Disclaimer: I own nothing of this. I’m just having fun using JKR’s characters and my imagination. I’m not making any money out of it, and no copyright violation intended.

Dedicatory: To my parents :) Although they won't ready this.







"As the Dusk Grows"




“Avada kedavra!”



The green jet of light rushed through the space, slicing the silence with the power of death, omen of the fateful result.



The man that was the target of the spell jumped just in time out of the way behind the red couch where just moments before he had been resting. The curse crashed against the wall, leaving a deep hole in the wall and a smell of burned hovering in the air.



The athletic man waited no time before firing back with a stunner.



“Reducio!”



The menacing, tall figure, vanished between the folds of his dark robe, easily cast a shield that consumed the spell aimed against him.



“I’d heard that your fighting skills were superior to this, Potter,” taunted with a cold, hissing voice. “Obviously, I was mistaken. Your poor attempts to kill me are just as sad as Dumbledore’s.”



James Potter heard the taunt, and knew that if he was going to die, he wouldn’t die hiding behind an old couch. He slowly walked out from behind the couch that had become his hideout, but when he walked out he did it with a firm pace and even a small smile in his lips, his Gryffindor courage running through his being like a pulsing aura of power. He looked directly at the eyes at the figure standing in the destroyed entrance of his home. Voldemort had forced his way in, despite the many protections they had used on the house.



As James looked intently at the murderer standing in front of him, a dark thought took shape inside his mind. With fear he realized that the Dark Lord had come for his son, for his life. But at the same time that thought came, another materialized in his mind. His son was going to win. He didn’t know how, or why, but deep down inside he had the powerful conviction that, as the prophecy foretold, his son would be the one to bring down the Dark Lord’s reign of death.



“You know something, Riddle? Maybe I won’t be able to kill you...probably I won’t be able to do it. But know this, Riddle. Listen carefully: my son will destroy you. He will, and when he does, you’ll remember my words inside your arrogant, dull head you have.”



Voldemort raised his face ever so slightly, studying carefully at the defiant figure in front of him; a man that was showing a degree of courage not many victims had showed. A man worth killing, Voldemort thought pleasantly.



“No, you listen to me, Potter.” His white hands rose to pull back his hood, revealing the light forsaken man that had conquered the ultimate darkness; the man that was no longer a man, but death itself.



“I’m here for your son. Will he stand against the Dark Lord? I don’t believe so.” His thin lips twisted into an ill smile. “His blood will secure my ultimate triumph over death, and then… the world shall succumb in despair.”



James listened to his words, but believed none of them. All his faith was put on his son, and he had the incorruptible assurance that his son would triumph. Maybe he would have to do it without a father, but James knew that he would always love his son…and his beloved Lily.Lily...



“Don’t be a fool, Potter,” scorned Voldemort. “Better step aside and live rather than becoming another victim of my wrath. Save yourself, and I promise you I shall have mercy on you.”



Not even for the shortest of instants James considered his offer. His heart was steeled completely against any shameful offer of that type, and his love for Lily was the greatest reward of all; no deal could match it.



James engaged combat position, with his wand at ready. He didn’t know though, that it would be the last time.



“I see you have made a choice, Potter.” Voldemort too prepared for combat. The wand that had taken so many lives was now aiming at the defender. “I would have been most disappointed if you had accepted my offer. Gryffindor until the end, right?”



Despite the fear of what he knew was looming closer, James mastered a defiant smile.



“A prideful Gryffindor,” James declared; his voice carrying the force of a hero.



They stared at each other for a few seconds before the lightest movement of their wands triggered the chain of reactions and destruction.



“AVADA KEDAVRA!”



“COSMI REDUCTO!”



Voldemort’s mortal spell flew directly towards its target. James never tried to dodge it. He knew it was bound to happen, but he would by no means die quietly. He had given his best shot: the same spell that the traitor of Peter had used in that street full of muggles. His heart burned in desires of succeeding, but his mind was almost defeated in somber thoughts of reality.



James’ spell exploded at Voldemort’s feet. The Dark Lord had not expected that. Without warning, the floor under him had threatened with sending his body flying away, but he was not a normal man. He was not even that. The abominable thing he had turned into, by dark pacts with death, turned his hatred into strength, giving him the power to endure the explosion at his feet.



Everything near him blasted into pieces by the force of the spell. The Dark Lord himself felt small burnings appearing on his exposed skin, casting a very unknowing feeling upon him: pain.



After the cloud of dust lied down, Voldemort was almost amazed by the power of the blast…almost, but not quiet. Instead, the blood dripping out of his wounds lightened an incredible surge of hate as very few before.



A simple man had done this; to him. He, who was supposed to be immortal. He, whose barely mention of his name made the oldest and bravest wizards tremble and to coward back into shadows.



In a rush of hate, Voldemort moved angrily towards the lying form of his opponent, but was almost disappointed when he found him dead. The man had paid the injuries inflicted upon the Dark Lord with his life.



Fool. What has love made for you? Nothing! It became your weakness, and ultimately, your death.



A sudden cry of a baby breaking the silence remembered Voldemort of the reason of his visit; the reason of dirtying his robes in this home of blood traitors and muggleborns.



His white, claw-like fingers closed around the borders of his hood before he slowly walked up the stairs. He had become the death bringer for the wizarding world, and he smiled to himself as he thought of the death he would so soon bring again. Death was something that would never end. Every living being was bound to die...but not him. He was above death. That was why he could give it at his own judgement, and his judgement read that all blood traitors and muggleborns deserved punishment and death.



The last step creaked announcing the impending tragedy. A hallway opened before him with several doors at the sides, but just one had the light on; only from one came the sound of a crying baby and a worried wife. This delighted him; a sick joy for a man who knew not the meaning of life.



His robes produced barely any sound following his slow steps towards the room with the door slightly open. This night would be a fateful one for the wizarding world. This night, he would complete the prophecy, and so, destroy the only one capable of stopping him.



His pale hand was partially exposed when it rouse to push open the door.



At the other side, a mother with her son in her arms. He beheld the fire in the woman’s eyes that were burning into his. From that very instant, he knew that the woman would not turn over her son easily. She was worth of respect.



Voldemort stepped into the room, taking in his surroundings. It seemed to be the nursery. The walls were covered by drawings of friendly bears, some which had even hats or gloves on. In one corner of the room was the chair were the woman was sitting with her son between her arms, and placed against a wall was the cradle with soft, cotton blankets.



“Give me the baby, woman,” he said, not having even the smallest hope that she would do as asked.



“Where’s James?” The barely trembling voice of the woman couldn’t start to show the real fear inside her; not fear for her life though, but for her son’s. The woman’s emerald green eyes trembled with pain at the realization of what meant the presence of that doomed man in the room.



“You know what happened to him…give me the baby. Now!” He hissed.



The woman’s eyes showed fear only for the briefest of instants, but were immediately overcame by the courage only a mother can have; that courage that is beyond reason and logic; that courage born out of love.



Voldemort’s patience was growing thin, and he was even more annoyed to see that the woman tucked her son deeper into her arms. Just as her husband, she had too made her decision.



“Fine.” Voldemort brought out his wand and aimed it at the baby, but the woman hastened to interpose between the wand and her son, using her body to shield her only child.



“Don’t be stupid, girl! Move!” He hissed impatiently. His anger was surfacing and was showing like a red, thin glow around the hand that was holding the wand. He had come for the baby, simple. He didn’t want any more delays.



The woman just shook her head slightly, and steeled herself for whatever was coming. Voldemort’s anger boiled, but then he smiled to himself. He could have some fun after all.



“Crucio!” The cold, remorseless voice almost sang the word, enjoying every syllable.



The woman instantly fell to the ground in a heap of pain and screams. The young woman’s face was contracted in a pain far beyond imaginable as the waves of endless hatred coursed through every nerve of her body. Yet, the woman never separated from her son.



Voldemort’s annoyance and irritation only grew stronger when the woman just held to her baby, without letting go. He held the curse longer and stronger, pushing himself into injuring her, weakening her…but she was holding, despite the obvious pain she was enduring. The Dark Lord was bewildered by her apparent abundance of strength. Where it came from?



Finally Voldemort lifted his wand, and the punishment ceased. The woman remained in the floor recovering her breath, but her child was still carefully between her arms, safe. The Dark Lord was slightly surprised to realize that he respected that woman; probably more than any of his death eaters that were weak.



“For the last time woman, move and let me finish what I have come to do,” Voldemort said almost in a whisper. “Not many can talk about the Dark Lord’s mercy. Consider yourself lucky.”



After a few instants, the woman was finally able to slowly but steadily stand up. Her breathing was still shallow, but the fire in her eyes was burning, if possible, even stronger than before.



“You can have mercy with someone who cares about it,” she said, almost spiting the words. “But you will never have my son. You can kill my husband. You can kill me. But you will never have the fruit of our love, because that’s something beyond your grasp.” The mother silently prayed with all her force that her words were as true as she felt them.



Voldemort looked at her intently. For a moment that no one would ever know about, he was not the Dark Lord; he was Tom Ryddle, watching in awe at a woman displaying a strength he had never known, a strength he himself didn’t possess and would never have. This last thought angered him and surfaced back the Dark Lord; the assassin of light, the bringer of doom.



With his anger fueling his sick will, he raised his wand and aimed it at the woman.



“Good bye, woman. You are a gifted witch, but invariably weakened by the human emotions.”



The mother looked back at him defiantly, straight at the eyes, before his lips parted to pronounce the forbidden words.



“Avada Kedavra!”



Lily Potter never flinched back. She just made sure to be protecting her son from the fatal blow; sure of accomplishing what love strengthened her to do. Just as the curse was about to do contact with her body, her last thoughts trailed back to her husband, the love of her life, the pride of her dreams.



I love you, James.



After that, she knew no more. The curse was absorbed by her flesh, and then her life was knocked out by the dark magic. She endured it bravely and somehow peacefully.




I hear you,

through the symphonic voices of nature;

the purity I could never doubt.




The Dark Lord smiled at the crumpled form on the floor. If he was honest, this task had really taken a lot more of work than what he had first thought, but it was finally reaching its dusk.



The sadist wizard moved closer to the body of the woman between which’s arms was still the baby, crying. He watched the baby for some minutes, so defenseless, so weak.



The prophecy reverberated in his mind. Was that the one with the power to defeat him? That ordinary boy that didn’t look any better than any boy? Why was he different? His hair was black, nothing out of the common. He had deep, emerald green eyes, but what it had to do with defeating the most powerful and feared wizard of all times?



Finally Voldemort raised his wand one more time, as he had done moments before with the parents of the child. The night was reaching its climax, the peak point.



“Good bye, young Potter,” Voldemort laughed. “Your life is as worthless as that of your parents.”



The year-old baby stretched inside his blankets, oblivious of the terrible danger he faced, oblivious to the thin line between life and death.



“AVADA KEDAVRA!”



The lethal curse of hatred flew like a dark bird towards the infant, and as the dusk grew into darkness, good and evil faced once again in battle. The fate of the world had been decided.





The End





A/N: Hi readers! I know I had said that I was going to work in a chaptered H/G, R/Hr story, but this suddenly popped into my mind and I had to write it down. Please review and tell me what you think because this is the first time I write Lily and James (I wrote a little bit of Lily in "Wait for Me" but not much).

Again, review and tell me what you liked or not from it :) All comments are deeply appreciated!