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Trying the Murderous Route	By : nightmare0prince Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > General Views: 973 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Harry Potter universe -- it all belongs to J.K.Rowling -- nor do I make any profit off of writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-Trying the Murderous Route
- 1
Trying the Murderous Route

Rain poured down in sheets from the black sky. Nothing could be worse than this. Unless, it was his funeral instead of his wedding day. It might as well have been with the sombre looks the whole of the crowd was giving him – the little bit of crowd that hadn’t run away, at least. He sat in the pool of his would-be-beloved’s blood, the rain washing away the blood from him, drop by drop. Washing away his guilt.

Most of him urged him to just run and never look back, but he refused to be a coward. That little bit of foolish bravery still clung to him desperately. It was as if it did by a mere thread. He might as well face whatever it was he had coming to him. He would have to deal with it some day. Why not today? It wasn’t as if he was getting married today….

“An accident!” he heard someone shout, breaking through the sound of the deafening rain. “How can murder be an accident!”

He knew that voice. Knew it all too well.

“Harry!” the voice, roaring, came closer with every passing second.

The murderer hoped the ginger would slip in the muddied grass and snap his neck. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with the words he knew his old school mate would – should – say. He did really deserve it: Ginny’s (his would-have-been-wife) death was, indeed, his fault.

“Go away, Ron,” the blood-soaked man muttered, barely restraining himself from outright slaughtering the man he once considered a friend.

Everyone else in the crowd simply held onto one another. While only the two old school mates were able to meet each other’s eyes for more than just a fleeting moment.

Harry felt no guilt concerning how Ginny met her end. He was relishing in it, quite frankly. He didn’t feel anything but the rain on his skin and the yearning for peace in his heart. It’s not as if he wasn’t to blame, but he certainly didn’t feel remorse or burdened with the knowledge of the crime he had committed.

“Go away?” Ron repeated, scoffing, still full of righteous anger, the scowl permanently etched onto his face.

Almost smirking, wishing he had taken care of this long ago, Harry pulled out the wand his school mates had insisted that he throw away. He had vehemently refused. And they swore that it would drive him mad.

Perhaps it did, but none of that mattered now. However, as the once hero slowly stood, the bloody water falling from him, as his eyes filled with bloodlust.

“Don’t you dare!” Ron raged, murderous as he rushed forward, aiming for the man responsible for the gruesome death of his young and only sister.

“Perhaps you should’ve thought about what you were going to say before the words slipped off of your tongue,” he hissed in reply, catching his attacker off guard with a dark red bolt springing from the Elder wand as he smiled a little too widely.

The spell hit the Weasley on the shoulder and side, causing him to gasp for breath. Clutching himself as he slipped, falling backwards, with an awful crack ringing out in the stunned silence as he screeched in pain.

“How fitting,” Harry laughed. Carefully walking toward the other, making sure to render the redhead harmless with a few other spells, but leaving him alive, he leaned over him. “Fitting that you will die by the same spell as your weak little sister,” he continued, barely audible over the screams of what had been left of the wedding crowd, who had taken flight, too afraid for their own lives to care about any sort of justice at that moment.

“You’re no better than him,” Ron spat, choking on his own crimson blood, which was leaking out of his eyes and pooling in the mud below him.

Gleefully drinking in the sight of his dying ‘friend’, the man who was once the saviour of the world now tittered with delight, barely containing his mirth. “Oh, I am most definitely better than him. After all, I have the Deathstick!” he declared, holding up his precious wand, won in that final battle against the Dark Lord.

“You’ve gone mad, Harry,” the dying man noted, almost sad.

“You say it as if it’s a bad thing,” he mused, standing once more, smile twisting in ruthless, undiluted pleasure. “I don’t think it is, even if I were mad. I wonder if anyone will remember you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, after you die. I propose that they won’t even be able to bury all of you – well, at least without knowing what’s you and what’s not,” Harry chortled, truly entertained by his own grim humour. “After all, they might just pile you and your sister in together into the same grave. Cuts down on the funeral costs, too, don’t you think?”

“Ya bastard!” he gurgled around the blood and rain water, coughing as he attempted to say more, perhaps beg for his life, but was drowning in it as he gasped for breath.

“What awful noises you Weasleys make as you die,” Harry, now rather frustrated that he couldn’t prolong his torture or his little speech. “Perhaps I should just put you out of your misery, as I did your sister… but it might amuse me further to keep you alive just a little bit longer. Hmmm…” he pondered on it as he swished away the liquid continuing to fill the ginger’s lungs.

“I’ve decided to keep you alive just a bit longer, my friend!” Harry announced rather jovially, grinning from ear to ear, pleased that the rain began to tapper off to a drizzle. “If only to practise my Unforgivables… I’m a tad rusty, you see,” he explained, then turned on his heel, readying his wand at the young man, bellowing, “Crucio!”

More than pleased at the amount Ron’s body jerked about despite the fractured spine, Harry continued on, determined to see the lovely display of sheer agony from every angle and testing if he could possible cause the spine to finally break. At last, he heard the tell-tale snap and laughed excitedly, grinning down over the other, more than curious if he could still talk.

“I do hope I’m not boring you to death,” he snickered, his crimson eyes dancing with delight.
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Trying the Murderous Route