Death "Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking toward me, without hurrying."- Jean Cocteau
A/N everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's.
The crackling of the fire filled the room. It was low in the grate, verging on that undecided state between coals and flames. It cast a too-yellow glow on the pasty walls, shadows flickering, licking, trying to consume the light. The man in the chair, if you could call one who preyed on those of his kind a man, noticed this. He turned his head towards the snake that curled itself around the room, dangerous, looming, searching for something.
"But isn't that how shadows are, precious Nagini?" His voice was hardly above a whisper, just loud enough to be heard above the fire. The snake's hiss accompanied his words, as they always did. She never understood her master's useless talking. He talked to his prey also, why didn't he just kill them? They crouched before him, trembling in his awe, his raw power, they crouched, ready to be consumed, but he would never strike. He left this to her. It's not that she didn't mind, of course, she hungered for those times, the times in which she could deliver the blow, her prey kneeling before her, some paralyzed, and others screaming, until they were cut short, of course. But his useless talking was his flaw, and some of it didn't even make any sense!
"Shadows always consume light. They hide and flee, but come the night, they are strong and rebellious, and take back what is theirs!"
He jumped up, pacing the room. Severus had given him dreadful news. Severus, he mused, he could always count on. The others were somewhat faithful, but Severus…he turned again, cape billowing behind him. Severus knew what he was searching for.
There had been a prophecy. One of his death. His death would come of a babe, one that was born in the July of 1980. A boy. He scoffed at the idea, but something had to be done. One could not just wait for a threat to become larger. You had to extinguish it before it got there. Pull it up by the roots. The prophecy told that the parents of said babe would have defied him three times and lived to tell the tale, and that he would grow to have powers that he himself was unable or willing to comprehend. Severus said that he had sought and sought, but had been able to find two that fit the match. Here Severus had hesitated. Hesitation was never good. The two boys were both from pureblood families, it seemed. Both families were a part of the Order. But one, one was the son of the woman Severus loved. He'd sneered, telling him he'd find another, a better one. It certainly wouldn't be hard, considering that she was of Muggle parents. Severus had begged. But had that ever stopped him? Someone begging? For their life, for their family? No. He knew he'd made his decision. Death comes to everyone, to some a little earlier. But he, he had no notion of dying. And certainly not by the hand of a boy. The Potter family would not evade him again. Yes, death was approaching, wings pen wide. But it wasn't coming for him. Not for a long while.
He appeared in Godric's Hollow in a cloud of smoke as thick as black ink. His hand rubbed absently along the length of his wand before withdrawing it. He turned the lock silently, twisting the knotted wand he held in his hand. He moved without a sound, unhuman, his feet seemed to glide above the ground. He stepped up the stairs, wincing at the high, child squeals filled with delight, followed by a deeper laughing. Suddenly, there was silence. A few terse words were exchanged between man and wife, and the sound of feet pounded down the stairs. He smiled cruelly as James Potter turned the corner to face him. "Move aside, and I'll let you free. I just want the boy." He said, pointing his wand up the stairs. Potter, being brave and courageous, lifted his wand. Before he could utter a word, he was upon the ground, his last look of determination etched upon his face forever. He stepped over the fallen body and moved up the stairs. He walked through the hallway, towards the sounds of muffled weeping. He entered a cheerily painted nursery. It was painted yellow, moons and stars orbiting overhead as if being dangled by an unseen string. There was a boy, standing in a crib before him, a woman with fiery hair standing defensively in front of him, tears running down her face, emitting from puffy, green eyes. He could understand the appeal Severus might have to the woman, but honestly. She wasn't much. He told her to move, gave her a choice as he always sis with his victims. Of course she didn't move. She was from the order. Silly girl. He raised his wand, and in a flash of green light, her body joined her husband's on the floor. He looked into the green eyes of the baby boy standing unstably with the support of the side of the crib. He laughed, almost as if the stranger with the pretty lights was just a game, but stopped as he realized this funny man wasn't laughing, that he was moving dangerously across the floor to him, and just like that he started to cry. He raised his wand, a cruel, vicious triumph roaring in his chest. He repeated those oh so familiar words, expecting there to be a green light. Instead, there was a white one, blinding, a silhouette of a lightning bolt, and everything around him went black.