Love.
He would have scoffed at the thought when he was younger.
Love.
He had craved... yet never fully understood just what it was. That was until after she came. Seven years he had been blind... Than in one night of clarity, he knew, he understood.
And everything finally made sense.
Sick. Soul-wrecthing. Disgusting. Demented sense.
When he was told that his "Power" was love... he had never understood. Every human had love, didn't they? Even if it was a love for death and torture. It was a love. Wasn't it?
That night, had seen him make sense of everything.
Now. He had only one thing.
Gone.
Were his green eyes.
Gone.
Were the belongings he once carried as a reminder of his humanity.
Gone.
Everything was gone.
All but her love.
Still it resided. He thought of the irony of it all. The-Boy-Who-Lived, The one who had conquered over the Dark. The new symbol for the Light. A half-breed creature of origin's "Most Foul" as Moody would have quoted.
He had researched his brethren. It actually took a lot more than the infamous "Kiss" to turn a being into one of them. The one being kissed actually had to want to live so much, that the husk or body left without the soul, was turned into what Humanity called Dementors.
His bretren did not actually have souls, nor feeling's, nor love.
Just a need to survive... a need to be alive.
He suspected that Dumbledore, had known how he became one, he suspected she knew before him that he was one.
But he had nevwer come any closer to finding just how he had become one.
Then again. He had never left himself much chance in the way of research.
He had run.
Ridden.
Flew.
He eventually settled down physically, but emotionally.
Emotionally He had not stopped. Not for decades, centuries.
He had seen the rise of no less than 10 new dark lord's. He had personally slew them all.
He was feared and revered.
Worshiped and condemned.
Loved and hated.
The stuff of bed time stories, and of nightmares.
Sitting upon a park bench outside of number 12 Grimmauld place. He was watching. Watching a most perculiar sight, if one had have been as old as he. Several chrildren playing. Though that would be normal... It was not often in the history of the world that those young of age would be allowed to play with those of another species.
Homosapien's had evolved, but into several kinds of beings. He was the last tie to homosapiens... and to dementors.
Dementors had met their end as human's developed natural sheilds against their effects. Few lived a decade after the first leap of immuntiy... then after the second only a handful had been able to survive.
He had managed the name, "The Old-one". No-one truly knew how old he was, but even with the abnormally high average age of death of 200, He was old... even to those who had reached 300... he was old.
Old enough... to wish for death.
It was not for want to see his love, he had her. As strong as ever she fed him her love. He did not want for pleasure of the flesh, nor even a coupling of bodies. He had her in more than the notion of mere sex. He had her love at all times...
When dreaming...
When walking...
When reading book's.
He had her at any time he could either need or want.
No. He was tired. Tired and world-weary. Weary of everything, he had seen the good... and the bad... the evil, and everything that one could think of.
There had been many people who asked how he has so old. He had never been able to answer. He could barely even manage to work out why he still had a human body. The strange thing that scared him was his ability to look both human and as a dementor, before they had been starved to extinction.
He lifted himself off of the park bench to return inside of number 12 Grimmauld place. Feeling the chemical reaction that for any other man, would have sent tears running down his cheeks. As his love somehow sent a shot of desire for her want of chrildren.
His eyes had long since turned to dust, while this had created a problem for a decade or so... his magic had helped him develop a sense of sonic hearing, much like bat's used in order to "see" their food.
As he entered the house of his very late godfather. He pondered once more how his love had somehow gained sentience within him... He did not think it was possible for just any old circumstance. Though he never had found another like himself before. He idly thought of becoming a new dark lord... maybe then they would find a way to kill him.
He had seriously tried everything he could think of to die. After-all, he thought as he pondered the idea of becoming a new dark lord. It had been a long time since the last war between the sentinent races of Earth. The last dark lord had been nearly 180 years ago, and the last war was nearly 100. The sentient races of earth were beginning to forget sorrow and grief that made happiness and hope that much better.
He walked quitely into the study area and quickely sent an incendio at the fireplace. As the wood crackled and burned he was given the sight of the library attached to the study area. Sitting there in front of a blazing fire in a cozy chair, he plotted the demise of several thousand lives...
Slowly he fell into a slumber... only to wake staring into wide brown eyes. Such disbeleif, sadness and betrayal he found there. Slowly he processed everything... he had movedon! Only at the cost of one thing he never wanted to give up... her love.
A/N: This is a response to RoyalJamboree's "A Picture paint's 1000 word's" challenge. The story it self has exactly 1000 words... Use a word count if you so wish. I think I am going to use this as a prologue for a new story it now has an idea in my head but no true plot line as of yet. Anyway. Please review it would mean the world to hear some good constructive crictism.
Bydd Byth.