The flipping of the pages ceased, the cover of the book flipped once more, this time shutting. Shutting the view of the vibrant three dimensional images of a past dream, shutting out the one piece of a former life left, shutting out the memories of a lost friend.
The photo is returned to the binding, the book is returned to its place, the drawer is slowly closed. The boy emits a light sigh, pulling off the glass frames for a moment to gently wipe across the lenses with the black cloth of his wizarding robes. The lenses were returned to their rightful place above the bridge of the boy's nose, and in front of steel blue eyes.
"How..." he mutters to himself, "...How did I get myself into this?" There was a slow exhale of breath as the boy continued to patronize himself.
"I should've stopped them..." a rough swallow, a clenched fist, "I should've done more to stop them. I..." another exhale of breath, "I'm so sorry Mother."
The sound of footsteps was heard outside the door, causing the boy to look up and turn his gaze towards the source of the sound. There was no knock, no 'may I come in?' but the door was opened, and the Dark Lord entered.
"Kristoff, I want you to come with me. We..." he paused for a moment, lips curling to form a sadistic grin, "...have a visitor of sorts."
It had been two years since that day. Other birthdays had gone by, but with no celebration. No cake. No gift. No friends or family. 'Twenty,' he'd thought that day. 'Twenty and stuck here...stuck here with no dreams to hope for.'
There was no future.
No..., he'd thought.
He'd thought, that's not right.
There was a future, just not one to look forward too. Yes, there was a future...but it would be filled with more deaths, and pain. Nothing good would come for Kristoff; he would never live out any of his dreams. If things kept going the way they had been...he might not even see the sun again.
The sun...Kristoff remembered the sun. He remembered it on the day he was outside on the front lawn, watching his mother in the garden. He remembered it on the day he was in the kitchen, reading through his first cooking book.
'The book was on soufflés' Kristoff remembered. He still had that book.
He remembered the sun when he'd gotten the letter that told him he would be going to Hogwarts.
'Hogwarts' he'd thought then, 'Hogwarts!'
He remembered the sun when he was sitting by the lake, when he was crying, when his one friend had been there to tell him it would be alright.
But it wasn't alright. Nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be alright again. Kristoff's life had gone to hell. Everything had gone to hell.
"Kristoff," The Dark Lord's voice was sharp, thwarting the boy out of his thoughts, and hurling him back into a world of cruel reality. "Come, now."
"Yes my Lord..." Kristoff uttered sullenly, shifting his gaze downcast as he did so. He pulled himself to his feet, following the Dark Lord out into the darkened hallway, and through the darkened house.
He hated calling him that, calling him 'my Lord'. It was...well...degrading, really. The man had killed his father, killed his mother, and kidnapped him. The man had destroyed his life. He hated that man!
And yet...Kristoff had found out what happened when he didn't listen. There were...there were always consequences when he didn't listen, when he disobeyed.
But he still hated it, hated everything. Sometimes he thought he hated everyone. But it wasn't true. He didn't hate everyone...not everyone. He didn't hate the people that he watched the Dark Lord kill. He didn't hate the souls that were lost, the people he once knew.
He didn't...he didn't hate his father. It'd been so long, but up until now he hadn't admitted it. He didn't hate his father, and he'd never been able to tell the man, never been able to say goodbye.
His mother, either. He hadn't been able to say goodbye to his mother. He watched her die...and couldn't utter a farewell.
'She shouldn't have died though,' he thought, 'it wasn't right.'
Nothing was right. Nothing was ok.
But everything had to change. He knew it, something had to change. Something that would make everything change.
"Ah, here we are" Came the cold, sadistic voice of the Dark Lord. They had stopped in the main entrance chamber. This was where the Dark Lord was when he called them all. All the willing death eaters. But they weren't all there now, only a few. And there was someone else, too.
Someone, Kristoff thought, that looked unnervingly familiar.
It was a girl, around twenty. It was a friend. It was Alma.
It was Alma, and she was in chains.