THROUGH THE EYES OF EVIL

 

PART 1: THE TRAITOR

 

He took out his phoenix-feather-core-wand, and gazed upon a spider, which was sitting peacefully on the window. It was just a stupid little spider, nevertheless he swung his wand.

 

“Crucio!” he yelled and smiled slightly as the spider fell down from the window and lay twitching on the floor. It must have been in great pain. He walked up to the bug and crushed it under his heel.

 

Bitterly he stared out the window, which had been home to the spider less than one minute ago. It was autumn, the 30^th of October, and dusk was approaching. The day had been a disaster so far. Killing the spider was no doubt today’s highlight. He had just learned that one of his best men, a servant who had successfully infiltrated the Wizengamot, had been exposed and killed by a couple of Aurors.

 

He was plotting his revenge, only he did not yet know how he would retaliate. He fantasized of blowing up the Ministry in broad daylight, killing all of its workers. He knew it wouldn’t be feasible… yet. One day, yes, one day he would be able to do so. Now he was strong, powerful, and every wizard in Britain – no, in the world - feared to speak his name. A great accomplishment, yes… but taking down the Ministry of Magic itself would be, at this time, foolish and would come too great a cost.

 

Blasted Ministry! They deserved to die… all of them. Well, except the few spies he had working within the Ministry of Magic, of course. Today’s set back would certainly not mean his defeat in anyway – he knew he was too strong and too powerful to be defeated. Still, he had lost one of his most loyal and most powerful servants. He needed to delay some of his plans because of this loss.

 

He swore badly in his high-pitched, cold voice as he sat down, watching as the setting sun was lighting the sky fiery red and orange. He was in a bad mood; he wanted to hurt someone, to vent out his feelings. Nothing could possibly turn this horrible day into a good one… nothing!

 

He was considering calling upon Lucius Malfoy. Together they might go kill some Muggles, or even better, Mudbloods. Malfoy’s creative ways of Muggle and Mudblood torture always cheered him up. Filth. They deserved nothing better, anyway.

 

He gave a short laugh. It was not more than a single “heh”. He remembered a mildly amusing rumor Rookwood had told him. Rookwood, a spy located at the Ministry of Magic, had heard it from a Ministry’s Obliviator during some lunch-time chatting.

 

In a town not too far away, a one-year-old girl had set her parent’s dentist office in flames after her mother had pulled the child away from the specialist literature. It was rumored that the angry toddler created blue flames out of thin air everywhere she looked. The Obliviator was sent to the scene to modify the memories of the witnesses, making them believe that a technical malfunction had caused the fire. He had confirmed to Rookwood that the fire was caused by the Bluebell Flame Spell.

 

He stared out the window, watching the last light of the setting sun. It was obvious to him that the fire in the Obliviator’s story was created by uncontrolled magic, and knew the dentists were Muggles. This could mean only one thing to him: if the rumors were true, then the child was a Mudblood. Child or not, Mudbloods needed to die, as did the Muggles who gave birth to Mudbloods. Scum, filth. Not worthy of magic, not worthy of oxygen even. He wanted to purge the entire world of this scum… but this was only one of his many objectives.

 

The sun had vanished completely behind the horizon now, plunging the room in total darkness. He had just decided to contact Malfoy, so they could together torture and kill the parents of the Mudblood-toddler. He rose and reached for a big pot of Floo Powder. However, before he could open it, someone knocked his door.

 

“Who is it?” he said in his cold voice. “This better be important and this better good news.”

 

He took out his wand again. He did not care who it was, but if that person was bringing bad news, that person would have to deal with a Cruciatus Curse. He, Lord Voldemort, would not allow anyone to tell him more bad news today.

 

“My Lord,” answered a nervous, yet victorious sounding voice. “It is me; Wormtail. I have some very good news for you, My Lord.”

 

“Enter,” commanded Voldemort, as he sat down in his chair. His snake-like face stared upon a young, short man. In spite of his age, the man had already lost a lot of hair. He bowed deep before Voldemort, and kneeled humbly before the chair, in his master’s shadow.

 

“I had just made plans for this evening, Wormtail,” said Voldemort. “So this better be good.”

 

“It is, My Lord, it is,” said Wormtail hastily. “I have news about the Potters.”

 

“I see. I assume the Fidelius Charm, which you have warned me about, has been cast?” Voldemort asked. “Do you have any information on where we can find the Secret-Keeper, Sirius Black?”

 

Wormtail’s smile was triumphant. He hardly seemed to be able to speak out of pure pleasure. He smiled and took a deep breath of air before he said with a happy tone in his voice: “The Fidelius Charm has indeed been cast, My Lord. But we have no need to capture Black.”

 

“Why not?” Voldemort replied. He was annoyed, he would decide whether it was needed to capture Black or not. It was not a decision for Wormtail to make, this matter was far too important.

 

“Why do we not need to capture Black, Wormtail?” Voldemort asked again.

 

“Because, My Lord… Because…” Wormtail’s voice was quivering out of pure excitement. For an instant Voldemort thought Wormtail would jump up and hug him. He held his wand ready to punish Wormtail, in case Wormtail decided to do such a foolish thing.

 

“Because…” Wormtail continued. “Black decided to bluff, My Lord. At the very last moment, at Black’s suggestion, Potter decided to pick a new Secret-Keeper.”

 

“A new Secret-Keeper?” Voldemort repeated. This was unexpected, and unfortunate. They had some nasty tracking down to do, unless that fool Wormtail knew who the new Secret-Keeper was – which was very unlikely. Perhaps he had mistaken Wormtail’s excitement for fear. Yet, he still sensed genuine excitement and happiness in Wormtail.

 

“Don’t tell me the Potters have decided to go for Dumbledore after all,” Voldemort said. “Speak up! Tell me, Wormtail, who is it?”

 

“It’s not Dumbledore, My Lord.” Wormtail replied. There were tears in his eyes now; was it happiness? “My Lord… I am the Secret-Keeper. Black convinced Potter in making me the Secret-Keeper.”

 

It took Voldemort a moment to let this message sink in. He blinked his slit-like-pupil eyes. He sensed no concealment, no lies, around Wormtail. Wormtail’s story was true, which was great news indeed. It seemed that this horrible day would have a good ending after all.

 

“You are the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” Voldemort replied. He was pleased, very pleased. “How did you manage to pull that off, Wormtail?”

 

“I didn’t really, My Lord. It was all Black’s suggestion,” Wormtail answered. The joy on his face vanished directly. Voldemort saw on Wormtail’s face that the man realized that he had said something stupid.

 

“Of course you didn’t,” said Voldemort disappointed. “I had almost begun to think you were becoming useful. But of course, you have just blundered into this lucky situation… However, it is still fortunate. Who else knows about this change? Dumbledore?”

 

“No, My Lord,” said Wormtail. “Black thought it would be best if as few people as possible would know about it. The only ones who know are myself, James and Lily Potter and Sirius Black. No one else knows.”

 

“Good,” said Voldemort victoriously, realizing the use of Wormtail’s information. “I suppose you can tell me were the Potters are hiding then?”

 

“Yes, My Lord. They have taken refuge in Godric’s Hollow.”

 

Voldemort smiled. Wormtail had said it; he had shared the secret and had thereby broken the charm.

 

“You have done well to come directly to me and tell me this news, Wormtail,” laughed Voldemort. “You have served Lord Voldemort well and as such, you will be rewarded.”

 

It was good news indeed. Voldemort now knew the location of one of the boy who would be able to vanquish him. If the prophecy was true, one-year-old Harry Potter would be one of the two people able to destroy Voldemort. Therefore, little Harry had to be destroyed as soon as possible, before that Mudblood-loving fool Dumbledore could train him up. Of course, Harry would probably be taught magic before the age of eleven, Voldemort suspected. As soon as the child had some awareness of the world around him, he would be taught to defend himself.

 

There was not much time to waste. Yet, this had to be carefully planned. Going tonight would be foolish, he would go tomorrow. Some of his Death Eaters could scout the surroundings and at night he would strike. He was going to do this personally, and alone. He did not want anyone to mess this up, it was too important.

 

“My Lord,” Wormtail said in a trembling voice. “I was made Secret-Keeper a week ago. You are mistaken to think I came directly.”

 

“What!?” Voldemort shouted in anger. “Why did you not come to me sooner, then?”

 

“I thought it was unsafe, My Lord.”

 

Voldemort just gazed upon Wormtail. It was smart of Wormtail to tell him this directly; if he, Voldemort, had found this out later, then he would be even angrier. Yet Wormtail had failed him by waiting a week to bring this news, so…

 

“Crucio!” yelled Voldemort, pointing his wand at Wormtail. He was laughing his cold laugh and he had totally forgotten about killing the dentists and their Mudblood daughter as he listened to Wormtail’s cries of pain.

 

 

PART 2: POTTER VS VOLDEMORT

 

With a loud crack he Apparated in the bushes. Bellatrix had identified this location to him as a good and safe place to Apparate to. From right here, he could see the villa of Godric’s Hollow. That was his target – the Potters were there.

 

As the last hours of October ticked away, Voldemort thought again about the information he had received from his scout; Bellatrix Lestrange. There where three doors, two floors, and lots of bushes around the place. The closest neighbor lived half a mile away. A desolate place; no one would know of the attack. But he wanted to act quickly. Bellatrix had not found any traces of magical alarms, but he did not want to risk intruders.

 

In the villa before him was Harry Potter, one of the two people predicted by a Seer to be able to destroy Voldemort. He was informed of this by a spy who had overheard the Seer predicting it to Dumbledore. Unfortunately, the spy had only heard part of that conversation.

 

The prophecy also spoke of second person who could be just as dangerous. It was another little boy; Neville Longbottom. Although Voldemort had heard only part of the prophecy, he knew enough to identify these two dangerous boys. Both were born to parents who escaped him three times, both were born at the end of July… but only one of them would be able to vanquish him. Voldemort remembered the little information he had well; he would mark one of them as an equal; and it would be the marked boy who would be the one who was dangerous. Obviously, they were both still little boys now – Voldemort had considered neither of them as an equal yet. His plans were to kill them both. Today was Harry’s turn to die, as the first of the two boys. Neville was more difficult to catch; Voldemort had no mole located near the Longbottoms as he had near the Potters. He would die soon though; it was just a matter of time.

 

Behind him, Voldemort heard three more cracking sounds. He looked over his shoulder, it was three of his Death Eaters; Malfoy, Wormtail and Bellatrix. 

 

“You will do nothing unless commanded,” Voldemort instructed them. “If you see anyone near the Hollow, kill him. If you see the Potters trying to escape, kill them too. If the unlikely situation arises that I’ll need your assistance; I will shoot red sparks in the air. You are not to enter the building unless you see my signal. Understood?”

 

“Yes, My Lord,” the three Death Eaters replied.

 

“Good,” said Voldemort. “This is so important, that I will handle it personally and alone. You three are just my emergency reinforcements.”

 

“Lucius,” continued Voldemort, looking at Malfoy, as he pointed to Wormtail and Bellatrix. “I will leave you in charge of these two.”

 

And so Voldemort turned away from his Death Eaters. Through the bushes he sneaked his way up to the back door of Godric’s Hollow. It was locked. He took out his wand and pointed it at the lock.

 

“Alohomora”, he said quietly, and the door sprang open. He entered what looked like a large kitchen. There were lots of wooden cupboards and at one side there was a big black metal stove.

 

A man’s voice came from hallway, which was connected to the kitchen.

 

“Did you hear that?” the voice said. “I’ll look go and see what it is.”

 

Boldly Voldemort stood in the kitchen, straightening his shoulders, smiling widely and making himself as big as possible as he enjoyed watching the terrified face of James Potter sticking around the doorpost.

 

“Lily, take Harry and go!” yelled James. “It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

 

James, trying to look brave and impressive, stepped from the hallway into the kitchen, facing Voldemort, and drew out his wand.

 

“Do you really wish to duel me, Potter?” Voldemort asked. “Don’t be such a fool; I am no match for you. You might have had three lucky breaks against me in the past, but this time is different, Potter. Now if you ju-”

 

He never finished his little speech as James swished his wand and yelled: “Stupefy!”

 

Halfway during James’ incantation, Voldemort had already seen what he was up to.

 

“Protego!” Voldemort yelled and the red ray of light from James’ stunner bounced back at James through Voldemort’s invisible shield. With relative ease, James dodged his own spell.

 

“So you wish to duel,” Voldemort said, with a twisted smile. “You can have it that way.”

 

Blasted fool, he thought. Potter was trying to be a hero at the cost of his own life – fool. Potter was not to be feared, he was alone and he was a weakling. Yet, it would take some precious time, time in which the Mudblood might call for reinforcements. On the other hand, he enjoyed a little duel. It would be fun to kill someone who was trying to act like a brave hero. However, he had to finish this – quickly. It was no time for fun; it was time to get to business.

Voldemort pointed his wand at James and yelled: “Avada Kedavra!”

 

James jumped backwards and ducked behind the door post, which separated the kitchen from the hallway. There was a sound of rushing air, and green light. A jet of bright green light from Voldemort’s wand missed James and slammed into the hallway, setting the carpet on fire. Voldemort heard James’ saying some incantations and the kitchen drawer swung open. Six sharp knives flew out and shot at high speed towards Voldemort. Without any effort Voldemort vanished from his spot and appeared right behind James, just in front of the burning carpet, to see the knives crash against the kitchen wall. James turned around, just as Voldemort yelled: “Crucio!”

 

The spell hit James straight in the chest. Voldemort took two steps towards James, laughing at his twitching body, listening to his screams of pain. Voldemort smiled, revenge was his. Three times before escaped had James Potter outsmarted him, but not this time. Although Voldemort had come here for Harry, the opportunity was smiling at him now to exterminate all Potters for good. Just like the little spider on the window. Vermin!

 

James was fighting the pain; he grabbed a hallstand, leaning on it heavily, to pull himself back up, still fighting the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Voldemort smiled evilly and pointed his wand at the coat rack. With ease he transfigured it to a huge serpent. James crashed to the ground again. Coats fell to the floor, covering the serpent. James scuffled away as the giant snake found its way out of the coats.

 

“Get him! Get him!” Voldemort commanded the serpent in Parseltongue. “Get him!”

 

The serpent opened its mouth, showing its venomous fangs as it slithered towards James.

 

“Impedimenta!” James yelled, still half sitting on the floor. He pointed his wand at the serpent; it was blasted away by the force of the spell, crashed into the burning carpet and stopped moving as it was consumed by the flames.

 

James stood up, but not with ease. The Cruciatus Curse must have hit James hard. The pain was still showing on his face. Voldemort smiled. He pointed his wand at James again, and once more yelled: “Crucio!”

 

Screaming of pain, James crashed to the ground a second time, Voldemort stepped closer to him. He laughed hard now. This was fun, seeing brave Potter suffering and losing the duel. Voldemort laughed.

 

“I never thought highly of you, Potter” he said. “Your wife can’t help it that she was born as a stinking, filthy Mudblood… But you, as a Pureblood, could have made a better choice picking a wife… A disgusting Blood-Traitor, that’s what you are! Crucio!”

 

James screamed louder, unable to talk back, unable to move other than in the uncontrollable way he was twitching. The third Cruciatus Curse seemed to have hit him harder than the other two. Perhaps it was the stacking effect of all the curses.

 

“So, Potter,” Voldemort said, kicking the screaming and twitching man. “How does it feel, being betrayed by one you thought was a friend? I really must thank Wormtail for his information. I think it’s time to say good-bye now, Potter.”

 

He looked straight into the horrified eyes of James, as he pointed his wand at him again.

 

“No matter, Potter,” Voldemort said. “Your dear Mudblood wife and your son will be with you soon…”

 

Voldemort pointed his wand at James, and, with an evil smirk upon his face he said, slowly, so James could hear every single syllable; “Avada Kedavra!”

 

A sound of rushing air followed the green light as the ray of death hit James. Voldemort kicked James’ corpse and smiled. One down, two to go. He had wasted time; it was fun to torture James Potter a little before he died; yet the Mudblood might have called upon reinforcements. Not that he feared them of course, but they might delay things.

 

He rushed into the living room as the burning carpet set fire to some decorative curtains. No one was here. He noticed a set of stairs leading up to a small balcony, which led to the second floor. He ran up the stairs. The Mudblood had to be here somewhere, and no doubt Harry was with her.

 

 

PART 3: THE BOY WHO LIVED

 

There were five doors on the second floor. He stared at them all. Then, at the second door from his left, he heard a crying child. Voldemort smiled; victory was only one door away. He opened the door and entered the room, with a cackle of high-pitched laughter. Victory!

 

Lily Potter was talking into a mirror: “Dumbledore, please answer, Dumble-“

 

She broke off her attempts to contact Dumbledore, looking terrified at Voldemort.

 

Voldemort glanced at Harry, who was sitting in a crib. With his wand threateningly at the ready, Voldemort stepped towards the crying child. Instantly, Lily jumped between himself and the child, her arms wide spread in an attempt to block Voldemort as much as possible. She fumbled for her wand; it dropped out of her robes, on to the floor.

 

“Accio wand!” Voldemort said instantly, catching Lily’s wand as it flew towards him. He threw it out of the room and onto the stairs, far out of the reach of anyone in the room.

 

“Give me the child,” Voldemort commanded. “And no harm shall come to you.”

 

He smiled evilly. Once he had killed Harry, in front of his Mudblood mother’s eyes, he would take the filthy Mudblood to his Death Eaters and together they would torture her to her death anyway. It seemed that she failed to call her reinforcements. But the business of, killing Harry, had to be done before the pleasure of torturing a Mudblood.

 

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” Lily screamed, crying apparently of fear and panic. She kept blocking Voldemort’s way.

 

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…”

 

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –“

 

This was getting annoying. Lily kept blocking his way. He had to act quickly, at the floor below him the fire could be heard raging in full fury now. The temperature was rising as well. He had to act before the whole building collapsed. Yet, this begging of the Mudblood gave him a satisfying feeling of power, control.

 

“Not Harry!” Lily begged on. “Please… Have mercy…. Have mercy!”

 

It was enough. He grew tired of listening to the pathetic begging of a pathetic Mudblood. He raised his wand, and laughed as he pointed it at Lily.

 

“Avada Kedavra!” he said. Lily screamed in panic.

Another jet of green light erupted from his wand, accompanied by a rushing sound. The ray hit Lily straight in the face. Instantly she stopped screaming, as she collapsed to the floor – she was dead before the echoes of her screams had left the room. Voldemort laughed, and looked at the glassy eyes of the dead woman.

 

“Another filthy stinking Mudblood less on this planet,” he laughed. “It is unfortunate that she died so painlessly.”

 

Voldemort stepped on and over the body of Lily Potter and looked at the crying baby in the crib. He smiled in victory. This was one of the two boys who would be able to vanquish him? Could this possibly be his equal? This one-year-old, black-haired little boy? Little Harry Potter? Voldemort laughed his high-pitched laugh again. He couldn’t stop noticing that the baby looked like his dead father; he had the same face, and the same messy hair, but he had the same eyes as his Mudblood mother.

 

“You’ll be with your courageous father and your filthy Mudblood mother soon, child,” laughed Voldemort.

 

He raised his wand, and pointed it at baby Harry. He laughed, loud, high-pitched and cold. Victory was here! Victory!

 

With tonight’s victory in mind Voldemort said: “Avada Kedavra!”

 

Voldemort watched the green light erupt from his wand as though it were in slow-motion. He noticed something he had never noticed before; the rushing sound of death started just a fraction of a second later than the light. Although it moved with dazzling speed, Voldemort felt as though the green light was only inching slowly towards the crying child. And finally, after what seemed like an hour, the green light connected with Harry’s forehead

 

However, little Harry did not die on the spot. Voldemort’s snake-like eyes were large and round in surprise. He watched the green light struggled to get grip on the baby. It burned down to Harry’s face, then suddenly turned direction; moving to the left and slightly upwards, then down again. At that point the green light must have decided that it could not get any grip on the child, and left the forehead of baby Harry. It traveled back towards Voldemort; leaving Harry with a nasty lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead; exactly the path the light had traveled.

 

Voldemort suddenly understood. The Mudblood had sacrificed herself in an attempt to save the child. He cursed. He would not be able to kill Harry at this moment. The child was protected against all of Voldemort’s Dark Arts. He had to find a way to break this ancient, protective magic first.

 

Something green was flickering in his eyes. The green light! It had left Harry and was coming straight back towards Voldemort! He tried to dodge it, but it was too late.

 

The green light hit him in the chest. He was blasted backwards as immense pain tore through his very essence, his very soul. He felt himself being ripped violently from his body. He head a loud crash as his lifeless body slammed into the wall. Then there was silence, except for the crying of little Harry Potter. He looked at his own body; it was an odd feeling, seeing it as a lifeless corpse. He wanted to get back into it, but he did not know how.

 

Less than two seconds had passed since Voldemort had finished casting his Death-curse, but it felt like an eternity. He tried to glance down at himself. What was he? Was he dead, a ghost? No – he had cheated death. Death could not touch him; he had magically ensured that he could not die. He did not know what he was, but he felt weak, powerless. He looked like a ghost, but he knew he was not. Was he a soul, an essence? He did not know yet. He never had felt this much uncertainness in his life.

 

The fire had set the second floor ablaze as well. Knowing that little Harry would perish in the flames; he shot out from the burning building. He did not return to his Death Eaters – he refused to allow them to see him in this condition; he would appear weak. Could they even see him? He was not sure. He would face them again when he had found a way to restore his body and his powers. High above him, in the air, he saw a single headlight and heard the noise of a motorbike as he fled into the woods.  

 

He had suffered a major setback, but he was not defeated. He knew would come back, more powerful than ever. Surely, he thought, it would take a lot more than being ripped from body and power to stop Lord Voldemort!

 

 

END