~* If Walls Could Talk *~

A/N: Hey y'all! I wrote this at about 1:30 this mornin'! Tell me what ya think! Kinda confusin' until ya realize what exactly it is.

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Wood. Oak, to be exact. That is what I am made of. I began, as all things made of wood do begin, in a forest. Unlike others of my kind, I only came from one forest, a small one on the edge of Ottery St. Catchpole. A young man, redheaded and freckle-faced, cut and built me with his own two hands. He built the front door first, knowing how it would be the first thing others would come in contact with and knowing that it needed extra care. He was not a skilled crafts-men, but could afford nothing better than himself. As he finished, he stood back and admired his work; his would not be the last proud face to look upon me.

I shall never forget the look on the young man's face as he carried his new bride over my threshold. They stuck a sign at the end of my drive, THE BURROW, it said.

Originally, I had but one story. I proved sufficient for the young man and his wife. I was still worthy when the young woman, also redheaded, had a son called William. But a few years later, when another son, Charles, was born the young man was forced to build another story.

For three years, I had two stories, then after another son, Percy, I had three stories. Along with a pair of twins, Fredrick and George, a new story came with it, another two years gave me Ronald and a fifth; and after only one short year, along with Virginia, I had six stories plus an attic. Each time the young man would build onto me, I became more and more top heavy and could not hold myself up with out magic to stay upright.

For over ten years, babies screamed inside me. I witnessed seven first smiles. Within my walls, those same smiling children took their first steps and performed their first bits of magic. Laughter echoes in my narrow hallways. I watched countless fights, pranks, family meals, and heartbreaks. I was there as the young couple's hair began to gray and thin. I saw the young man's last moments of life, before he died in his comfortable room. I held thousands of memories, both cherished and forgotten.

My floors transported them from one room to another. My stairs held them as they ran up and down. My walls gave them solitude. My roof gave them protection. As much strain was put on me, I would not fall apart. I could not let those children come to any harm.

I saved them from rain, wind, thunder, and lightening. But I could not save them from everything.

I could not stop the cloaked men from coming inside my walls. But I could stop them from taking my children.

My floors collapsed under their feet. My stairs fell as they attempted to climb up. My walls tumbled on them as they walked past. I destroyed myself in protecting my children. They had all awoken and escaped.

But the cloaked men, in a last burst of cruelty, set upon me my only weakness.

As the flames licked me clean, my children watched, in tears. From the oldest boy to the youngest and only girl, they watched me die. The fire burned me to the ground.

The last part of me to burn was the front door, the first thing built. It had welcomed in each new child, friends, and family. But as my door crumbled into ash, I thought with some satisfaction as I gazed at the dazzling green mark above me, that my children were safe.

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A/N: Tell me what ya think!

Love, Courtney

P.S. I'm thinkin' about doin' stories for privet drive, the granger house, hogwarts, and malfoy manor. So tell me if I should!