The Fourth Marauder ~Complete

The death of the Potters

A lone figure stalked the streets of Godrick's hollow, sticking to the shadows, hiding from the moonlight. If he was to raise his hood, all would see his translucent, inhuman skin, stretched taunt over a skull-like face, no eyebrows, eyelashes or head hair. He scanned the area for anymore sticky-fingered children, before emerging from his hiding spot and walking down the street, wand in hand.

"Nice costume, Sir!" trilled one annoying boy, a cheap pumpkin costume over his head and a cheeky expression on his face. But the mysterious stranger had no time to fool about with children, which was fortunate for the boy, who would have otherwise been cursed into oblivion. A sharp look would surfice though, and the Muggle boy gulped, then ran away, scared of the demon-like eyes lurking beneath that hood. The man continued to pace the streets, until he found the right door- a tidy, hiden detached house at the end of the street. Through the window you could see a young couple and a baby, squinting at his father as though he needed glasses, as the dad blew tiny puffs of coloured smoke out of the tip of his wand, laughing at the expression on the kid's face. The mother held her boy in her arms, and together, the three of them looked like a picture-perfect family. Not for much longer. 

The Dark Lord rapped three times on the door in mockery- he knew he could blast the door down and kill the family within seconds, but he wanted to savour the moment like it was a particularly tasty sweet. Besides, it lulled the sleepy family into a false sence of security, dropping their guard. The father opened the door, a short but powerful looking man in his twenties, small round glasses perched on his nose. His normally brave eyes grew wide in fear as he saw the man in front of him, pointing his wand directly at his heart.

"Lily!" he shouted into the living room, where she was already scrambiling to her feet, her arms round her son protectively. "It's him, take Harry and go, I'll try and keep him off." Pathetic. Here was the great James Potter, who thought he could fend of the most powerful wizard in the world without a wand?

"Avada Kedarvra" he cackled, basking in the green flash as if it was a sudden ray of sun. A scream came from the landing, and he hungrily flew up the stairs, only interested in his prize. The auburn haired woman held the dark haired boy in her arms, who was wailing dismally, wanting the big, scary man to go away. "Step aside you stupid girl" he hissed.

"No, not Harry, please, kill me, don't hurt him!"

"Stand aside!" he growled, hating that his prey was trying to fight back. But she whimpered, making incomprehendible noises, her number one priority being the saftey of her first born. When Lily refused to  back down, he sent the same kiling curse at her that he had used on her husband just seconds before. She fell to her knees, the expression on her face being one of great pain, which was inaccurate, because she couldn't feel anything anymore. The remaining Potter tried to crawl away, but the intruder picked him up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, and pointed his wand directly at his face.

But Harry wasn't crying any more. There was something about this man, something about him that was familiar. Maybe he was an uncle, like Uncle Moony, who had regularly visited him and his mummy and daddy and brought him pressants of home-sewn animals and hand-made jumpers, always slightly too big, but he prefered them like that anyway- they made his chubby little todler hands into bear paws, or stag hooves, or any other animal he was that day. No, this wasn't him. Uncle Moony's face was more familiar, this older, bald man didn't have floopy, sandy hair or pale green eyes, nor a great slash across his face that made other people fear him, especially when he explained how he got it. 

Was he prehaps, Uncle Wormy? He'd come too, usually not alone, sandwhiched between a more talkative friend where he was usually more comfortable, his small, scrabbly fingers twisting together anxiously. No, although he hadn't seen him in a while, he would remember the bright, blonde hair like a thatched roof on top of a house, and the painfully long nails that would often accidently poke and scratch. Not to mention the underlying whiff of cheese.

Well, one thing was for sure- he deffinately wasn't Uncle Paddy. He was so protecive over his silky, black locks that he would rather die that cut them off, and this man was deffinately bald. Although, he had to admit, there were certain simmalarities between their faces, from the soulless eyes to the hollow cheekbones. Maybe it was him. "Paddy!", he giggled, trying to squirm out of this tight hold the man had on him, reaching out his arms for a hug. "Hug!"

"Enough" scowled the dark figure. He did not expect to come here and be shown this much compassion, when he was about to kill the boy, anyway. Better get it over and done with, before the Order arrived.

"Avada kedevra" he whispered, drawing out his words as long as possible to really saviour the taste. But instead of the baby going limp in his hand, there was a blinding green fash, followed by a white on that out an end to any pains he didn't even know he had up until now. No, this was wrong! But no, the killing curse had been deflected onto him, he was the one falling to his knees, and the bawling toddler was the one looking down at him, staring into his frozen eyes, almost as if he was mocking him.

Someone was watching this climatic scene unfold. He was perched in a drain, not in his natrual form, frozen as if he'd just seen a ghost. Or, in his case, a cat. 'Uncle Wormy' was sat on the window cill, his paws permamently stuck in front of his chest, his chattering mouth dropped open in shock. Anxious to get away from the scene as soon as possible, he skidded down the gutter, and prepared to run. But another stomach-churning sight greeted him as he ran past the front door- one best friend in the other's arms, limp, while the once strong 'Uncle Paddy' held Prongs and cried. The rat sniffed, and the broken man looked up in surprise, a shadow crossing his haughty features.

"Wormtail?" he whispered, before leaping to his feet and throwing open the window. Sirius roared, and threw him into the streets, stunning him with the skill of an archer so he laid, motionless in the road. Padfoot then flew down the stairs, as a tall figure rose out of the shadows.

"Sirius?" It asked, with a voice much softer than it's stature. He stepped into the streetlight, and kind, brown eyes were revealed, already filled with tears.

"The deed's done" spat the shorter man, picking up the lifeless rodent, squeezing him extra tightly. "They're both dead. The boy survived." Hagrid was still for a minute, before nodding slowly and limping towards the house. He was called back one more time, however, with "Take my motorbike." Sirius looked towards Wormtail with a look of deep loathing etched on every line of his face. "I have business to be getting on with. Take the boy and go." With that he down the street, his long robes billowing out behind him. A little confused and very much saddenend, the friendly giant stepped through the open door, immediately confronted with the limp body of James Potter, lying across the hallway as if he was a door mat. Hagrid forced himself to push on, wanting to hold the poor man together, and tell things were going to be alright, even if he couldn't hear him. He knew what else was coming. Sure enough, Lily Evans, no, Potter now, was thrown over the crib in the corner, looking like she was innocently leaning in to comfort the wailing child. But when Hagrid placed a shaking hand on her shoulder, she didn't stir, and he knew she must have been just as asleep as her husband.

"And you must be Harry Potter" he said softly to the boy crying in his crib, surrounded by dead bodies. It was then that Hagrid noticed Voldemort, and with a satisfied grin on his face, he noticed that Sirius must have come up and personally cursed his nose off for vengeance on killing his best mate. He turned back to the child, who was gazing in awe at the man standing in his room. He wasn't like any other man that had ever visited him, he was more like one of the giants in the big book Uncle Moony had read him, tall and cumbersome, but with kind eyes just like his dad. "I'm Hagrid. I'm here to take you somewhere...nicer. Is that ok?"

"Hag" he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from the man, finding him even more interesting than the scary man before. He nodded dumbly, a drop of blood falling from his head and hitting him in the eye. Hagrid wiped it away with a big, clumsy thumb, then wrapped him up in a blanket lying in the crib next to him for warmth on the journey.