Flame

By: Supersticiousmonkey89

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
He stared at the tiny fire, watching it struggle beneath the ominous darkness, unguarded by the blackened moon. It writhed in agony, or so he assumed, having never had the chance to be a flame, but the way it danced, trying with all its might to escape the wrath of the shadows only to fall victim to them...

Such an exotic dance.

He had been to many places, seen many things, yet the thing that fascinated him the most remained the same, the tiny flame, struggling to hold onto life as a leaf holds to a tree, as a baby to its mother...

Dumbledore had once said that it was the mother's unconscious love that caused the baby to draw towards its mother, but then again, the old fool said a lot. He believed love could defeat all, and he had a point, it was a strong magic, but it held limitations. It was innocent of darkness, of deceit; of the ways of the world.

One could not manipulate love to do as they wished, it was independent by its own, and thus, was completely useless to him and his purpose: to purify the world of muggles and those associated to there ways.

Smiling cruelly, scarlet eyes danced with excitement as the flame leaped from its source, kissing the blackness whilst twisting fluidly, gray smoke funneling outwards to the night, embracing the spot in which the moon would have laid.

The sparking flame amused him like few others could, always fighting, until the end. It reminded him of a certain boy, a little babe, still brand new to the world, hooded in a mass of unkempt black, and two tiny emeralds that flared with innocence. His opposite.

Ah yes, how could he ever forget that child, the one who had held to life even at death. The child who had survived that which was unsurvivable, doing what the tiny flame could not. He lived.

Ironic, he knew, was the fact he found humor from what he knew could be his downfall. But the child was just so... so utterly his mirror that he found it almost unfathomable. A child so full of love, even after his mother's death, the look in those lime orbs- never before had he seen such eyes.

But then again, he had never cared to look at his victims, preferring to torture, maim, or kill them until learning there secrets before finally discarding of the useless corpses. Thus were his ways. Thus he survived.

A last flare of light lit the blackness before him, shinning through the oppressing obscurity, like a Phoenix's last breath, before fading eternally, squashed into the ashes where it had little hopes to be rekindled. Much like he would do to the little brat that had foiled his plains already twice. The brat, Harry Potter.

The boy was beyond annoying, with those caustic balls of puce in which the wizarding kind had thought looked so much like his mother's. Perhaps it was because those eyes were so much like the woman's that the worldfigured the child would save them all, hoping that he, Harry Potter,might play the part of Lily Potter whilst the world played the tiny babe. Thrusting there hopes on a tiny babe with a oddly shaped scar.

Fools, they were, not only to think the great Dark Lordmight be defeated by such an imp, but that the said impmight take pity on they who put him through hell. He smiled wickedly,it was almost to the point of insanity in which the fools feared him, The great Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Perhaps," whispered the scarlet eyed snake-man, whose face paled white and hair burned black, perhaps had things been different... But it mattered not now of things of young orphans gifted with powers beyond there peers comprehension, or of the similarities both dark lord and light savior faced, all that mattered nowwere that, like the dying flame, the darkness would over come. It always did.