Magic is might...
Magic is might...
Magic is might...
This time he didn't dare cry as he wrote at the crumbling journal. The magic is still buzzing in his veins from the curse that he just cast out-- cast out to someone who deserved it. A failure. Undeserving to see the light of tomorrow.
So he cast a Cruciatus upon him. His first Unforgivable Curse with The Dark Lord beside him, cackling and urging him in delight with every burst of magic and every scream of agony from the ruined henchman. It was supposed to be the highest of honors.
To see the torment on another's face should be considered a delight, really. A blessing. Lucky even.
For it is not him receiving the curse, nor his mother, nor his father...
And not her. Never her. Please, not her. Please, not in this world.
He closed his eyes. Don't picture it. Don't picture it. Don't make this difficult.
All of this would have been easier if he didn't set foot at the scene of the failure and breathe the air that she breathe and felt the same feelings of apprehension.
He and a couple of others were sent to get back the failures from the Muggle diner. Said failures have been Obliviated and were no use for information. Well, at least they know now that Potter and his two companions have been there.
Her scent was in the air. Sweet and lingering against the dim light of the no doubt second class establishment. But it was gone the moment panic and anger surged through his system. Fear has always been stronger than what he felt for her. Fear has always been what he felt the most. It was always fear more than anything.
Yes, he's a coward. He can admit that now. He doesn't have heart. No use pretending.
He can't even say her name. Much more picture her face.
He clutched a single black colored bead in his closed fist. A magnificent relic in the scene of chaos. It looked out of place out there in the floor of the diner but even more so against his snow white skin. He held it so tightly that a bruise has started to form on the center of his palm. Its surface still prickling with traces of magic against his sweaty skin- must have fell from something charmed. He knows then that it belonged to her. No one else.
He wanted to remember her fondly but the voices in his head are getting louder. Louder than any daydream he can conjure.
Crucio! Crucio! Louder this time! Mean it! Make him feel it! Make him feel our displeasure!
You're my boy.
Don't embarrass me.
You're our only hope. Uphold the family name.
He wiped perspiration from his face and wrote on.
Magic is might....
Power is all he wants and it is all that he'll ever have.
He didn't dare to ask for more.
Because there is nothing more.
An image of amber eyes on a oval face framed by bushy brown hair came to mind. Of summer time and playful banter during tea time. Of endless possibilities for boys who are not him.
Yes. There is absolutely nothing more.
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This here is a shawty because I will attempt to update again tomorrow so please don't abandon us! This will probably be the last of these short chapters.
Song up top is 'My Imagination' by John Legend. Man, that song is not old but it is gold. If you a writer-- go check it.
Dedicated to every single one of you guys! Wow! Almost 8,600 reads?! What even?! That's awesome! Stay cool errrrbody!