Dark Mark

The Challenge was to write, in not more than thirty minutes, a short story beginning and ending with these sentences...

Darkness came swiftly that evening, thanks to the heavy clouds that presented a cold crystalline gift to Hogwarts and the nearby village of Hogsmeade....... He shivered as he watched the owl take flight, wondering if he would ever be warm again.

Dark Mark

Darkness came swiftly that evening, thanks to the heavy clouds that presented a cold crystalline gift to Hogwarts and the nearby village of Hogsmeade.
As far as the eye could see, which was not far that snow-filled night, everything was coated in white. The many fields, separated by low hedgerows in more clement seasons, were one endless undulation of white, while the trees hung heavy with snow, their branches bowed under the weight of millions of tiny crystals of ice, each one unique and the epitome of purity. Cold black eyes looked straight ahead, determined footfalls trod down the soft carpet, a cloak darker than the night followed in the wake of its wearer tracing swirling patterns in powdery whiteness.
He besmirched the scene. He was an ugly blot on the otherwise unspoilt landscape. He was its very own Dark Mark. He always had been, and the letter had merely served to emphasise that he always would be, too. He had not stayed to listen to Dumbledore's placatory nonsense. He would not be lulled into acceptance by the soporific phoenix song, not this time. The Ministry was convinced of his guilt, and rightly so. His sacrifices would never be recognised, so why did he still even bother to try to make amends? It would never be enough, never enough for them, and he was sick and tired of pretending to be above it all.
He reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest and paused, turning to look back to the school. He was not hesitating, for his mind was set and he would not be dissuaded; Dumbledore himself would not have been able to alter his course now, although it would have been nice if the Headmaster had at least tried. He snorted, his breath curling around his face in the frigid night.
The ultimate sacrifice, and still it would not be enough. A suicide mission, Albus had called it, and in contravention of the Prophecy. The famous Prophecy that would make a martyr of Saint Potter and all his little acolytes too. Well, maybe it would, but maybe he had his own destiny to fulfil that would either destroy the Dark Lord or, a more likely prospect, weaken him sufficiently to allow The Boy Who Was So Bloody Lucky to swan in at the last minute and take all the credit. Potter would be lauded and feted for years and given the Order of Merlin, First Class that he himself had deserved for so long. Or maybe the Ministry would create an all-new honour for the whelp, the very first medal from the Order of the Completely Jammy Little Scrote Who Ignores All The Effort Other People Put In To Save His Sorry Little Neck.
His lips set in a tight line that was the closest he ever got to a grim smile and the air reverberated with a crack as he Disapparated.
***

The old man sank to his knees in the snow and wept. Too late, always too late. Too late with his praise, with his understanding, with his favour...with his love. Too late to stop the proud, damaged man from sacrificing himself for the cause.
No. Not true. Not too late. He could have prevented it, could have used his magic to bind the dark man's hands, to still the incantation and trap it in his mouth, to keep him safe at Hogwarts, where he belonged. Where he was loved.
The old man remained on his knees in the snow and his tears froze on his cheeks.
***

The letter to the Ministry was brief. The deed was done, and their sources would no doubt have their answer by daybreak. The Headmaster's fingers were still numbed by the cold and he shivered in wet robes whose hems were still caked in the tenacious snow. The owl hooted impatiently as arthritic hands fastened the sealed letter to its leg and then it was off, swooping through the opened casement window into the grey dawn.
He shivered as he watched the owl take flight, wondering if he would ever be warm again.