Chapter 47 Godric's Hollow Sorrow II

A/n: I liked knowing your opinions in that little quiz, although, as I said, the structure of the rest of the arc was already defined, so there are no changes in the plot, although some ideas are quite intriguing. Charging a "price" cough, cough, from Lily... Or even following the route of the cruel, cold, and demonic MC... Or nuances among these, anyway, thank you. Although this chapter was difficult to write, I rewrote it several times to get the tone I wanted, I hope you like it.

...

Greengrass Mansion, the night of October 31st.

Vincent stood beneath the window, gazing into the distance, contemplating decisions or even destiny, obligation, friendship, or even justice. His mind was no longer human, making such thoughts webs of cold and rational interconnections, and due to not being human anymore, some of his priorities had shifted.

An example of his change and his emotional capacity, which, for lack of more suitable terms, had become more logical, after his last step on the demonic path a year ago, the consequences of which were mainly related to friendships or caring for other people. He could indeed feel some level of emotions towards those close to him, but it would still be filtered and mitigated to a minimum. Certainly, it wasn't right. After all, such a filter would be a dash preventing him from fully feeling common human things like satisfaction, pleasure, friendship, or love. But at the current moment, a moment of decision that could either prevent or not a tragedy made it even more obvious how cold his heart had become.

He observed the events inside the Potter residence through the eyes of his illusory crow. Following the moment when Peter Pettigrew unsurprisingly betrayed his comrades, causing destruction. But Vincent felt nothing, no remorse or need to interfere with fate. Here would end the era of Voldemort, and the Potters would die fulfilling their purposes as they should. He would only appear at the right moment and claim all of Voldemort's soul spoils, as he had planned.

His demonic magic allowed him to observe everything happening from a distance, a simple illusion of a common bird, a crow. Positioned near the Potters' house, under an apple tree in their garden. There was nothing notable there, except for a strange coin pulsating with mystical gold from time to time.

Vincent calmly watched all the events until Voldemort arrived at the house, creating palpable tension like a low-quality horror film. Pettigrew argued with his master, James, who had his body battered, stood up, went to Lily with limping steps, finally supporting her, he whispered. "Take Harry and run, I'll delay them."

"No, James, please don't!" she said, understanding the consequences of this. Her gaze understood what was happening, her mind understood, but Lily's heart did not!

He smiled resignedly, hugging her, and giving her a quick last kiss, continuing to whisper, "It's the only way. I love you and our son too much. I wish it could be different, but it's not. Please take Harry and go." When he finished, he pulled away from her hug, and she said nothing. She didn't know what to say, although her red eyes shed tears.

"I love you, James," she said with regret, feeling her mouth turn bitter as she watched her husband leave through the door. They were so powerless in the face of the situation. She was greeted with one last sight of him smiling at her with one of those mischievous looks he used to give during their pranks at Hogwarts, deeply storing it in her memory. She took action to go get her son Harry in the room.

James walked dejectedly through the front door, his body trembling and tears flooding his eyes, blurring his vision. None of this stopped him from moving forward, one step at a time. Just one step at a time. His hand passed where he kept his wand, but it was missing, and his eyes stared at Pettigrew kneeling, holding his three wands, finally his gaze rose to see Voldemort, standing in front of him, not Peter Pettigrew the traitor. He heard Voldemort's mocking voice.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The little lion who decided to leave his den."

James finally fixed his gaze on the Dark Lord, responding with an equally mocking voice, "Lions sleep in the savannah, as far as I know, it's only snakes that hide in filthy holes."

"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha," Voldemort laughed in a way that emphasized his irony; to him, the situation was amusing, after all, he was here, so he had already won!

James watched the man have a fit of laughter in silence, feeling no humor in the situation, but the longer he dragged it out, the more time Lily would have.

Voldemort finally stopped laughing. "James Charlus Potter, son of a noble house, part of the 28 sacred pure-blood families, the current lord of your house. A house that has contributed to our community for centuries..." The Dark Lord recited the titles of the Potter house and its historical relevance to the magical world. Then he said, "With a pure blood of noble lineage, you tarnished your name by marrying a filthy half-blood, a Mudblood too dirty for the legacy of the Potters, disappointing your ancestors, a serious crime."

"Hump!" James scoffed in disgust. He angrily replied, "Voldemort, you know NOTHING!"

After a brief silence, Voldemort continued with his almost inspiring, melodic voice, "James, you're wrong. I know, I've been watching for a long time. Although we have fought in the past, I saw that your wife, Lily Potter nee Evans, even though born of mud, can be shaped into a diamond, I recognize that. The brightest witch of this generation and many other titles. She has her merits, my vision is to purify the magical world so that we wizards can live a happy life. I know things, James, and what I do, the pains I cause are for a future where our kind can be free, without fear, or hiding in this small box called the Statute of Secrecy."

James swallowed hard, thinking about what Voldemort wanted to do, a massacre disguised with inspiring words, and as Dumbledore said, Voldemort was mad.

Finally, the Dark Lord concluded his speech with the final words, "For that future, I am willing to forgive your offenses or even accept your wife in a special status." Voldemort breathed and spoke loudly, "Kneel to me and submit to my will."

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his contemplative expression reflecting his agitated state of mind, and after a few seconds, he looked down, or even at Pettigrew, who showed hope that he would accept, maybe they could be on the same side. After considering everything, he had his answer, and his gaze became resigned and then determined.

"No, I could, but you know what, I don't like snakes, serpents live in dark, muddy places. Lily wouldn't like that," James's words were said in a playful and resolute tone, he concluded with a few more words, "Even if I wanted to, my knees couldn't bend!"

Voldemort's features changed from a friendly facade to an angry and amused one; this foolish child wanted to challenge him! But before taking any action, he felt the magic around, ensuring that there was no escape route or connection to the outside, and felt the presence of everyone present, deliberately ignoring the presence of a crow nestled in the apple tree or other small animals nearby.

"Oh, if it isn't the typical irrational stubbornness of Gryffindor," he said with a sinister smile. "I've met a few like you, but they usually don't last long..."

"For example, (Crucio)," Voldemort ruthlessly cast a Cruciatus curse from his wand, white as bone, a red ray hit James completely defenseless, the illusion of a ghostly hand grabbing, pressing, tearing, grabbing, pulling, twisting the vulnerable body of James.

 Screams!

 In the face of insurmountable pain, James yielded, and his voice gave way to screams, his body falling to the ground writhing and agonizing. The duration of the spell was only thirty seconds, but for James, it was an eternity. In the end, he stood up again, standing, looking at Voldemort defiantly without saying a word.

(Cruciatus) Screams! Voldemort cast the spell again, being as agonizing as the first time, and again, James did not resist and collapsed to the ground, crying and grinding his teeth, for another thirty seconds of uninterrupted pain.

 Then, with more difficulty than the first time, he stood up again, standing crouched, looking at Voldemort defiantly, his mouth saying nothing but his eyes saying it all.

...

Far away in the Greengrass mansion, Vincent watched the entire scene with wide eyes, his legs unknowingly starting to move, beating against each other or the window wall in a frantic rhythm. In his mind, a thousand things were happening, but only one in particular bothered his intellect: What is a just man?

From a religious point of view, a just man is one who follows the precepts of God, faithful to his designs and faith. For some philosophers, a just man is one who honors his society and the contract of life, contributing to the advancement and improvement of human life, continuing the legacy of his parents in a simple life. In the eyes of a king, justice is simply his will, his strength, and his order. But for Vincent, a demon, looking at James, he understood the resignation to accept his fate with bravery, the audacity to face with conviction something he wouldn't win, and still not yield. He had a purpose, and as long as he lived, he would not yield. James was a just man, with himself and what he believed, and brave enough to defend his point to the last consequences.

Vincent understood that he would not yield, every second he gained by resisting was a second Lily would dispose of. During his year with the members of the Order of the Phoenix, he spent a good part with James, as he was the most sensible of them. Sirius was a fun guy, just for parties. That's cool until that completely drunk friend vomits on you early Friday morning. As for Peter, well, he never had any relevance, just a tedious rat that should or should not be taken care of someday. So he ended up spending more time with James, and although he couldn't consider him a friend, there was no emotion involved, maybe in another life, they could be friends.

 Vincent continued to observe, unaware that his leg was moving even faster, almost uncontrollably.

...

James lay on the crumpled grass, covered in sweat, blood, and excrement. It was ten Cruciatius curses; his mind was blank, his body demanding that he lay there, immobile, away from the pain, but still, he stood up, again. Pettigrew was crying at the sight of his friend in that condition; his eyes showed regret. Voldemort was irritated; it was clear that the boy in front of him, not the man in front of him, would not yield. He would collapse at any moment, then his mind would be distorted to the point of not recognizing itself anymore, as a side effect of the Cruciatius curse.

Voldemort looked at the mess that was James, who had just stood up; it was the eleventh time he had stood up. He said, "I admit, I won't make you kneel, just one more Cruciatius curse, and your mind will collapse. And as a reward for proving your point, I'll show mercy."

Voldemort fell silent while his hand traced the handle of his wand, the yew wood was hard and inflexible, white as bones, the body of the wand had slight black marks that looked like punctures in the wood, and its core was a proud phoenix, suitable for all kinds of magic but very proud, the wand seemed to fit well in the hands of the Dark Lord, creating a powerful synergy.

He slid the wand in a skillful design, drawing a Sowilo rune [ᛋ], and with a firm voice, he chanted. (ah-VAH-dah keh-DAH-vrah). A green ray shot from his wand, illuminating the entire neighborhood with a green flash, while the ray itself hit James' chest head-on. His body fell on the grass, showing no signs of life; James Charlus Potter was dead.

...

Vincent had just witnessed James's death; he closed his eyes, and his agitated legs calmed down. From the depths of his psyche, a single feeling escaped suppression, and then a single icy tear ran down his face. Deep down, he still cared about James, the person he had known for a year, and he let him die!

With a commanding movement of his hand, his pendant glowed, transforming into a crimson book. Vincent stroked the grimoire, feeling its velvety texture, then opened it to a specific page he had been studying before, the Ritual for the next evolution. With a quick read, he could see a page with intricate patterns and writings encoded in unknown languages, although, to his eyes, these words hid no secrets. He saw that he had crossed out two of the four catalysts: a dragon's heart, a unicorn's heart, and two yet-to-be-acquired. Vincent, however, paid no attention to that, turning to the first page, he observed his demonic essences.

[Demonic Essences: 700,000]

A significant amount, accumulated over his two years in this new life, through quite laborious means. He focused, feeling the connection to all forms of illusions he had created that were currently active – birds, people, things. Then, with a mental command, all his illusions scattered throughout the magical world ceased to exist, disappearing from reality, except for the one in the Potters' house.

His mind became sharper without the need for so many parallel processes, honing to the limit what he was about to do. It would be foolish, especially when he could reap all the profits without any sacrifice. But another newly awakened part of him wanted this; he wanted to face that enemy, to retaliate for James, who moved him at the end of his life.

[700,000 Demonic Essences] in the grimoire instantly fell to [500,000].

His body was flooded with a surge of demonic energy, directed towards an object – a coin with a butterfly crest sitting on a perfect triangle, hidden beneath the apple tree where the crow perched. The same crow descended in flight, seizing the coin and soaring high into the stormy sky.

...

Voldemort, who had just killed James, looked at the scene without any consideration or disdain, deciding to move on and finish what he had started. But...

The rainy night, dominated by dark clouds illuminated only by flashes of random lightning, became even darker. In this sky, a small crow began an intriguing multiplication process – one became two, two became four, four became eight, eight became sixteen... A total of thirty thousand crows covered the sky in a swarm, providing a definitive contrast and making the night even darker.

Flap-flap-caw!

Voldemort looked at this with curiosity and caution in his enhanced eyes. He could sense an unfamiliar energy, different from the magic he knew and used – something supernatural, a different kind of magic. A wizard of lower quality couldn't discern such nuances; only someone in his category or Dumbledore's, Merlin's, Flanell's, and other wizards of that caliber could: literal magic monsters.

The swarm moved in a standardized pattern, covering the territory of the Potters' house, circling to surround the Dark Lord, with several hundred breaking formations and diving towards Voldemort.

From each bat in this vanguard, sparks sprouted, illuminating in crimson flames. This gave them supernatural speed, almost instantly reaching the Dark Lord. But with his experience, Voldemort managed to defend himself with a magically modified Protego spell – the dome surrounding him was silver and metallic, yet transparent.

However, the flames proved to be beyond Voldemort's expectations. The crimson flames turned into ethereal blue ones, consuming the magical shield in a second. Voldemort reacted quickly, magically translocating to a nearby location. But Pettigrew was not quick in his reaction; his body was engulfed in a human-sized blaze of ghostly blue, attacking his soul, though it caused no physical harm. His screams of agony resonated with the sadness emanating from his tortured soul. And when no soul remained, the flames turned red and consumed his physical body, turning it into less than ashes. Peter Pettigrew had just experienced a Perpetual Death – dead in body and soul.

Voldemort struggled to distance himself from the crows, watching impotently Pettigrew's fate. When he finally consolidated an effective defense, the crows piled up on him, forming a spectral shield. The vanguard of crows clustered at a single point, taking on a humanoid shape, unrecognizable. Voldemort made an assumption; this could be the work of the wizard who had been sabotaging his war plans for almost a year. He glared at the figure, though expressing nothing beyond his annoyed face.

"Pleasure to meet you, Voldemort," said the Wolf Shepherd with an ethereal voice that sent shivers down the spine, completely unrecognizable.

Voldemort responded with a hoarse and calm voice, containing his irritation. "I supposed we would meet one day, but not here! Crow who whispers secrets, Wolf Shepherd, Lord of Contracts... Many titles, but no name!"