Son of a Lord

The Murder

The rain poured down, heavy against the tin roof of the factory. 

It was a cold night, a dark night. 

The lamps outside flickered every few seconds, plunging the factory into darkness before lighting it again. 

James Potter sat crouched behind a table that had been upturned, his wand gripped so tightly in his hand that the knuckles turned white. He could see Sirius a few meters in front of him, standing in the shadows, only the white's of his eyes could be seen, gleaming in the lamplight. Moody was hidden as well, though James couldn't see him. Lincoln Allen sat on a chair in the middle of the trashed room. James almost felt sorry for the man. If he ran, they would capture him again, if he didn't he could be killed by Voldemort's son. The odds were definitely not in his favour. 

Allen fidgeted on his chair, his hand kept itching towards his pocket where his wand would've been if James didn't have it in his pocket. The man's face was pale and gaunt, the bags under his eyes more prominent in the shadows where he sat. 

Suddenly, a flash of lightening illuminated the sky before disappearing, the lamps going out with it, leaving the factory in complete darkness. James wished desperately that he could light his wand tip, but told himself to stop being stupid. He was an Auror, not a twelve year old boy, he could withstand the darkness. 

James waited in silence, thunder rumbling every so often. He thought he could hear Allen's panicked breaths. He couldn't see Sirius anymore, and he had no idea where Moody was. Someone could come up behind him and he'd have no clue. Just as he thought that, the lamps flickered on and James almost cried out in fright. 

A figure stood before Allen. 

He was tall and cloaked, a black mask hiding his features. From where he stood, James could see broad shoulders stretching his black cloak, no doubt the outcome of training to be a killer his entire life. The figure's hair was black and tousled artfully, a shade darker than Voldemort's own. He held a wand loosely at his side, though James could see the tenseness with which he held himself, a spring ready to be released at any moment.  

Allen shrieked and lurched back on the chair, almost tipping over. The figure grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it forward, looking into Allen's eyes as he drew back. 

"You know who I am yes?" he said. 

James blinked. The voice was so young, yet so cold, so unforgiving. The voice sounded like Voldemort's but was also strangely familiar. The thought stuck at the back of James' head like an itch he couldn't scratch. 

They had told Allen of who would be coming for him before they departed, so Allen knew exactly who his killer was. 

"Y-yes," Allen stuttered, terrified, "I know w-who you are." 

"Good, good," the boy crooned softly, making James shiver. "Tell me, who am I?" 

Allen gasped in fear as the boy walked behind him. 

"Y-you're the Dark Lord's son," Allen whispered, barely travelling over the rain. 

The boy nodded, "Correct. And do you know why I'm here?" he hissed. 

Allen gulped, "B-because I'm a-"

"Traitor," the boy snarled, descending on Allen like a snake. 

In a second he had his wand to Allen's throat. James grasped his own wand and flicked his eyes towards Sirius, who gestured slightly to the scene. James turned his attention back to Allen just to see the man cast a terrified glance to where he knew James was hiding. The Dark Lord's son looked as well, bright green eyes flashing towards James, cold and cruel. James startled, he knew those eyes. He looked into them every day when he saw Lily. Only hers were brimming with love and kindness.