Chapter 2 : for him too
He stood in the manor alone, as he often did. The ancient magic clock's tick-tock silently echoed in the wide and almost empty room. At last, it rang, playing the first notes of an old piano piece that the blond wizard now knew by heart. Two a.m. He was not sleeping. How could he have been, when it was THAT day. That terrible day he did nothing. That hated day he only stared at what was happening before his eyes. That damn day he could have done things right for the first time, by lying, or pleading, or even fighting the dark fury, and yet just stood there shaking in fear, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, a silent voice crying in his head : « please, someone do something ! ». Even now, three years later, he could still hear the screams, the dreadful laughters and the sound of the curse breaking the bared skin. It was a neverending nightmare driving him crazy as he collapsed on the wooden floor, his head in his hands and sobs shaking his whole body.
The song kept playing. Had anyone else stood there awake at this hour to listen to this piece ? He doubted so. Eventually, after another two different pieces, he weakly got back on his feet, his eyes avoiding the sinister floor as if fearing to meet the broken body that once laid here, and he left the room. The manor was empty of all life appart from his. After he had returned from his year in Azkaban, his father spend another one compeled to stay at home, only allowed to go out with his wife and son once a week and under strict surveillance. These two years strained even more their already exhausted minds, and once the surveillance was over, plans about moving abroad were discussed, so that they could start over again, away from the memories of what they had done here, the killer looks many would give them and - the worst for them all - the support words they received from time to time from people who either juged their punishment to be excessive, or even suggested that they had been right to support the supremacy of the wizarding comunity. Yes, these last were the worst, cause even if he doubted his parents now totaly believed muggles to be as important as wizards, none of them was wishing anymore for a war to rule over them. They'd had enough of tortures and killings, and they were aching for a peaceful life. They invited their son to join them of course, but he refused, and after days of unsuccesfull reiterated offers, they gave up, convinced that he was staying for his job, and obtained permission to move to a close by country where they could still be tracked if necessary, but not known as they were in England. And so, six months from this night had he bid goodbye to them. Since then, he had lived alone in the old manor, going out almost only to work or go shopping, never inviting anoyone.
As he laid down in bed and felt the darkness swallowing him, he sighed.