He twiddled the wand absentmindedly as he walked to the edge of the building. Even he was amazed at the architectural leaps people seemed to be making, each building taller than the last. It certainly helped his endeavours. He lay the wand on the corner of the roof wall before jumping on top of it. It seemed useless to waste another wand, given, after all these years, he knew logically what the outcome would be. Yet... he still hoped.

He had made a new wand as soon as he could when he'd been returned home, over fifty years ago. He carved it out of the beautiful birch wood from the garden. Much more slender and elegant than his previous one the muggles had destroyed. Better this time, not the crude thing he'd made for a muggle king. A mortal. It had been odd to think that.
"Nicholas."

He jumped, having not heard his wife enter the room. He finally turned around, tearing his eyes from his beautiful art. She had been crying again.
"Darling!" He hurriedly stood up, taking her in his arms. "What is it darling?"
"Your father he's... he died in his sleep."

That had been when it hit him. He was immortal. They buried his father the next morning, Elizabeth crying into his arms. But all he could think of was the consequences of his gift. Would He truly live forever? His father had been old, but his wife wasn't, his son. Would he have to watch his own young son die? Would he have to watch his wife grow old. No.

While his wife and his fellow wizards mourned and conversed above him, he slaved away in his darkened laboratory. He worked tirelessly through the week extracting with great difficulty the method he had taken, refusing to resurface or even answer the door to his wife. And finally he had done it, it was pure ruby, the immortal liquid as he had christened it, only seeping from the stone under water, much easier to handle. His greatest achievement to date. He had spent hours noting its exact dimensions and characteristics, never having felt this proud since the birth of his son.
"Nicholas," his wife was walking up behind as he hurriedly scrawled his notes.
"Elisabeth come look, my hypothesis of the properties of kettle weed were correct, I merely needed to apply a concoction of-" He stopped his rambling, realising none of it would make sense to his wife. "Never mind, just look!"
"Nicholas, I think we should talk."

He looked round, she looked angry now. "What's wrong?" She sighed, but didn't speak. "Darling?"
"You... ever since you died... you've... what happened Nicholas?"
"Nothing happened."
"You came back from the dead!" She screamed.

Nicholas barely moved. "You wouldn't understand dear."
"Perhaps I would if you tried," she said through gritted teeth. "You've barely spoken since you returned. Your father has just died yet you seemed to have barely noticed." He stood up suddenly, gesturing violently with his wand.
"Do not tell me that I didn't care for my father. He was a good man. Just... this is more important." Her face of disgust matched his own horror at the words coming out of his mouth. "It's for you. To save you," he said in a feeble attempt to save his father's memory. "Look... if you want to know what happened, sit." She stayed standing for just a moment longer before storming across the room into the seat beside him, glaring.

"I was captured by muggles- don't! Listen, they blackmailed me into…well…they wanted me to make them immortal. But they believed I had failed and burnt me at the stake. But I tried my invention. And," he gestured to his chest, "it worked, I'm immortal." He hurriedly picked up the stone and showed it to her. "This here could grant you immortality." The look she gave him was not one he was expecting. Not one of joy or unending praise that he deserved. It was horror, his heart falling as she started to get up and out of the chair.

"You're immortal."

"Supposedly, but I'm not about to do any further tests upon myself." He swallowed and stood, still holding the stone out in front of him, "but I made it for you."

She put her hands over her mouth, "What about our son?"

"He can be immortal, everyone we love could live forever."

"But…what about…oh Lord…Nicholas no!"

"What?"

"We have to fix you."

"F-fix me? Of what?"

"You can't just…be immortal, we have to do something!" she exclaimed.

"But…you can join me."

"And then what? Everyone we love we just," she snapped her fingers, "make immortal?"

"No, just us!"

"Why just us? Why do we deserve it?"

"Because I made it!"

"NO! No one deserves it," she strode to the door leaving him flustered and red face. "Don't bring that stone near me or my son."

And then she was gone. Despite their argument she clung tightly to him as if she was the one who was immortal. Yet still in the morning she refused to drink from the stone.

"No, Nicholas," she sighed. "If you made it, surely you can undo its affect."

"But I'm offering you eternal life."

"You are offering me hell! Don't bring that stone near me or my son."

He promised not to. At least while she was still alive. If he had to lose his wife, so be it. But his tiny son, his heir, could never be taken from him. They continued their normal life without talking about his wife's unfortunate decision, him working hours in the lab, her dealing with the household issue.

Then their son died. Like his grandfather, he'd died in his sleep, smothered by his own blanket. His wife had refused to let go of his corpse all morning. He couldn't see the tiny baby in the huge rolls of blanket, as if there was no body there at all.

"You did this," he whispered suddenly, still staring at the bundle of blankets, "you did this."

"Don't," she said just as quietly, rocking his baby boy in her arms as she sobbed, "please Nicholas don't."

No. This woman had stood in his way enough.

"I could have given us everything! And yet you choose to let our son die. You murdered him!"

She started screaming and stood up.

"NO! Stop this Nicholas! You expected me to let you make our son, stay as a baby forever. What exactly was your plan?"

"We could have been happy!"

"You've gone mad!"

He was a genius; how could she not see this. He stood up, striding towards her. She shielded his son from him as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Look," he whispered, "it doesn't matter now, all you need to do is…just take the stone."

She wrapped one arm around him, bringing him close to her. "Get out."

She just needed time. He had moved into a small apartment in London. He could give her all the time in the world. He decided to join the circle. The circle was the only thing they had that was close to a government. All that was required by members was to own a wand. Due to this, the meetings were often filled with low level, homeless wizards and witches, merely wishing to get out of the cold in the large underground room. Yet Nicholas continued to go, partly because the only other thing he could do now was stalk his wife, given he no longer had his laboratory. He would follow her as she went on errands, meeting with her friends, shopping, showing her more interest than then he had ever done before. Soon she would come back to him. He had all the time in the world.

But she didn't.

He had to give Elisabeth credit. She was both stubborn with him and with death, it took her fifty years before she became bed bound. He had returned to his old home once news reached him. She looked so fragile, just like their son, so small, covered in layers of cloth. Her skin was wrinkled and sagging, her breath harsh and harrowed. And she still refused to see him. Once he stepped through the door, her cloudy eyes bulged, a shaky finger pointing at him as she groaned in fear. He was pushed out of the room, away from his own wife and his own home. He waited outside, praying she would be okay.

But no one seemed to hear them.

Perhaps if he worked more on some more of his inventions. His wife. If he could cure death surely his other hypothesises would be fruitful. His beautiful wife. Or perhaps help the circle more, become a prominent figure, he had all the time to do so. His beautiful Elisabeth. Perhaps he could act as a figure head of the original circle, showing future generations how it was supposed to be run. Gone. Perhaps - forever. He left the circle in the end, fleeing to France. He didn't know what he'd find there but he knew he had to get away from anything that reminded him of his family. But yet they still haunted him, around every corner, in every lab, even at night all the people he'd let die refused to stop haunting him.

He stumbled slightly on the edge he was staying on, the cold wind making him shiver. Then he jumped. The fall was always the hardest, that little bit of doubt as to whether or not he'd made the right decision. But as he landed he could almost see her again, gently singing to their child as she smiled beautifully at him.

He opened his eyes, his legs healing rapidly, bones pushed together and his blood vessels fused. Elisabeth was right; this was hell.