A/N: *drumroll* So here it is folks...the moment many of you have been waiting for! (Don't forget that this is purely my interpretation of that fateful night-with so little info from Canon, everyone imagines this scene differently, I'm sure. In other words, I'm very antsy that this will disappoint :O )
I should also point out that I've chosen to divide this chapter into two parts, purely because of the length of this chapter-just incase any of you would feel cheated by the ending of this update. ;)
Hope you all enjoy, and as usual, many many thanks for your continued reading+reviewing-I really do appreciate your thoughts/ideas/insights. :D
p.s. If anyone wants a soundtrack for this and the next few angsty chapters, I suggest 'Nara' by E.S. Posthumus...it's what I listened to as I wrote this, and if I could have a soundtrack for this entire fic, it'd most definitely be track #1.
"Each man is the architect of his own fate."
~Appius Claudius.
October 31st, 1981.
It seems fitting that Voldemort should secure his victory on this particular evening; a time of celebration, when magic is at its very strongest. Even Muggles seem to be celebrating tonight, much to his disgust-surely Halloween should be an occasion for the Wizarding World solely?
His lip curls in a sneer as he spots two Muggle children dressed up as witches, clutching broomsticks in one hand, and their pointed hats in the other. How utterly...pathetic. It strikes him as rather odd that after centuries of persecuting witches and wizards, Muggles think it entertainment to dress up like them.
Moving onwards up the street, he notices with malicious amusement that the girls are moving toward him, almost skipping, he notes disgustedly. One, obviously the braver of the two, pauses when only a few feet away, her eyes wide as she takes in what she assumes is a costume.
Gazing up at him through long eyelashes, she smiles widely, gesturing toward his cloak.
"What're you 'posed to be?" she lisps, curiosity bright in her eyes. The other girl is warier, remaining a few steps behind her friend.
If he thought he could kill the girls without alerting the Potters of his presence, he's quite certain he would. Instead, he simply smirks, his hood hiding his face from the young girls.
"I'm a wizard," he hisses coldly.
Eyeing the child disdainfully, Voldemort watches as she places her hat atop her head once more, a delighted smile breaking out across her face.
"I'm a witch!" she declares proudly, and behind her, her friend nods quickly in agreement, smiling shyly.
Voldemort can only imagine what Bellatrix would say if she were here. The thought causes him to chuckle slightly, and her plea to accompany him tonight suddenly echoes in his ears. Though he by no means requires her assistance in killing the Potters, her reaction to the Muggle children would certainly have been highly entertaining.
Thoughts of how he'll celebrate his victory enter his mind, and he finds Bellatrix's presence is required for a great number of the ideas in his head.
"My Lord, surely you know by now that I am always ready."
Yes...there'll be plenty of time to celebrate later, he muses, smirking at the faint memory of Bellatrix's words, all those months ago.
Leaning down so he is face to face with the children, Voldemort draws his wand from his robes, a cruel smile playing about his mouth as he notes their amazement. His sharp eye doesn't miss the look of desire in the talkative girl's eye as she follows the movement of his wand.
It inspires a cold, and altogether dangerous rage within him.
"No," he hisses furiously, startling the girl with his angry tone. "You're not a witch. You're a pathetic little Muggle," he spits.
Frightened tears welling in her eyes, the girl pouts at him, pointing a chubby finger at him.
"Well you're not a wizard!" she cries indignantly, even as her friend's eyes widen with nerves.
Laughing coldly, Voldemort draws back his hood, his scarlet eyes glowing menacingly. Oh, he'll simply have to return with Bellatrix later.
"Are you...quite sure about that?" he asks threateningly, revelling in the terrified faces of the children before him.
Horribly transfixed by the sight before them, the girls remain frozen till Voldemort points his wand toward them, a maniacal glow in his eyes.
"Run," he hisses, and much to his amusement, the children tear off in the opposite direction, running as fast as their short legs will carry them.
Eyeing the abandoned broomsticks and hats on the floor, Voldemort can only sneer in disgust as he continues moving toward the Potter's house.
"Children," he spits viciously.
"I'm telling you, Lily, he's going to be a Seeker," James says proudly, lifting his son high above his shoulders.
Leaning against the door frame, Lily arches an eyebrow. "And what if he has no interest in Quidditch?" she challenges with a knowing smile.
Looking aghast at the mere suggestion, James arches an eyebrow of his own. "He's a Potter," he points out. "It's in his blood," he grins, ruffling Harry's hair with pride.
As though irritated by such a gesture, Harry reaches out with a pudgy hand and smacks James in the face, squealing happily as he knocks his father's glasses sideways.
"Maybe you're right," Lily comments with a smirk; trying and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice. "He could be a Beater," she suggests wryly, hiding her amused grin behind her hand.
Placing Harry into his crib with a rueful smile, James adjusts his glasses and moves toward his wife.
"Potters have too much...finesse...to be Beaters," he says smoothly, a suggestive glint bright in his eye as he runs his hands along Lily's sides; smirking at the slight shiver his touch evokes.
"Is that so?" she murmurs, chuckling as James nods confidently; an arrogant grin playing about his mouth.
Slipping out of his grasp, Lily backs out of the room, flashing James a teasing smile.
"Time to play Chaser," she challenges with an arched brow, before turning on her heel and running downstairs; her husband's laughter and footsteps following her.
"Caught you," James smirks triumphantly, grabbing his wife around her waist.
"And Gryffindor wins!" Lily laughs, twisting away and throwing herself onto the sofa, patting the space next to her as an indication that James should join her.
Pressing a kiss to Lily's hair as she rests her head upon his shoulder, James breathes a sigh of contentment.
"Happy Halloween," he says quietly, lacing his wife's fingers through his own.
"Trick or treat?" Lily asks suggestively, lifting her head to meet her husband's gaze.
A slow smile spreading over his face, James captures Lily's lips with his own hungrily, burying a hand in her flame-coloured tresses.
"Treat," he murmurs in between kisses.
"Definitely treat."
Twirling his wand through his fingers, Voldemort cannot help but feel a rush of excitement when the the Potter's house appears, just as Pettigrew had described it; the Fidelius Charm having been rendered useless by his information.
Eyeing the house thoughtfully, Voldemort pauses for a moment.
After tonight, the Wizarding World will lie within the palm of his hand, and none will dare oppose him. Perhaps then, Albus Dumbledore will recognise the futility of his efforts, and realise that no-one, no-one, is capable of defeating the Heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort.
"You call it 'greatness', what you have been doing, do you?"
A triumphant smirk twists his lips at the memory. Surely there is no other word for what he has accomplished, for the power he has inspired within his Death Eaters, for the skills and knowledge he has nurtured and bestowed upon them.
Yes, he ponders, 'greatness' sums up what he's done, quite accurately, in fact.
All his work, all his patience, his planning...it has come to this.
Three times the Potters have defied him...three times, he muses.
No longer, he thinks viciously, moving forward swiftly.
Opening the creaky gate with a flick of his wand, he grins.
The time has come.
"That's not going to help him sleep, James."
It's truly a poor attempt at scolding her husband, since Lily's unable to suppress a smile at the wide eyes of her son; James causing coloured sparks to rain down upon him with a swirl of his wand.
"It's Halloween," James says easily, levitating a number of Harry's toys around his head, chuckling at Harry's gurgles of delight. "It's a night to celebrate," he continues, turning to meet his wife's eyes with a smirk.
"Not if you're a one year old," Lily says wryly, leaning down to pick up her son, faintly amused by the fact that Harry seems less disappointed than James to have to abandon their game.
"Stop sulking," she giggles, as James tosses his wand to the other end of the sofa, "and come give Harry a kiss goodnight," she orders, a twinkle shining in her green eyes.
Grumbling good-naturedly at her command, he rises to his feet, pressing a kiss to the top of his son's head. Following his wife out of the living room, James pauses in the hallway as Lily moves into the kitchen, looking for Harry's blanket.
He's just about to offer taking Harry upstairs himself when he pauses, turning toward their front door slowly, a niggling feeling in his gut.
There is no mistaking the creak of their gate as it is swings shut, banging slightly in the wind.
He turns on his heel, intending to dash into the living room and get his wand, but as he watches the lock of the front door turn silently, he realises there's no time.
For a split second, he feels as though he's moving underwater, that time has slowed to a nauseating crawl.
And then, just like that, the door handle begins to turn, and he snaps back into action, adrenaline coursing through his veins. If he can hold Voldemort off, delay him...distract him...Lily might have a chance to take Harry and escape.
"Lily!" he yells desperately, and dimly he registers the sound of a glass breaking in the kitchen as it slips from Lily's grasp. "Take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"
His throat constricts as the door is pushed open fully, and his dark eyes meet scarlet.
With a gasp, Lily reappears in the hallway for a split second, her green eyes searching frantically to make contact with those of her husband, before she runs upstairs; gone in a flash of red hair.
"Hello...Potter," Voldemort hisses, twirling his wand through his long fingers, taking great delight in the smell of fear in the air. "It's been a while."
"You," James snarls viciously, "will not harm my son."
An icy feeling courses down his spine as Voldemort gives a slow, cold chuckle, a wide smile twisting his thin lips.
"I will," Voldemort says pointedly, "but amuse me, Potter, how do you hope to stop me?" He steps forward toward James, and despite his relaxed posture, it is a menacing gesture all the same.
"You have no wand," Voldemort says condescendingly, watching as James bristles with a mix of anger and fear, "and thus, you will die, by my hand, here tonight."
"At least my wife and son will be safe," James growls, lifting his head higher as he squares his shoulders in a mark of courage. "If I am to die, at least I die knowing that."
Another high pitched laugh simply flies from Voldemort's lips at James' words. "Do you truly think me that unprepared?"
This time, as he steps forward, James does so also, defiance shining bright in his eyes. A Gryffindor through and through, Voldemort thinks with disgust, even as a small part of him acknowledges, and indeed, admires, his opponent's bravery.
"There is no way of escaping, Potter," he continues patronisingly. "As your wife has no doubt already discovered, I've taken the liberty of disabling all Portkeys, and thrown up Anti-Apparition wards."
Much to Voldemort's amusement, all colour seems to drain from James' face. How wonderfully entertaining.
"I certainly have much to thank your friend Pettigrew for," he says with mock satisfaction, and James hands curl into fists at his words; his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"You bastard," James whispers, half numb with shock. "What did you DO to him?" he roars, the blood pounding in his ears. Not Peter, he thinks. Not another friend...
"Such fury," Voldemort hisses amusedly, "and yet...so very misplaced." Twirling his wand once more, he smirks. "Perhaps you should have stuck with Black," he suggests cruelly, knowing such words are greater torture than any Crucio could inflict.
Thoughts running wild, James can only stare at Voldemort. Blindly, he shakes his head-surely Voldemort's lying-Peter would never betray them, he thinks desperately. He must have been tortured into revealing their location, lying dead even now...
"You're lying," he says hoarsely, his voice thick with sorrow and disbelief. "Pet-"
"I grow tired of this, Potter," Voldemort says with cool boredom, raising his wand to point at James' chest. "I do, after all, have a prophecy to fulfil," he says evilly, grinning as James' mouth opens in a cry of protest-one that is ultimately, cut short.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The words seem to taste even sweeter tonight, for some reason. With satisfaction, Voldemort watches as the body of James Potter falls to the ground; his unseeing eyes full of grief for the ensuing deaths he cannot prevent.
After trying numerous unsuccessful attempts to activate a Portkey, and finding herself unable to disapparate, Lily remains trapped in the nursery, clutching her son to her chest desperately.
She has no defence, having left her wand downstairs, and curses herself for such casual behaviour during such dangerous times. Without it, she feels horribly vulnerable, like a rat cornere-...
...Obviously the Fidelius Charm had not been enough protection.
A locked door won't keep Voldemort out of the nursery.
Harry, as though sensing his mother's worry, lets out a small sniff, his bottom lip jutting out, and beginning to wobble precariously.
Making a half-hearted attempt to soothe her son, looking into eyes identical to her own, Lily exhales a shaky breath of air, trying to keep her tears of frustration and panic at bay.
She hears a triumphant, almost inhuman cry of a Killing Curse, and literally feels as though she takes the jet of light herself.
Heart in her throat, she clutches Harry tighter to herself as though her grasp will be enough to shield him from Voldemort's cruel intentions.
She ignores the voice in her head that shrieks her efforts will be futile.
Having reached the top of the stairs, Voldemort pauses, wondering idly if Lily Potter has a wand with which to try and protect her son-not that it would make much difference anyway. Eyes flickering around his surroundings with a mix of anticipation and impatience, he hisses, eager to look Harry Potter in the eye and watch the light of life fade from his gaze.
He can almost taste victory.
A tell-tale sniffle is all he needs to hear to know of their location, and with a smirk, he turns right, striding toward the end of the hallway; barely slowing his pace as he reaches the only closed door.
With a simple flick of his wand, he blasts the door off its hinges, Lily Potter having turned her back to him to protect her child from the force of the blast.
Sheer impatience gnaws at his gut, and irritated by the delay of his victory, he hisses furiously as the red-haired witch places her son in his crib and then stands in front of it; shielding him from Voldemort's path.
Her long red hair tumbling over her shoulders, Lily's bright green eyes meet the scarlet eyes of Voldemort; a feat that few have the courage to truly do.
Her defiant posture, however, seems to inwardly crumble as Voldemort outstretches his wand-the wand that killed James only moments ago, she thinks fleetingly, desperation and fear clouding her mind.
Abandoning all pride, she begs, unable to fathom the idea of losing her son and her husband.
"Please, not Harry...Have mercy, have mercy," she pleads; knowing deep down that a wizard like Voldemort shows no mercy to anyone. She doubts he even understands the true meaning of the word, and yet, a furious desire to protect her son causes her to ignore these rational thoughts.
"My Lord, I beg you, please...spare her, and I will never again make a request from you...I have been faithful, My Lord..."
As he eyes the witch before him with ever-increasing impatience, Severus Snape's plea enters his mind...with the information he has brought, Voldemort decides to grant his servant's request.
He's only moments away from fulfilling the Prophecy.
Complete immortality is merely an infant's life away.
He can't wait any longer for it.
"Stand aside silly girl, stand aside," Voldemort encourages quickly, his serpentine voice filled with both urgency and desire.
Stand aside?
Lily sees the hunger burning in those scarlet eyes, the impatient, needy sense of desire that seems to seep from Voldemort's very being. A madman seeking to murder a one-year old, simply because of a Seer's words...
Stand aside? Stand aside, and let a monster kill her son? She'll die herself before she'll even consider such a notion.
Voldemort can almost see the refusal swell in Lily Potter's eyes.
"No, not Harry, please, take me instead!" she cries desperately, shifting to hide her son from view.
It is truly a curious thing, Lily Potter's willingness to give her life for her son's. Emitting a hiss that Lily could have sworn resembled an exasperated sigh, he notes the stubborn tilt of her jaw even as she begs for death in place of her son. He gave her a chance already to stand aside and save herself, he muses with impatience, and she ignored his warning. Still though...her sacrifice is curious. He finds himself genuinely unable to understand such an instinct.
Raising his wand to end Lily Potter's life, he wonders idly if Severus will believe that he tried to respect his request. No matter, he thinks almost immediately-after tonight, Severus Snape will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams, and forget entirely about the Mudblood.
Watching Voldemort raise his wand, Lily can almost see the mix of curiosity and disdain in those scarlet orbs. And it's then, then she realises her foolish assumption that even someone like Voldemort could understand the nature of love.
It's why her pleas had no impact, she realises; why her request for him to take her and spare her son had seemed to garner such curiosity and exasperation. Voldemort simply can't understand the ease with which she'd sacrifice her life for Harry's-or why she'd do it without hesitation-he can't understand the notion of loving someone so much you'd die for them.
She knows with great certainty that once Voldemort's killed her, he'll move onto her defenceless son, and there's absolutely nothing she can do to prevent it.
Even as Voldemort's mouth forms the Avada Kedavra, even as a terrible scream of grief flies from her lips, all she can think about is how she'd give her life ten times over if it meant Harry could live. And as the Killing Curse hits her square in the chest, she finds love is all she can think about-her love for her son...and how it won't be enough to save him.
A/N: I fully intended having the Potter/Voldemort showdown and Voldemort's 'death' happen in one chapter, but given the length of this update already, it seemed a good place to stop. The scenes of James/Lily fluff just took on a mind of their own, I guess, as did the little moments of introspection. Mostly though, I didn't want to rush the Voldemort/Harry showdown, or just throw it in casually at the end. Next update has yet to be written (Bella and friends will be back-it's ridiculous how much I missed them after only one chapter!) but I'll try to have it up within a week, so till then...get reviewing! ;)
