This was written for a competition on the Harry Potter boards; I hope you guys enjoy it.


When All Was Well

There had once been a time when all was well in the Potter house; when everything was as it should be. My three children grew older and older, each maturing in his or her own, individual way. James, by his fifth year in school, had taken charge of the DA, something that had always been run by a seventh year. My second son, Albus, seemed to have inherited my father's extraordinary Quidditch talent, and was quite the star in the Pitch. My youngest child, Lily, was only going into her second year at Hogwarts, but I knew she would grow into a fine girl. She was talented at many things, Quidditch included, and seemed to have learned much from Ginny, my wife, about courage. She was intelligent, practical, thoughtful of others, and willing to put them before herself. Having been brought up around two older brothers, she wasn't afraid to stand up and fight to be heard and respected. Lily had been a fiery baby when she had been born, and only grew more so as time progressed, but I must confess now that she had always held a special place in my heart.

And, of course, there was Teddy Lupin. He was not related to us genetically, but Ginny and I loved him much and treated him like one of our own. When he received the test results from his O.W.L.'s it was to our house he ran. He asked for my approval of his first official girlfriend, and he felt completely comfortable with my children, playing games with them often and assisting my wife and I in teaching them valuable life lessons. Once we discovered that he had become an Animagus we were overjoyed, especially when we were told that his chosen form was a cat. We were never lucky enough to actually see him transform, but we were in awe of his magical prowess, for none of us could ever have dreamt of performing such a daring and adventurous task. We considered him a member of our family, for he was so much a part of us that we wouldn't have it any other way. In fact, he sometimes altered his appearance so that he would actually appear to be related to us when we went out, just the six of us, so that observers wouldn't question us. I must say, he certainly was quite convincing – his acting skills were impeccable.

My family and I would fight amongst each other, of course, but that is only to be expected. We weren't perfect, but we loved each other. And that was all that mattered.

At least, that's how it was.

Last summer Teddy's grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, passed on to be with his parents. He was devastated, and rightfully so. Andromeda was a wonderful woman, and I owe her a lot, but she was quite old, having lived past almost all of the adult survivors of The War, and died a very peaceful and quiet death. Still, Teddy was distraught. We tried to console him as best we could, but it grew to be an impossible task. We knew not what to do, how to behave around him anymore, for his grief seemed insurmountable.

We had come to an impasse.

"More peas, Teddy?" Lily offers with a smile as she holds the ceramic bowl out in suggestion. The wooden spoon seems out of place in the bowl – and even this mundane kitchen setting – for the sea of peas seems to almost swamp it, and, perhaps worst of all, the spoon seems to be giving in. It is stuffed unceremoniously into the small sea of green, jetting out at an awkward angle, giving off the aura of being uncared for, making it very unlikely that anyone will want to retrieve a spoonful of peas anytime soon.

Teddy, having not taken off his cape in the front hall, has pulled its black hood up over his head, and has his chin so tucked in that one can barely discern that he even has a face. He doesn't respond to my daughter's query, and continues to glare at his lap, motionless.

Lily blinks a couple of times before shrugging it off and spooning a small helping of the proffered vegetable onto her plate. As she sets down the yellow bowl with red polka dots she meets my eyes in a brief connection and grimaces, but then she picks up her spoon and proceeds to delicately scoop the dark green spheres into her opened mouth. My plate still empty, I gaze at my godson with as much intensity as he is spending upon his lap, and I watch as he eventually begins to feel my eyes and slowly raises his head.

My 'startling' emerald eyes are met with ones as black as a moonless night, one that is so clouded over that you cannot tell whether you are seeing the sky or a never-ending blanket of black. His eyes are bloodshot, and the bags under them are of such an immense size that I fear for his health. I can see his muscles flex underneath his thin cloak, tightening and then relaxing, stretching before loosening. His breathing is heavy, labored. Teddy's normal spikes of electric blue hair are no more. Instead, it is an unruly mop of the brightest and most neon orange, standing out ferociously against the hood of his black cape. As his jet-black eyes glare into mine, I am reminded yet again of his sorrow, and I wonder, for the first time, how he is actually coping. For his eyes are not filled with family love, affection, friendliness, or even indifference.

They are filled with hate.

"No," he hisses in a belated response to my daughter's inquiry. "I do not want any peas." And, just before going back to his vegetative state, he shoots me another glare that is accompanied with eyes that flash a shimmer of red in caution. He pulls the hood up over his head again, allowing only the slightest shock of neon orange hair to blink in warning against the black fabric.

"Hello!" I shout as I proceed into the Entrance Hall, dropping my briefcase onto the wooden floor unceremoniously. The dining room table, which I can see through the arch that leads into the adjacent room, is surprisingly void of life forms. Astonishing, considering that every day I've come home from work this summer everyone's been gathered around that oak table in the dining room, preparing dinner or already eating it. But today the chairs are still neatly pushed underneath the polished wood, and I can smell no scents that remind me of supper in the slightest.

How curious.

My interest peaked, I cautiously push against the swinging door that leads into the kitchen, wondering what could possibly make this day different than any other. The first thing I see is a pot, the lid removed, sitting upon the stove top, as if waiting to be cooked. The next thing I saw is destruction, for the entire room is destroyed: stools overturned, wallpaper slashed, holes blasted through the ceiling, glass strewn upon the floor, blood spattered against the wall.

Blood.

Blood means pain.

Pain means danger.

Danger could mean death.

"LILY!" a scream rips from my throat frantically. "GINNY! ALBUS! JAMES!" I hysterically dash across the tiled kitchen floor, not caring that my feet proceed to bleed as a result of running across glass, into the family room, which, to my utter horror and dismay, is also in shreds. "LILY!" I shriek again. The cycle of names, of the four people who matter the most to me in this world, continues until I have circulated the house, ending in the front garden. Tears streaming down my cheeks, vision blurring, sobs shaking my frame so much that I can hardly breath, I slowly sink to my knees amongst the bed of tulips – Ginny's tulips. My eyes blearily blink as my mind whirs and slows at the same time. Suddenly, my gaze falls upon the door, where a note has been hastily tacked. I almost fall over in my frenzy to reach the pine door, to find out if my family is safe. Snatching the scrap from the nail, tearing the top of the page without notice, I skim the note, eyes darting to and fro.

I was not one of them.

I belonged to no one.

I was not one of you.

I loved no one.

I lost everything.

You lost no one.

I lost no one.

You lost everything.

May you forever live in this world,

My world,

The world that you created for me.

Where the friends become friendless

The lovers become loveless

And the ones with families

Have no one.

I hope that your life will be half as much a fiery he as mine already has been and will continue to be.

Only then will I know that my revenge has been succinct.

Harry Potter's legs crumble beneath him as he faints upon the stone step, the tattered piece of parchment he had been reading fluttering to the ground beside him with a quiet rustle. His glasses bend and crack against the pressure, splintering, and his cheeks are still trickling tears.

A tabby cat slowly rises from its resting place amongst the pea plants in the Potters' garden, stretching its limbs laboriously after its long wait. The feline's head cocks to one side as it examines the man lying across the stone pathway even as it slowly pads towards the street. He allows himself one glance back, to the little house with the thatched roof that he had visited so often, before turning forward again and stalking towards the horizon.

And, against the cloudless blue sky, swaying in time with the drumbeat playing within his head, the tabby cat's black and orange tail waves triumphantly in sadistic victory.