Beginning.
A/N: Making mainstream hipster in a process that even I don't understand.
Midnight. A time when most people would expect the streets to be silent except for a few crickets and lone travelers. The only light would be from the faint warm radiance of the street lights, or the gentle silver glow from the moon. But tonight, in a small village on the outskirts of an old large conifer forest the night air was howling. Flames taller then the trees burned the sky, covering the moon and stars with a thick ashen smoke that made the sky appear hellish and distorted in the light from the fire. Loud cracking and hissing screeched from the burning of the old wooden buildings, stifling the screaming and crying of the fleeing towns people as they ran down the narrow cobbled roads trying not to trample each other in the chaos.
Tall men in black uniforms marched down the streets, appearing like intense dancing shadows cast by the blinding flames. They swarmed around the buildings breaking down doors and dragging out the people inside, yelling at some to leave and gunning down the protesters, or the chosen few on the lists they carried. Then a team of two flame-throwers would lift their heavy metal devices, and with considerable effort force the metal levers down. The machines let out a small metallic groan and a steady flame shoot forth, licking their targets with a bright orange tongue. Before long the building would be on fire burning itself into ash, and the flame-throwers would move to the next one. In this way they slowly transformed the entire village into fire and soot; and the sickly-sweet stench of kerosene could be faintly smelt in the smoke.
At the end of a long street stood a modest house. Upstairs a man and woman, husband and wife stood staring out the window watching as one by one the houses on their block went up in flames. In no time at all they heard the knocks on their door.
"There is no way we will be spared James." The woman sighed to her husband. "Our names are without a doubt on their list there is no way they aren't after all we have done."
"You are probably right." He replied looking around their humble room, pausing a bit at the empty wooden cradle in the corner. "But at least he will live, we had at least the foresight for that when things started getting ugly here."
"I can only hope he won't hate us for leaving him orphaned..."
"More like he will hate us for leaving him with your sister."
"James! This is not the time for jokes!"
"Who is joking? Your sister is a bitch." The woman turned and smiled at him lovingly.
"You know this is why I love you. Death is literally at our door and yet you can still make me laugh." A loud crashing sound from downstairs caused them both to flinch and look anxiously at the wooden door at the far end of the room. Just outside the door was a small hallway, and at the end of that hallway stairs, and at the bottom of the stairs the Populace Guards who just broke down their front door and were flooding inside.
"Well I believe Death is through the door now." He said as calmly as he could, trying not to let his voice warble from fear. He had expected his death for months now, but when the reality of it is a few feet from you, its hard not to be nervous and afraid.
"I believe that there is still one door between Death and Us dear." The woman joked at him hinting at the door in front of them.
James chuckled. "Now who is telling jokes Lilly?" He grabbed her hand and kissed her.
They could hear the footsteps on the stairs now. "Only seconds now" they thought. Both of their hearts pounded in their chest, and adrenaline started to kick in. Everything in the room they saw become a sharp image, but even more. Everything was more real to them now then ever, the smell of fire, the light breeze from the window, the weight of each others hand in theirs', and the deep breaths they struggled to take. The couple turned and looked at each other. Lilly tightened her grip on James' hand. James smiled sheepishly. The footsteps stopped right in front of their door, and the knob started to turn.
The door slammed open, and the blood drained from Lilly and James' faces as they saw their Reapers file into the room. Soldiers, if they could even be called that, they were more like an odd band of ill trained zealous revolutionaries loosely united in their black clothes, arm bands, and badges, assembled around the doorway in rows and started to aim their rifles at the two. Yet more footsteps were heard, and slowly with grace a tall figure entered through the door way and stood, a Antichrist surrounded by his disciples. His eyes and long slicked-back hair were like ice, cold but bright, and his angular face smirked at them with a smug indifference. His movements had a pretense of refinement and nobility, which only enhanced his haughty aura. He plucked as small piece of paper from his pocket, and with extreme disinterest read in an almost monotone articulation:
"Lilly and James Potter. Tonight we the Populace Guards, the strong hands who act for our Party, have come to eliminate you for crimes against the New Muggle Populace Party. Your crimes are now to be defined. First, aiding in the smuggling of illegal wizard refugees across our borders. Secondly for aiding in the illegal emigration of registered wizards out of our state. And thirdly for the illegal practice of Witch Craft and Wizardry in direct violation of the Wand Confiscation and Coexistance Act . To make right these crimes we have come to kill you. Anything either of you wish to say before you die?"
"Though you may try you will never kill us. The will to survive is stronger then the will to kill!" Lilly screamed at him, tears burning in her eyes.
"Boring..." He said coldly, turning around to walk out the door. How many times did he hear that now? Wizards have no imagination. He waved his hand and then walked out the door to the sound of guns firing behind him.
Once outside he walked down the narrow street that was now completely on fire. He looked up at the blotted out sky and thought: The stars would have been quite beautiful tonight. And then continued on his way.