Voldemort's Story

Lily Evans had been a good, kind-hearted person mostly all of her life. She remained always loyal, brave, kind, and true, but these are the people who most often are targets, because one wouldn't want to have people of higher intelligence, beauty, rank, pushing them down to even lower levels. Lily had always been an excelling person, but did she see her son grow up and become a powerful wizard? Did she see the fall of Voldemort? No. For people have taken the lives of innocent bystanders, and people have taken the lives of those who oppose them.

James Potter was a decent person, too. He lived what little of his life he had staying faithful to his wife and son and friends. But he, too, was bereft of life by those who are in opposition of what is believed to be right.

Tom Riddle had been a good boy. He was a prefect, Head Boy, and helped everyone. This only proved he was an actor, a mask for the real self inside. Tom Riddle assumed the name Lord Voldemort, and killed the Potters. He took the lives of two innocent people, merely because he didn't like that they opposed him, merely because they were protecting their only son, Harry. Harry was one. Yet Harry was powerful. Powerful enough to take the Killing curse and turn it back to its creator. Powerful enough to survive so many times in places where others had failed immediatly.

Harry always underestimated how much he was capable of.

And Lord Voldmeort always over estimated what he, himself, was capable of.

Which was his downfall.

When one believes too strongly in oneself, one tends to fail in areas where they thought they would excel.

When Lord Voldemort, as he was dubbed, set out the night of Hallowe'en, he did not expect to find his failure. He, like always, expected to find his triumph. He turned his wand upon the father. And killed him. James had been proud. Even in dying. He stood tall and stood for what he believed in. When his lifeless body hit the floor, Lord Voldemort could only smile and turn to Lily. Lily tried to save her son. Lily gave her life, as James, trying to protect what remained of her family. What hope she could have now. With Voldemort turning his wand towards her. She, too, was taken.

But unlike his parents, Harry did not die standing proud and tall. He was only a baby, he couldn't stand well. But he never died that night.

Voldemort, instead, lost what remained of the life he had once known. He, like so many he'd done this to, had his soul ripped painfully from his body. He now knew what it was like to be a dead soul, floating in the realm of life, watching those we know grow up and become something. But Voldemort didn't renounce his ways.

No, Lord Voldemort chose instead to gain his body and kill again.

Some can learn, but that does not mean all. One can lead a horse to water, but cannot always make the horse drink, like one can kill and find what life is like beyond, but will not always choose to reform. Some are too lost to reform.

Some can die and come back, only to commit the same mistakes in joy.

But no one ever said that joy is eternal.

Especially if you have angry ghosts, spirits, left in the reality of death, who are not exactly pleased with you.