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Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

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"He's still got that arrogance which keeps pissing me off” Harry suddenly said. Neville was about to have another mouthful of wine from a bottle which Hermione had stashed together with the rest of the food. They sat around the opening of the tent. The fierce trio had been revived by their short stay at the Malfoy's. Ronald had colour back in his cheeks, Harry's jaws were once again fiercely set and he had new-found determination in his green eyes. The wine they kept drinking reminded Neville of Draco. It was all he could think about, and every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was the mass of blond hair shrouding those grey-blue orbs who seemed to drill themselves into the depths of Neville's soul.

“Who?” Neville replied as he was forced back into reality.

“Draco Malfoy of course” Harry replied with an afterthought. He scribbled down a question in the journey book which was placed open in the middle of their circle. Harry put the pen down and waited patiently for Hermione to respond. The answer was already forming below his writing, with far more delicate handwriting than his own. Neat and orderly. Hermione's handwriting. She wrote swiftly, and Harry imagined her sitting with her journey book, her brains buzzing intensely.

“That's because you don't know him well enough. He only appears that way because he's too shy to talk to you. ”

“Draco Malfoy? Shy? Come on” Harry replied, “he had no problems with taking his clothes off in front of me when I was possessed. ”

“It wasn't for you” Neville replied, sounding more angry than intended, “he did it to trick the demon. ”

“I know that” Harry replied and shot him a questioning glance. “What's wrong with you?”

“I guess he never told you he went to your Muggle home one night, to see how you lived?”

“My home? Privet Drive? To the Dursley's?”

“When he heard you had lived in the cupboard under the staircase, he decided he had to see it for himself. He knows more about you than you know. ”

“And exactly why would he go and do something like that?” Harry replied, his tone slightly agitated.

“He wanted to get to know you” Neville replied. “But he's too afraid to ask if he can spend time with you, thinking that you will not know him. Which you won't.” Neville shot Harry a glance and continued to poke about in the dirt with a stick.

“I don't understand what you mean” Harry replied quietly. He was looking at the book without seeing Hermione's now complete reply.

“You just said so yourself: He's still arrogant. You still view him as you've done in all these years. Did you know that the eudaimon once came to his bed while we were still at Hogwarts, and that he had taken your appearance? Draco thought it was you who raped him that night. And he had been told it was pay back for the deaths of your parents, and that he was going to be executed. Then he had been told not to look you in the eye or speak to you ever again. I'm just saying that perhaps you ought to look twice before judging him again. ”

Harry didn't reply. He stared into the journey-book, the letters in a blur. He stared at them for a very, very long time. “How much worse can this relationship between me and Draco possibly get? Draco doesn't really believe it was me, right?!”

“He told me he understood later on that it wasn't you. But by then the damage was already done.” Neville looked at Harry, who was attempting to deal with it all. “He had to ask the eudaimon for permission to speak to you during classes which involved team-work.”

“That's absurd” Harry replied.

“Maybe, but that's the sort of rules he had to learn to live by. Though this restriction has been lifted, he hasn't seen enough of you to be able to change the habit. Every action he would take or not take determined whether or not he would be able to make it to class next day.”

“Why bother showing up at all? I mean, in such a situation, who would worry about missing classes?” Ron shot in.

“Draco would. He was a Death Eater, right? He had sworn his allegiance to You-know-who. In his eyes, he was considered a traitor. Outside Hogwarts, he was facing certain death and still is if he remains unprotected. And not showing up to class meant getting kicked out. He was convinced that Dumbledore only waited for an excuse to get rid of him, because of his tense relationship with Lucius Malfoy.”

“I know” Harry replied quietly, “I was there when he admitted to Dumbledore about being a Death Eater sent to kill the headmaster. ”

“So that's why. I've wondered why he put up with the eudaimon” Ron said.

“How are things with you and Lavender?”

“Lavender Brown?” Ronald wrinkled his nose. “Fair enough.”

“Hermione's still number one?” Neville asked quietly.

“Yeah” Ron replied with something akin to a whisper.

“Personally, I don't think it's going to last” Neville heard himself say. What he really had wanted to say, was: 'Personally I wish that it won't last, that he will have me instead and Hermione will go back to you.' But Neville couldn't get himself to say it. It was cruel of him. The truth behind it – his egoistic and wishful thinking – was a part of Neville which he wasn't ready to face yet. “I mean” Neville continued, looking for a way to smooth things over, “that this is a situation they've both been forced into. Who knows what will happen when the war is over. When Harry has won, right?” Neville glanced at Harry for support. “No pressure or anything, Harry, but...!”

Suddenly, they burst out laughing. No pressure. Yeah right. They all knew what the end for Harry would be. Ever since he had been eleven and showed up at Hogwarts for the first time, it had always been up to Harry. To save the world. Even if it meant dying himself. Neville was right. What better way than to laugh at the prospect of dying?

Alecto Carrow lay on his side on the dirty floor. The situation and the sudden shock of retaliation almost made him want to laugh. It was absurd yet it made perfect sense. He wanted to touch his face but the pain was just too overwhelming. The open wound which began at his right temple and went diagonally across his nose and ended on the left side of his cheekbone was smoking and blood poured from it. Half a metre away stood his sibling Amycus. She did not look down to pity her brother. She was staring at her lord and master, who was currently striding from one wall in the large dining hall, to the other. It had never crossed the minds of the Carrows that their dark lord would receive this information with such exploding fury. Amycus was grateful she had drawn the shortest straw in the competition with her brother about who it was who was going to inform the dark lord of the Trelawney woman's new prophecy. The air inside the bleak mansion was choking them all, drenched in the sudden surge of fear from her fellow Death Eaters. Nagini hissed, moving slowly and deliberate among the nervous Death Eaters, just waiting for her next prey. Amycus feared it might be her brother. A sudden and difficult thought emerged in her mind: What if Alecto would be fed to the snake as punishment for angering the dark lord? Would Amycus miss him? The answer to that was Yes. The nostalgic list of wrongdoings, people whose lives they've made miserable together, was a long one. Coming from a cold home with psychopaths for parents, Alecto and Amycus only had each other. And they had done well with going down the dark path together. But would she stop the snake from eating Alecto? The answer to that was No.

The Dark Lord was fuming. Nagini had reached Alecto now, and she was currently coiling herself playfully around his legs, her tongue going from side to side, like mad.

“Tell me again” the dark lord demanded, “what she said. Word by word.”

Again? Alecto wondered. A third time?

“He shall rule the Earth and Mankind, side by side with demons! Only one can stem the tide of darkness” Alecto sighed, tired of repeating it, afraid he might miss a sentence. “Born six moons ago. The girl must live or we are all doomed!” Alecto paused and drew a deep breath, fearing what would come as soon as he had spoken the name. “Then Trelawney said … that it was –!” Alecto hesitated as the Dark Lord spun on his heel. His black eyes pinned Alecto to the ground, daring him to speak again. Alecto looked from Voldemort to Nagini, sensing how the very air seemed drained of life.

“His name!” Voldemort snarled, seemingly blowing a fuse. “Tell me his name!”

Alecto took a deep breath before he said it.

Satan, ruler of all of Hell watched the ripples in the water beneath his feet. In the horizon, the sun was drowning in the Caribbean sea outside of Haiti. There, in the shimmering ripples, mixed with the golden reflections of the sun, a face took shape. It was the face of a young man he knew all too well.

“Melchior, my son” he spoke, “I summon you.” It was a command which was meant as it was spoken. It could not be ignored. Satan waited, watching the sunset. In the distance, the sea gulls sang their songs, circling the harbour area in their constant search for food. Modern sailing boats littered the waters, anchored up for the night. A few of the proud, three-masted ships which were mostly from the 1900^th century, did their best to outshine the fancy modern ones with their nostalgic charm. The most awe-inspiring of them all, was the Crimson Lotus. Satan's favourite, still after almost four centuries. Time moves slowly in a demon's mind. He did not care for how long he stood still, just watching, sensing the world around him, as life passed unknowingly of his presence. This was his territory. He had been brought up in these waters. It was where he had known unconditional love. A green flash of light passed in the horizon as the last of the sun disappeared, colouring the landscape in shades of blue. For a moment he was reminded of a time when people wore three-cornered hats, drank rum and settled arguments with their cutlasses. He remembered proud ships, sea spray across his face and the smell of his father's skin. The beads of sweat on his chest gleaming like golden droplets as the sun mirrored itself in them. The gentle rocking of the ship at sea. His father's golden toothed smile. He sensed his son approach. He turned. His son, the magnificent man with flowing, dark brown hair and black feathered wings descended out of the blue. Touching the water with his toes, he walked on the surface, leaving ripples in stead of footprints.

Satan turned around, meeting his son's gaze with pride. He took in this wonderful figure, smelling him, knowing this to be his own flesh and blood. Melchior had come so far. He had grown into a mature bed-room dream and a strong and cunning warrior. His blood flowed in those veins, so did the blood of Satan's lover. Satan smiled, flashing a wide grin which displayed his slender, brilliantly white fangs. He thought of the man who had given him Melchior. One of three sons.

“You're late. Again.” He said to his son.

“You woke me. From a nightmare” Melchior retorted, not sounding pleased.

“Since when did you dream? We don't dream” Satan told his son.

“I had a vision. I saw my own death.”

“Our bodies die, then we are reborn. It's the same with dark lords and the children who lives. For every dark lord, there's a boy or girl who will defeat them. And the dark lords die and then they're reborn.”

“There cannot be two dark lords at the same time” Melchior replied.

“I agree. When this wizard who calls himself lord is at his weakest, I am going to make sure his soul perishes. For good.”

Lighthouse Farm, Isle of Lewis

Vigorous lovemaking every night had withered away as the months passed by. Hermione's usually inquisitive look and glowing skin had dissolved with the increasing frequency of sleepless nights. Her hair was by now uncombed, tied up in a careless knot. Wearing t-shirt and sweatpants, she moved through the small house, rocking a baby in her arms, feeding it while she waved her wand to keep up with the household chores. Her face was marked by blue half moons beneath her eyes and she had evolved a slight amnesia. She fell over in her bed whenever she could. Sleep was all that mattered. This life was not going how she had intended for it to be. Everything had been put on hold because of Voldemort. Every day, she found pictures of herself and Draco plastered on some page in the Daily Prophet. Alongside Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, they were now reduced to public enemies. The newly-weds could go nowhere without a eudaimon escort, but Hermione was content to find everything she needed no further away than in Stornoway. Thanks to the eudaimons, her little family had gone off the radar. Draco Malfoy had gotten a Muggle job through his friend, Peter Drinkwater. Working in the same company made it easier for them to stay in touch, and with Peter's help, Draco soon adapted to Muggle life. His remarkable talent for adapting to the situation amazed her, knowing that for him who was a full-blooded wizard who had grown up in a sheltered upper class society in Wiltshire, stooping this low couldn't be easy. It didn't stop her from worrying. She feared it every day. That he would come back early from work, tear off his uniform and throw it to the floor and declare that things were better after all, in the old days, as a Death Eater. But it never happened. Draco went to work at eight o'clock in the morning, and returned to her around three in the afternoon. If he wasn't too exhausted, he would have a quick shower, make sure the kids were napping before he ravaged her like a starved wild boar looking for a snack. Hermione lived for these moments, when all it took was one clever look from those grey-blue orbs before she let herself be chased upstairs and into the bedroom. The days in the Dragon's Lair were tiresome yet good days filled with the scent of roses, jabbering of little children, dirty nappers and unrestrained passion whenever it was suitable. Draco never let go off the opportunity to kiss her or otherwise show her his affections, and Hermione was still puzzled by the fact that someone who had been such a loathsome bastard at school could be such an intensely romantic husband. Having been married for almost seven months, Hermione still struggled to come to terms with her new life. Her sense of duty towards Harry was frustrating. He was constantly on her mind, and her emotions concerning Ron swiveled around in the back of her head. Draco went away in the afternoons some times. But the killing frequency had dropped. Melchior had begun to send him Elsewhere. When she had asked Draco about where Elsewhere really was, he only sighed and said: “You know. Elsewhere.” But Hermione wasn't satisfied with being kept in the dark, and it didn't take long before her inquisitive mind churned away. She dived into one of her many books from Hogwarts, including a few copies she'd stolen from the restricted section.

'Elsewhere' , she had read in the library book, “is the common denominator for any battlefield in Hell on which most internal conflicts such as civil wars and duels are settled.” Hermione had taken it one step further and decided to confront Draco with this during dinner one day.

“If you go to Elsewhere once or twice a week, how come you're not covered in grime and blood when you return?”

“I stop by Melchior's place to clean up because I don't want to wake you or alarm you.” The answer to her question apparently satisfied her, but it also prompted her to ask another.

“What is it that you – do – down there, exactly?”

Draco paused, looked at her while he thought about how to phrase the answer. “I...” he began, “learn how to fight in a war. How to command demon soldiers and how to lay down strategies for entire armies.” He spoke quietly, in a casual language, smiling briefly at her and looking at her with love in his eyes. Meanwhile, she stared at him and tried to take in the words.

War. Command. Soldiers. Strategies. Armies. “Melchior's really taken it to the next level with you, hasn't he?”

“I'm not sure about that. I made an awful mistake two nights ago. I sent an entire division of soldiers straight to their deaths. Bad move. But it's okay. I feel a lot more confident around demons now that I'm beginning to really understand how to handle them.”

But it's okay. Hermione had to smile. Draco was picking up Muggle language in no time. She had seen it when they went shopping in Stornoway. Because of his longish blond hair and handsome face, a lot of girls nearly fell over when they saw him, casting long longing looks as they passed him, literally undressing him with their eyes. Draco had learned to smile. It was something he had picked up at work. A business smile which he put on. A defence mechanism which opened a lot of doorways. Among Muggles he was perceived as friendly, warm and full of initiative. He worked with efficiency and high morale. And he had soon established himself as a trustworthy employee. If only they had known what he had been like at school, Hermione had often thought to herself when they wandered through the aisles in the stores. Then again, if she ever were to have fallen in love with a Muggle boy, then Draco as he appeared in public, would have been her first choice. Draco knew everyone in the sales consultant business. Seemingly content with being a shelf stacker moving from store to store, Draco knew almost everyone there was to know. He would stop and chat away with other shelf stackers, like that tall blonde girl with the voluptuous hips and a smile like a sunflower on parade. They obviously knew each other well and threw jokes at each other. Hermione had tried to quench the sudden sting of jealousy and Draco had sensed it. Afterwards he winked at Hermione and said: “Wouldn't mind dating that one” before he wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and squeezed her tight. He kissed her forehead, and all was forgiven.

Harry Potter was thinking. He was thinking about forgiveness. About Draco. About Voldemort. About Harry's whole life and how it all had come down to this. “We need to get into the Lestrange vault at Gringott's” he told Neville and Ron. “Hermione thinks the easiest way is for her to brew polyjuice potion and use hairs from Bellatrix herself. Draco had found hairs on his sweater from the night Malfoy Mansion burned. We need to talk to Griphook again.”

“Who's going to be Bellatrix?” Ron wanted to know.

“We need to talk to Draco and Hermione and that. Maybe … she –!” but Harry couldn't get himself to say it. If anything ever happened to the mother of his children, Draco would never forgive him. Forgiveness. No, Harry decided, he couldn't ask this of Hermione. Unknown to Harry, Hermione was already brewing the potion, eager to keep the art of potion making alive. During free moments during the day, she stirred in the steaming pot and was reminded of Severus Snape and the countless lessons at Hogwarts.

What was wrong with him? Severus felt as if every ounce of strength had left his body. It was barely nine o'clock in the evening, and Snape sauntered off to his chambers. He removed his black robe with long, slow movements which revealed that he was in deep thought. His shoulders ached, his eye lids felt heavier than a ton of bricks, and rested against his desk before he wandered to his bedroom. Severus undressed. He stopped to stare at the symbol which now flourished across his belly. The four spiraling lines emanating from the centre – from his bellybutton – were fluid, organic in their shape. For every passing day they had grown longer, stretched across his skin and drenched his skin with impenetrable blackness. It wasn't ink. It wasn't henna. It was – magic. Alive. And Severus had no idea how to stop the swastika from growing. He was not in pain. Only feeling slightly unwell, but it was so far ignorable. Was he being poisoned? Seemed like a plausible explanation. He lowered his gaze. There it was. Again. His cock had been constantly hard, these last days. He had experienced an impossible lust which kept on lingering, and to his dismay, Severus had discovered that he wanted the eudaimon to come to him so he may be rid of this – this thing. He held his breath and closed his eyes, still standing in front of the mirror. He lay his right palm on his chest, covering his right nipple. Just touching himself like this was enough. His manhood ached for release, ached to be touched. He was no longer able to conjure up the image of Lily – which was a good thing. Severus went to bed. The way those sheets rubbed against his body was insufferable. The silky touch made him close his eyes yet again, and he clutched the fabric, squeezing it in his fists. His right hand wandered downwards, across his belly. He could feel the rendered cells of his skin, were the skin had turned black, past the swastika and downwards, down to his rock hard cock. He thought of young Malfoy and the countless embraces they'd shared at Spinner's End. Severus thought of his cock being engulfed by a warm and wet hole.

“Starting without me?” a voice broke through the silence of the room, ending Severus' quiet moans. The velvety voice was someone he instantly recognized. Melchior stepped out of the dark corner and undressed. Quickly and elegantly. Severus felt his breath go quicker. His blood pumping faster by the sight of this unearthly creature who tore the blanket from Snape's body. Severus spread his legs, impatiently waiting. He tensed as Melchior's cool hands slithered down from his knees and to his waiting, weeping cock. Melchior observed the state Snape was in with a wicked smile. “It pleases me to see that you and I are getting along. On certain issues. Now, what should we do about this?” Melchior said softly, nodding at the desperate erection Severus had obtained.

“Wh – what is happening to me? Why the swastika?” Severus demanded. Melchior bent down and licked the chrome of Severus' cock. He wrapped his fingers around it and licked some more. Snape inhaled sharply. He propped himself up on his elbows. The sight of this eudaimon who bared his fangs and opened his mouth wide just to bear down on Severus' cock, was enough to send Severus' eyes rolling to the back of his head. Squeezing his fingers around the base of the headmaster's cock, the eudaimon continued to lick and caress the manhood with greedy lips and tongue. Snape breathed out a “Oh dear...!” and swallowed hard. He wanted to orgasm but couldn't, and the tension just below the base kept building and building. The weight of the eudaimon pinned his hips into the bed. He couldn't move, only watch this ethereal creature who had come into existence three hundred and fifty years ago to punish the wicked and the cruel. Melchior proceeded to kiss the pubic area, kiss the area below Severus' belly button. One black spiraling line nearly reached the base now. Severus watched breathlessly as Melchior stroked the blackest and densest area, the hub of the swastika, with unnatural tenderness. Melchior never let go off Snape's cock. He positioned himself between the man's legs. Severus had learned. He was already coated with a thick cream, and Melchior smiled at the observation. He began to push slowly, watching Severus' cheeks adopt a feverish red, while sweat was beginning to pour from his temples. The headmaster groaned, and Melchior began to thrust, first carefully, then with more intensity. Then, he let go off the base of Severus' cock. The black-haired man was desperate now, clenching his teeth together. He would not beg. Melchior pounded harder, slamming into Severus' orifice. Quite suddenly and with great force, like a tidal wave, the orgasm washed over Severus. His body convulsed, tensed and arched as the orgasm rippled through him, blooming from his belly and up and out. Feeling spent and utterly satisfied, Severus wished he could fall asleep. He shut his eyes, just enjoying the wonderful sensation of being on fire, of being alive, of wet hot bodies grinding together. He was here, in the moment with this pleasure. He could live with this, indeed.

When Severus Snape had arrived at Crabbe Mansion a few days later, he found the its residents to be huddling in far away corners. Few dared approach the dark lord. He was in a state of complete rage all day long until fatigue wore even him down. It didn't bode well, and Severus had to pull himself together not to let his fears run off with him. Once again, he found himself serving two masters. And for some reason, much was at stake. Much more than when Dumbledore had been alive. Never before had Severus Snape feared so intensely that the dark lord might have read his mind. That he knew. But then so? Severus asked himself as he stepped into the hallway, observing the scattered and broken furniture lying in heaps about on the floor. The eudaimon Melchior's demand for absolute loyalty was not something one could dismiss. There were no places to run and hide. And there was certainly no way of hiding one's thoughts while in its presence. Still sore and stiff-legged after last night's sexual onslaught by Melchior, Severus moved from the hall and into the library. Books lay everywhere, books which Crabbe Sr never had read. Showing off his great intellect to the visitors was one thing. Reading was boring. It had initially been an endeavour to match Lucius Malfoy's impressive collection of books. Lucius Malfoy was a learned man, who had held an extensive collection of black books as well. A collection which Crabbe Sr often had envied him. Severus knew, but in the current setting the memory remained a triviality. The large armchair which once had belonged to Crabbe Sr now accommodated the dark lord. It was turned towards the large fireplace. But the fire was dead. In stead there was a large black hole. The room was cold, the furniture reduced to trash. This was yet another clear sign to Snape about the depths of Lord Voldemort's frustrations. Knowing that the Carrows had informed the dark lord about the new prophecy, Snape now felt as if he was going to be taking his last breath any minute. The brooding figure in the armchair became aware of his presence after a few minutes. No one dared enter the room.

“Ah, Severus!” Lord Voldemort lit up as he saw his partner in crime. “You have been greatly missed!” Lord Voldemort got out of his chair and took a few steps towards him. Severus steeled himself and ignored the impulse which told him to run. “You are informed, I take it, of the new prophecy, then?” The grin on Voldemort's face disappeared as he asked Severus.

“In deed, my lord. Forgive me for not giving you the news myself. Hogwarts –!”

“ – demands much of your attention, I know.” the dark lord practically took the words out of his mouth. “How goes the recruitment to our organisation? Any new members?” Lord Voldemort said, his eyes darting nervously from one side to another. Then he stopped as he nearly pinned Severus to the spot with his prying eyes. Snape swallowed, trying to keep a straight face. What did he mean by these trivial questions?

“The recruitment process” Severus began, feeling his tongue about to dry up, “goes well, my lord. There are several Slytherin students who are hard at work with recruiting fellow students among the other houses. Gryffindor is of course … reluctant.”

Severus said the word 'reluctant' as soft as he could. 'Reluctant' was putting it mildly, since the Gryffindors were about a hair's width away from open rebellion. It struck him, where he stood, that he might need to open up to Professor McGonagall. An ally in this madness was imperative, and for decades, she had been Dumbledore's confidante. But would she understand the necessity of this double game? McGonagall was a Gryffindor in the very essence of the name. Fierce, courageous and not willing to compromise between good and evil. Not a bit. Compared with the headstrong McGonagall, standing up to Lord Voldemort was a field day in the park.

“Good. Good” Voldemort almost mumbled, “I am glad for any piece of good news these days. Surely you know that, Severus. Look” Voldemort said with a sweeping motion with his hand as to understate his words, “they all disappear from my side. The Malfoys. Traitors! Crabbe, murdered. Goyle …! Beautiful Bellatrix and Pettigrew...! More than ever, we must stay true to our cause and to one another. You, Severus, has always been among my most trusted allies.” Voldemort emphasized 'trusted', and looked Severus straight in the eye when he said it. It was an immense declaration of trust, coming from someone like Voldemort. Severus felt the weight of that trust on his shoulders.

“How may I serve you, my lord?” Severus replied humbly in response, emphasizing the word 'serve'.

“This new dark lord must be dealt with. He is already an enemy of ours. A traitor! There is only one who is going to rule this world, and that is I, Lord Voldemort!” he paused to inhale sharply. “We must double our efforts to locate him. And the girl mentioned in the prophecy must be identified, then brought here. That would give us the advantage.”

“And the girl's parents?” Severus heard himself ask. A knot suddenly tied itself around his heart. Keeping a straight face, Severus winced inside as he realised he already knew the answer.

“They're of no consequence. Destroy them. But the girl must be brought here, alive.” Voldemort turned and faced the huge, naked window. Bleak afternoon daylight sifted through the dirty glass, obscuring the dying rays of the sun. Severus Snape pulled himself together and bowed in obedience.

“And Potter?” Severus then asked. What was wrong with him?

“Potter will be dealt with in time. This new threat is now the order of the day. He must have someone in his house at Hogwarts who knows of his whereabouts.”

“I will do what I can, my lord. I already have an idea of where to start.”

“Good, Severus. It is good to know I can count on you.”

Severus tried not to leave in too much of a hurry. He felt sick inside, on the verge to throwing up. Returning to Hogwarts, he strode to his chambers, made it to his toilette in time. Afterwards, he was shaking. Sitting down on the tiled floor, he felt a wave of disgust coarse through him. Oh that hideous man! The memories of finding Lily dead, her limp body going cold in his arms, the overshadowing despair and shock he had felt! His love for her bloomed inside his chest. Severus fought to keep the tears back, fought to keep it together. He laid down on the tiles with the memory still fluttering inside him. Voldemort's words rang in his mind. Get the girl. Kill the parents.

It was going to be like Lily Evans' death all over again.
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