Early one morning while making the rounds….

When had the love potion stopped working? And when had it started working on him instead of her? When had she become more than a pet? The burning in his nose that made his face grow slowly numb couldn't seem to enlighten him. The little bag of white addictive dust offered him no solace.

Her long red hair was cast about her milky body enfolded in the dark sheets, and she stared in horror at him. Beside her, a man much younger than he with hazel eyes was occupying the bed, their marriage bed which he had somehow grown to love even more than he could ever think. The place used to be a mere playground for his folly. But now, to see another soil it so carelessly, he felt jealous passion at seeing his little sanctified garden desecrated. Was he hot from rage or his new powdered novelty? The shadows on the walls crept about and scurried from the flickering of the lamp's flame. Rather than parting, the two in his bed clung to each other.

"How could you betray me," he hissed, more of him growing numb. "After everything I did for you. I gave you more than any man ever could." Impulsively, he tore the sheets from the bed so she could feel shame at her nakedness. "I turned the world upside down for you!"

"Thomas." Her voice was soft and docile. Even in the face of danger, she spoke with tender tones. "Please, don't be upset. You'll wake Harry—James, no!"

The man on the bed leapt to his feet. "Lily, go tend to the baby." His eyes burned with green fire as he grabbed up some of the sheets to fashion around his waist as quickly as possible.

Somehow, before the cuckold-maker even moved, he had the foresight to see James grabbing his wand from the nightstand to fight him. One moment, James' wand was in his hand. The next moment, it was three inches deep between the adulterer's ribs; the Dark Lord felt little resistant since the point of the wand was sharper as a wooden stake. Blood fell like warm rain drops on his face. The twisted rage on his adversary face inspired a dark joy that he recalled feeling in his youth, bringing back memories of when he killed his father.

Lily shrieked as James fell into the bed, inadvertently driving the spike further. His breathing grew shallow as he groped for the wand.

Desire to eliminate the foe overtook his desire to make him suffer. When he pointed his wand at James, the blanket of death fell heavy on his body. His limbs went limp.

I took a shot of cocaine and I shot my woman down….

"Thomas, no!" she sobbed, dressed in only a shift and clutching her wailing infant. "What have you done? Why did you do this?" She cowered on the floor like a supplicant before a martyred saint.

"Because I gave you everything and this is how you've repaid me!" Her auburn hair was in his fist as he pulled her up, shaking her violently all the way. "I am the Dark Lord, and no one shall wrong me as you have done!" She whimpered, clutching her baby hard as she shuddered at the shock of a harsh slap across her face.

Her head began bleeding when she hit it on the table after he threw her down. The wailing baby fell out of her arms only when she hit the floor, causing the child no harm. The world seemed dimmer, and she fought for consciousness if only to see her son one more time.

His laugh was high, cold, and mirthless when he saw her pitifully crawl toward the ugly little whelp she had dared called his. She cried out as his foot repeatedly hit her side, all of her body shuddering weakly like a leaf. "Where's your strength?" he taunted, his foot now stomping her hip.

The baby continued to scream, his cries sounding more and more animalistic. He had green eyes, beautiful green eyes like the pristine leaves of a mint plant. Why hadn't he noticed before? His true son would never look like his mother. A little alien in his house, his fortress, and he never knew until now. The drug in his body had opened his eyes to the truth behind all the lies she had been telling him. The child he treasured as his own was a bastard with an adulterer for his father. That wouldn't be for long.

Somehow, she found the strength to throw herself before the jet of magic springing from his wand. Green light engulfed her screaming body as more dark blood splattered on the mahogany wood floor. It took a moment, but he saw everything. Her arms writhed as if she were a seductive dancer of some exotic choreography. When her meagerly clad body twisted, it was like watching the flickering of a flame. Her mouth sucked in the wind, and it sounded like a gasp of lust. She seemed to curl into a coil when she fell down dead.

All that was left was the little imposter. He still cried bitterly as if knowing that he had no hope left in this world. So soon he had entered, and already he would leave. Something about his crying seemed a little rhythmic, as if he were chanting in an unknown or forgotten tongue that only infants could decipher.

A killing curse was simply too swift. This child needed to be punished. The Dark Lord raised his wand, wishing to torture every bone in the green-eyed whelp's feeble body.

Green light surrounded and obscured his vision. He felt cuts all over his body that were being rubbed with salt. There was poison in his bones, causing a sharp and merciless pain. Inside his brain, a worm was eating through to bore out of his skull. Even his throat felt so raw that he couldn't utter a whimper. What had this evil child done to him?

He dropped his wand, trying to breathe even though it felt like there was fire in his lungs. Were the lamps dying out or was he just the one dying? The fuzz of darkness grew broader until, finally, he saw only a starless and moonless night.