The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

PROLOGUE: Paths in a Yellow Wood

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

-- Robert Frost

"Don't you ever wonder maybe if you took a left turn instead of a right you could be someone different?"

-Annonymous

October 31, 1981

The night was filled with an eerie silence - it was all the more deafening for its unusual presence. Trees swayed silently in a brisk wind - their leaves long blown from each gnarled wooden limb to rest on the cold, damp ground. A shadowy figure cloaked in black moved through the silent wood whose faded pale bark was made sallow by the presence of the specter. A pale hand emerged from the midnight fabric - leeched of all colour with silvery veins slithering under the papery skin like angry snakes. It moved silently, and with intense purpose towards a fork in the closed path. A faded signpost lay between the two paths, gold lettering etched into its surface. The figure paused before the sign, and tilted its head to look down each path, without apparent knowledge of where to go.

Curiously, the figure pulled a rod of wood from an unseen pocket and placed it on its palm rather than glance at the sign. It extended the hand towards the sign post and in between the two paths.

"Point me" The figure hissed, and the wood hovered and spun above its owner's hand, glowing red at the tip as it searched for its master's quarry.

The trees halted in their movement; the breeze disappeared as though the world held its breath. Round and round the wood spun, alternately glowing and fading as the tip passed over the two paths. Finally, and with one jerky movement, the wand shuddered and settled on the right path.

The figure did not immediately move to follow the path, and instead glanced at the other road, clutching the wood tight in its pale fist. It finally moved to the right, heading down the path indicated by its wand.

The breeze kicked up once more, and the trees swayed in relief. Many times, this choice had been made. Many times the figure had come, and always - always it had gone to the right. To the road with the trodden path, and to the family hidden at the end of its route.

Fate, however, had other plans.

The figure paused, and turned back to the origin of the road. Without much thought or consideration, the figure abandoned its previous journey and moved to take the other road - to turn left instead of right. It moved silently, and with greater conviction to the village down that road, where it knew its destiny lay. Down the road less traveled it went, carrying death with it.

The forest sprang to life; the chatter of night animals filling the air as creatures emerged from hiding places to venture out into the world. The stars twinkled merrily overhead - an ironic contrast to the deaths that occurred down the left path. The father died first; bravely attempting to stop the figure from attacking his family. The mother died next - standing bravely in front of her child. Then the moment arrived; the event that would dictate the fate of the world for the next ten years.

A flash of green light lit the entire city - a convergence of powerful magics. Then darkness returned, as a baby's wail sounded out into the forest; loud and pathetic with sorrow. The figure had disappeared.

Down the right path in another small village very similar to the first, a woman woke up with a startled gasp. Glancing at the sprawled form of her sleeping husband, the woman pondered what had awoken her. Her thoughts immediately went to her child, and she drew on her robe and went down the hall to her babe's room. She peered over the lip of the crib, and smiled at the happily snoring form of her son. She smoothed her baby's hair and kissed him lightly on the head before returning to her bed and her husband, who drew her tight against him in sleepy comfort.

Lily Potter smiled and went back to sleep.