Guess who doesn't own Harry Potter? That'd be me.
The air around them seemed to be pushing and pulling her at the same time, swirling around her as it compressed her body until she couldn't breathe.
"Why are you doing this?" she gasped out, attempting to crawl away from the stooped figure of the sorceress before her.
"You must learn, child. You never learned. It's been a year and a half now and you still won't let it go. This is your last chance." The woman warned her, her long silver hair floating around her head as if she was underwater, her blue eyes calm and almost sad.
She knew she should take it. She should lie to the bitch, tell her she would forget. But, even the thought of forgetting Patrick made her chest ache and her throat scorch with the feeling of more tears. "I…can't. I just can't." she cried to the floor.
The old woman glanced at her, her eyes full of pity. Of course, she knew what it was like. She understood the pain, the sadness, the loneliness most of all of losing someone so close to you. She had lost her husband at a young age too. Then again, she had never had a child to worry about. She would never have a child to worry about. She finally closed her eyes. "You must know then." She whispered over the sound of the howling wind around her and the creaks of the well-worn house. Her mouth opened, and a screech filled the air.
Never heard, never seen
You will walk this world, deaf, dumb, and blind to all around you.
You are not dead, but you will dearly wish you were.
The old woman finished her curse and slammed her cane down onto the floor. The wind had stopped, the house was silent. All that was to be heard was her own labored breathing, and the sobs of the prostrate woman on the floor. She turned to leave, leave her to her pain, when the strangled voice stopped her.
"How am I to break this? Please tell me grandmother."
Without turning around, she dropped her head "You must love child. Passionate love is the only thing that will help you." She said and disapparated on the spot.
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George Weasley was, for the umpteenth time in his life, degnoming his mother's garden. But this, this was a different story. Today he was doing it by choice, the only thing he could think of that would keep him from curling up in a ball and sleeping his day away in Fred's sock drawer. His mother had been giving him cow eyes all morning, giant brown, pitying cow eyes in between her bouts of depression. She wasn't the only one though. Mr. Weasley was in his workshop, doing Merlin knows what. Bill seemed to be the only one who could act even remotely normal around him. Even then though, it was pointless. George could not be swayed out of his blank mood and the other left him to his own devices.
Funny though, how this degnoming was supposed to keep him busy, take his mind off things. Really, it's just alleviated the blank slate of his mind, and made him think about everything more vividly. He wouldn't stop though. He was being careless and the gnomes were biting and scratching and squealing. It was somehow comforting that the world could go on this way, when his world had stopped so completely.
He barely noticed when a second pair of hands brushed his as they reached for the same gnome, which took advantage of his momentary shock to scurry away. Ginny lunged after it.
"Stupid git, I've got you." She smiled mirthlessly as she swung the gnome around and threw it over the hedge. How long had she been here?
They worked silently, side by side, for the next ten minutes or so when a breeze, cold enough in the summer air, caused both of them to look up nervously. Was it paranoia? Or was there something really there.
George stood up, Ginny right next to him as they looked through the trees, listening, watching. There wasn't another breeze, but there was shriek. Without think, George took off towards the sound, yelling behind him to Ginny.
"Warn the others! I'm going now!"
Ginny spluttered "George, wait! You don't—argh!" She made up her mind and ran into the house, yelling for her parents.
George sprinted on legs muscled from gripping a broomstick, his adrenaline rushing, his wand out. He slowed down and then stopped altogether, listening again.
Again! A wail, coming from somewhere in the trees right before him. He pelted through them, avoiding branches and twigs and bark ripping at his robes. He could see a light ahead, faint. He bolted towards it, over a fence, and through a garden before he realized that the light before him was lit candle on the porch of a small cottage. White washed with a wooden thatched roof. Why had he never seen this before? The cry again, this time sounding more like a child. George, lit his wand and opened the door to the cottage.
Through the wreckage and the apparently wind-blown room, he could see scorch marks on the ground. He walked past it, avoiding the marks.
"Hello? Who's here?" he called, walking through the room and into what was the kitchen. It looked lived in. There was a plate of untouched food on the table. He touched the cup next to it, a cup of coffee, still lukewarm. What had happened here?
Before George could decide where to go next or what to do, he heard the wail of a child, somewhere in the house. He bolted out the kitchen, towards the cry, and pushed open the door to what appeared to be a nursery. The child in the crib stopped crying as soon as he saw George, his face red, his lower lip protruding. He held out his arms and bounced up and down. George, tentative, looked around the room. Where was the mother? The father? Anyone?
When he didn't move closer the child let out a small cry and began to bounce again. George strode across the room and was just picking up the boy when his father and Bill burst into the room, wands out.
"George, what—" Bill began, but cut off upon seeing the child in George's arms. "Oh, Merlin."
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Alright, before you all start judging me, I have a plot for this story. I was just going to get the first chapter out there and see if anyone liked it. Review me for your thoughts. Or if you'd like to know more. Theeeeenks.