thepretender501 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thepretender501) wrote2010-11-05 01:48 pm
thepretender501) wrote2010-11-05 01:48 pm
Ficlet: Go to Sleep Little Baby
Title: Go To Sleep Little Baby
Word Count: 496
Rating: R
Summary: Voldemort's dead, terror is not.
Warnings: character death, dark fic, no beta
Author's notes: I apologize. I wrote this for deatheaterdrabs Fenrir Greyback round. Never written the guy before and I probably wouldn't have participated but this amazing piece of artwork by vikingcarrot was the prompt. So of course I had to give it a go. And yay!! I got runner up and some shiny stuff!!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The child stands in the doorway and watches as Fenrir digs his claws --his fingernails-- into the throat of the man. Fenrir notices the child, but he is not deterred; he continues to rip the life out of the boy’s father. When pale eyes go dead, Fenrir licks the residual from his fingertips and with his wand he incinerates the body.
“Let’s go,” Yaxley says. Fenrir looks up.
“Not before we cast the mark,” he growls and he lifts his wand.
“No,” Yaxley says coldly, “I will cast it.”
Fenrir glares. He’s not worthy enough to wear the mark on his wrist, even now.
“You finish the child,” Yaxley adds before he calls, “Morsmordre.” White-hot light jets from the tip of his wand.
Fenrir turns to the pale, lingering child. The boy’s Halloween costume is amusing. Babies in wolves clothing.
“I won’t bite,” Fenrir purrs and kneels in front of the little boy. The boy gives him an appraising look. His protuberant, silver eyes scan him slowly. Fenrir smiles, it’s a twisted grimace that would frighten most children but this boy inches closer.
“Wolf?” He touches Fenrir’s furry wrist and returns the smile.
“That’s right,” Fenrir’s grin broadens, baring his sharp fangs. He captures the contented child into his arms. The beast inside of him is already salivating. The boy stretches out. He is calm, peaceful even. He smiles and immediately falls fast asleep.
“I will take the child,” Fenrir announces. He carries the boy down the steps and his shadow appears much larger than necessary. Lightning flashes and Fenrir’s eyes catch the light and never let go; they glow an eerie amber color.
Yaxley looks uncomfortable and doesn’t ask Fenrir what he intends to do with the baby. “Just make sure you return to finish the woman--” he says.
“Of course,” Fenrir grunts.
Yaxley turns on his heel and exits the home.
___________________________________________________
“Lorcan!!” Luna calls. Her home is in ruins, the roof blasted clean off. There is blood everywhere and the stormy night sky is threatening to fall down on her. She looks up. The clouds part slightly to reveal the full moon behind the harsh green light of the mark above her home. The mark is shockingly vivid; even when she closes her eyes.
“Lorcan!” she calls again. Her voice is weak. Lysander is crying. His pale-blond hair is tucked into his grey wolf’s costume and his tiny fists are rubbing his eyes. She’d sewn the costumes herself for the boys to wear trick-or-treating. But it’s midnight now and Halloween is over. Her husband is missing and--
Where is her other baby?
She picks up Lysander and cradles him to her chest. He’s still crying and she tries to remain calm for him.
She eyes a menacing shadow in the pale moonlight and she knows it’s hopeless.
“It’s okay, Lysander.” Her voice is dreamy and calm as she swallows hard and steels herself.
The twisted shadow inches closer…
And consumes them.
Word Count: 496
Rating: R
Summary: Voldemort's dead, terror is not.
Warnings: character death, dark fic, no beta
Author's notes: I apologize. I wrote this for deatheaterdrabs Fenrir Greyback round. Never written the guy before and I probably wouldn't have participated but this amazing piece of artwork by vikingcarrot was the prompt. So of course I had to give it a go. And yay!! I got runner up and some shiny stuff!!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The child stands in the doorway and watches as Fenrir digs his claws --his fingernails-- into the throat of the man. Fenrir notices the child, but he is not deterred; he continues to rip the life out of the boy’s father. When pale eyes go dead, Fenrir licks the residual from his fingertips and with his wand he incinerates the body.
“Let’s go,” Yaxley says. Fenrir looks up.
“Not before we cast the mark,” he growls and he lifts his wand.
“No,” Yaxley says coldly, “I will cast it.”
Fenrir glares. He’s not worthy enough to wear the mark on his wrist, even now.
“You finish the child,” Yaxley adds before he calls, “Morsmordre.” White-hot light jets from the tip of his wand.
Fenrir turns to the pale, lingering child. The boy’s Halloween costume is amusing. Babies in wolves clothing.
“I won’t bite,” Fenrir purrs and kneels in front of the little boy. The boy gives him an appraising look. His protuberant, silver eyes scan him slowly. Fenrir smiles, it’s a twisted grimace that would frighten most children but this boy inches closer.
“Wolf?” He touches Fenrir’s furry wrist and returns the smile.
“That’s right,” Fenrir’s grin broadens, baring his sharp fangs. He captures the contented child into his arms. The beast inside of him is already salivating. The boy stretches out. He is calm, peaceful even. He smiles and immediately falls fast asleep.
“I will take the child,” Fenrir announces. He carries the boy down the steps and his shadow appears much larger than necessary. Lightning flashes and Fenrir’s eyes catch the light and never let go; they glow an eerie amber color.
Yaxley looks uncomfortable and doesn’t ask Fenrir what he intends to do with the baby. “Just make sure you return to finish the woman--” he says.
“Of course,” Fenrir grunts.
Yaxley turns on his heel and exits the home.
___________________________________________________
“Lorcan!!” Luna calls. Her home is in ruins, the roof blasted clean off. There is blood everywhere and the stormy night sky is threatening to fall down on her. She looks up. The clouds part slightly to reveal the full moon behind the harsh green light of the mark above her home. The mark is shockingly vivid; even when she closes her eyes.
“Lorcan!” she calls again. Her voice is weak. Lysander is crying. His pale-blond hair is tucked into his grey wolf’s costume and his tiny fists are rubbing his eyes. She’d sewn the costumes herself for the boys to wear trick-or-treating. But it’s midnight now and Halloween is over. Her husband is missing and--
Where is her other baby?
She picks up Lysander and cradles him to her chest. He’s still crying and she tries to remain calm for him.
She eyes a menacing shadow in the pale moonlight and she knows it’s hopeless.
“It’s okay, Lysander.” Her voice is dreamy and calm as she swallows hard and steels herself.
The twisted shadow inches closer…
And consumes them.