The house sat there, looking as if the owners were just away on vacation. In actuality, no one had lived in the house for over 20 years. The yard was neat, but you could see a few weeds poking their heads up in the flower beds. The house needed to be painted again. Standing on the sidewalk looking at the house were two men, one appearing to be in his early thirties, the second was obviously his son and appeared to be ten or eleven. Their car was parked at the curb in front of the house.
"Whose house is this, dad?"
"It belongs to me, Jimmy."
"What?"
"This is the house I grew up in. We had to move when I was about 18. Grandmum and Granddad never sold it, but we never moved back into it. When Granddad died, Grandmum signed the house over to me."
"Why haven't you sold it? Are we going to move into it?"
The boy's dad shuddered.
"No, Jimmy. We're not going to move into it. No one will ever live here again."
"Why? Is there something wrong with the house? Couldn't you fix it?"
"Jimmy, what's wrong with the house can never be fixed. It's haunted, and I don't think there is an exorcist out there who can get rid of the ghosts."
Jimmy was really puzzled now. He knew magic existed. His mum was a witch, and Jimmy was magical too. His dad didn't have magic, but it didn't seem to bother him that he couldn't do some of the things his wife and his son could.
"Dad, you know magic can get rid of ghosts."
"These aren't ghosts as you know them. This is the residue of a strong, magical child being bullied and hurt. His emotions and magic were so strong that they imprinted on the inside of the house. We tried, when Grandmum gave me the house, to live here, but your mum and I couldn't handle the sadness and despair that permeates the house."
"Who was it that was hurt?"
The man turned around and headed back to the car without answering. His son stood there for a couple of seconds then turned and hurried after his dad.
"Dad, whose emotions are in the house?"
It wasn't until after they had gotten into the car and drove away that his dad answered.
"Uncle Harry."
James Harold Dursley understood. They couldn't ask his uncle to fix the house. Uncle Harry had died ten years ago, the victim of one of the last Death Eaters still at large. It just proved never to discount someone getting in a lucky shot.
Uncle Harry wasn't really Jimmy's uncle, of course. He was actually a cousin, but because of the age difference, the term "uncle" seemed to fit better.
"What are you going to do?"
"We're going to tear it down, and turn the lot into a park, with trees and flowers, and a small memorial for those non-magicals who were killed in the Voldemort wars."
As Dudley and Jimmy drove out of Little Whinging, the house continued to sit there, looking as if the family who lived there was just gone on vacation for a while. If you looked real hard, you could see the shadow of a boy's face in the window, with a funny scar on his forehead. He looked down the street where the car had disappeared and seemed to sigh, then he faded away.