The Scottish Moors

The Scottish moors were once a beautiful place full of magic and sacred wonders. Having settled the argument of where to build their school, the four founders of Hogwarts knew that this wondrous moor was the perfect place to train the future generations. It was magnificent how green the grass could be, or how the trees grew so tall and grand with so little sunlight. The soon to be legendary witches and wizards knew that great things would come from this place.

Great things from great people, which was what Thomas Marvolo Riddle wanted and he knew he was going to get it. From the moment he arrived in Hogsmeade and saw the moors, he knew that he was going to finally make something of himself.

And now standing in the tarnished Great Hall, the very hall that he found his true home and became apart of the greatest house there had ever been, he could see that it was going to come to an end. A painful, horrifying end – an end that he didn’t plan for. His pale, slim fingers tightened around the wand that he knew would die with him, and he watched Harry Potter raise his arm in reaction to his own that was about to cast the deadly curse. He hadn’t even realised that his was extended until he saw his own limb before him.

A thirst for Potter’s death engulfed him suddenly and he had to concentrate, he snapped out of his dismal, stupid thoughts. Of course he wasn’t going to die – he was the Dark Lord and he was supposed to live forever. He had prepared for this moment, he had waited and waited for the chance to kill the boy for years and now here he was. From the corners of his red eyes he could see his Death Eaters watch with derision for the whole thing to be over so they could celebrate and prepare for their reign of anarchy. Each and every single one of his followers had stopped to witness history, but even with this precious sight before him, something wasn’t right. He was forgetting something.

And then a voice piped up, a voice he hadn’t heard in what seemed like a lifetime. It wasn’t a hiss nor a scream, but a drawling voice that had once been his during his young adult life.

“Cacodemon,” it whispered. The word sent shivers down his spine.

“Cacodemon…”

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Potter.

Lord Voldemort dropped his wand and closed his eyes. He could almost smile. “Cacodemon,” he hissed. He felt the heat and saw the light through his eyelids.

She was here.