"Shut up," repeated Harry as soon as he spat out the hilt. "I don’t wanna hear you talk." The venom was making him sluggish. His heart was slowing down, and he could feel his consciousness slipping in and out. Any minute now he’d be dead, but at least he’d die fucking happy. Maybe he’d see Tom in Hell. Wouldn’t that be nice? Maybe he’d get to kill him again and again. Fuck it, throw in Malfoy, Snape, Bellatrix and all the other Death Eaters he had personally ended into the mix, and Harry would have a nice means of catharsis for the rest of eternity. You know what? Add Umbridge into the mix as well.