A/N: Written for the Complicated Emotion Challenge, from the emotion 'kenopsia'; the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that usually bustling with people and activity, but is now abandoned.
Warning: Implicit character deaths: not maincharacter. Not proof read. I apologize for any mistake you may find!
LOST IN SILENCE
Once upon a time, three little pigs had lived happily together. They had lived in a boring, boxy house in a street with other boxy houses. It had been a quiet and unremarkable street. Colorful gardens at the front and the back. Postboxes lined up. Laundry drying in the sun. Average in every possible way. However, the three piggies had been content in number four.
Harry stepped up to the white garden fences of number four, staring blankly at the untamed grass. After years of neglect, the garden had seen better days. As a child, he'd spent days there, grooming flowers and planting seeds. All to create a beautiful garden for his aunt.
It had been magnificent. A beauty of the past.
The Dursleys had disappeared some years ago; 5 to be exact. It had been quite a spectacle at the time. The Muggle media had been all over the place trying to explain how and why an entire family of three could vanish from the face of the earth. Even the Magical Media had covered the horrendous occurrence. After all, their selfless savior deserved an answer as to why his family had vanished.
There had been several theories. One was certain that it had been a surviving Death Eater, set on taking revenge. Another theorized that Voldemort had returned once again.
Harry knew otherwise.
After their disappearance, number four of Privet Drive had been sold to an anonymous client. However, no one had moved into the house. And now, 5 years later, it still stood abandoned. Quietly sullying the perfect streets with its presence.
Now, he had returned to visit his childhood home one last time. A reminder of his good fortune in life.
He hesitated in front of the entrance, keys grasped firmly. There was something threatening about an abandoned house. It had a certain energy around it. Consuming in its overwhelming darkness. Harry swallowed, pushed the key into the lock and twisted. This was it. The door creaked, screamed and exhaled painfully before swinging open. Green orbs leaped towards the cupboard.
Number four had never been a place of positive energy, but it had been alive. Bubbling with the energy a house acquired when man spent a considerable amount of time within it. Now it was only eerie, depressing and heavy.
Unwelcoming. And whose fault is that?
The house had died, vanished along with its inhabitants.
Lost in time and silence. Chocking on its own sadness.
øØø
Harry could no longer remember why he had stepped up to the front door and knocked. He'd like to think he had been there for an apology. An answer. For what, he wasn't sure. He was certain it had been something.
It had been raining that day. Pouring actually. Large crocodile tears, dropping from heavy, gray clouds.
Petunia had answered the door that afternoon.
She'd swung the door open, a polite smile settled on her face until she'd seen him. He had forgotten his umbrella and had strolled through the rain. As a result, his black hair was sticking to his forehead, wet and tame. Clothes heavy and cold, weighted down by chilly rain. He had been a shivering, miserable mess of something.
Petunia had stepped back in a hurry and for a moment he had thought she'd close the door in his face. She'd halted, door half closed and guided mistrustful eyes over his appearance. Distasteful even. He had hated her.
"Mom, who is it?" A masculine, curt question; Dudley. A family dinner maybe? Father, mother and son gathered for a quiet evening. Pleasant conversations and simple food. A common occurrence, he was sure.
"You…" Petunia's voice had broken his train of thought and he'd looked back at her. "What do you want?" Yes, what did he want?
What had it been?
There had been something. Harry was sure of it.
He had opened his mouth, trying to formulate a question. It had been one particular thing that had bothered him so immensely. What had it been?
"We don't want you here." Cutting, he'd lost blood. Petunia had always had a way with the knife.
Harry had swallowed. "I just…" Yes, he had a reason for disturbing their happiness.
"No!" She had screamed. Voice shrill and ear-splitting. "Listen to me, you ungrateful child…" The rest was history. He was sure vile, hurtful words and spewed out from her mouth. They'd wounded him. Cut him up. Something had blown up.
He had felt invincible after that.
The sun had even made an appearance later that day.
øØø
It was cold inside the house. Deserted and unfriendly, Harry would be its lasts visitor. There were more pressing matters to attend to and he knew he'd have to be quick. Ginny was waiting for him with their newborn child. A beautiful boy.
He knew what people expected of him. What Ginny expected of him, as a father. There were unwritten rules to follow, things to say and ways to act. Harry wanted to be there for them. Love them and respect them.
The only issue was. He didn't know how to slip into everyday life. How to live normally.
Harry had never been taught how.
Staring down at the cupboard, he realized why.
øØø
The Earl Grey lulled him into security. The aroma and the tea cups warmth in-between his hands were anchors to his mind. Ginny had a talent for knowing just of strong it should be and how much milk it needed.
They were sitting silently at the kitchen table with teacups and cookies in front of them. A quiet moment now that Albus was asleep. Harry had chosen to stare out the window, studying the silent fall of the snowflakes outside.
Ginny was staring at him. "Are you happy?" Her voice was warm and soothing, understanding.
He looked away from the snow outside, surprised. "Why do you ask?"
She pursed her lips, hands tightening on her teacup. "Harry," their eyes met. "Are you?"
Harry studies her for a while. Considering her question as she waited, patiently. Inhaling deeply, he turns to once again stare out the window. The wind had picked up and the snow was dancing through the street.
He was content, he guessed.
Snow swirled and twirled, pure in its whiteness. Whiteness was easily destroyed. Their pristine white walls had been painted scarlet all those years ago. The blood had been warm and dripping from his hands. Blending with his drenched clothes. Leaving a puddle of light red underneath him. He had been breathing harshly, emotions overflowing with passion.
Harry smiled and looked back at Ginny. Eyes alive with mirth. "Yeah, I am."
Happiness was subjective anyway.
The End