Finis coronat opus

      Harry is in blind horror. Just a few lines give him power over his life. Over the lives of others. Just agreement could save the lives of Ron, Hermione, all the Weasleys and… In fact, there were even more of them than he could have imagined. “…with the first blow of an hour you will be fit, to become truly worthy. I won’t wait for the second one. They say a dead man deserves the truth, so I hope you’re ready.” The words are stitched with unambiguous intentions. “I hope” is nothing more than rude ridicule. “Are you ready to die?” “Am I ready?..” — He already knows the answer to this question. He already knows how to get to the Shrieking Shack. He’ll probably know how to disappear unnoticed. *** A cold face and a merciless storm of fear inside. This storm is Harry Potter himself. He is more clearly aware than ever of one single thought: “I don’t want to die.” She’s so close, but awareness slips away from him with every heartbeat. Why? Why why why? The merciless storm practically stains the sky as he strangles her just as desperately. Calmness, tranquility. What is death? Rebirth of the soul? Eternal nothing? Oh, he would definitely write a book about this if he knew such secrets. Hermione would be proud of him. Ron would probably be the biggest fan of his adventures. Death is another little adventure, isn’t it? “I’m ready”. *** Back then, Voldemort was like a caricature, overflowing with drama, not for the better. Now… In fact, Voldemort is like a statue carved out of time: he is still the same grotesque with terribly long arms, barefoot, as if he doesn’t have a Galleon in his soul, empty. Surely he has conveniently empty thoughts and an equally empty heart. Some part of him feels an animal fear, a desire to immediately escape. The more sensible part assures him of the correctness of his decisions. He feels in his place. He is not a stranger. He’s not sure what part of him is sane. But here near an abandoned hut. He no longer feels passion. Inhale. When absolutely every breath could be his last, he begins to appreciate them. With some kind of humble rapture, he simply breathes. Voldemort’s words no longer hurt his ears. He doesn’t seem to hear anything at all. The brief moment of bright, bright flash that forces him to get close, knocks out the spark of the storm. *** Harry Potter is not sleeping, but he will never be able to wake up again.