Chapter 9.1- Doom Days

The trees that held the Hellhound still jerked sharply under my will and moved the best out of the way of the spell. Just like I’d suspected, the silvery spell tore through the few plants that were in its way and then had a short struggle with the wards around the arena where it threatened to pass through the powerful words that Dumbledore himself had set up before it dissipated. I turned to look at Delacour and she sheepishly returned my gaze from her crouched position. She’d attempted to steal my victory. I slashed my wand in her direction without even thinking things through and disarmed her. She clearly hadn’t been expecting it because she didn’t even manage to resist the spell’s effect. Either that or the spell had taken all that she had to cast. I turned back to the Hellhound. It struggled in the grasp of my spell but resistance was futile.

They still hadn’t called the task. I looked up at the Judge’s table, and there was no movement from there. The point of the task had been to kill the beast, I remembered. How barbaric, I thought, internally quoting Hermione and chuckling to myself about it. Krum had had the right idea. It was only a shame that he had missed. Sure, I could conjure even more lightning. Fulgur was one of the most powerful spells I could call into existence and I doubted even the magic resistant hellhound would be able to take three of them to the face and live. But I was so tired.

The binding spell had taken an ocean of magic from me, and even now it maintained a steady drain on my magic. No. I wouldn’t risk it. Canon had already been changed quite a bit. If I risked exhaustion here, there was no guarantee that Barty Crouch would not take the chance to abscond with me at my weakest. The killing curse was the best choice. I would have been worried about failing if I were only Potter and Doom. But Riddle was an old hand with this spell. I called forth my intent. There was only one thing I wanted in this world. Not food, not water, even though may throat felt incredibly dry. That was for this beast to die. I didn’t just want it. I need it. I drew upon my magic then and slashed my wand through the air, tracing the lightning bolt that sat one my forehead in a single sharp motion.

“Avada Kedavra” I called out for all the world to hear. It hit the hellhound, and it just collapsed, limp. I felt the drain even more intensely then. A killing curse was a draining bit of magic. Riddle had only been able to cast it about three times in a day at the time he’d made his second horcrux. Even with all the magic of Harry Potter, a budding titan of power, and Riddle’s Horcrux, I felt tired. I waved my wand and dispelled the binding spell , allowing it to fall apart. And then a horn rang to signal the completion of the task.