Man, I read the last Harry Potter book again and I just felt compelled to write another fan fiction. Those books are damn addictive. Uh... it starts post DH with a few differences: Tonks, Lupin and the Weasley twins are not dead or earless in any way. And of course I don't own Harry Potter etc in any way cause if did I wouldn't be writing right now, I'd be rolling in money. So... yeah.
Well, enjoy!
Prologue: Child of the Dark Arts
With Voldemort defeated, a great rejoice spread throughout the wizarding community. Vast celebrations of wizards and witches long repressed out of the fear that You Know Who would someday return, decorated the land with genuine joy. The night sky danced with fireworks bursting into colourful images of dragons and nymphs, centaurs and trolls. Laughter and elation echoed from all over the earth. Voldemort was gone. He was defeated. The followers of the Dark Arts were either dead or hiding in some secluded ditch through fear of ever being discovered. The rebirth of the decade's long war instigated by the birth of the famous Harry Potter- was over.
Yet sitting on the windowsill of a house nestled neatly amongst a nice suburb, was a young man- no more than sixteen years old. In the dim light of an outside light post his face was pale and sharp. His raven black hair hung loose over his face and his eyes glinted solemnly, the sole light outside reflected like a crystal in his iris. They were black eyes, like a shard of pure jet.
His face was contorted into a menacing snarl; he was not partaking in the happy festivities. Instead his mind was being controlled by angry thoughts; thoughts of revenge. He was livid as someone had been taken from him- the father whom he had loved and adored. The father who had looked after him, cared for him, and taught him all about the greater intricacies of magic. His father who had been murdered.
And as he sat sullenly, he made an oath to himself- not just a childish swear derived from a surge of intense emotion- but a meaningful one, one of true intent.
He swore to himself: I will kill Harry Potter!
He swore again and again in his head as he stared intently at the crescent moon, hanging like a squinting eye in the sky amidst a multitude of sparkling stars. His knuckles burnt white, his nails piercing skin- the blood sacrifice that sealed Fate's course.
Then, as if to deprive him of his moment of mature emotion, his mother called from downstairs:
"Shawn! Shawn, come here!"
Shawn tried to block out her whining voice- she would definitely be first on the list, he told himself; irritating little woman. She had no idea of what he was capable of; she had no clue about anything. Damn muggle!
"Shawn! Get down here."
With one final look to the moon Shawn reluctantly turned from the window, his hand hanging in the cold outside air for a brief moment. A trail of blood fell from his hand to the grass below, congealing in a puddle of crimson that marred the perfect lawn.
I will kill Harry Potter, he swore to himself one final time before her high pitched voice droned again:
"Get down here this instant! Shawn Riddle!"