Chapter 3- James vs. The Dark Lord
Suddenly, with a bang the closed door burst open. There standing in the hall, wand out, face harboring a look of intense fury, with disheveled black hair and hazel eyes on fire behind round glasses, was James Potter. There was a moment of silence in which the two long-time adversaries faced one another. Voldemort clenched and unclenched his white hands in anticipation, could hear the knuckles cracking and popping.
"Potter," he whispered, almost reverently.
And then the upstairs of the house exploded with action.
Voldemort plunged a hand into his robes for his wand. But James was already moving. A jet of flame erupted from his wand tip, scorching the walls as it rocketed towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort's wand whipped out and blocked, sending the fiery projectile back in James' direction. But James was not there. He had leapt the banister at an angle, landing on the stairs and firing off a curse at Voldemort's unprotected side. Voldemort twirled as the curse whizzed by, missing its target by inches and exploding out through the wall and into the chill night air. Wind whirled through the hall, buffeting the duelists. The Dark Lord looked like rippling darkness as the air whipped his robes about his skeletal form.
There was only a moment for James to recover from firing off his spell before Voldemort swung his wand sent shockwaves running down the staircase. James fought to keep his balance as the stairs shattered. There was a loud rumbling and then the entire staircase collapsed. James leapt at the last possible moment and his hand caught the edge of the landing. His feet swung wildly into space. James still held his wand tight, but the hand clinging to the edge was starting to lose its grip. He eyed the floor below him, huge shard of wood poked up from the wreckage of the stair, waiting to impale him should he fall. He could drop the wand and then let go, hopefully missing the shards of wood at the bottom. From there he could resume his attack upon Voldemort. But no...he couldn't leave Lily and Harry up in the closed room alone on the same floor with that...monster. Besides, it was James the Dark Lord wanted, wasn't it? If only he could get his wand hand up and resume his duel with Voldemort. He could lure him away from the landing and down the opposite hall, away from Lily and Harry; give them a chance to escape. His grip was slipping...he had to do something quick...a finger came free...and then another. Suddenly, the high, cold voice of evil cut into his thoughts.
"Potter, you're grip doesn't look too reliable," Voldemort flicked his wand and an iron spike materialized, floating in midair above James white-knuckled hand. Voldemort smiled. "Let me help you." The spike drove downward as if struck by a sledgehammer. It plunged through James' hand and deep into the wood of the landing. James screamed. Blood spurted, staining the dusty floor. It came down James' arm in a thin, steady trickle and drip-dropped onto his glasses. Voldemort swept his wand in an arc and the spike came free, causing James to grit his teeth in agony. There was another sweep of Voldemort's wand and James was forcibly dragged by an invisible hand back up to the landing. He collapsed on all fours, coughing blood, his punctured hand burning in excruciating pain. "Stand up, Potter," Voldemort whispered. "Stand up and try to face your death with pride. A pride that you, and Dumbledore, and all the others never had." Voldemort smiled, and James could just make out sharp white teeth beneath his hood. "A lack of pride equals a lack of power, Potter. And try as you might to hide your weakness under the pretenses of nobility, compassion, and whatever other silly ideals you embrace, those with true power will always see right through you. I see right through you. "You, Dumbledore, your precious Order, you are all wasted potential. Immense power squandered in the pursuit of...I don't know what. Peace? Equality? Justice? What are those? Just excuses made by those who cannot or refuse to possess power." James looked up. "Dumbledore was right about you," he wheezed. "Down to the last detail." Voldemort cackled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what did that old, Mudblood-loving font of wisdom have to say?" James coughed severely and then replied in a croak. "He said you live a life governed by fear. Fear of losing your power. Fear of losing your influence. But, above all, fear of death itself. "Dumbledore said that you have the power to destroy almost anything, the ability to unlock nearly any secret, the cunning to corrupt almost any man. But the one thing you cannot influence or destroy is death. It is your great unknown. You cannot understand it until you experience it, and by then it will be too late. And that," James whispered, "is why you are afraid." Voldemort was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was level, and very quiet. Dangerously quiet. "A lesson you should have learned, Potter, is that the inequities of others are the stepping stones to the pedestal of greatness. We are all flawed from birth. You must recognize these flaws, these inequities, and erase them or use them to your advantage. Dumbledore's inequities make his followers weak and sentimental, with heads full of noble ideas, above cold-blooded murder and torture. It is this disadvantage I seize upon. Identifying a person's inequities is the key to defeating them. In the case of Albus Dumbledore," his voice suddenly began to quiver with rage; each word said slowly, escalating in hate, "his inequity lies in the fact that he is a DODDERING OLD FOOL!!" Voldemort's wand whipped forward and a jet of green light burst forth. James had seen it coming. He rolled aside and the jet of light missed. James came up running. He dived towards Voldemort and jabbed his wand forward viciously. With a whoosh the Dark Lord was catapulted down the hallway, away from the closed room, away from Lily and Harry! This was the only chance they would get. "Lily!" James screamed, head turned back towards the room where his wife and son were. "Lily!" The door of the room swung open and Lily Potter, her red hair cascading down her shoulders and her beautiful green eyes flashing, ran into the hall carrying the baby swaddled in blankets that was Harry Potter. "Take Harry and go!" James shouted. "I'll hold him off!"
Suddenly, with a bang the closed door burst open. There standing in the hall, wand out, face harboring a look of intense fury, with disheveled black hair and hazel eyes on fire behind round glasses, was James Potter. There was a moment of silence in which the two long-time adversaries faced one another. Voldemort clenched and unclenched his white hands in anticipation, could hear the knuckles cracking and popping.
"Potter," he whispered, almost reverently.
And then the upstairs of the house exploded with action.
Voldemort plunged a hand into his robes for his wand. But James was already moving. A jet of flame erupted from his wand tip, scorching the walls as it rocketed towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort's wand whipped out and blocked, sending the fiery projectile back in James' direction. But James was not there. He had leapt the banister at an angle, landing on the stairs and firing off a curse at Voldemort's unprotected side. Voldemort twirled as the curse whizzed by, missing its target by inches and exploding out through the wall and into the chill night air. Wind whirled through the hall, buffeting the duelists. The Dark Lord looked like rippling darkness as the air whipped his robes about his skeletal form.
There was only a moment for James to recover from firing off his spell before Voldemort swung his wand sent shockwaves running down the staircase. James fought to keep his balance as the stairs shattered. There was a loud rumbling and then the entire staircase collapsed. James leapt at the last possible moment and his hand caught the edge of the landing. His feet swung wildly into space. James still held his wand tight, but the hand clinging to the edge was starting to lose its grip. He eyed the floor below him, huge shard of wood poked up from the wreckage of the stair, waiting to impale him should he fall. He could drop the wand and then let go, hopefully missing the shards of wood at the bottom. From there he could resume his attack upon Voldemort. But no...he couldn't leave Lily and Harry up in the closed room alone on the same floor with that...monster. Besides, it was James the Dark Lord wanted, wasn't it? If only he could get his wand hand up and resume his duel with Voldemort. He could lure him away from the landing and down the opposite hall, away from Lily and Harry; give them a chance to escape. His grip was slipping...he had to do something quick...a finger came free...and then another. Suddenly, the high, cold voice of evil cut into his thoughts.
"Potter, you're grip doesn't look too reliable," Voldemort flicked his wand and an iron spike materialized, floating in midair above James white-knuckled hand. Voldemort smiled. "Let me help you." The spike drove downward as if struck by a sledgehammer. It plunged through James' hand and deep into the wood of the landing. James screamed. Blood spurted, staining the dusty floor. It came down James' arm in a thin, steady trickle and drip-dropped onto his glasses. Voldemort swept his wand in an arc and the spike came free, causing James to grit his teeth in agony. There was another sweep of Voldemort's wand and James was forcibly dragged by an invisible hand back up to the landing. He collapsed on all fours, coughing blood, his punctured hand burning in excruciating pain. "Stand up, Potter," Voldemort whispered. "Stand up and try to face your death with pride. A pride that you, and Dumbledore, and all the others never had." Voldemort smiled, and James could just make out sharp white teeth beneath his hood. "A lack of pride equals a lack of power, Potter. And try as you might to hide your weakness under the pretenses of nobility, compassion, and whatever other silly ideals you embrace, those with true power will always see right through you. I see right through you. "You, Dumbledore, your precious Order, you are all wasted potential. Immense power squandered in the pursuit of...I don't know what. Peace? Equality? Justice? What are those? Just excuses made by those who cannot or refuse to possess power." James looked up. "Dumbledore was right about you," he wheezed. "Down to the last detail." Voldemort cackled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what did that old, Mudblood-loving font of wisdom have to say?" James coughed severely and then replied in a croak. "He said you live a life governed by fear. Fear of losing your power. Fear of losing your influence. But, above all, fear of death itself. "Dumbledore said that you have the power to destroy almost anything, the ability to unlock nearly any secret, the cunning to corrupt almost any man. But the one thing you cannot influence or destroy is death. It is your great unknown. You cannot understand it until you experience it, and by then it will be too late. And that," James whispered, "is why you are afraid." Voldemort was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was level, and very quiet. Dangerously quiet. "A lesson you should have learned, Potter, is that the inequities of others are the stepping stones to the pedestal of greatness. We are all flawed from birth. You must recognize these flaws, these inequities, and erase them or use them to your advantage. Dumbledore's inequities make his followers weak and sentimental, with heads full of noble ideas, above cold-blooded murder and torture. It is this disadvantage I seize upon. Identifying a person's inequities is the key to defeating them. In the case of Albus Dumbledore," his voice suddenly began to quiver with rage; each word said slowly, escalating in hate, "his inequity lies in the fact that he is a DODDERING OLD FOOL!!" Voldemort's wand whipped forward and a jet of green light burst forth. James had seen it coming. He rolled aside and the jet of light missed. James came up running. He dived towards Voldemort and jabbed his wand forward viciously. With a whoosh the Dark Lord was catapulted down the hallway, away from the closed room, away from Lily and Harry! This was the only chance they would get. "Lily!" James screamed, head turned back towards the room where his wife and son were. "Lily!" The door of the room swung open and Lily Potter, her red hair cascading down her shoulders and her beautiful green eyes flashing, ran into the hall carrying the baby swaddled in blankets that was Harry Potter. "Take Harry and go!" James shouted. "I'll hold him off!"