A/N:
This was taken from the prologue of a new story that I'm working on, with just a couple of words changed so that it makes sense with Canon. I'm happy; its the first thing I've put out in over a month! Let me know what you think, please!
Halloween.
It's such a strange holiday. It's the one time in a year, where fear isn't fear, but a source of fun; something to laugh at, to mock. It's the one night of the year when it's all right to pretend that dragons and werewolves and magic is real.
But of course to Muggles, it is only pretending. They don't realize that those monsters and spirits that they playfully imitate actually exist.
Even those who have wizards and witches for next-door neighbors, like in Godric's Hollow, don't even notice.
They don't notice that a war is practically being fought on their doorsteps, or that the parents of the little boy four houses down are going to die that day, all because of those scary bedtime stories that nobody believes in. They couldn't possibly know why the house that the unfortunate couple lived in exploded in a burst of green light. They assume that it was a hallucination, because magic couldn't possibly exist. It just wouldn't fit.
But they're wrong.
Witches and wizards do exist.
Magic does exist.
And so does death, in the form of a bright flash of light.
But of course, the Muggles don't exactly have much time to realize that they're wrong, do they?