Let The Flames Begin

It all happened so quickly. The next thing I knew, the Burrow was in flames. I saw the fire, heard it’s roar, smelt the burning wood, felt the heat, tasted ash, but still, my mind refused to believe my senses. This is a nightmare. It must be.

The wind whipped through the rushes, sending the flames into a frenzy. Pieces of the roof began to fall to the ground. Ashes fell around me like snow.

A piece of scorched parchment flew towards me on the breeze and I caught it. It was a picture that Fred and George had drawn for me when they were quite young. It showed the entire family as stick figures standing out in the garden; Arthur, me, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. The sun was shining brightly at the top of the page, and the Burrow loomed over us, a welcoming sanctuary. The parchment was smoldering; the caricature of the Burrow was almost completely burned off. Something in the back of my mind told me this was irony.

I sat down slowly, still staring at the picture, as the fire destroyed our home. All of our memories were being consumed by hellfire. I didn’t cry. Tears would never put out a fire fueled by insanity. I could hear my family gathering around me. Arthur knelt down and put his arms around me, holding me close. I clutched the drawing to my chest. He whispered that all of us were safe, and that we would get through this. He thanked God that it was only the house and not our children. I nodded weakly. He helped me stand up (when had I started to shake?) and I turned to look at the others. Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny came together and hugged me tightly. When I was released, I looked around until I spotted Harry, standing a few yards off, as if tempted to run back into the rushes and never come out. I marched over quickly and hugged him before he could take off.

“Thank goodness you’re safe,” I murmured. He stared up at me incredulously, almost angrily, his eyes filled with guilt.  

“Oh, Harry, dear,” I said, smiling the best I could. “It was only a house.”