Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its associated bits and bobs. I do not wish to make any money from them, I'm simply borrowing the world to play with for a little while. I also do not wish to offend anyone or anything else bad. I'm just a well-meaning person who likes to write stories.
Summary: Death Eaters like to attack and night, and anyone can fall victim. They all share the same terror and cling to the same small hope that they will be all right.
A/N: Initially this is a one shot, however I have an intention to write two more short stories about events that happen on the same night to different people. Which will form a short trilogy. The girl and her family aren't intended to be any particular characters. They are just a generic family caught up in a war. There's also no particular time frame.
And Then There Is Darkness. Part 1.
Water drips. It is not the only sound, but in this cellar a family sit silently not daring to move and not daring to breathe. Each one of them tries to concentrate on the sound of a leaky pipe. It is not the only sound, but the other sounds don't bear listening to. There are shrieks of pain, and more sickeningly, there are shrieks of delight that accompany them. There is the sound of breaking glass, shattering into a hundred thousand tiny pieces that won't ever be repaired. And there is the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
In the cellar is a girl, about 8 or 9 years old, and she doesn't understand who the people in the house are, or why they are there. The words Voldemort and Death Eaters are familiar to her, but she doesn't understand what it means. But she does know that she must keep quiet, whatever happens she must keep quiet. She does understand that something terrible is happening. She knows that everyone is afraid, her parents are just as scared as she is. In the darkness she reaches out and takes her older brother's hand. A cold high-pitched laugh rents the air, it is a primeval sound, and the girl shivers in fear. That laugh is colder than the damp cellar ever could be. There is another crash, this one closer to the cellar door.
The girl squeezes her eyes tight shut, tears of silent terror slide slowly down her face but she doesn't wipe them away. It is so dark that it really makes no difference that her eyes are shut, but she closes them anyway. In her mind's eye she can see the cellar in the harsh light of the single bare bulb that hangs from the ceiling. In one corner a broken table and a stack of empty boxes. There is a puddle in another corner and a pipe runs up the wall and along the ceiling. It is a leaky pipe. A pipe that drips.
The girl has always lived here; she's always felt safe even when there were scary stories on the news. Even when her parents stopped her playing outside and they began to talk in hushed voices when they thought she wasn't listening. Even then she trusted them, and she knew she was safe. A little girl sheltered from the world, trusting so completely that bad things only happen to bad people.
The house above them is quiet now, and somehow this scares the little girl even more. Then there are voices, low voices quiet and too far away to be heard. But they are coming closer, and closer still. There is a pause, only for a few seconds but it feels like forever to the girl. Then slowly the cellar door creaks open, heavy footsteps down the stairs, a sudden glare as the light is switched on. The girl is frozen in fear, and for a moment she can see the leaky pipe, the boxes stacked in a corner. Then there is a lot of green light.
And then there is darkness.
The light goes off again, then two loud cracks and the house is empty. Water drips. It is the only sound.