For a second he can swear he hears laughter. Pausing he turns slightly, staring through the open door way into an empty room. It's an access he usually keeps locked.
It's a drab room, plain and cold somehow even though most of the memories here are happy. Or at least they used to be. There's a bitter edge to them now, something close to regret - heavy like poison.
With distant eyes he tracks the dust motes floating sluggish and thick through the air. They catch in the washed out light coming through the window on his right. He closes his orbs slowly, almost unconsciously.
Laughter, relaxed and joyful lights the atmosphere, it dies down for a second before someone cracks a joke and it bursts back into jubilant life. Some turn as he enters, smiles greeting him as he takes his place among the crowd. Not a one seems to be missing and yet it's one smile in particular he looks for.
He finds it; the man's dark hair is wild and unkempt and there's something in his eyes that matches. The grin though is warm - what he imagines must be a bit like coming home in its feel. He finds his own lips curling up, matching the warmth, reflecting it back.
There's the clink of cutlery, the laughter taking on a rougher edge. He looks down, his hands are larger, the calluses from wielding a wand almost constantly harder. There's a crash, gaining several flinches and automatic grasping for weapons. There's a red head before him, the young man grimacing as he scoops up the knocked over glass from the tabletop.
Blue eyes meet his, so different from the gray he knows, a wry smile spreads across the other's face.
"Alright there Harry?" He queries, righting the glass.
"Yeah. Fine," the answer slips past his lips awkwardly.
There are less people around this table, empty spaces where before they were taken. Laughter is sparse, but reveled in, something to be savored and clung to. Nothing is wasted here. He takes in the faces, preserving the as best he can to memory. Takes in the familiar expressions of the people he knows, there are few here he doesn't. No matter how hard he looks though, he can't find that familiar person, with the well-known smile. He's not there.
Suddenly the room is quiet; the table clear of people and objects, all the chairs tucked neatly in. Dust motes float sluggishly through the air. There's no laughter here. In one quick movement he swings the door shut, firmly turning the key in the lock. His hand lingers there a second, then breathing deep he strides off down the dark hallway attention focused on the way out.
They're waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, near silent guards, the front door just ahead. It's odd to think now that some of the most important happenings of their young lives occurred in this house. It's hard to believe of such a dreary unwelcoming place. Each of them has said their own goodbye.
She stretches out her hand, an offer of support - her warm fingers closing about his. The three smile in greeting, unconsciously checking him over for damage. As one they turn towards the freedom they have fought for and the future. Leaving behind regrets and guilt and a house frozen in time.
Okay first off I don't own JKR's books I'm just playing.
Secondly: what the hell happened? This fic mutated out of my grasp – it wasn't supposed to end like this, seriously.
