By Goblet of Fire
The crowd was slowly forming around the still fuming remains of number 16, Lion Street, Godrics Hollow early that morning. Curious peasants stopped about, trying to take a peek, asking, "What ?" people whispered among each other, hypothesizing, what in Hell could have happened here ?
It was the day after Halloween, and old housewives came out their front doors, attempting to clean up the mess the children had made last night, sweeping the remaining bits of pumpkin out of the way, only to be faced with this sight of pure desolation. They would stand there, one hand on their hips, broom in the other, shaking their heads in disbelief. A wonder how far those young delinquents would go these days. Blowing an entire house up. Incredible. Had to tell Maria about that.
It would have been, indeed, an alarming sight if it was a simple act of delinquency. You could hardly have told there has been a house here last night if you had not seen it, everyday passing in front of it, not minding it more than the others, taking its presence here for granted. It was just another home for two young lovebirds, anyway.
Nobody knew their names. Nobody knew where they came from. Nobody knew why they had an owl for a pet. Nobody knew why they moved in here.
Nobody knew. Nobody knew that in this very house, with this very couple, on that very night, History had taken place.
And now that it has happened, nobody knew why nobody knew it anymore.
The chatter grew louder, as a police car drove nearer, its siren acknowledging its presence long before it could have been seen. Everyone drew back, letting it split the ever-growing crowd in half. Several officers jumped out, holding their cards high, and pushing the mass back. Others, masked and dressed in white uniforms, began noting things, writing the scenery down, leaning over the victims, covering the bodies with clothes.
Such young people, what a pity.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bunch of men dressed in black robes and dark blue cloaks appeared, holding sticks in their hands. They raised them, and began shouting words in an unknown language. The gathering panicked. The abrupt attack drew people into each other, running away in the most alarmed disorder, and the few policemen hopelessly yelled to the multitude to regain self-control, vainly.
Obliviate !
There was a blazing white light, and everyone forgot. They all forgot why they were here, why they were running, they forgot there had been a house here in this empty place, they forgot about the young woman with red hair, the man with glasses, they never knew the names of. They forgot. They looked at each other blankly, surprised, and everybody resumed their own business. Some headed home, some hurried to work, and some made their way up to the bakery, shopping for breakfast. The robed men disappeared as fast as they had appeared, forgotten by all.
The throng dispersed, and soon there was silence where such a short time ago there had been curious whispers.
As everyone left, nobody noticed a tall man, young, maybe in his twenties, standing aside from the crowd, in the shadow. He had his hands in his trouser pockets, his head bent to look at the ground. He had been standing there before dawn, before anybody has arrived, the first one to witness the view's horror, the only one, perhaps, to understand fully what it meant. Now, everyone has left, and he was still there, standing, slightly hunched, as if the weight of grief was too heavy for his shoulders to support. He didn't know how long since, didn't know how long till. Time didn't matter anymore. The world had just collapsed around him.
The whole time, he had kept his eyes lowered, in deep thoughts. Only once had he looked around at his surroundings, only to confirm what he thought it would be like. The last remains, of a lot happiness, the vestiges, of a destroyed friendship. For a split of second, the pale blue of his eyes had turned almost silvery, blazing the cold flame of hatred, the vivid fire of anger, before returning to their original dull emptiness. One could not tell, which side of him was most frightening to come across.
The street was empty, and the cold morning breeze made him shudder.
He shoved his hands in his pockets harder, searching for a warmth he did
not find. His longish black hair fell into his eyes, and he did not bother
to push it away. It was not worth the trouble. He sighed, and turned his
back to the only still standing wall of what once had been the best refuge
to him, the only place in which he could have found friends. He shrugged,
his eyes not looking back, and slowly walked away. Away from his past,
away from his friends, away from happiness, into the dark loneliness of
a most uncertain future.
Author's note : ::displays a wide smile:: Hey ! I think I'm getting better ! Wrote this in 45 mn. I know it's still kind of a long time for such a short thing, but it's not what matters, is it ? ::hopes for an affirmative answer:: OK. Err, 841 words. I hate this, I never seem able to write long fics. My longest one is only 21kb. ::sulks:: I know it's a bit overused as a subject, but then, if you don't like it, then don't review. If you do, then do.
For those who did not know, "Nox eternae" means "night of eternity"
or something like that. Latin is not exactly my strong point.