The Beginning
I really want to write a Harry Potter fan fiction, but I don't have the time for a chapter fic, as I have lots of Artemis Fowl ones going on. This is the night where Voldemort murdered Harry's parents. I need to get in the Harry Potter mood again after years of neglecting the series, so don't be shocked if I accidentally say 'Artemis' instead of 'Harry!'
The disbelief, the shock, the horror that welled up inside her as the door was unlocked by charm, the light from the wand reaching in through the muggle fashion keyhole like a spirit reaching out of the ground.
She pulled her son to her chest looking desperately for a way out of the mess. There was none. There was, of course, the back door, but running stood no chance against Voldemort. There were rumours that he could fly like a ghost on the wind. Like an owl gliding on the breeze. Just spread his wings and whoosh. She wished with all her heart that she could just soar away with her husband and son.
But that wasn't going to happen.
He was shouting, orders at her, eyes wide with fear. The boy perked up in her arms like a little meerkat, interested, curious. Too curious for his own good.
She ran, without a kiss, goodbye, thank you, I love you. The departure left unfinished like a forgotten book, left open in the middle. An unfinished sympathy.
Start on C and finish on C. Not a major, a minor. And the minor sank to a B diminished.
The stairs seemed to stretch on forever for her. Why the stairs? Too late, she realised that she was trapped. Was she thinking this through?
No.
She dropped her son in his cot. No time for goodnights. See you tomorrow, sweet dreams.
She pushed a chair, table, a bookcase, full to the brim with novels telling of faraway places. How she wished she was in a far away place.
Was she thinking?
No.
A book case, a desk, a chair? He was called, by some, the most powerful wizard on the planet. She disagreed.
He was second.
To Dumbledore.
But first or second, he was still going to finish her family off in the flick of his wand.
Her wand. What had she left it for? Had her husband, her poor husband, picked up his wand?
There was a blast from downstairs. A murderous green glare shone for a moment under the door.
He hadn't picked up his wand.
She was alone, with him and nothing to fight with, buteverything to fight for.
What a fail as a witch! A mother, a wife!
Red light, next, that invaded the room and the door was blown apart, the furniture scattered everywhere, but it narrowly missed her and her son. He was not crying. Didn't he care? Or was it just a lack of understanding?
She pleaded, again and again, for the life of her son. Not her own, but for his. Pleading didn't get her far. Just from her feet to the floor.
The wand was turned on the son, his bright eyes looked at him curiously. He looked interested. With a little confusion in the mix.
And then he saw the face. The chalk white face, the bright, scarlet eyes, the snake-like nose. The thin mouth.
Then he cried.
The man faltered, unsure. Then remembered who he was. The most powerful wizard there ever was. Ever will be.
He cast the spell. The curse, the sin. The light blinded the two and then he was nothing. Less than the mere mortals he had laughed upon. Less than a spirit, less than a ghost. He was nothing.
And the boy?
The boy was everything.
I think this turned out pretty good. Possibly one of the best (or most emotional) stories I've ever written for fandom! What did you think? Last time I posted something on Harry Potter, nobody commented and so I took it down.
Don't lat that happen again.
Press the button.
V