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There was a moment in his life when the fighting made sense. Anguished souls tormented by the tyrants that ruled over their small niche scream at him whenever Sol or Lune shone above his head. Terror filled his body and anger stormed in his mind. Clamped down by the obsession of righteous power, he walked over to the edge of the Abyss deciding whether to stare it down. The wails of the beings who flinched resonated from its depths made his ears ring. He paced slowly to towards its edge, stealing glimpses of the hell it emitted, he stared directly at its nothingness.
How has it come to this? Everything used to make sense. Their job was to hunt down his containers. His blasted soul vessels that contaminated the world was easy. How has it come to this?
Hermione had left with Ron, leaving him behind in the forest to hunt by himself. No later than a fortnight the radio broadcasted the deaths of his two friends. Ron Weasley killed slowly and painfully with the use of the Cruciatus curse blabbered their plans to the death eaters before being skinned and burned alive. Hermione Granger was a loyal friend and did not say a word to her handlers but ultimately died saying the clues Dumbledore had left them. Ron had been lucky with his death. Hermione was not thrown to the pits of death until a month after her capture. She was defiled, tortured, raped, brainwashed, and gutted for days on end until she had finally slit her wrist with a rusty knife.
His friends that had been left at Hogwarts were not as fortunate. Hogwarts turned into a massive castle that housed the Deatheaters. Female students of all ages regardless of house were rented out to the Deatheaters. Their bodies bruised and broken, some had dropped all self-defense in fear of dying and some simply dropped dead. The males were forced to take the Dark Mark and failure to comply meant dismemberment or simply the Avada Kedavra. The staff were lined up and killed on site. None survived.
Hogwarts School was now the largest encampment of Death Eaters in the Continent. Voldemort had fortified it’s defenses with his own version of Blood Magic. No one will leave, no one can get in without his permission. God help us all.
And what of Harry Potter? He had searched far and wide for the Sword of Gryffindor but alas he could not find it. The Horcruxes? They vanished. All the locations he thought they would be in were empty. All hope drained from him every day of his waking life. The magical community was losing and there was nothing he could do. The world was slowly turning into what Riddle wanted it to be. The muggles, as Riddle predicted, was no match for the impossible laws of magic. All the countries of the world bowed to their god, imperius or not.
He wished his friends had died instead of being slaves to the soulless deatheaters. If he could spare them any resolve, he would, but he himself was weak, broken and tired. He was tired of it all. The screams, the nightmares, the path. He wanted it to end. He wanted an end.
And so he walked over to the Abyss seeking strength for one last attempt to topple Voldemort. He circled around it, staring into its depths not blinking or looking away. Flashes of his friends’ mangled and broken figures plagues his thoughts. Hermione being used. Ron gasping his last breath. Luna tearing as she was beheaded. Susan crying as she was being raped. Daphne gritting her teeth as her fingernails were pried off. Fleur cornered and overpowered by men of ill repute. The Weasley’s standing in line as one by one fell to the ground, lifeless. His parent’s graves exhumed and burned. His life falling as the weary lives hang over him. He was tired.
Staring down the Abyss, his sight unwavering. He had come across his fiends more than anyone. He examined his foe, the abyss of nothing. He was tired. He wants it to end. He wants an end.
He knowingly blinked and the Abyss was happy. He was happy. He finally accepts. Harry Potter took his wand, placed the tip on his temple and whispered Avada Kedavra.