It was a cold night. He walked down the street with the eerie confidence of a killer, which he was. Knowing full well where he was going, he turned down the next street.
The cobble stone street, lightly covered with snow, let out a slight clomp with each step he took. As he went, the streets got more twisted and the houses all looked the same.
Expertly, he crouched down in the shadows and waited without movement. Hours seemed to go by. Days maybe, but none of that mattered, there was only himself and the target. He began to wonder if the man was ever going to come. But that was absurd, the Dark Lord was always correct. He never faltered in anything that he did. But maybe . . . maybe he was beginning to slip up. He pondered the thought for a while. He never managed to kill that Potter child. It was so easy. Just kill the parents and then the boy. No nonsense, just death. But now he was in the hands of the enemy. No! He practically shouted. Saying that about the Dark Lord was blasphemy, or as good as.
Focusing again, he began to see a shadow appear from the street light. And then across the way he saw his outline, the massive body of someone carrying the real target, the boy. How was he going to get around him? Maybe he should just kill them both? Yes. That would work.
But how to do it? He had been pondering this question the entire walk, which was a long one. Like he had done it a thousand times before, the small man crouched behind a dumpster and waited for the opportune moment when he would catch them both off guard. He whipped out his wand as he remembered that he had forgotten to wipe away his footprints. With a quick utterance, the trail of footprints was gone.
As he stared into the freezing night, sweat formed on his shaking hands and quickly froze. Trembling, he began to form the words in his mouth and found his mark with his wand. Suddenly, another shape appeared out of the dark. Tall and thin, it resembled professor Dumbledore. Slowly, he lowered his wand slightly and thought about his next action. For a few minuets he pondered when out of the corner of his eye another person appeared. With the form of a woman, she must have been Dumbledore's second, professor McGonagall. Quickly he lowered his wand. He could not face all of them and hope to win. His mind raced with thoughts and they all quickly went to self preservation and the best way to get out alive. The Dark Lord would under stand. He knows the power that they all had and he would know that he would surely die. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he gets the job done. He failed.
With extreme hurriedness he put his wand up to his face and muttered a few silent spells and fell to the ground. As he scurried of, tail dragging into the night, he thought about where he was going to go next. No where was safe for him now. His mind made up, he scampered away into the dark.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As they walked away Arabella Figg saw a small bundle being put on to the doorstep of the Dursley's. With almost no thought she knew that this must be the one, the boy who lived.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Without knowing it, the scared young man ran away into the night, missing his only chance to kill his target. He failed the Dark Lord. And for that he knew he must pay. But maybe, just maybe, if he was able to get away from him he would be able to start over with a new life and not have to worry about the Dark Lord and his followers after him.