He killed them. He killed them with their love for each other. That’s how it is everyday, all around the world - The Green Mile, Stephen King
I Apparated to the entrance of the Hollow a while away from their safe house. I would disturb none of the neighbouring houses this way. It was not that I could not take care of them if they attempted to intervene, but I’d rather this be quick and unimpeded by the interruptions of others. The Hollow was quiet, as I knew it would be at this time. The lights of the quaint mixed detached and semi-detached houses were all unlit and the curtains with their twee patterns drawn. The occasional porch light would come on as I swept past, but they could just as easily have been activated by a cat or fox - the residents would think nothing of it.
The scent of camellias climbing up one of the houses reached my nostrils. I exhaled quickly. It stank of suburbia and the mundane. I hated places like this: pretty brick houses with their chipped painted gates; their pristine flowerbeds surrounded by trees of deep green and their snug flickering fireplaces. They were so…ordinary; deceptively secure. People felt safe in these places, but I would prove them wrong. They were not safe, not anywhere - not so long as there were people to be compelled. Nearly everyone had their price and I was expert at finding it.
Peter Pettigrew’s was power. At school he had been nothing: pathetic. Sure, he had friends of sorts - but they only humoured him. To them he was merely bumbling, cowardly, weak-willed Wormtail. Good to laugh at, but not for much else. He was that to me too - but he would tolerate it because allegiance to me truly meant security. Yes, he had his qualms about selling out his friends, but he was spineless and he chose the side he estimated would win. He had not taken the usual Gryffindor route of staying loyal to ones friends in spite of everything you might gain by betraying them. In that sense, Peter Pettigrew had done the very first clever thing in his life.
If only others were so wise - my life would be just that much easier. There were many blood-traitors who would be assets to my side, yet they insisted upon this sickening nobility. Take Sirius Black for instance: by far the more talented and skilled of the Black siblings and yet his loyalty to his friends rendered him useless to me. What is the use of faithfulness if it paralyses you? Forces you to hide in the dark; retreat from your normal lives? What is the point of it if it is all in vain? Because they could resist as much as they liked, but I would find them - in the end. I always did.
Pettigrew had said it was at the foot of the Hollow - not too far from the graveyard. Appropriate. I was not surprised, really, when I discovered they were hidden in Godric’s Hollow. Granted, I could not have guessed their location without any prompting - but upon hearing the news, I could not say I was shocked. It made sense, in a way, that they would choose a place named for their precious founder of Hogwarts. But I would match the small Hollow named for Gryffindor against the Heir of Slytherin. Any illusions that the name would protect them would be destroyed on my arrival.
I could see the graveyard now. It was relatively small and scattered with headstones - hard and grey against the fresh-mown dewy grass. Beside most of the graves were bouquets or wreaths - some wilted and some that appeared to be new. Then there were the graves with no flowers - not even rotten ones that had long-since decomposed into the grass. Their gravestones were mossy and barely legible. Either anyone who had cared about their passing were deceased themselves, or perhaps no one had cared at all. It made me wonder why people invested in making connections in life. Why would anyone bother when, in the end, they either choose to leave you or leave you in death? Eventually they would all have a poorly maintained grave with nothing but overgrown grass as decoration. Soon this family would join them.
I stood before their house now. It was much like the others - detached with a trellis attached to the wall; honeysuckle climbing up it - twisting and strangling the rotting wood. Theirs was one of the only houses with the light still on. The infant was probably struggling to sleep and his father was entertaining him with his magic. He had caused some of the child’s toys to dance above him in the air - one, a Phoenix, flapped its wings as it circled him and a small replica dragon swooped over his head. The boy squealed with delight, though his eyelids drooped when he thought his parents couldn’t see. His mother did and she scooped him up into her arms and buried her face into his messy black hair. The father laid a gentle kiss atop his head and handed him one of his soft toys - a white owl. The boy clutched it sleepily and his mother carried him up the stairs to his room.
James Potter was alone now, and only then did he let his weariness show. Setting his wand aside, he tidied away the scattered toys, but his eyes looked strained and his shoulders sagged. I guessed it was not only the exertion from the days events, but the constant waiting and anticipation of my inevitable arrival - and it was inevitable. Well, he need wait no longer. I don’t know why I watched them. I think perhaps to prove that they were really there - that I had found him at last. This was no illusion or trick; Wormtail had not led me wrong - he was really here, the purported instigator of my downfall.
It was when he was closing the curtains that he saw me. The Mudblood girl had called something to him as she descended down the stairs and he had laughed. The smile was still lighting up his face. It crinkled the skin at his eyes, if only a little, and his lips were curved up and stretched wide. I watched it slowly die. I watched it fade and wilt like the flowers in the graveyard. It was as if he did not fully acknowledge and accept the sight that his eyes were offering him. It only took him a fraction of a second to react and even less than that for me to resume my steps.
I could hear him calling to the girl to run and get the boy and that he would fend me off. I thought then how often Gryffindors mask their foolishness under the guise of bravery. As if someone’s going to pat you on the back and congratulate you for putting yourself directly in the line of fire with no hope of making it out alive. That isn’t bravery - it’s not valuing your own life enough to do the clever thing: to run, to step aside or to comply. Then again, I would not let him live either way.
It did not take me too many steps to make it up the garden path and before long I had reached the door with the bronze knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. I blew it apart. I masked the noise - I wouldn’t wish to wake the neighbours. He was standing in the doorway, directly between me and the staircase - as I knew he would be. I regarded him carefully as he stood there - back straight; arms out-stretched and a look of ardent defiance on his face. He had no wand. I would say that was an error, but he would have fared no better with one. He stood tall as if his frame were enough to stop me - as if any physical barrier would. Did he not get it yet? I would cut him down, kill him - burn them all - if it meant getting to that child. Nothing mattered to me more - no single person. Nothing.
His fists and jaw were clenched and he looked just about ready to launch himself at me. I felt my lips curl into a sort of smirk. No one had attempted to physically assault me since my childhood - it would be interesting to see him try; to see him fail. I looked him in the eye and beyond the determination there was a sort of dull note of sadness; a resignation that told me he expected to lose. But why then did he fight? Was it that wretched Gryffindor bravery? Or was he itching for a fight - cooped up in hiding and starved of the action of war? Or was it something even more pathetic? That treacherous emotion Albus always spoke of as if it commanded any sort of power - love.
Whatever it was, it was going to get James Potter killed. I raised my wand and pointed it at his chest. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw. His eyes appeared glassy - as if he were holding back tears. He would not succumb to them, though - he was too proud for that. Instead, he would fight, in spite of the situation’s hopelessness, because that’s all he knew to do. That’s what Albus’ education had afforded him - how to die nobly. His feet pushed off from the ground and I could tell he would start towards me now. Such fearlessness in the face of imminent death - he would have been an asset to my side. Pity.
–Avada Kedavra.â€
He fell to the ground with a thud. His body crumpled into a heap on the floor - his mouth relaxing out of the furious scowl that had last graced his features. His eyes leaked tears without him there to hold them back. His glasses hung askew off his face and his lifeless hands reached out to me, but they would not make contact - not now. I stepped over his body - what little obstacle there had been was not there any more. My path was unimpeded.
In spite of their short stay in the Hollow - they had clearly tried to make it as much like home as possible. Pictures were hanging up along the staircase. Moving ones of the Potters and their child; James Potters parents; Potter with his friends Black, the half-breed Lupin and the traitor Wormtail; the beaming faces of the Order of the Phoenix. There were still ones too - Lily Potter with a Muggle girl, taken when she was much younger and one of she and Potter on their Wedding day taken with an older Muggle couple. On the landing was a small table and on it a vase containing a bouquet of white lilies; further pictures of the boy and a few of his discarded toys.
Why they had tried to make it home when it was only temporary was inexplicable. People did not take shelter from a storm in a cave and proceed to decorate it. It was somewhere to wait out in; to take a pause until the storm passed or, at least, to protect you from its potentially harmful effects. What good would making it like a permanent residence do them? Would it trick them into thinking they had merely moved house by their own volition? That this was their choice? That they had any control of the situation? People were fools if they thought they could trick themselves - more so if they thought they could trick me.
Round the corner from the table with the lilies was a door with a plaque on the front that contained a name - it was the boy’s room. The plaque was gold with small Snitches around the border. It was absurd - they might as well have led me to his room by hand. I blew this door from the hinges as I had done with the front door. It revealed a medium-sized room painted light blue with the pattern of a Quidditch match stencilled over it. A chest brimming with toys was the first thing I saw and a play mat with pictures of various magical creatures on it. As I rounded the corner, I saw the cot with the Quidditch dial dangling over the top. Well, I saw part of it - the rest was blocked by the Mudblood.
Her arms were stretched out - gripping the railing of the cot behind her and her face was set in that same grim determination that Potter’s had been. There were tears in her eyes too - only she was unable to keep hers back. She must have known by now what me being upstairs and her husband not must mean. She might even have heard. She knew how easily I had killed her husband, and yet she still thought that the same method would stop me now. I know her not to be a fool - but her actions now were in direct contradiction to that.
–Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!â€
I laughed then. The girl actually pleaded with me - as if I would just submit because she begged me. The thought left a bitter taste. Her face was desperate; her eyes beseeching. I surveyed her dispassionately. I could not see what Severus saw in her. Her flaming hair and vibrant green eyes might have been striking on someone else, but her features were common; dulled by the impurity of her blood. The sickening Gryffindor humanity radiated off her in waves and her face was set with that same righteousness and wilful defiance as her husband. She fought for him too; for the cause - most of all for that child. She was in my way but I could not move her by force - I had made a promise of sorts to Severus that I would try to spare her life, as pathetic a request as it was. For his loyalty and usefulness I would try - but I have my limits.
–Stand aside, you silly girl.†She ignored me; my patience did not stretch too far. –Stand aside.â€
I did not like to repeat myself. I have had years of people obeying me on the first command - without hesitation; without question. To have this girl - this chit descended from a line of filthy Muggles - to have her defy me was beyond any dishonour I could bear. She was testing me dangerously with her insistence; with her begging. She knew it as well - she knew that she was provoking me; that she was lucky for someone of her low-birth to be offered even a chance. Yet she was taking this offer of mine and spitting at it. Because that offer - her life - was worth less to her than that child.
–Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!â€
I must confess, I stared at her for a moment - her phrasing startled me. Did she think that it worked like that? That there was any other option but to kill the boy - that her life was an adequate substitution? There was no prophecy telling of her possessing power beyond my comprehension. She was in the way - an obstacle. One that was not yielding to my commands. I raised my wand, pointing it towards the vague outline of the child in his crib - perhaps that would drive the point home.
–Not Harry, please! Have mercy…have mercy!â€
She had succumbed to sobs now - it was undignified, but I realised they weren’t for herself. They were for her husband - lying dead and cold downstairs; they were for her son, soon to join him. I realised then that this is what Albus was talking about when he mentioned that word - saccharine and loaded with sentimentality: love. Lily Potter loved her husband and her son above all - valued them above her own life. And here she was - a crumpled wreck of grief standing in front of her son with fierce defiance and she would not move: not for anyone. Not even for me.
The threat of death did not faze her. I had taken her husband from her; I would take her child too. She would not stand aside as it happened. If she were to die, she would die knowing she had done everything she could to save her son. I knew I could cast her aside with my wand, leaving my path clear to the baby. I would spare her and uphold the promise I made to Severus. But I think she might have preferred death. With no husband; no son - I would have robbed her of her life anyway. At least in death she would not feel the pain of their passing.
So, was this love? The value of your own life dependant on the continuation of others’? If so, I was glad I had never fallen victim to it. I could not see what else it did but weaken you, consume you and destroy your sense - why would anyone succumb to such an…affliction? The desperation on her face screamed at me now and I could ignored it no longer. She attempted to mumble pleas through her pitiful sobs. I laughed once more. Could a Mudblood do nothing in a dignified manner? She need not plead. I would end it now - her suffering. I raised my wand to her chest and I almost thought she looked relieved.
–Avada Kedavra.â€
She fell as her husband had done and my view of the child was no longer obscured. Throughout the whole episode he had not cried. I was led to believe that’s all children did. He was smaller than I imagined too and it seemed absurd that this infant with his owl covered pyjamas and messy black hair had any power that I could not conceive of. But we were all children once, and I suppose that one day he would grow to be a great wizard. I could not let that happen. One could say it was cowardly to kill a child, but I do not see it as cowardice, but sense. For the sake of pride I was not going to risk my supremacy. That would be the Gryffindor way - and the Gryffindor way had not served the residence of this house so well.
He did not cower from me as I expected. Most wizards did - out of fear, respect or wisdom. The child had not developed such a sense of judgment yet. Instead, he peered down at the floor enquiringly as if he was waiting for his mother to jump back up again; as if she was playing a game and he was waiting for her to stop being so silly. The boy’s eyes met my own and they were filled with curiosity. It was like he was asking me why I was here, or perhaps why his mother was not getting up. I raised my wand and pointed it between his eyes as he wrapped his small hands around the bars of the cot and hauled himself up to standing position.
He fixed me with such a look then. The childish innocence was there, but there was purpose to his stare that was out of place with his age. He looked much like his father in that moment. From the mess of hair on his head to the shape of his chin and pinkish hue to his cheeks. His eyes were all hers though - but brighter and more intense in him. He was a combination of two powerful magical people and he was destined to exceed them both. Already, with his tearless eyes and his fixed gaze, he was stronger than both of them. Had there been no prophecy, he might have been an extraordinary ally one day - taken a seat next to Severus, Lucius and Bellatrix at my right hand. Alas, there was a prophecy and he could not be allowed to continue. I almost sighed. You could have been great, Harry Potter.
–Avada Kedavra.â€
Their Affliction by Alice Mac
Story Notes:
This is set on the night of October 31st 1981 when Voldemort came to the safe house in Godric's Hollow and is entirely from his point of view. All of the dialogue, except for the verbalisation of the spells, is from Harry's vague memories of the event as detailed in PoA and therefore, like the characters, belongs to JKR.
I don't actually think any of the things Voldemort does, but I thought it would be interesting to explore what his views on the night might have been
Chapter Endnotes:
Thanks for reading! That was my attempt at getting inside Voldemort's head - it's not a very nice place to be. Please tell me what you thought of it :)