I want that great first sentence. One that stands the test of time, one that people know even though they have never opened a book their entire life.
'Call me Ishmael'
'Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano BuendÃa was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.'
'Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.'
These few, these wonderful few, are only some in the universe of many. They make you want to venture further into the pages, dig deep and expose the characters that ache for you to read them. "Do not forget." The words cry, "For we bring all imagined creativity to life, and all life to those who cannot experience it themselves." That, my dear wonderful reader, is what I wish I could bring to you. It saddens me, because I do in fact know, that this is not that time for me. I hope to, at least, bring you into this story and capture you with more than just the first line, for there will be hundreds of hopeful thousands waiting for your approval.
Hermione slumped back in her chair. The words she had just finished typing staring back at her as if that was all she had and it was. Years had passed since the war and she was left with nothing to show for the winning team. Everything was gone; her home, beloved people and keepsakes, long gone in the fires of a hopeless war. Her heart still pounded thinking of the chaos that had been. She could hardly remember a single moment clearly, spells whizzing past her dodging head like a case of Fred and George's fireworks gone off wrong. Earth falling from the sky like rain from explosion spells. Screams from every direction, making Hermione feel as though she had falling into water, swimming towards the ocean floor, being so utterly confused as to what direction to go.
Tears flooded Hermione's eyes. She had to stop this, she couldn't take it anymore. Crying every time a scene from the war popped into her head was not going to help her write this book, which was suppose to be a hopeful way of taking her mind off the war since it was going to be a romance. That is, if she could pull herself together.
Furious with herself for thinking about things which do not need to be thought about at this moment, Hermione wiped her eyes and sat up tall with her hands planted firmly on the keyboard. Quickly, she reread what she had so as not to repeat herself, and began typing.
Being hidden away as she was, Hermione was lost to the outside world as a tremendous pulse exploded its way throughout the wizarding world.
Harry Potter was awake.
It was raining. 'How unusual', Harry thought. He turned around and went back into his modest two story home.
"Sweetheart, have you looked outside yet this morning?" Harry questioned as he took his seat at the table, unfolding the wet paper he just retrieved from his porch steps.
"No, I haven't. Is it too hot to go for a walk in the park? Perhaps a swim at the lake then?" His wife suggested as she bent over to pick Lily up from her highchair.
"I don't really think that will be an option either unless it clears up outside."
"Clears up?"
Hermione walked to the kitchen to peer out the screen door. Lily giggled happily on her mother's hip. She had never seen rain before, her little hands reached for it, hoping to grasp the strangeness falling from the odd dark sky. Hermione pushed the door open and held Lily just so that her small hand could feel the rain. Lily quickly pulled her hands back and looked up at her mother, with shock all over her face. Then just as fast she giggled loudly and thrust her hands back into the drizzle. Her small hands wringing as though they were being washed, she glanced up at Hermione as if to ask if this was the new way to wash their hands. Hermione laughed and pulled her young daughter close for a hug. Harry watched all this with a sparkle his emerald eyes. He loved them. They were his world of worlds. Hermione turned back to look at her husband, laughing when she saw his face. They were so happy that the rain only made their life more magical. The day was spent playing in puddles and making mud pies, only coming in to dry off and spend the rest of the afternoon snuggled in the living room under warm blankets, watching their favorite movie.
Harry woke the next morning shivering. It felt at least 20 degrees colder than yesterday. The rain pounded on the window this morning, unlike yesterday where it simply drizzled all day. Harry refused to open his eyes, so he simply snuggled further into his blankets. His muscles ached horribly as though he hadn't used them in years. 'Oh, no I must be getting sick from yesterday.' Harry thought sadly. He decided to go check on Lily to see how she was feeling, and it was at that moment Harry realized that he could not open his eyes.
Panic.
Harry lifted his hands to rub his eyes, hoping it was sleep preventing him from opening his eyes.
More panic.
His arms did not move when he asked them to, he was unsure if they were not moving or if they were tied down, he realized that he could not even feel them. "Hermione!?!" Harry screamed out, praying to every god he could think of, that she and his daughter were safe. What he did 'not' realize was that his panicked scream was nothing but a hoarse tired whisper. When he heard nothing in response he began to think the worst.
Death Eaters have escaped and came straight for his family. He had to get up. He had to! Get up! Nothing. GET UP! He began yelling out loud not caring if those bastards heard he was awake. He needed to get up and save his precious Lily, and beautiful Hermione. He just had to. Harry, starting to doubt himself after many minutes of nothing, not even the slightest twinge, broke down into tears. This is when he realized, a sob escaped his mouth, loud and scratchy. He had not been making any noise before, but now in all his horrific pain, a breakthrough. He tried again to call for his wife. His throat sore and scratched, made loud painful sounds. The words were incoherent, but the pain was undeniable. Harry suddenly heard feet, lots of feet running his way. He braced himself, ready for pain, ready for death.
"Mr. Potter?!" a voice asked excitedly. Harry stayed silent, unsure of what games were being played.
"Mr. Potter? Can you hear me?" Harry thought he heard questions being asked, but so much was going on, so many voices and feet scuttling around.
"Everyone! Shut the bloody hell up!" Silence. "Mr. Potter, this is Head Healer Dobbings at St. Mongo's. If you can hear me, please nod or make a sound, or... or... something."
A tear slid slowly down Harry's cheek.
"I can hear you." Harry tried to say.
"Oh thank Merlin, Josey call Molly this instant. Now!" Harry heard more feet running, this time away from him.
"Where's my family?! What's wrong with me? Why can't I move or open my eyes?" Harry mumbled, trying his best to get his mouth to move the way he wanted it to.
"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but I can't catch what you're saying. I want you to know, that your safe and we have sent for Molly Weasley, who should be here any minute now. Do try and get some rest, all will start to fix itself soon enough."