I don't ownharry potter and this is my try at writting the begin opening to a harry potter. Did this for english. Will not carry it on. Thank you...
Skulls… They laugh out into the blackened sky. Their wide mouths frozen in mid wale of deathly humour. Rough, rugged and jagged out edges. The shadows inspecting the cracks, embracing the sunken holes. The stench of death enveloped the air. Lost souls in their stony hell. Forever laughing at their own misfortune.
A creature slivers out of the stone frozen soul's mouth. Hissing as it reaches the ground below. It stalks towards the moist grass. The serpent's body twisting and turning around the blades of green, rustling and hisses echo into the midnight air. The layers of dew covering the dry surface of the beast, making its scaly body become slimy in comparison to before. The reptile creeps into the wooden giants land. Their hands waving above their wilted and bent forms. Hoots of the tree's neighbours bounce between the trees. Shadows haunt the land where the creature below travels but thin whitewashed rays of light dance threw out the gaps in the trees. The small light allowing any demons about to truly show. The wind whispers and chuckles, the snakes mutter like hiss over powering the almost silent sound of the whooshing wind.
Death…. Frozen in his stony grave. Shadows devouring any light on the figures face. Rough, chilling feathers surround his bone chilled body. Any light that escapes the shadows reflect off the sharpened point held tightly in bony hands. His hands numb as his lethal weapon is held in a fretting manner beside him.
A small cottage like house sits behind the grave yard. Candle light flickers threw the foggy windows. Inside stood a thin metal cooker hidden away in a dusty corner of a room. A hiss and a slight whistle echoed quietly from the aged stove. The smooth top heated with the roaring flame dancing in the small holes, the flame once started by a single innocent match. The front rough and rugged, as the metal carved and bent on the oven door, a glories pattern hidden in a cloud of dust and shadows.
A man crouches over the stove, placing a battered tin kettle on the flames. His face was fragile in his appearance. Bristly eyebrows mattered together above his partly closed eyes, the eyebrows concealing the tired eyes. The smell of cheap whisky lingered on his breath. His pointed chin now saggy with time as his lips stayed parted to a thin slit. His woven, checker flat cap crushed his slender, sharp silver locks. His eyes were flooded by a sea of loneliness and longing. He moves away from the old stove, his bones creaking like rusted metal. He slowly declines into a dying old chair. His weak body needing comfort and rest. His eyes glare out of the window. A small light from the old manor permeates the dimly lit cottage.
"Bloody kids." The old man voiced out in a dry, low tone.
He gathers the light from a small lantern, and slowly left the safety of his small cottage. The freezing cold air envelopes the man's feelings. The grass and bushes grip and cut at his pale, weak flesh. The heavy lantern shines into the darkness. Its misty beams showing shadow covered objects. The owls hoot over head as the hisses and rustles of a creature fills the air. The owl's hoots like alarms, never stopping till it's safe. They became louder as he drew closer to the old wooden door and he slowly pushed it open with a creek. A feeling of cautiousness overcame him as he slowly stepped inside.
His light caught the sight of a clock ticking, showing no time in its arrow like hands. Mutters make him travel more into the place of the unknown. The creaky, dusty stairs he masters one at a time. His footsteps becoming lighter the closer he becomes to a slightly open door. Words can be made out as the old man hides behind the parted door. His eyes studying what lies before him.
A mouse like make whimpered and begged towards a hidden figure. Voices not much louder than a mutter whisper. An angry tone fills the almost empty room. A second shows. His cloths baggy and black. Hiding him well against the walls. The rat of a man clime to his knees. His begs and complaints becoming louder now. His master hissing, weak voice answer as a snake slivers around the old man's feet and into the room. The hidden man welcomes the snake as it whispers a hiss to him.
They all turn towards the old man. A grin on the other man's face as the mouse like man stands in front of him. The mouse man's eyes filled with glee and a dark smirk spread across his pale lips. He moves back as the hiss of the other comes out as a command. The snake slivers out of sight as a flash of light fills everyone's sight.
A kettle whistles, left alone in the cottage. The dim lights flicker as the whistle grows louder. Left, forgotten by the owner's soul…