HARRY E. P. RIDDLE

THERE WAS no wind blowing through the dark night sky. There were no leaves crackling sinisterly underfoot. There weren't even any creepy shadows terrorizing the children as they trick-or-treated. There was however something terrible going on this night.

Lily Potter smiled as she walked into the downstairs hall with something clutched in her right hand and her son Harry nestled safely into her side. "James sweetheart," she cooed to the man pacing back and forth in front of the door. "Honey stop trying to wear a hole in the rug."

"I'm sorry Snookums," he said without halting in his movements, "I've just got a lot on my mind what with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after us."

A man leaning on the front door snorted. "What are you so worried about?" he asked

"Well Peter, I would have thought that obvious," James replied still marching back and forth across the, admittedly rather worn by now, carpet. "Especially for a coward such as yourse–"

"FOR GODS SAKE STOP PICKING ON WORMTAIL!" yelled a handsome man walking out from the kitchen with a Coke.

"Sirius is right James you have got to stop treating Peter that way," said the soft-spoken werewolf called Remus.

"It's no biggie," said Peter with an odd glint in his eye.

James however didn't notice it as he was intently watching his feet burn a hole into the poor rug. He did however notice when his wife started to laugh, though it didn't make him look up from his apparently fascinating feet. "No," said wife chuckled, "I suppose in light of things it really isn't a 'biggie', is it?" She continued to laugh quietly to herself while the others, minus James, and Harry who was busy with his rattle, smirked.

"What pray tell is so funny Snookums?" James asked refusing to be swayed from his abuse upon the rug in the front hallway.

"This James." and she slammed the knife into his heart.