One RegretI am dying.
I can feel the blood pouring from the slash at my wrist, the snake's poison working its way swiftly through my veins. I feel as if someone has been beating me over and over again with an iron rod, and the pain is so intense that all I want is for it to be over. I am whispering, for I can no longer yell, whispering for death. Yet it does not come. I must bear this pain a while longer.
My wand lies on the ground a few feet from me, snapped and useless. A few feeble sparks fly from its severed tip. I shiver. I don't want to die, here in the dark, here in the cold, alone. I am very scared. What happens after death? I'm going to die! I'm so alone, oh God, I'm cold. So cold.
It takes a while to realize that the cold is numbness working its way up my veins, the effects of the deadly poison. Already the dark room in starting to flicker before my eyes and fade, fade away into blackness. I hear footsteps and cringe; what if it's HIM, him coming to finish me off? I can't take any more pain like that, I can't! I croak a half-scream into the stillness and the footsteps grow louder, closer. I feel utterly exhausted and yet the horrid, powerful pain of the poison keeps me from falling into that endless sleep of death. let me sleep, let me die, please...
He checks my pulse with a gentle hand, but my eyes start to get blurry and I can't really see him anymore. I'm so happy that I won't die alone, so happy, that when things start to fade, I am almost content.
I had a good life, after all, with friends and joy and magic, and i have, after all these years, only one regret.
And I know I can never forgive myself. Countless people, wizards and muggles alike, will die because I failed. I will be haunted forever with the knowledge that could have stopped the boy who calls himself Voldemort.