Disclaimer: The HP universe isn't mine, but the characters I create are.
Author's notes: A random late night muse decided to pay me a visit, appropriately dark for the subject, I believe. This is set after book 4, and Voldermort's return.
**
Do you know what it's like to stare into the cold, lifeless eyes of you father, and look up to where the ceiling ought to be, and see a Dark Mark, looming, leering, laughing at the destruction it shrouds over?
Maybe you do, but before that night, I didn't even know there was a world where this existed.
Wizards, DARK Wizards- the stuff of fairy tales, right?
That was before.
Before August 24, 1994.
2am, what I could only describe as a giant tornado, G-d like in its wrath, but completely UN godlike in is lack of mercy.
And green light.
Blinding green light.
Avada Kedavra- the words themselves seemed almost laughable, something from a magic trick at a child's birthday party.
But I was a child, and this was no trick- except perhaps, one of fate.
Every window, every door, bending outwards, in its own accord.
A man stood, in my minds eye, calm, in the center of it all, and calmly, with a twist of his hand-
BANG
The bedroom doors flung open, and I went running across the hall into m parent's room, where I was meet with immediate hugs and comforting words, to calm what must have been a terrified expression off my face.
My father decided he had to head out, to see what in heavens name this could possibly be.
I remember my mother telling him to stay safe, in the bedroom, and to come in the closet; surely this would all pass within the next few minuets.
But of course, being the man of the house, he marched right out to the source of the trouble.
What happened next, I only remember in a flash of sounds and images.
The sound, I can only describe as the defining noise of every nail being pulled out the wood of the entranceway roof, and every window in the house shattering at once. The wind became all encompassing, like a giant freight train on either side of the house threatening to carry us away.
And a blinding flash of green light.
My mother clung on to me, with a crushing grasp, as we cowered in the farthest corner of the room, but I had to get free... had to
"MY DADDY'S HURT!" I barely remembered screaming.
They would be the only words I spoke that night.
Breaking free of my mother's desperate grasp, I ran down the hallway, and to the entranceway corridor.
I held on to the doorframe, for fear that the furious winds would blow me away.
Hooded figures stood in a semicircle, and my father lay lifeless at their feet.
My heart stopped, and I couldn't breath...
I looked up to see one of the hooded figures pointing something at me, as I braced myself to be next-
But at once, the wind halted, and there were robed figures all around.
Fighting the hooded figures, creating general chaos, people falling on both sides...
It must have been too much for me, as the world suddenly went black.
***
It had been a hard battle, and a ruthless attack - as all Death Eater attacks were.
Poor Muggles, they never stood a chance.
Justice had been served- all of the Death Eaters had fought to the death when the Aurors attempted to arrest them.
No real loss there, but dead wizards didn't talk, so no hope of gaining inside information there.
The body of a man had been found in the midst of the destruction- dead of course.
A little girl, no older than eight, had been found unconscious, near the entryway corridor, still in her pajamas.
Rushing over, one of the aurors picked up the girl, and brought her over to the other two Aurors that had remained at the sight.
"What do we do about her?" the young man asked, concern etched on his face.
"She doesn't look hurt, memory charm then?" a young woman responded, with slight regret.
"Seems like the best thing to do... poor thing. Oh, and make sure to see to the mother as well. And keep a watch over the neighborhood. They'll have enough to worry about as it is." An older woman replied.
The young wizard carried the girl back to her bedroom, and placed her ever so carefully under the covers.
With a careful ennervate, she was awake, and staring at the wizard in front of her in shock.
He reached out, and gently stoked her face.
She trembled underneath his touch, and looked as though she were about to cry.
"I'm sorry love, for this, for everything, it's best that you not know... trust me."
Obliviate.
"There was a tornado. A horrible tornado. You and your mother managed to sleep through it, but your father went to investigate, and he did not survive. Deal with this as best you can- we are watching over you."
For a moment, she stared blankly at him, before drifting off into a troubled sleep.
***
My father died ten years ago.
I still have the same dream every once in a while, that I had on the night he died.
The psychologists tell me that that's just my way of coping with his death, but they never seem to hear the fact that I first had that dream while he died.
But then again, they're probably right.
Witches, wizards, killing curses- it can't be real.
Can it?