Quick oneshot type thing...the idea popped into my head and had to be written. I'm not sure how good it is though. Oh well.
Setting: Godric's Hollow, Halloween.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. At all. Dammit.
Silence
Silence. Everywhere silence.
The shrill cawing of crows echoes on the breeze like death knells, heralding the tragedy that has occurred here. But all else is silent.
There once was life here. A home. Now there is only bricks and mortar. Pain and sorrow. And silence.
In the rubble lies the scattered remains of what once was a house. A television lies turned on its side, the screen blown out. Tattered curtains flap in the breeze, like the dying beats of a bird's wings. A baby's rattle lies smashed. Yesterday its sound filled the little house. Now there is silence.
A tree twists towards a grey sky slashed red, the dark clouds rolling in ominously. Against it rests a heavy oak door, blown from its hinges, its brass knocker still in place. But it will not knock anymore. It lays silent.
The house is in ruins. The peals of laughter that it rang with yesterday haunt it now. It seems to echo with the screams that ended the laughter. But the screams have been silenced now.
Birds will not make their homes here now. Yesterday the little garden was filled with the chorus of birdsong as the sun rose lazily. Now they sing nothing. Now they have fallen silent.
The final words spoken in this house, once so happy, seem to taint the air. A listener would hear nothing if they were to stand in the ruins. All would be silent. But their heart would heed the call of the occupants. Their heart would hear the silent cry.
Moving aside the fragments of concrete, the overturned furniture, would reveal the home that once existed here. Photographs litter the floor like leaves of memories, but all are tainted. All are damaged. The little wireless in the corner is normally alive at this hour, filling the house with music. But today it makes no sound. Today it is silent.
A passer-by would not know how this house, once so full of joy, love, came to be this way. They would guess at a bomb, an explosion. In a way they would be right. But this is not the result of dynamite. This is an explosion of hatred. Of evil. And now of silence.
And yet the love that the occupants bore one another still seems to permeate the air. It remains untainted. It remains pure. But it is overshadowed. Now the house is full of evil too. And it is deathly silent.
But now the air is filled with something else. Little cries are being let out from the cot that lies in the midst of the wreckage, the one thing untouched. Intact. The child within is waking now, and crying for his mother. She will not go to him. She cannot.
But someone else hears. A great hulking figure lifts the child gently from his cot, shushing him gently and wrapping him in the great folds of his coat. The child is safe now.
The silence is being lifted.