The night is dark. Sirius Black, in his cell receives a letter. It only says seven words.
'You are our child's godfather.
~Prongs'
His now bony, filthy face breaks into a euphoric smile. His eyes once again take on a mad glint as he sets the letter beside him and looks at the newly beautiful sky.
A child doesn't deserve this.
A child deserves actual loving parents.
No child deserves parents drunken under Amortentia.
No child deserves a life like mine.
Godric's Hollow is a small town, with a population of 780. As I stand outside James, Lily and recently, Harry Potter's house, I wonder if this is the right decision.
I wonder if I really should kill the parents.
I wonder if I should just leave them alone. That saves me from all my troubles. It'll also save the kid. Atleast he'll grow up with parents, right?
My hand rests a few inches before the door. I'm not sure if I should burst it open. Dramatic entrances are 'dramatically' overrated.
I decide to knock. I don't think the door's hinges can handle me bursting it open. I'm already killing them. No need to damage their door, too.
James Potter, tall and lanky, with ugly red glasses resting on his nose comes out. His eyes widen when he sees me.
He stays silent, mouth gaping slightly.
"Shouldn't have trusted your rat, right, Potter?", I taunt.
His face takes on a different colour, "What did you do to Peter?"
If I had had any eyebrows, I'd have raised one, "I assure you, Pettigrew gave away your location quite willingly."
His face betrays no hurt. Atleast he doesn't start bawling.
Over his shoulder, he shouts, "TAKE HIM AWAY!"
"You couldn't even save your best friend. Just fail your son and wife, too."
His jaw clenches so tightly I can hear his teeth grinding together.
I continue, "Cat got your tongue?"
I see his hand slowly creeping into his back pocket. His face morphs from determined confidence to abject horror.
He's not even carrying his wand. I've never seen a parent this careless.
"Well, I was gonna kill you anyway.", I shrug and point my wand at him.
He stiffens for a moment, then lunges at me, but he's a moment too late.
I don't think for a moment before I shout, "Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light hits James Potter in the chest and he falls back.
I step over his body and lean down.
He doesn't move even as my cold hand brushes over his eyes to shut them. I place his hand over his stomach and get him out of the hallway, into the kitchen just beside it. I seat him onto a wooden chair and walk towards the bedroom.
And they say Lord Voldemort isn't a nice guy.
The bedroom door is unlocked. I open it as slowly and ominously as possible, its creak the only sound audible. I wonder if the child and his mother fled. It wouldn't take me much time to find them.
Lily Evans hasn't run away.
She stands, bold and golden, her torso hiding her son.
She looks like what my mother would've before my bigoted prick of a father left her.
Her face crumples when her eyes meet mine, her eyes watering pathetically.
"Not Harry, please. Take me instead.", she pleads, sliding onto her knees.
Unlike James, she isn't screaming. Her voice is soft and heartbroken, as if she's realized the child was a mistake. Maybe the spell broke when James died.
"Please, stand up."
I am surprised by the gentleness of my own voice, and so is she.
She slowly rises to my level, and tears slide down her face, leaving silvery tracks across her cheeks.
"He is all I have. Please don't take him away. Please."
Her voice is faint and quavery. She is sobbing quietly and shaking.
I don't want to kill her. She is just an innocent woman.
In this instance, it doesn't even matter that she is a muggleborn. She is only a helpless mother.
But then I turn to the child. His back is turned and he is laughing, ignorant to the fact that his father was killed.
Was I ever like that?
He doesn't deserve a mother drunk and negligent to the world. Maybe Lily never woke up. Maybe she still thinks she loved James.
No one realizes how destructive love is, even when burning in its flames.
I try to shove her away, but she seems to be stuck to the ground.
She hangs her head, her tears dripping onto the naked wood-panelled floor.
Sparing me one resentful look, she picks up her son in her pale, freckled arms. Her face turns tender when he looks at her. She plants a kiss to each of his temples, her lips moving inaudibly.
I'm not the best lip-reader, but I'm certain she'd said, 'I love you.'
Something in my chest clenches. I wonder if my mother had had the time to say that to me.
She kisses him again and sets him down, turning him away from her.
She faces me, her eyes challenging, her chin raised, "Well?"
She smiles, and I am suddenly envious of this brave woman. If only my mother had been a bit like her.
I raise my wand arm, and she raises her hand in goodbye, a smile still etched onto her beautiful face.
"Avada Kedavra.", I mutter.
In the same flash of brilliant green, the robust form of Lily Evans crumbles. Her corpse is every bit as beautiful as her, and the ghost of her smile remains on her face.
Did my mother look this beautiful on her deathbed?
My arm is trembling. This has never happened before.
How did Lily Evans, with her few words, leave such a great impression on me? I wonder how even mortals are capable of leaving scorch marks behind.
I close her eyes with a hundred times more gentleness than I handled James. I lay her on the bed and place some purple flowers I had found in a vase under the bed at her feet.
Her dead form is angelic; it could be preserved in a museum. I wonder how long she'll take to turn to bones.
The child turns around, now looking at me.
I swear I start panicking when his eyes meet mine. They're more beautiful than any other pair I've seen.
He turns to his mother and tries to reach out to her.
I wonder if I made a mistake.
I should've just let them be.
I shouldn't have come here.
He giggles at me, and I realise I am gaping at him.
His laughter makes my heart swell, and very slowly, melt.
This is the child that filled Voldemort's heart with unanswered questions.
I try to grin. I'm scared I'll do it wrong and scare him; but he laughs even harder.
It feels weird. I wonder if I have ever smiled like this before. The feeling is as beautiful as it is foreign.
"Come on, little guy. I'll keep you safe."
Once again, my voice surprises me. It is laced with affection and something along the lines of playfulness.
I shouldn't be playing with him. I don't deserve this. I killed his parents. Who the fuck am I to be pitying him now? He should grow somewhere away from me.
I shouldn't stay. I should just let Dumbledore or one of his cronies come collect him; I know they will. He won't be ignored like I was. His parents were magic; the people on the street will pretend like it doesn't matter- but, at the end of the day, it makes all the difference in the world. The only reason I spent 11 years in a foster home was because I was a non-magic orphan, just another parentless little bastard in the war.
I pick a purple flower out of the bunch at his mother's feet and lay it on his lap.
"Do you know what colour this is?", I ask, very gently.
He squeals, "Puh-poo!"
I laugh so benevolently I surprise myself, "Very good!"
His smile is so wide it splits his little face into two halves. He reaches out to me with a meaty little hand, but falls back into the crib.
I tuck the flower into his overalls' chest pocket and hold out my arms.
He jumps into them, and our eyes meet, red on brilliant green.
Our moment in ruined by my hands crumbling.
My fingers begin to disintegrate, and soon so do my wrists. Harry plops onto the crib.
"Harry...", I whisper. His intelligent eyes regard me.
My hands turn to dust, and my torso and legs follow suit, until I am just a head, disintegrating just as fast.
"Potter....", I manage. He looks at me curiously.
What will be made of this child? Will he be rescued? My mind has lost its ability to panic, but I just pray that he is rescued by someone.
I wonder if sinners' prayers get answered. I can't believe the last thing I wished was for someone else's safety.
My eyes are all that's left of me now.
And just like, 'Harry Potter' become the great Lord Voldemort's last words.
Everything is shattering and it's my mistake.
