spectral, unworldly presence.

Every inch of my body splintered, it felt as it I was being turned inside out, and finally, when the pain subsided, I stood.

Voldemort looked at me with cold uncaring eyes, and motioned with a flick of his wrist to my sister, who was still stunned, immobile.

I knew suddenly what he expected me to do.

I was to kill my sister to prove my loyalty to him.

Suddenly, an overwhelming force took me.

I saw my each of my brothers die, my parents, my friends. I felt a darkness, a loathing build up deep inside me. I combated it, knowing it would bring my own demise, but the hate was too intense. I saw nothing but the scum who killed off my loved ones, and in Ginny's place I saw a Harpy, a horrible villain with beauty as a mask.

Somehow, I lost my sense altogether.

Step by step a burning, nearly omnipotent force pushed me towards her in rage.

Step by step I fought it subconsciously, to no avail.

And I found myself kneeling on the floor beside her, raising my wand and aiming it at her.

Just then, Voldemort released Ginny from her deathlike state.

I saw, with a heart full of pain, the simple relief on her face as she saw me upon opening her eyes.

There was then confusion as she looked around, wondering where she was, and seeing Lord Voldemort.

Then there was shock, followed quickly by a look of hopeless comprehension, and finally, the hollow expression of one who has been betrayed by someone they would have never suspected of such an act.

And finally, there was a look of one freshly slapped, undiluted indignance, and rage.

Her brown eyes defied me, dared me, taunted me.

If only she understood that I was doing this all for the greater good.

"Kill her," Lord Voldemort said.

I raised my wand.

Words flowed from my mouth, but in my mind I begged for Ginny to see me, and forgive me. For I truly loved her, and I had no choice in the matter. The horrible rage that controlled my thoughts destroyed all thought of free will and rational behavior.

The unseen force of my hatred drew upon such darkness, such power, and as the two words 'Avada Kedavra' left my mouth, Ron Weasley died.

A new empty shell of a man, who had been given a taste of true power took his place.

I drew upon dark energies like a junkie does on drugs, and as I held my sister's dead body, there was one last cry of despair from the boy who wanted to do good things, to do what was right, and then I rose, and stifled the cry with a layer of malice.

Ron Weasley was gone.

The Death Eater had come.

***

I went on to do terrible damage, unspeakable crimes and horrible deeds, posing as a friend to the Boy Who Lived, and brilliant Hermione Granger, for all her intelligence could not see through my disguise due to blind faith and friendship.

It was one week before the last battle that I approached Hermione Granger's mountain cottage, and raised my wand to murder her in her sleep.

In a burst of fire, however, Harry Potter appeared in front of me, and blasted me clear through the walls of the wooden cottage.

I looked at him, and saw not the boy that had been my friend, but the man that I was bound to kill.

"I would not have believed it otherwise," he said sadly, looking at me with disgust. "Good bye, my old friend."

And next to him, her face a mask was Hermione Granger, her hair flying in the cold mountain wind, only her eyes betraying her hurt, her anguish.

That moment, my malice was shattered.

For ever since I met her and got to know her, I had slowly fallen in love with her, bit by bit, until I was in such a state that I would never have been able to escape even if I had wanted to.

It was but my burning rage, imbued by the dark magic of Voldemort, that halted such passion, but my shame shattered the dark armor at last that day.

And I looked upon those that I betrayed, and with the bitter gust of chilly wind digging to my very bones, I saw a solution, a coward's way out.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to them, knowing they could not hear me from so far away.

And I stood as high as I could manage, backing away to the cliff's edge.

With two words that caused my damnation, I in turn raised my wand to bring about my redemption.

My final words, the forbidden incantation of the Killing Curse, rang loudly across the mountain.

A green light blinded me, and I felt my entire life's essence slowly escape my body.

And an empty shell of a man stumbled once, tripped backwards over a rock, and fell to the ground below.

There was one last echo, as flesh and bone made contact with earth and stone.

A silent cry of agony, a chilling moan of the mind and the body, as I left the world, shattered.