A Song of Life
It happened every year at the same time. At eight o'clock the mantelpiece clock downstairs would chime and the world – their world – would change. Up old, polished oak stairs, down an old, creaky hallway, behind an unnoticeable, locked door.
First, the cracks around the locked door would overflow with light as though a sun had briefly appeared in the room. Then, a beautiful, chirping song would resound – unlike any sound any mere instrument could make. And for the hour that the singer sung, the house lived.
All around the house dusty portraits of famous personages would tut at the state of their frames; wearily rising from chairs and beds and floors and greeting their contemporaries in much the way of a school reunion – though with large smiles as they listened to the song.
In one room of the house a number of small, spindly instruments in a dazzling array of colours came to life all at once in a cacophony of sound and motion as devices began to spin and trundle, some flying all around the room and others cheerfully puffing spouts of smoke. Once they had gotten going, though, the devices stuttered several times as the timing of spins and puffs changed until they were, to a distant listener, somewhat harmonious with the song.
In the dining room, tableware spun around the table with dancing candlesticks and singing teapots and duelling cutlery creating a joyous uproar.
In the kitchen pots and pans clattered and clanged as they shook on their hooks and yearned to create.
In the hallways candles lining the walls lit in fierce bonfires, flickering and dancing to the song.
And finally, in the wardrobe of the late Albus Dumbledore, designs came to life and the sun rose over silver-lined clouds on robes of the brightest, most Dumbledorian blue.
A/N: Just an exploratory idea of a magical house coming to life. In this case long after Dumbledore's death. Written quickly so I might come back to this at some point and give it another try.