Conversations
I've toyed with the idea that Voldemort was actually a demon-like entity that possessed Tom Riddle... Kinda like a periodically reappearing dark lord...
I like this idea. Maybe something that bands with the host since birth? Slowly warping the man to his views? Like a thing halfway between reincarnation into a mortal body and a symbiosis that slowly results in a single being, similar to the ones born before, but distinctly unique compared to its previous incarnations too
Maybe not at birth, it could be randomly...
Imagine Voldemort possessing Tom when Tom first ventured into the Chamber of Secrets...
A young, handsome, powerful and charismatic wizard comes to his earthly cage all on his own? How can he resist
Then a monster is born, fed with all the best parts of Tom Riddle
Every defeat merely a temporary setback...
Could go in several directions... Impossible to defeat for good, so the story emphasizes that for every time Voldemort reaches its ugly head, someone rises up to oppose it.
Could go for bleak, an ultimately unstoppable force that will ultimately achieve its goal, maybe eradicating mankind?
Could go for the "seal evil and establish a vigil over it" kind of deal.
Could even go esoteric, explore magic, create ways to destroy the indestructible. Maybe the original killing curse was created from such a research. (Would make sense, the incantation "Let that thing be destroyed." doesn't sound like it was merely meant to kill humans...)
Personally, I like the idea of the research. Ultimately, let the eternal experience existential dread for the first time, because the humans have found a magic that can end eternity, slay the immortal.
end of the conversation excerpts
Ahhhh. But the creator of the curse died before he could test it, and the spell was lost to time. Afterwards, someone found it, and equivocally renamed it the killing curse. From then on it was known as that, and used as such.
It is curious that something as simple as killing another living thing required the user to have such a high level of power to perform, or that it affected the not living too. Most people stuck to slicing the others throat. And so the killing curse became a thing to be feared, not so much for the death it caused, but for the power it revealed in someone who did not flinch against taking lives.
It took time. It took determination. It took sweat and pain and tears and a cost payed in blood, but, finally, Harry held the answer in his hands. He wanted to cry at the irony of fate.
It was by a coincidence that he learnt the truth of the beast that was at one point Tom Riddle, that had feed all that was bad in him with the best of his parts, melded into his being until neither the demon nor the man remained.
It was then that he learnt that all his life, all his suffering, was for naught. His parents sacrifice had been for naught. It did not even matter if he could cut Voldemort's anchors to the world and kill him, he would be back.
He always would.
He would come back again and again, taking different shapes and different names until he had consumed the world.
Now he held the solution to break that cycle. A solution that had cost him dearly. A solution that had been dangling in front of him all his life.
Let that thing be destroyed.
And by everything that was holy, he would.
The world was on fire.
The castle walls crumbled around them, bodies littering the floor, human, giants, monsters. Death does not discriminate. Except for the indestructible.
Except for the two standing within the ring of fire.
Harry let his boot fall into Voldemort's chest, pinning him to the ground. He did not really have the strength to do it, the blood boiling curse he had managed to inflict doing the heavy lifting. He could not loose time. The curse would fade after a minute, when the victims blood should have already be gone. But Voldemort does not need blood.
'I will just rise again, Harry,' He grunted as his veins burnt. 'Nothing can stop me.'
'I know. Voldemort.'
The eyes of the beast froze. The boi always called him Tom. He had never accepted his new name.
'You know.' it said in a whisper.
Harry's wand rose between serpentine eyes.
'Avada Kedavra'
Let that thing be destroyed. It was. It was done.
Forever.
He closed his eyes and breathed out the noises of war around him drowning into nothing.
'It is done, my little bird. It is done. I will see you again.'
A pillar crumbled under the heat and roof came down. So ended the ballad of Potter, the ender of cycles, with a castle ruined and the bodies of two men, fated enemies who looked so alike.
They were, after some time, known as the twins of Light and Darkness, and the statues they made based on the bodies they found when the survivors of the war dug amongst the ruins for their loved ones show two almost identical men, their faces peaceful and beautiful. As so they had looked in death.
------this would be what I see as the ending, but you could also do a Hollywood and milk the idea eternally, so this would follow-----
But a cycle does not really end, merely changes.
Harry potter looked around him. Clusters of clouds surrounding him.
For a moment he panicked, but then he realised. He was flying.
It was some time before he stopped careening about so freely.
'Now I know what you felt, little bird. Such freedom. No wonder you were so fond of it.'
His levity shattered when he cleared the clouds and saw where he was. he was above the ruins of Hogwarts Castle. A gaggle of strangely dressed people stood a whiles a way from the ruins, holding some kind of remembrance.
He did not recognize anyone.
He laughed at the sky, he cried, he wailed. Looks like his mother's efforts went above and beyond. They protected him from destruction even after death. He was not a ghost, as he had first thought, nor was he alive. He was something more, something less, something in between. He had become what he payed so dearly to destroy.
From the crowd a glint of silver caught his eye. A boy. He shined with a light pure as the hair of his little bird. He did not know him, but he felt familiar. The boy looked at him.
He froze not knowing if he should let himself be seen, but relaxed when he saw his eyes were not focusing on him.
The boy drifted from the remembrance group and drifted towards the ruins. As he came close he could tell- he could feel things about this person. His resolve, his honour, his love, his bravery. He felt so familiar.
He could not help it, he got closer. He lifted a hand, a magnetic pull towards this source of light. The boy hand rose as he walked, as if to touch the stone wall still standing.
They meet in the borders of the castle and their fingers graced. A Lance of fire passed through their hands. The boys eyes focused.
'You can see me.' it was not a question. Harry was sure.
'who are you?'
'I am... I am you, I suppose. Or I will be. And you me.'
'What do you mean?' The boy cocked his head to the side.
'Let me tell you the story of how I came to be here, lad. I think we have much to discuss.'