The night was damp and windy.
Two children dressed as pumpkins waddled across the square. Paper spiders crawled over shop windows, all tacky Muggle decorations adorning a world they did not believe in...
He drifted along, filled with the sense of purpose, power, and righteousness that always arose within him on such occasions...
Not anger... that was for souls weaker than his...
But victory, yes... he had waited for this moment, longed for this moment...
"Lovely costume, sir!"
A little boy ran over and peered beneath the hood of his cloak. His smile faltered, and fear engulfed his painted face.
The child turned and ran away... Beneath his robes, his hand gripped his wand...
With the slightest movement, that child would never make it back to his mother...
But there was no need, absolutely no need...
He walked down a new, darker street. At last, his destination appeared before him. The Fidelius Charm had been broken, but they did not know it yet...
The sound he made was softer than dead leaves skittering across the pavement. He crept to the dark hedge and peered inside...
They had not drawn the curtains. He could clearly see them in the small sitting room: a tall, bespectacled black-haired man was using his wand to spray bursts of colorful smoke, amusing the black-haired little boy in blue pajamas.
The child giggled as he tried to catch the smoke, clutching it in his tiny fist...
A door opened, and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear. Her deep red hair fell around her face.
The father lifted his son and handed him to his mother, then tossed his wand onto the sofa, stretched, and yawned...
The front door clicked softly as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear.
A pale