Date: July 28, 1979
Location: Diagon Alley
Status: Open to Anyone
Against the midnight blue sky the row house looked just like any other in the district. In the daylight its state was more apparent. The old house seemed to have collapsed inwardly on itself somewhat, like a loaf of break taken out of the oven too soon. The roof caved and the cedar shingles stuck up in places like wonky teeth. The lean-to shed in the back hung downwards as if the fight had left it and it could no longer bring itself to stand up against the elements. In the high winds of the season the home could be heard to creak as if in its death throes.
He stepped through the front door. The old wooden floor was as many hued as the woodland it one felled from. Its fate to be cut and varnished rather than to rot on the floor with the centuries of fallen autumnal leaves. The surface was pitted, each mark the start of a story that would never be told. It had been the silent witness to so much life, the good and the bad. Seeing the imperfections was like a direct link to the past he remembered oh so well. In those grooves was the dirt long ago dragged in by his father’s boots and pushed downward by his mother’s silent sweeping. The house was as quiet as a mausoleum. From the shadows of the kitchen stepped a figure, shoulders hunched beneath crotched shawl.
“Mama.” Severus went to her, taking her into his arms. Time had performed irreversible deeds upon the once proud and beautiful woman she once was. Her once raven black hair had gone a smoky gray and her once smooth features were time ravaged. Her smile was amiable, but her once bright eyes were weak and tired with the heartbreak of losing the only man she had ever loved.
The crowded streets of Diagon Alley were much different that the tenement block in Spinner’s End. The wizarding market was always drowning in people. Not a single empty place could be spotted between the shops. He didn’t know how to feel about his father’s passing. He certainly wasn’t grieving like his mother, but he wasn’t exactly celebrating. It was difficult to describe his feelings for his father. While the man had never laid a hand to either of them, he had not been the kindest person to live with. He would take the whole thing in stride and help his mother where he could.