Harry Potter and the Unexpected Death of Lord Voldemort

/HP/

Fate is a most mysterious of forces. Some doubt its existence, others claim that it controls every aspect of their lives. But even the most hardened skeptic would have to agree that fate would seem to be more likely than the astronomical list of coincidences and chance that occurred late on the 6th January 1996.

Michael Trudeman and his friends, James and David had been bar hopping all evening. The recent celebration (or commiseration if you asked James, which Michael did not) for his engagement had been a suitable excuse for much drinking and merrymaking amongst the three long time friends, and now, after 11 o'clock, they had just been chucked out of their third bar in a row.

None of them could subsequently remember, precisely who had come up with the idea (although if pressed, Michael and David would both finger James), but the end result was that the three of them all agreed that fox hunting would be a fantastic idea. After all, there was the rifle sitting locked up in the back of the truck, and the Kielder Forest was just up the road, as David said, 'What could go wrong?'

Neither the fact that none of them possessed a fire-arms licence, nor that they were well over the legal driving limit phased any of them.

The Kielder Forest was a thick pine forest, very closed-in in places, and when the three men found their parking spot, a small track off the main road, they were fairly confident of not been seen or heard.

It was now well after midnight, and the three of them had had the better part of an hour to somewhat sober up and realise that perhaps this was not their best idea. Michael in particular was having rather frightening visions of exactly what his fiancé would do to him when the headlines "three men arrested drunk with a firearm in the national park" appeared in the morning paper. Perhaps, if one of the three had voiced their concerns, none of what now seemed fated to happen would have occurred. And yet, somehow the inebriated brains could not bear the old schoolyard thought of being uncool, and all three continued without comment, David carrying the loaded, albeit not bolted, rifle.

The rifle in question, was a scoped .22 which belonged to Michael's father. The rifle had only ended up in his possession tonight because his father had returned from Bisley that day and was yet to put it away when the three friends had gone off for their impromptu celebration, but being as Michael and his friends had been to the local range numerous times with the old man, all of them at least knew how to handle a rifle, and David who grew up on a local farm considered himself to be a decent shot.

But still, you cannot shoot what isn't there, and after blundering about in the woods for a good hour or so, the three of them had not encountered another living creature. In fact the whole forest seemed oddly still. 'Bewitched' James had called it after they had first arrived, and despite it being hours after twilight, Michael had privately agreed with him. The moon which had lit their way at first was now beginning to dip towards the horizon, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see. None of them had thought to bring a torch, and they had wondered far from the track.

'I think we should turn back.' Michael voiced at last, whispering; ostensibly so as not to frighten the non-existent wildlife, 'it's getting dark and it will take us ages to find the track again.'

David and James exchanged a look with each other before agreeing. Blundering about the forest in the dark and the cold did not seem like nearly as much fun as it had in the warm pub at Nook, and with sanity returning, so to did the realisation that they had no idea where they were, and it would likely take them the best part of two hours to find their way back to the truck.

'Hang on, what was that over there?' Hissed David, pointing towards a lighter patch in the forest ahead and to their right. The three listened and could make out the sound of movement in that direction, some creature apparently perfectly at ease with the forest at night.

Excited about the prospect of getting something out of the trip after all, the three men crept towards the sound, perceiving the slightly brighter air of a moonlit clearing ahead. Here, fate intervened yet again. At that same moment — before they could take in the occupants of the clearing — large thick clouds rolled over the moon, plunging the scene into total darkness. Out of this pitch, a flash of green glinted in the clearing.

'Green flash, foxes eye.' That was the thought that flitted through David's still groggy mind and sealed the fates of everyone wrapped up in the night's escapade. He did not hesitate, the riffle was already lifted to his shoulder; he pointed the scope at the fading green light and squeezed the trigger.

CRACK!

The riffle went off like one would expect from a gun on a still, silent night. As Michael belatedly covered his eardrums, he half fancied that he caught some kind of strange word shouted from far away, but he could not tell, and assumed almost instantly that he had imagined it. After all, who on earth besides them would be out here in the snow covered forest in the middle of the night?

'I think I got it!' Cried David triumphantly.

'Great,' grumbled James, 'warn us next time — I just about had a heart attack.'

'And ruin my shot?' Scoffed David. 'C'mon, lets see if it's a clean kill.'

The three men strolled in the direction of the clearing, reaching the shrubs and bushes which surrounded it just as the clouds rolled away, flooding the clearing with moonlight once more.

The clearing was only a small one, merely two or three metres across and about double that in length, but very obvious in the bright snow, the spread eagle shape of a very dead Lord Voldemort lay on his back in the snow, a bullet hole directly between his now glassy, snake-like eyes.

'Oh shit.' Said David.

Of course, the three muggles had no concept that the man that they had just shot was the greatest dark wizard in history. In fact, even had one of them stopped to ponder the strange robes that the ex-he-who-must-not-be-named was wearing, they would not — could not — have even known that he was a wizard. All that any of them knew, was that a man was dead, with a bullet hole in his head, and the three of them were wondering around the forest holding the gun responsible. In Michael's mind, the newspaper headline he'd envisaged earlier had now moved to the front page and read 'Three men arrested for murderous night in woods!', he would be an old man before he would see April again!

'What do we do?' He exclaimed, not able to take his eyes off the cadaver of the Freshly-Deceased-You-Know-Who.

Neither of his friends had an answer for him — both were also transfixed by the sight of the Late-Lord-Voldemort, and for a good minute all that any of them could think about was just how very screwed they all were. At last Michael got his brain working again. At least, assuming a very liberal definition of the meaning of working; he was not known for his quick thinking at the best of times, and still addled by booze, it was the perennial combination which has been proudly compounding mistakes for generations.

'We gotta hide him.' He muttered, as his brain went through progressively more outlandish fantasies of what would happen to the three of them if they were caught. Did murderers get visitation rights? Could they plead culpable homicide?

'Where?' Asked James, his face pale and slightly sick.

'We'll 'ave to bury him.' Said David, taking charge, which seamed appropriate given that he was the one who had pulled the trigger and would be likely to get the stiffest penalty. Michael blanched, would his dad get charged too? It was his gun they had used after all... he refocused on what David was saying, '...we just 'ave to get him below the snow! It will be months before it thaws, and no one will be able to track him back to us!'

'Won't someone's dog find it or something?' Asked James doubtfully.

'What're the chances?' Cried David, 'I mean we're out here in the middle of nowhere, we're a mile from the track! Besides, do 'ya have a better idea?'

Neither of them did, and so under David's instructions, they carefully helped him carry the body out of the clearing, searching for a small hollow where the snow was deeper. The whole time, thoughts of April danced through Michael's head, would she be home by now? Would she be worried about where he was? She certainly could not have the faintest idea what was happening to him could she? His heart sunk as he realised that this would be something that he could never tell her... he should have been paying more attention to where he was walking, as the next thing he knew, he was knee deep in snow and pitching forward face first into it, dropping the Dead Lord in the process.

He crawled to his feet, spitting out a face full of powder snow and brushing himself off as he did so. 'This looks good.' Said David, getting down to his knees on the edge of the deeper snow, 'give me a 'and.' Dropping back to his own knees, Michael moved over beside him and began to dig.

/HP/

Back in the clearing, unbeknownst to the three muggles, another person was present. A skinny 15 year old with jet-black hair and glasses sat up groaning and rubbing his chest from where the green light had hit him. Harry Potter was both confused and relieved to find his nemesis missing from the clearing, unsure as he was how he had survived.

Beginning to realise how cold he was in his tee-shirt, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and cast a warming charm on himself before looking carefully around the clearing. It seemed he was quite alone — not a single other sound filled the forest, and there was nothing to hint at what had happened. Perhaps Voldemort had simply left him there assuming that he was dead? Although that hardly sounded like the evil lord that Harry knew. He surely would have wanted to parade the body of the "Boy who lived" around the world. Had it all been a dream then? If so, what was he doing out here in the forest?

Deciding that he was unlikely to get answers here, he decided to find the nearest town and try and get in contact with someone. Hermione had a phone, and she would be able to get in contact with Dumbledore, he hoped. 'Point me.' He said, laying his wand on his palm and watched it spin to point the direction of the nearest town.

With a sigh of confusion, he started the long walk.