You shouldn't be asking so many questions...
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Y/n has begun his second year in Hogwarts with a mission, a mission that seems to be attracting a lot of unwanted attention.
Completed: 29/10/2023
like a serpent uncoiling from the abyss - the insidious toll the Killing Curse takes on the one who wields it. As the curse's sinister power courses through the veins of the caster, it becomes a parasitic force, feeding on their very essence.
With each utterance of the incantation 'Avada Kedavra,' a fragment of the caster's own soul is offered up as a sacrifice to fuel the malevolence of the curse. The tendrils of darkness claw at the caster's innermost being, devouring compassion, empathy, and humanity, leaving behind only a yawning chasm of emptiness. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the caster begins to feel the corrosive effects within, as if a ravenous creature gnaws at the core of their being.
A gnawing hunger for maleficence takes root, turning the caster into a vessel of the curse's hunger for death. It is a descent into madness, an inescapable spiral of self-destruction as the very magic that was wielded for destruction turns its attention inward, consuming the caster from the inside out, until all that remains is a husk, forever marked by the curse's damning touch.
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A shiver rippled through Y/n's form, jolting him awake from a disorienting slumber. He sat up, breath hitched in his throat, as the remnants of his nightmare clung to his consciousness like a web of shadows. The room around him was cloaked in the soft obscurity of predawn, the only illumination filtering through the window in dim, silvery streaks.
His chest rose and fell in rapid succession, the echo of fear still clinging to his racing heart. The dream had been vivid, a haunting tapestry woven from his deepest anxieties and unsettling memories. He reached up to wipe a cold sheen of sweat from his forehead, a trembling hand briefly brushing against the mark that rested there, a symbol of a past he was still piecing together.
The subtle creaking of the dormitory's floorboards beneath his movement seemed to amplify the heavy silence of the room. Y/n swung his legs over the edge of the bed, allowing his feet to touch the coolness of the floor, a tactile connection to the present that he desperately needed.
He glanced toward his bedside table, where his wand lay within easy reach. Part of him yearned to grasp it, to feel its reassuring weight in his hand, but another part hesitated. The power it represented was both a weapon and a reminder of the choices he had made, the destinies he was entangled with.
Standing up, Y/n padded softly to the window, peering out into the indigo depths of the night. The moon hung low on the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the landscape. The imposing silhouette of Hogwarts against the night sky seemed to echo his own feelings of uncertainty and darkness.
His fingers curled around the windowsill as he let out a slow exhale, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The nightmare still clung to him, a wispy trail of unease that wound through his mind like a lingering mist. He knew he needed to confront these ghosts, these fragments, but it was a daunting task.
The nightmare had taken him back to that fateful moment, a memory he could never escape. He could hear the haunting wail that had pierced the air, a cry carrying the weight of a lost life. It was a sound that still echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the path he had walked.
