The air was crisp. Wind had calmed down for the night and big snowflakes were drifting down slowly, covering everything in white puffs. Snow covered the streets and muffled all sounds. It was christmas eve, well beyond midnight and all the residents of the village were already asleep or spending the night with mugs of hot tea under quilts with their loved ones, listening to soft christmas carols. The streets were lit only by colourful Christmas lights and no one was out and about except a stray dog wandering aimlessly along the alleys of the village.
The dog was quite big, but looked like it hadn't had a proper meal for some time. Its jet black fur was shaggy and matted in places, puffed up from the cold. Its ears were pressed down and back and it held its head close to the street, sniffling quietly as if looking for something. Maybe it was trying to find a dumpster full of leftovers, but somehow it's wandering looked more determined than the usual strays. The falling snow stuck to the dog's back, his tail hung low and sweeped the ground as the dog moved along the empty streets. The dog stopped in front of a lot well known in the village. On the lot stood the ruins of a small house. The dog sat down, its head still hanging low and if anyone had been there to watch they could have sworn to have seen a single tear gliding down the dog's snout. Peculiar, since dogs don’t usually cry. The dog stayed still for a long time, hunched from the cold just staring at the wreckage that once was a place for joy and happiness.
The older villagers still remembered the house that once stood on the lot. They told stories of it to their children and grandchildren. Stories about a nice little white house with green shutters always open. House with windows always lit, with a garden always blooming with magnolias and rose bushes. A house always extravagantly decorated to celebrate every season, with the biggest pumpkins on Halloween and brightest lights on christmas.
Laughter could always be heard from the house, the faint sound of glasses clinking against each other at dinner times. People used to come and go from the house, happy people with smiles on their faces as they left. Sometimes the garden at the back was lit with fairy lights amd people could be seen dancing in the starlight. A big black motorcycle was almost always parked in the driveway. It truly was a house full of happiness. The residents, a young couple, were well loved in the village. They always greeted everyone in the village merrily and always lended a helping hand to whoever needed, old ladies with their groceries or children who lost their parents in crowds. They both always had a smile on their faces as if nothing could darken their happiness. Always walking hand-in-hand as if they were scared to lose one another if they let go.
The woman was undoubtedly beautiful with flowing red hair and mesmerising green eyes. She was also a truly talented witch, helping the villagers with spellwork and brewing potions to anyone in need, no matter how difficult or time consuming they were. The man, with messiest black hair and golden skin, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, reminded the villagers of the sun itself. Always grinning, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he could make anyone laugh and feel warm with just a few words and the hugest heart anyone could imagine. When they had a baby, everyone in the village was happy for them. And the boy, he was probably the happiest baby in the world. He was always smiling brightly from his stroller, never fussing or crying but observing curiously his surroundings and the people walking around him. He was a beautiful baby with wisps of black messy hair just like his fathers and huge green eyes, crinkling just like his mothers.
Sometimes the baby could be seen promenading around the village in his stroller, being pushed by a handsome couple. A man with long black hair tied up into a messy bun with sharp cheekbones and sparkling grey eyes. He had a huge grin on his face as he proudly pushed his godson around. A tall man with brown curls that turned golden in the afternoon sun walked next to him. He had a white scar running down all through his face, starting from above his right eye and reaching down to the left side of his jaw. But with eyes the colour of the richest honey and a little crooked, shy smile he also was very nice to look at. Sometimes a third man joined them, a little stressed looking boy with blond hair, but fussing over the baby just as affectionately as the rest of them.
The two couples and the baby were so loved by the villagers that when the house seemed empty all of a sudden and the people vanished, the whole village seemed to mourn. It felt like all the sounds were muffled, colours dulled and smiles forced. The villagers thought that maybe they just had left for a vacation of sorts, but when Halloween started to get nearer and nearer and the house still stood alone without any decorations, the villagers thought the couple had left for good.
Then on Halloween 1981 a strange man walked through the village. He seemed to have emerged from nowhere and nobody could spare him more than a glance. Something was very wrong about him, even peeking at him lifted the hairs up on the villagers and made them avert their eyes, rather staring at the ground than at the man. Villagers felt compelled to squirrel inside and close their blinders as the man walked by. Old women said later that he was The Death himself, coming to collect his debts. What debts would the young lovable couple have for The Death, they did not know.
The man stopped at the gate of the happy house. Slowly he reached for the gate and pushed it open. Then he glided to the door and knocked. The few villagers daring to look were happy that the couple were not there as in no universe this strange man would have been a welcome visitor. But to their horror the door opened and the man walked in.
Two blinding green flashes lighted up the windows of the house. First on the foyer and minutes later on the second floor. Only a moment later half of the house blew up after third green flash. It collapsed into a malformed pile of rubble with a thunderig crash, only west half of the house standing uprigh, defying gravity. A baby could be heard crying desolately in the intact part of the house, but none of the villagers were brave enough to go inside and help.
Suddenly a giant man emerged. He walked bravely straight into the house and moments later walked out holding a bundle in his arms. He was holding the bundle so gently it seemed unbelievable to a man his size. A loud rumble of a motorcycle filled the village and the handsome man rode through the village, fast and reckless as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He too ran into the house and some time later walked out looking terrified and forlorn. He argued with the giant holding the baby, but relented and gave away his motorcycle and left on foot.
Later another strange man wearing maroon robes came and went into what was left of the house. Accompanied by a stern looking woman, the two of them levitated two bodies out of the house. And the villagers watching realised something terrible had happened. The happy couple was gone and the terrifying man was never seen in the village again.
A week later was the funeral. The small church was full, almost all the villagers wanted to pay their respects to the happy couple and a lot of people with somewhat weird taste in fashion were there too. Most surprisingly, the man with the golden curls was the only familiar face to the villagers, sitting alone at the last pew not uttering a word to anyone, tears gliding down his face constantly. The handsome dark man wasn't there and the stressed blonde one neither. The villagers mourned as they realised that the baby was not there either.
It was a sombre and short sermon, a white casket was lowered to the ground next to a mahogany one. The weather was gloomy, the snow hadn’t yet arrived that year and the sky was overcast, a small drizzle making the air feel even colder. A grey slate gravestone with the names James and Lily Potter stood at the grave, engraved with the words “Last enemy that shall be defeated is Death”. Piles of flowers, roses and lilies, were lowered on the grave as the rain sped up, ricocheting from the flowers, soaking everything in its reach.
Later on the villagers learned that the house had seen a terrible chain of events that eventually led to the fall of the Dark Lord and the baby they all loved so much, had somehow defeated the most feared man of the century. Everyone agreed that the rubble should be left intact, the terrors frozen in place with complicated stasis spells that kept the house standing, defying gravity, but let nature take its course. Once more the house was full of life as moss and wildflowers took over the lot and vines grew up the fallen walls. Birds and other critters found shelter in the rubble and occasionally a family of deer was seen eating grass in the garden by moonlight. The west side of the house had stayed upward, windows intact, and the last rays of sunlight glinted in gold from the lonely panes, forever reminding how fleeting life could be.
The dog started moving again after a while. It wound its way all through the village to the stone wall surrounding the graveyard adjacent to the little church. Its steps grew smaller and slower as it entered the graveyard through the gate as if the pull of gravity had grown stronger inside the cemetery walls. It dragged its feet through the paths looking at the stones as if it could read, as if it was looking for a specific tombstone among the others. A soft whine could have been heard, if someone had been listening, as the dog slumped down at the sight of an engraved stone.
Minutes passed, maybe hours as the dog laid in the cold ground beside the tomb. Its fur was covered in snow and it kept whining and shivering, but didn’t move otherwise. The graveyard was silent as even the wind couldn’t dare to disturb the grieving dog. The only sign that the universe hadn’t completely stopped was the softly falling snow piling on the stones, drowning the sight of the dog's footsteps on the paths and all the sound from the world outside the graveyard.
A faint crunch of footsteps on snow fractured the silence as a man approached slowly the same tomb on the graveyard. He was wearing a beat-down winter jacket and a knitted hat, but his hair peeked under the rim and curled at the nape of his neck. He hesitated a moment as he saw the dog lying on the ground but slowly reached out and wiped the snow from the gravestone, tenderly, not unlike a lover wiping tears from the face of his loved one. On his other hand the man carried two flowers: a deep red rose and a white lily and he cast down the flowers on top of the tombstone. Then he lowered himself slowly and a bit awkwardly, as if his joint were in pain, to the ground next to the dog. Absently he started to stroke the dog's fur, wiping the snow away, in a way that seemed very familiar as if the hand was moving on its own. The man and the dog sat side by side, fingers curling in matted fur, tangling in knots. Tears were falling from the man's eyes, but both of them stayed silent for a long time.
“I thought I’d find you here,” the man said eventually to the dog.
Turning his head slightly, he could see from the corner of his eye that instead of the dog, another man was sitting on the ground beside him. He let his hand fall to his side.The other man's face was hollow, black hair matted and knotted, eyes bloodshot and it was obvious that the man had been crying. He had a haunting look in his eyes as he stared wretchedly at the stone. The curly haired man reached his hand out and gripped the filthy rags covering the other man and tugged lightly, as if he didn't want to scare the other man away.
“Come on Pads, let’s go home,” the man whispered quietly, almost as a prayer, as if he couldn’t quite believe the other man really was there at all, even less sure he would follow the quiet plea. Quite surprisingly, or maybe not even at all, the ragged man rose to his feet just a moment after the taller man. They turned away from the grave and towards the path, but the ragged man turned back around abruptly and stood facing the grave once more. Kneeling down he traced his fingers along the engraving on the stone and said with a sombre, broken tone before walking away for the last time:
“Merry Christmas, brother.”