Eyes the colour of His Favourite Spell

He comes knocking

He had an uneasy feeling as he stood facing the house he had searched so hard to find, a cold trickle of disquiet travelling down his spine. Something was going to happen that he was not going to like, he was sure of it.

The snivelling lump of flesh that gave him the adress had assured him that nobody but the squib named Figg would be in this house tonight which did unfortunately for him leave him with nobody but her to play with on his way to eliminate the threat that was supposed to reside here, after all, he had the time. It's not like anyone would come running.

The red haired mother his potions master was so ridiculously fond of was at a bachelorette party for a muggle friend, her messy haired auror husband wouldn't be home until he finished the raid of dark artefacts he had been sent to, all useless things he had no need to keep any longer and that would take hours to catalogue. He had honored the request Snape had made and would go after only the child and whoever they had to babysit.

He sighed, doing his best to ignore the sensation of wrongness that told him to turn away and leave immediately as he stepped up to the door and pulled his wand, it would pass. He never usually ignored gut feelings as they had never led him wrong in the past but this was much more important than he was able to avoid and tonight would be his only opportunity. He had a nasty feeling that if he appeared when the woman was home and killed her that he would lose his best potions master. Not that he was bad at potions himself, merely he enjoyed not having to do all the work himself.

Sweeping through the door on that thought he immediately happened across Arabella Figg comfortably asleep on the living room sofa, a kneazle perched on her lap that hissed at him. He merely hissed back and the thing scarpered for who knows where, never once waking the stupid woman.

What parent leaves their prophecy child alone with a magicless hunk of flesh and nothing but an easily circumvented charm to hide the house? He wouldn't, there would be so many wards that the intruder couldn't breathe and multiple guards all under loyalty oaths and previously questioned intensely under truth serum. But then again, he was quite paranoid, and he was never having children. So maybe it didn't matter.

His musings were cut short when the woman shifted in her sleep and he narrowed his eyes at her, contemplating what he should do and absently throwing up a couple of silencing charms lest the neighbors be aware of the house and hear any sort of commotion. Finally coming across an idea thanks to a film he had caught a few glimpses of over the last year plastered across the muggle billboards he shot a permenent sticking charm at the woman, now effectively glued to the sofa for eternity unless someone was wise enough to employ a particularly dedicated house elf, he conjured a rather large snake, giving it the intructions he desired whilst casting a few imperviouses at it and a spell that allowed it to survive without air.

It hissed an affirmative and slid over to the squib still dozing fitfully before working its way up her body, tongue flicking over her half open mouth before nudging it open slightly and sliding on in. It was at this moment that she woke up, but he merely stood silently twirling his wand in his fingers with his head cocked as the snake made its way down her throat slowly as she tried desperately to scream around it and lift her hands from their stuck position. Obviously it was futile. Blood dribbled from her mouth and eventually after what seemed like an age her eyes glazed over and she slumped once again. Scourgifying the blood away he continued on his way up the stairs, the snake under instructions to burst out of the woman should anybody get just a little bit too close. He was anticipating that the mudblood would understand the alien reference and it filled him with mirth at the idea of the confusion and horror it would create. They would assume it was a coincidence and nobody would correct them.

He fianlly reached the nursery door, having opened two already to come across the master bedroom and a guest room only to stop in his tracks, wanting very dearly to wring Pettigrews chunky little neck. Two children sat in their cots on opposite sides of the room, both obviously the same age, being about a year and a half. Twins. Why had the little rat not informed him that it was twins. He would have no idea which of the two was truly born as the seventh month died, for all he knew they may not have even been born on the same day, possibly either side of midnight.