Ollivander's Tale
Written for the CoS Writing Contest.
No, it didn't win...
Much had happened the night before, too much, much too fast. The shop itself looked confused, as if it were a person, living breathing, and confused.
Shelves were overturned, their broken and burnt remains laying dejectedly on the floor.
The boxes that had rested on them had been thrown violently across the room, after first being emptied of their valued contents.
Glass was everywhere, coating every inch of floor like the first snow of winter. That is if snow cut your feet, face, and hands.
Splintered remains of wands were scattered about the floor spinning tales of fantastic duels, amazing feats, and everlasting fame that they will never accomplish because of the horrors and destruction of the previous night.
Phoenix feathers. Not a single one could be spotted, every last one taken. Dragon heartstrings, there was one…see it? On the ground, dropped in the intruder's haste to leave. Unicorn hair? None was to be found.
Feathers, ordinary down ones, littered the area by the big glassless window and a ripped purple pillow lay where a chair used to be.
The chair had already been burnt, used as kindling, and aided in the causing of the black scorch marks that rose up the wall like greedy fingers.
There was a metal desk that sat in the back room. This room had also been ransacked and caught flame as well. The metal desk pushed over, a drawer had been forced open because of the shock of the fall.
Inside the drawer were papers and a few knickknacks. Only a few, some junk mail, a pamphlet for a vacation in Majorca, and a will and a ring.
The ring was beautiful. It had belonged to Mrs. Ollivander, and her husband held onto it for weeks and weeks after she passed away, he almost never let it out of his sight. He had loved her like no man had loved a woman, at least as far as he was concerned.
On his will there was only one thing written. "To be buried next to my wife, under the beech tree on the hill."
Under the beech tree was where they had first kissed, the only time he had been so nervous.
Under the beech tree was where Ollivander had proposed, the only time he had got down on his knees to ask anything.
Under the beech tree was where they had been married, the only time he had cried in front of any person, let alone a whole congregation.
Under the beech tree was where they laid his beloved to rest. He promised her, lay prostrate on the grass above her grave and promised her that he would lay next to her. The only time he made a promise that wasn't kept.
No body had been found. No trace of his body anywhere. But they knew he was dead. It could be felt throughout the souls of his friends and family. And from the beech tree there was an unheard cry of despair. A cry riddled with feelings of rejection, and hate, and depression, and of confusion. As if the tree were a person, living breathing and confused.
Pretty please let me know what you thought...You don't even have to say anything (a number between 1 and 10 will do fine)