Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
There is a moment, just before a catastrophe, when time seems to slow down. It is as if the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting for the outcome of a roll of the dice upon which everything has been staked. You can see what's happening all too clearly, but you couldn't do anything, even if you knew what to do. You are a mere spectator, watching as doom approaches, slowly and inevitably. It's happening halfway down the block, on a busy London street but you can see everything as plain as day.
"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?" a short, pudgy man yells. The one he's yelling at, a tall dark-haired man, looks puzzled, horrified and finally angry. No, not angry. Berserk with rage and grief. He raises something you can't quite identify and begins to speak, but the short man does something behind his back with a long, thin object, and the street erupts. It's almost beautiful, you think to yourself, as a sheet of flame shoots upward. Then time snaps back, like an overextended elastic, and people are running, screaming, panicking all around you. You stand transfixed, staring at the crater, until a man taps you on the shoulder, and you turn. You stare at him numbly, as he points something at you. It is a stick, and it looks like the things the two men had before, and you wonder about it briefly but can't bring yourself to care. And then the man speaks.
"Obliviate!"
