Even If You Are An Inch From Death

Dumbledore

Harry stumbled to his feet from the position on the floor and obediently followed Voldemort to the fifth curtain. He swiped at the tears and blood that was still fresh on his face and kept his head low this time and the curtain was drawn. Again, just like Remus and Severus, the occupant of this cell was already in there, and it seemed that the Death Eater’s had been a bit impatient.

It was Dumbledore this time. He stood on top of a rickety stool, doing his best to stay balanced with old, tired, bare feet. Something had been used to hack off both the headmaster’s beard and hair, for the white strands now ended just below his chin and under his ears. If this situation wasn’t so dire, Harry though that he might have laughed at how this man looked with short hair, but is wasn’t funny, only being cut so that Harry and Voldemort could clearly see the thick noose that encircled Dumbledore’s neck. His hands were also behind his back, obviously bound to prevent the old man from loosening the constriction from around his throat.

Harry also couldn’t help but see that as a final insult to the aged wizard, the robes he had worn of shocking colour and glittering stars had been removed, replaced with some flat, grey garment that looked a lot like a house elf would wear, only bigger.

“Now this is what I am looking forward to seeing,” Voldemort was smiling while he talked again. Harry found he didn’t have the energy to care. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to do anything to stop the inevitable.

“I had the most fun deciding how the old fool should come to his end, and I think I have chosen a particularly simple and humiliating death for the leader of the muggle lovers. Such as it is to be dying by my order, rather than valiantly battling for the side of ‘Light’ and all that other garbage you muggle loving fools believe in.”

The needle of the IV was inserted into Dumbledore’s arm and before Harry could even call out the stool had been kicked from under him and the headmaster was left hanging by his neck. Harry knew that Dumbledore was unable to call out, his throat being constricted, but the old man’s teeth began to grind together, echoing in Harry’s head just as loudly as Hermione’s screams. Dumbledore struggled in his bonds, a natural reflex to the loss of his air supply, but only as much as his old bones would allow.

Though this form of execution didn’t seem as painful as the molten silver on Remus, fire licking at Hermione, shallow cuts over Ron or boiling water cooking Severus, Harry knew that that it was just as hard to watch the headmaster choke on a simple length of rope after being totally degraded with the loss of his hair, clothes, wand and dignity.

Harry hugged himself as much as his shackles would allow he was beginning to understand how Voldemort was going about his demise this time, even without touching him.

The time ticked by as Dumbledore continued to swing morbidly by his neck. Harry looked at Voldemort through the corner of his eye and was once again disgusted by the glee he saw in the evil man’s face.

Voldemort noticed his captive watching him, so he continued talking about the olden-day executions.

“It was very rare for people with stature to be hung, one of the cheapest and easiest forms of execution. Usually when royals and lords were to die, they were given the honour of a beheading via axe or sword,” Voldemort chuckled quietly to himself. “Again I find it ironic that the leader, or even ruler, of the light has been humiliated to that of a commoner, nothing special for the amazing, magnificent Dumbledore.”

Harry gagged at the level of sarcasm and spite that dripped from the Dark Lord’s words.

“You’re sick. Do you know that? Dumbledore was a wonderful, brilliant wizard. He doesn’t deserve this, none of my friends deserve this…”

Harry trailed off when Voldemort lashed out at him again, knocking him to the floor with the severe blow.

“I’m fast become sick and tired of your self-righteous shit,” Voldemort growled, his twisted glee having disappeared all of a sudden. “Haven’t you figured out yet that it is exactly what they deserved?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, unable to understand.

Voldemort growled but continued, almost as though he expected Harry’s ignorance.

“Back when these forms of killing were commonplace, it was muggles lashing out at wizards and inventing the most horrible, disgusting forms of death to inflict upon them.”

Voldemort lent down so he was closer to the half-prone boy.

“You already know about the witch burnings, but wizards suffered as well. As soon as there was any suspicion that someone held any magical talent, everything they owned was stripped from their name. Leaving them with nothing, thus the wizards of our past had to result to stealing and law breaking, which eventually lead to their death by muggle execution.”

Harry gasped, he had never heard of this before.

“Haven’t you ever wondered, Harry, as to why there are more muggles than witches and wizards? It is because they did their best to wipe us out a few centuries ago.”

“You’re lying,” Harry whispered from the ground, doing his best to believe his own words.

Voldemort smiled his lipless smile. “Believe what you want, Harry, but what I am telling you is the truth. I have merely wanted to extract revenge upon our ancestors by killing the pathetic muggles off, but it has been you and your friends,” Voldemort pointed to the windows, “that have stopped me.”

A tear trickled from Harry’s eye.

“Now do you understand why they deserve this? By attempting to stop me, you have indirectly helped those muggles that first tried to kill us off.”

Harry finally struggled back to his feet, Voldemort’s words echoing through his mind, the first trickle of doubt creeping into the corners. Was Voldemort right? Had he been all along? Yes, Harry still believed that killing was wrong, but had muggles truly started this war a number of centuries ago?

Harry looked up through tear-blurred eyes, straight into the pail blue irises of Dumbledore. He was still struggling with the noose, veins popping and lips blue, yet continuing to live.

A disturbing thought came to Harry then. If magic was going to be used like this, to prolong suffering, then, maybe, the muggles should have killed wizards and witches off long ago…