A thirty year old Harry Potter strolls down a street he's never been down before. A quaint, cheerful place, by the name of New Sheridan Lane. A Muggle place, of course. He had been visiting Hermione, who lived nearby, and decided to go for a walk. It was early morning, almost seven o'clock. The sky in the east was blushing a faint pink, lining the early clouds with gold.
As he passed a pleasant two-story cottage, a strange tingling sensation tickled the back of his neck. He swiveled around and fixed the cottage with a penetrating stare.
'For Sale,' A sign in the lawn read. 'Contact Terry McLeann at 555-3478 for details.' A envelope of pamphlets was tacked below the sign. Harry plucked one out of the envelopes, the tingling sensation getting ever stronger.
~This looks
Familiar . . .
Vaguely
Familiar . . .~
Golden fairy lights lit the room, glowing softly in corners and perching on bookshelves and chairs. Laughter, soft and content, flowed as easily as the fairy lights. A song drifted on the air, faint but heard by all in the room.
"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you . . ."
The song got gradually louder and louder, until the laughter ceased and song took it's place.
"Happy Birthday . . ."
A man with untidy black hair, a woman with green eyes, a man with black hair and smiling eyes, a young man with brown hair streaked with gray, a short, dumpy man with thinning hair, and an old man with silver hair and beard almost long enough to reach his waist, and sparkling golden spectacles. All stood around a table, gazes directed towards a small form cradeled in the woman's hands.
" . . . dear Harry . . ."
An older woman with gray hair and green eyes just like her daughter's came out of the kitchen, carrying a cake with one candle burning brightly at the center. She set it down before the younger woman, beaming at the small boy and his parents and friends.
". . . Happy Birthday . . ."
Harry looked at the candle, unsure of what to do. He looked up at his mother, who smiled down at him, and gestured to blow out the candle.
". . . Happy Birthday to you . . ."
~Almost
Unreal, yet
Its too soon
To feel yet~
Harry blinked. Where had that come from? He shook his head and left the lawn of the cottage, turning back to Hermione's house. Terry McLeann . . . perhaps he'd give her a call . . .
~Close to my soul
And yet so far away
I'm going to go back there someday~
Remus Lupin sighed, and looked out the window of his small house on the outskirts of London. His hair was completely gray, now, most likely from the stress of the too-frequent visits of the full moon. What was he doing here? He had been unemployed for at least a year, had lost all contact with Sirius, Dumbledore, even Harry . . .
~Sun rises
Night falls
Sometimes
The sky calls~
A black dog trotted down the streets of a small village in northern England. He glanced up at the sky, and the half-full moon caught his eye. His thoughts were jerked suddenly to Remus - where was he? He hadn't heard from him in years . . . and Harry? He had not responded to his last owl. How was he?
Unwillingly, his thoughts drifted to three other people he'd rather not think about. A balding, over weight middle aged man, turning into a rat and running off into a forest, and a tall, black haired man, his arm around a red haired, green eyed woman, smiling and waving as he left their house on his motorcycle. He growled softly, then dropped his head. Turning around, he slowly walked back the way he had come.
~Is that a song there?
And do I belong there?
I've never been there
But I know
The way
I'm going to go back there someday~
A pale, bland face with watery eyes glared at his reflection in the water. What had he become? A rat. Truly a rat . . . apparently spending fourteen years in the likeness of a rat had side effects, and they weren't pleasant ones. He splashed a silver, un-real looking hand into his reflection, creating miniatiure tidle waves that faded into ripples. In the distorted reflections of the trees around him, he thought he saw a stag. He whirled around, but saw nor heard nothing. Looking back in the water, he saw the stag again, standing behind him, watching him with eyes plagued with greif. The eyes, already watery, flooded, and the man burst into tears that were pitiful to see.
"James . . . oh, James, I'm so sorry . . ."
In the reflection, the stag turned and walked away.
~Come and go with me
Its more fun to share
We'll both be completely at home in midair . . .~
The sun descended on a happy couple in Godric's Hollow, number 15 Gryffin Avenue. Two figures, one with his arm around the other's shoulders, stood on the lawn, watching a small boy attempting to walk. He had fallen several times, but seemed determined to figure it out before the sun set. He faced his parents, his green eyes brilliant in the glow of the late sunlight. He stood up on wobbly legs, and, arms out for balance, took a hesitant step forward. And another. And another. Confidence rising, he walked slowly to his parents, and embraced his mother's leg, giggling happily.
"James, did you see . . ." She gasped.
"Harry walking?" He laughed. "It was difficult to miss, Lily." She laughed as well, and picked the young boy up, bouncing him on her hip. He chortled happily.
"Good one, old man," his father said, picking up his hand and shaking it solemnly. "I suppose now we'll have to put away my broomstick." He laughed, and she joined in, and they headed in to the house.
~We're flying, not walking, on featherless wings
We can hold on to love
Like invisible strings . . .~
"Number 15 New Sheridan Lane? Why yes, it's for sale . . . hmm? Oh, I'm not sure . . . I don't belive we have that on the records . . . what? Oh, yes, a few years ago - now let me see, that must be thirty years, my goodness - the house blew up. Yes, that's right. Exploded completely. The young couple that lived there died in the explosion. All down to faulty gas pipes, which have been replaced . . . completely safe now, of course, everything's been replaced . . . yes, I'll be sure to contact you, Mr. Potter. Thank you for your call."
~There's not
A word yet
For old friends who've just met . . .~
"Dear Sirius,
I'm sorry I didn't respond to your owl for so long, I've been at Hermione's with Ron, and we were busy.
Guess what I saw the other day? I was walking down a street near Hermione's house, and I saw a small house that seemed strangely familiar. I called the real estate agent, and she said that thirty years ago the house exploded, and the young couple that had lived there died in the explosion. I'll do some more research and see if my suspicions are true.
-Harry."
~Part heaven
Part space
Or have I found my place?~
"Dear Remus,
It's Sirius. I'm sorry we lost touch. Something Harry has discovered prompted me to write you. He found a house near where Hermione Granger lives now that blew up thirty years ago, apparently killing the young couple that had lived there. The names of that young couple aren't known, but I think you and I can guess. Write back soon.
-Sirius."
~You can just visit
But I plan to stay
I'm going to go back there someday . . .~
Harry walked down New Sheridan lane again. He had been determined to find out what it was number 15 was hiding, but sitting on the curb and staring at the house for an hour had revealed no solutions. He sighed, and looked at the pavement beneath his feet. As he passed the sign that read "New Sheridan Lane," in green letters, he noticed that the paint was peeling in one corner. Beneath it was something else, written in black. Curious, he peeled back the paint more, and scraped off the rest of the paint on the sign. He rocked back on his heels, surprised.
The sign no longer read 'New Sheridan Lane.'
~I'm going to go back there someday . . .~
It read 'Godric's Hollow.'
~I'm going to go back there someday . . . ~