I'm really not expecting any one to read this, so thank you if you are! This is just a brief exerpt I wrote awhile ago that I'm still not sure what to think of, but I just felt like posting it for some odd reason. Again, not expecting it, but any feedback would be welcomed. Thanks again, and have a wonderful week! -Echo
Snapshot
Her eyes were green summer; his eyes were like autumn. His hair was burnt hearth wood; her tresses the fire. His smile was her happiness, her happiness kept him smiling. But the day that James died, it was winter, promising spring would never come again. The life left his body, and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
"James!" She screamed, running and tripping and crying, up the stairs to the nursery and far from his empty frame. "James," she sobbed, her voice a whisper as she took their infant son into her arms, holding him close.
"Not Harry. No, not Harry. Please. You can't, I won't let you. Not him, too. Not Harry."
But the voice laughed all the same. It was cold, and cruel, and fear wound its way into her heart, into her lungs to steal her breath away. Not Harry. But the voice wasn't listening, laughing and merciless as he closed in on his prey.
"Give me the boy."
"Not Harry; you can't take him."
"Give me the boy, and I'll let you live."
"I'd rather die."
"Avada kedavra!"
"No!"
Then silence. The world went still.
Mummy. Where was Mummy? He was on the floor. Mummy? Mummy? What's wrong with Mummy?
There was a man. A pale man. A ghost-faced demon with the eyes of a serpent and a heart of iced coal.
"Avada kedavra!"
The world went cold.
The curse ricocheted. Rebounded. The ceiling cracked with the force of the explosion, and ashes rained from the black, bloodied sky.
Where was Daddy? Where was he? Mummy was screaming. Daddy was frightened. Daddy's never frightened. Mummy never screams.
The man. Where was he? There were so many ashes, raining, pouring, burning up the sky.
The man was gone then, and Mummy, and Daddy, and the noises. It was too quiet. Harry was crying. Mummy? Daddy? His head was hurting.
"Is tha' a scar?"
There was a large man, talking to him, lifting him from the rubble and rubbing a marking on his forehead.
A scar. A lightning scar.
"What happened, Hagrid? Where's James? Where's Lily?"
"Gone, Sirius. Dead and gone."
"That's not possible. That's not bloody possible."
The dark-haired man began laughing. That's what daddy would do. Where was he? When was he coming back?
He wasn't coming back. He would never come back. And neither would Mummy.
James, Lily. The laughter and the sunshine. The summer and the autumn. The dead and the alive. James and Lily.
They're gone, all gone, like birds in the winter, 'til the snow comes and goes, and the flowers perk up their petaled heads, and the grass grows green in the springtime.
But the springtime wasn't coming, not then, not ever again.
Mummy. Daddy.
Harry cried.
The light drowned in the grave early morning, and Harry fell into a restless sleep.
Nothing could ever bring them back.