True Magic [A Harry Potter Fanfiction}

Chapter 3

Voldemort's shadow towered over the freshly cut grass of the Potter's lawn. The smell of caramel apples and sickly sweet sugar overwhelmed his senses in the most disgusting way possible. He needed no distractions. Not tonight.

This was the night where he would become truly unstoppable. Completely immortal. He would put an end to the false hope that the so-called prophecy promised.

He had narrowed down his choice to two. It wasn't much, considering the fact that there were three to begin with, but it was something. The one he had eliminated from the possible threats was Neville Longbottom. He was born in the early hours of the day, while on the other hand, the twins were born closer to the end of the day.

....as the seventh month dies.....

The words of the prophecy still rang in his ears, as if Severus had told it to him just moments ago. All the more reason to eliminate all of the possible threats. If nothing went wrong, he would go to the other home and destroy the remaining threat, as well.

The Dark Lord proceeded up the stone pathway, and onto the well-kept porch. Wormtail should have summoned him an hour ago. A shaky man opened the door.

"Master, all is ready," Pettigrew said, bowing his head as low as a house-elf.

"Fool. You made me wait too long. And for that, you will pay. Crucio!" Voldemort exclaimed, directing his wand at the lowly servant. He walked past him as he writhed in agony, finally lifting the curse as he reached the stairway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him panting on the ground, gasping for air.

Swiftly and silently, Voldemort went up the stairs, his phoenix feather wand in hand. He was ready to eliminate whatever threat he may come upon. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, seeming so much louder in his effort to stay silent.

When he reached the door, he couldn't help but feel a rush of overwhelming magic. For a short moment - his hand resting on the doorknob - he hesitated. He wasn't as sure of himself as he was when had first arrived at the Potter's home.

But he opened the door anyway, so hard that the door slammed into the wall, bouncing back a bit. In front of him were two Gryffindor-style cribs. In one, he saw a small boy with bright red hair. His eyes were a hazel color that obviously came from his father, and were currently filled to the brim with tears, most likely due to the fact that he was awakened by the door crashing open. Surrounding the child were mounds of toys.

But in the other, his eyes met ones that made him gasp. Emerald green, these eyes showed depth that the hazel-eyed boy most likely didn't even know existed. They seemed to look, not into his eyes, but deep inside Voldemort's soul. And, unlike the first twin, the eyes were dry, and showed no sign of weakness or fear.

"Marcus Potter," Voldemort whispered to the emerald-eyed twin, mistaking him for the firstborn. "I have waited for the day when I would cease to have any weakness. And it has come."

He stopped for a second, tilting his head, as if to wonder what might happen if he were to proceed. The eyes of the child hadn't the slightest trace of fear.

"Avada Kedavra!"