The Day The Fish Bowl Was Empty
Years of teaching and having to get up early after a late night spent marking had left Horace Slughorn with a healthy appreciation of his Sunday mornings. The fact that he could get up whenever he wanted was simply bliss and it hadn't changed one bit, despite having retired a couple of months before.
He and a friend stayed up late that night, talking about the state of the modern wizarding world and various other non-troublesome things (all talk of You-Know-Who had been suspended for a time), drinking firewhisky and eating part of a box of crystallised pineapple his friend had brought with him. Just a few pieces, mind; you had to make such things last nowadays.
By the time his friend finally left it was late and Horace made his way up to bed, pausing for a moment as he did so to say goodnight to Francis and give him a few flakes of fish-food. The goldfish was several years old now and Horace marvelled at the charm his favourite pupil had cast: it really was extraordinary magic.
She was such a sweet girl, that Lily. She had remained in touch after leaving Hogwarts and he enjoyed her regular letters. He had meant to reply to her last one yesterday but time had slipped away as it had a habit of doing. Still, tomorrow would do just as well.
Tiredness was tugging at his eyelids so he said goodnight to Francis and headed upstairs, grateful that he didn't have to get up early the next day.
Horace slept well that night and didn't get up until after 10 o'clock the next morning. It was a beautiful November day, crisp and full of sunshine. He hummed a cheerful tune as he picked up the box of fish flakes that Francis seemed particularly fond of, but it died as he looked into the bowl.
Francis was gone. The bowl was empty, as if it had never had an occupant.
The spell had ended.
Confused, the retired potions master put the box of fish food down and tried to work out what had happened. He could only think of one possible explanation, but it was so ludicrous that he immediately dismissed it.
It was impossible.
There was a newspaper lying on the doormat, next to the table the fishbowl sat on. Picking it up, Horace shook it out, nearly dropping it when he saw the headline emblazoned across the top.
"YOU-KNOW-WHO IS GONE!" A smaller heading underneath proclaimed: "Tyrant's Reign Of Terror Is Over! The Wizarding World Is Saved By A Tiny Baby: The Boy Who Lived."
It was unbelievable. Completely and utterly unbelievable. Eagerly he read the article, than reread it again, more slowly, his relief and happiness changing to shock and horror.
It couldn't be true.
Please, don't let it be true.
Not them.
His eyes wouldn't lie to him, though and he could see their names in the black print that was slowly becoming blurred. "Having murdered Lily and James Potter, You-Know-Who appears to have proceeded to turn his wand on their one year old son, Harry. What follows next is uncertain, but the rubble of the Potter's house tells its own story, as does the survival of Harry Potter, who is currently living with his-"
The article carried on from there, filled with less important pieces of information but Horace didn't really care.
Not Lily and James.
It was obvious now why the fishbowl was empty. The magic had been tied to Lily, surviving as long as she survived, dying when she died.
Francis was gone, and so was she.