Disclaimer: I do not own any parts of the Harry Potter books or movies, nor the characters within; they are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bro., and I thank them both for a job well done.
Gone
By: A Summers
The Godric Gazette
July 31, 1982
While police investigators have officially closed the files on the deaths of the Potters, questions still go unanswered as to what truly happened the night they died, and did they meet a foul
end. Godric's police chief, Stanley McKinney, had refused to comment on the case in its entirety and has gone on record as stating: "…there is no evident to suggest James Potter—age 21,
Lily Potter—age 21, or their young son Harry Potter were murdered. A gas leak has been ruled the official cause." Yet, all attempts to shed some light on what took place the night of
October 31, 1981 has led this reporter down a pathway shroud in mystery. Nevertheless, inquisitive minds want to know and should know the truth, so this reporter paid a visit to the little
village of Godric Hollow to investigate. And this story is the result of that visit.
When arriving at the village where the Potters were last known to resided, the first thing to standout is the quaintness of the little town they chose as a home, and the second was their
cottage in total shambles. A large portion of the upstairs' second floor was blown away; an obvious sign of an explosion, as it had been reported that a gas leak was the probable cause.
More curiously, other than the wreckage, were the surrounding neighbors when asked if they knew the Potters, and if they could offer any opinions on the family's demise. It was
immediately discovered, with very little effort, that the residents of Cranbury Lane didn't quite like James and Lily Potter. No one in the neighborhood had actually tried to get to know the
young couple; we're told each time someone had a notion to knock on their door and introduce themselves they soon thought better of the idea and turned away.
James and Lily Potter were nice enough, we're told. In fact, they were a handsome couple; he was tall, dark hair, and smiled all the time. She, his wife, was fair skinned, long red hair,
pretty green eyes, and smiled a great deal also. Perhaps all this smiling was because, other than being newlyweds, the Potters were already expecting their first child, and this too may
have added to the couple's joyous expressions.
So, what was so wrong that the rest of the neighborhood disliked the Potters, despite the couple's obvious good looks and radiant smiles? Some say it was their choice of house paint; done
in midnight blue, purple, and red. The house looks like a bruised thumb, and now the bruised thumb has been blown to pieces. Yet, others felt it was the strange company they kept. Their
guest often seen in capes and pointed hats. Women, and men, wore long dresses with peculiar designs in the fabric. On one occasion, James Potter was seen stretched out on the front
lawn, wearing a floral skirt and a pink knitted cap. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong told their young sons that they were not to go anywhere near James Potter; we're, also, told Potter had no
fashion sense what-so-ever, but the skirt was lovely as Mrs. Armstrong puts: "…the floral pattern screamed uniqueness a tad too loud."
Nonetheless, they all agreed that it was the late night sound of a motorcycle that they disliked the most. Mrs. Ruth Duncan, of number 7 Cranbury Lane, sworn on the lives of her three
golden retrievers that she saw the motorcycle take flight late one evening. "Nonsense," said Mr. Peter Kent, rolling his eyes, "they were just a bunch of punk-rockers, it's the attention
those kids were after, and me and the wife didn't pay them any."
One year ago this was the conversation amongst those in the neighborhood who, from the distances of their fences and windows, glared and gossiped about the Potters. Miss. Annabelle
Shoemocker, a retired nurse and neighborhood watchdog, disagreed with Pete Kent's remark and voiced this: "...Well, they
got my attention plenty," she said, looking over her shoulder then whispered to this reporter. "I saw a large black crow perched on the lamppost outside the Potters' door early one
morning with, of all things my imagination could envision, a package in its beak." She placed a hand over her heart, as if ready to swear an oath. "I saw the box, tied with yellow ribbon, as
clear as day."
Mrs. Hilary Appleby, the Potters' next door neighbor, consented to an interview after learning the investigation was now closed, had this to say:
"Mind you, I'm not a nosey woman," she assured, "… not the sort to steal glances into the windows of others, but by accident I did happen to see into the kitchen window on rare
occasions. My dear husband, Frank, God rest his soul, accused me of making it all up…for a laugh…and would say the same if he were alive. I never told another living soul what I saw,
except my Frank. Anyway, it just so happened I did see the pots and pans washing themselves in the sink…and laundry folding itself in mid-air. I know everything you've heard thus far
sounds like…well, like we're all mad, but it's the truth. And, mind you again, they never made excuses for their odd behavior. Frank, my dear husband, said they were magician…the whole
family…even the baby. I found that hard to shallow until I saw it with my own two eyes. Their one-year-old baby riding around the backyard on a miniature broom, just screaming his little
head off with laughter. It scared the daylights out of me."
After the interview with Mrs. Appleby this reporter took a well earned break at a local pub called O'Malley's. It was here that the absent of the Potters reflected an opposite opinion. Patrick
O'Malley, owner, remembers James Potter fondly and had only this to say: "…I'm telling you now, believe none of what you hear, and only half of what you see. James Potter wasn't a
troublemaker…a good family man, in my opinion. He and his buddies would drop in for a few pints and some laughs once every few months. A great story teller, he was too. I remember
the ones about him fighting the forces of evil…or something like that. Those were his best ones. He'd pull out this wooden stick he always carried in his pocket and go through all the
moves of a sword fighter, I reckoned. He 'd jump on the tables just to demonstrate what he did to get out of a sticky mess. His stories were all in good fun, and I miss him
not coming around anymore."
When this reporter asked if James Potter had a passion for lying, Mr. Andrew Lutz responded in this manner: "…were you listening, you toss-pot?" he said, heavily intoxicated at the time.
"Pat said the man told a good story and you ask if he was a liar…I ought to break your grubby little neck for even suggesting such a thing. Potter was as honest as they came, and
could hold his liquor, I'll tell you that. Not like these wishy-washy lads that pretend to drink. Potter, as young as he was, held his own with the best of us." Andrew Lutz removed his hat,
held it to his chest and, gazing downward, vomited on this reporter's shoes. Even a drunken man's assault can prove worthy when there're answers to be found, and the search doesn't end
here.
A/N: I am so sorry for the first published version of this story. I really needed to do some editing, and I may still. So, anyone who has read the first please forgive me. I wanted to presentation this story in the form of a newspaper article, more or less, like a human interest piece. I used what was canon, like where James and Lily lived at the time of their deaths, but, obviously, changed the fact that non-magical people couldn't see the ruins of the cottage. When I really gave it some thought, I realized that the Ministry of Magic didn't obliterate the memories of the Potters' neighbors, just the muggles who witnessed the fight between Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew that killed twelve innocent people. Just an idea I'm playing with, and doing a dreadful job at it. So, please review and offer up and suggestion for improvement. As always, thank you for your time.