Harry, eyes so bright, so furious, stood tall over her. He didn’t come to her as a little boy this time, not as he always had. He was seventeen, and his wand pointed somewhere behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know that Voldemort was there, and she couldn’t look away as the Avada Kedavra hit Harry low in his stomach. Harry didn’t curl over it, just pitched forward. Avada Kedavra worked by severing soul from body. It was supposed to be the kindest death.