This is a slightly strange story. It started off as a fanfic, but slowly evolved into something else. I've put it up here because it still retains the original essence of the story, and involves HP characters. It's almost certainly AU, and I wouldn't guarantee that it's canon, but I did try. Anyway:
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be writing this. So anything/one you recognise is JK's. Except the Minotaur. And Chopin.
Time's Path
Close your eyes.
If you look over that wall, I can show you. Go on, look. What do you see?
On the other side there's blossoming ivy, climbing towards you. The green carpet is sprinkled with blossom. There's a branch hanging overhead, twisted with bright honeysuckle.
Look further.
There's a lily-covered lake, full of jumping frogs. On the other bank is a curtain of reeds, where baby ducklings are playing. There's a light summer breeze making the plants dance.
Look further.
There's a green maze, twisting and turning. In the centre stands the Minotaur, waiting silently for an opponent. There are lost slaves scattered at dead ends, and Theseus watches the entrance.
Look further.
There's a rose garden in full bloom, smiling at the sun. Climbers hang on the rails of a glass summerhouse, filling the air with sweetness. The floor is a quilt of colours, white, orange, blue, yellow, purple, and red.
Look further.
There's a bright lawn, split by a gravel path that leads to a sun-warmed patio. There's a brick barbeque, still smoking from use. A white canvas umbrella shades the pine table, the empty bowls upon it stained with strawberry juice. There's an old gramophone, still playing the last hint of an ancient lovesong. There's a small black bird underneath the table, pecking at a fallen strawberry.
Ssh! They'll hear you. Don't climb over! You've got to see. I can show you.
Travel down the path.
If you look over that fence…It's not high. Go on, look. What do you see?
There's an overgrown bush beneath you, its dark leaves shadowing the dead plants around it. A dead frog is decaying under it, half-buried in brown leaves. A lost tennis ball is gathering moss, blocking a hole in the fence.
Look further.
A tattered tree leans over, one broken arm swinging in the cold wind. Its trunk is choking from an ivy necklace, restraining the rotting bark. There are mouldering petals strewn across mud-covered wood chippings.
Look further.
There's a tiny, rain-filled pond enveloping each raindrop, eating at the bank. Waterlogged plants drown in its flood, resigned to fate. There's a single lily pad, floating upside down.
Look further.
There's a small flower fairy, its head missing. Around it are slug-eaten flowers, their rancid smell clouding the air. There's a toy somewhere, covered by the dead browns and yellows.
Look further.
There's a dry lawn, all its colour seeping away. There's black decking, all the paint cracked and peeling. A broken deckchair sits in a crumpled heap, its canvas torn and faded. There's an old radio, talking to itself of the war. There's a large black bird on the windowsill, tapping at the glass.
Get down! They'll see you. Don't fall! You've got to see. I can show you.
Turn the corner.
If you peek through the hedge…It's where the birds nest. Go on, look. What do you see?
There's nothing in the flowerbeds, except a few wild plants. The hedge is neat, but still growing. There's no bird's nest in the hedge, no sign of anything.
Look further.
There's a simple pond, clear with fresh water. The frogs are deep under the water, swimming through the glass. There's a stone border, warning everyone not to fall.
Look further.
There's an herb garden, full of plants but plainly planned. None of them are flowering yet, but the smells are floating. There's a greenhouse, with a soil path to travel on.
Look further.
There's a green lawn, newly cut to stop the weeds. A little dew still lingers on the grass blades, smiling shyly. There are daisies in between, just closing.
Look further.
There's a single silver birch, glittering slightly in the fading sun. There's a tiny bird statue, perched in the tree. Around the tree are a few more statues, sitting on the ground. There's a sandy area by the house, many footprints still evident. There's a pair of doves resting inside the house, just visible through the door glass.
I suppose you'd better get down. They've got guests soon. Don't go yet. You've got to see. I can show you.
Close your eyes. Try again.
If you look through the curtains…There's a tiny gap. Go on, see. What is there?
There's a heavy winter drape, drawn back to show the morning light. There's a thin white lace veil beneath, clouding the room from view. There's an antique Persian rug covering the black wood floor below, hissing with thread snakes and dancing with silent charmer pipes.
See it.
There are magnificent paintings around the walls, watching portraits of glorious figures. There's a vast collection of furred heads, every eye boring into the soul. There's a golden shield, restrained by silver steel swords. Below it there's an old gramophone, playing the last bars of Chopin's march.
See it.
There's a beautiful old oak table, stretching the length of the chandeliered room. Every place is set with priceless china, the silver shining in the morning sun. There's a magnificent centrepiece of roses, their scent choking the air with sugary perfume. The chairs are carved with wondrous dragonheads, burning all who sit there.
See it.
There's a man at one end of the table, sat proudly in his ornate wooden throne. Nursed in his hand is a bloody fist, still curled from before. There's a woman opposite, her blonde head down and blue eyes to the floor. Her delicate lavender dress hides her pale skin, a canvas for rainbow colours.
See it.
There's a small boy in the centre, his weeping hair hanging in darkness. His cheeks are dry, but the cushion beneath him is flooded with recent memory. Blue eyes reflect the red berries in the spotless dish swimming, both hidden by black curtains. White teeth pale his thin lips, painting them to a veil. There's a smashed china plate under the table, beautiful and priceless. There's a small black bird by it, pecking at the spilt contents.
Stop! They could hear you. Don't knock! Do you see yet? I have to show you.
Travel down the path.
If you look through the glass…Wipe the dirt off. Go on, see. What is there?
There's an old curtain clinging to the end of its rail, dangling on a cliff. There's a smashed window, a forgotten board waiting hopelessly for a repair. There's an unvarnished ship deck floor, spilt with a thousand galley stains.
See it.
There's a filthy quilt on the floor, each patch sewn with memories. There's a railway of toys criss-crossing the wide fields, leaving grass for giant's feet. There's a black-grated fireplace, its red mantle and cape warming the room. There's a coffee-stained table, overflowing with paper and glue.
See it.
There's thousands of books and games strewn across the room, each suspended in the organised chaos. There's an ivory chair amidst the clutter, bleach giving way to sticky hands and first steps. There's a castle of cushions, each one a feather shield. There's a crushed daisy of yesterday, its tiny scent still lingering.
See it.
There's a woman on the chair, absorbed into comfort. Her youth has changed with care, moulded by fairy hands. A brown halo cloaks her head, neglected from caring for the angel. There's a photo in her sun-dark hands, no substitute for reality. It is a rarity, his sunlit laughter remembered in eternity.
See it.
There's a small boy in her lap, diverting all attention. Brown eyes watch their twins, requiring a constant gaze. His black drapes are cut short, clipped by silver scissors. Pink lips hide white teeth, a father's smile to torture and delight. His laughter shines like a candle, drawing a special smile. There's a cracked plastic plate by the chair, practical but cheap. There's a large black bird on the cushion, a dancing bear for the child.
Come back! They could see you. Don't run! Do you see yet? I have to show you.
Turn the corner.
If you look through the window…It's open. Go on, see. What is there?
There's a simple white curtain, hanging loose as the evening comes. There's a cream carpet, fitted to keep the warmth. There's four neat walls, all correctly folded to fit.
See it.
There's a brown pinboard of artwork, each piece in its proper place. There's a round wood table, all knights and no king. It's only set for three, but places wait for visitors. There's a blue sofa, inviting cuddles.
See it.
There's two pictures on the wall, lovingly framed and gently hung. One shows a dark-haired boy watching a small black bird, blue eyes following every still movement. The other presents a dark-haired boy stroking a large black bird, brown eyes smiling for the camera. There's an herb bouquet beneath them, its subtle aroma hugging the air.
See it.
There's a man leaning on the table, his blue eyes filled with holy water. His long dark hair is loosely tied, the curtains thrown open. White teeth pinch thin lips, daring the dream to end. There's a woman wrapped in his arms, relaxed and smiling. Her brown hair is softly draped, elegant in its casual contentment. She lets her brown eyes linger on her hearts, each the most perfect.
See it.
There's a boy curled on the sofa, smiling in his dreams. His black hair is ruffled by sleep, creases on silk sheets. Sun-dark lids cover two brown eyes, twins of another pair. White teeth glitter on a pink background, the copy of another set. Silent laughter fills him, a heavenly glow. There's a china plate at his feet, beautiful and practical. There's a pair of doves by his side, happy just to rest.
I suppose you should get down. They'll be expecting us. Don't leave. You had to know. I could show you.
Open your eyes. Did you see?
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Well, thank you. There's always that lovely button down there \/. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but flames will be used to melt chocolate (cos I don't have any marshmallows).