Good evening, everyone!
Well, recently I have felt the need to practice my English so I decided to translate one of my fics :D I hope you like it and sorry for any mistakes it has... I've checked, I swear!
The woman's body fell to the floor with a thud. She would never stand up again… and neither would her husband. The Dark Lord felt no pity over this predicament. No… quite on the contrary, he felt some satisfaction: those who had dared defy him on three occasions would never do it again. Poor Severus… he had not been able to keep his word. But it had been the mudblood's fault for trying to oppose him!
A light whimper directed his attention towards the cot on his right. Inside it, a child not older than a year, with straight raven hair and emerald green eyes - reminiscent of those of the woman, looked with curiosity and worry at the body that had been his mother.
The man removed the hood that covered up his face to expose a young and handsome one that was yet to be affected by the continuous use of dark magic. His blue eyes observed the little infant for a moment before coming closer to him and, with the care with which a father picks up his son, taking him out the small cot.
"Shh," the wizard shooted, "it's alright." He put the child against his chest and shoulder and rocked him gently until his sobs ceased.
"And to think that someone so small and fragile is the cause of such commotion," he mused, facing his equal. "You know? You have your mother's eyes. The fact that a oh-so-called Gryffindor would have the eyes of a Slytherin has always intrigued me," he commented.
A scowl crossed the dark wizard's features. Carefully, he sat down on the floor, his enemy on his lap.
"I suppose that the right thing to do would be to let you grow up so that you can face me in a duel," he said, taking the little one's hands in his own who seemed enthralled by the man, such was the concentration on his face, "but we both know that even so you wouldn't stand a chance against me: I have a lot more experience. So it doesn't make sense to postpone this anymore and let you live a sad life being an orphan; who knows how that dirty muggles -your mother relatives- would treat you?"
An orphan… Just like him. His childhood had been a living hell: the orphanage, the fear of those who would adopt him when the realised he was not normal, the dread on his caretakers' eyes when the children that messed with him ended up injured or worse… the rejection. No… he didn't wish that life to anyone, not even his worst enemy. How great his joy had been when he got out of there to assist Hogwarts! Life amongst muggles was no life for a wizard. And that was the life that awaited Harry Potter now that his parents were dead. That old man would believe it cautious to detach him from the Wizarding World… Old fool! Perhaps he would have let the parents live and raise his enemy to be a man were it not for the fact that they had defied him on so many occasions. Such insolence could not remain unpunished.
But that didn't matter anymore; their corpses lay on the floor, cold and numb. There was no return.
He looked once more at the child. Yes… this was the boy the prophecy talked about and not the Longbottom's one. There was no doubt.
"Thought there is one more reason not to let you live, little one," Lord Voldemort whispered, leaning forward until only inches separated them. "I want to feel the guilt and the regret of having killed the one who would have become my equal. I don't want to wait anymore. Who knows what the dark magic will have made out of me a couple years from now? What would happen if by then I could kill you without feeling anything?! That would not be a dignified death. But fear not, someday I will kill the woman who ruined your life with this prophecy and I will make sure that no one defeats me, so that your memory is not sullied"
The infant just smiled and tried to touch the man's face with his little hand. The dark wizard took it and helped him reach it, allowing his little fingers to caress his features. He didn't understand anything and Voldemort knew that that was not fair. And he didn't like it. This child was a wizard. He was not a pureblood but his parents were wizards, even if his mother was a mudblood. And fate had acknowledged him as someone who could become his equal. He had acknowledged him. How much had he waited for something like this? How much had it been since the last time he had had a decent duel? But he would not risk everything now, even if that meant setting aside the few principles he had left.
He sighed. Voldemort stood up once more, placed the child on his hip with one hand and took out his wand with the other. He put his hair aside with it and pressed it against his forehead. "Such a pity," he said, "I would have liked to have a decent rival at last."
"Goodbye, Harry." He collected magic on his wand, sighed and, almost with a whisper, pronounced: "Avada Kedavra."