The Flames of Hell In Your Eyes

He looked at the red, burning sky, and then, straightening up, breathed in the bitter smell. The universe around him was silent. Not a bird sang. A cold winter wind was sweeping through his silver hair-- he wondered whether his hair was greying already. The white butterflies of snow landed on his hands and jacket and melted, leaving wet traces, like tears.

He lit a cigarette and smirked at those people who were fussing down in the valley, shouting out various spells and trying to stop the chaos.

"Halfwits. It is impossible to stop the Inferno from burning," he thought with a bitter smile.

The young man stared blankly at the flames, how they melted the snow, played with nature, fiercely licked the stone walls of the mansion.

"Burn, Father; burn here and for eternity. Burn in hell. And when you're there, say hello to Voldemort for me," he said and took a wand out of his pocket. He examined the wand for a minute, tracing the shape with a finger and then with one quick movement broke it apart. He leaned against a tree and stood silently for some time, watching the fire. Then he turned to the Harley Davidson. He smiled bitterly. "A pureblooded Muggle-hater driving a Muggle bike.... how ironic..."

But it had been Harry's motorbike, after all. Other facts didn't matter now. He traced a hand along the cold metal of the bike, realising suddenly that he wasn't used to driving on it alone, that the bike looked alien now, like a stranger he'd never met before... He zipped his leather jacket and left.

He drove at an impossible speed along the motorway, chilling wind burning his lungs. When he reached his destination, he hopped off, abandoning his bike. As he made his way along the narrow path, he heard an explosion and froze, a small, mirthless smile curving his dry lips.

He continued walking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~

A delivered package lay open on the Minister's desk. Fudge glanced around the room; there were several people in it: Dumbledore, more old and stooped now than ever, Sirius Black, his hair streaked with grey, Arthur Weasley and his family, and a few Ministry officials.

Fudge took several parchments out of the package. His hands trembled with fear of seeing what was written there.

He slowly read the text aloud, pausing to gasp for air. The room listened in stony silence. When the Minister reached the end of the paper, he could hardly force himself to look up. Fudge, his eyes misted over with tears, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again in unaccustomed acquiescence upon noting the severe look on Dumbledore's face. Molly Weasley laid a hand on her husband's shoulder, fighting back the tears that were already running down her wrinkled cheeks.

A short scream and the thud of a body hitting the floor broke the heavy silence. Abruptly, the people came out of their trance. Ginny Weasley had fainted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~~~~

"They know about everything now. Soon they will be here. I don't care. I gave you everything: my body, my life, and my soul. I did everything I could. You sod, you won again and I am all yours now. I have completed the task I gave myself that day.

You never knew it would end like that. None of us knew; it was unimaginable. The end was cruel..."

He glanced sidelong at the two fresh graves nearby. "They didn't know either."

"But I have avenged you--I have avenged you all. Not one of them escaped. My father..." he paused, sneering. "Lucius was the last to fall."

He took out the two halves of the wand and threw it beneath the tree, where there was already a pile of other broken wands.

"You've made the front page again, Potter. But this is the last time."

He looked down at his fingers: the delicate skin was covered with bruises; the fine nails were broken. He remembered the previous day, when he was on his knees here, on the bare, frozen, covered with icy spots ground. He remembered the hot tears running down his frozen cheeks, small icicles forming on his wet eyelashes. He resented the feeling of emptiness around him, like the whole world was dead. His heart was empty, too. Perhaps the only feelings that were still inside him, burning out like a dying fire, were hatred, despair and pity.

He fell on his knees again, and grabbed the cold earth with his hands.

"I am coming. Just make sure that Weasley and Granger are not around. I want to have you to myself now, as you have me.

"I wonder what shade of red the Hell-flames are. I want to see your eyes reflect them. Anyway, red looks good on you, Potter. Now get your arse out of whatever underground place you are, and come meet me."

I am on my way...

Heavy snow fell drifted down from the sky, covering body of a young, handsome blond man and the three freshly dug graves with a thick, white carpet.

The wind spread the ashes of the bike in the winter air.