Work Text:
It’s an old house. Nothing much to look at just a handful of rooms and a small garden, but it’s got walls and a roof and it has memories. Long ago, when the house was not quite so old, a boy lived here, no, two boys. And a girl. There may also have once been a woman but the house’s memory fades and it cannot be sure.
It does remember that one day, once the woman had gone, another boy came. He looked different then the ones living there. He spoke with a different inflection and displayed a head of shockingly blonde hair. He was beautiful. Or at least that was the thought of the eldest of the house’s inhabitants. This boy seemed to worship the newcomer and they spent many hours sequestered within the house saying things which held meaning only for them. All was well in their eyes, but the house saw things that its owner missed. There were moments of unease; brief flashes in the visitor’s expression while his friend’s head was bent over parchment. The younger boy saw it too and tried to give a warning, but the older brushed him off. Too late was heed given and the house bore witness to a tragic result.
The remembrance of that night pierced it to its foundations. A confrontation, a debate and then an argument, raised voices, raised wands, flashing lights and a body hitting the floor. Silence. The quiet girl so seldom acknowledged bore the consequence of a fight that wasn’t hers. The house never saw the foreign boy again and the other two were gone soon after.
Many years pass. Other families come to stay. They all leave eventually, but the house is too tired to pay them mind. It is growing old and begins to drift.
A couple moves in with their baby. They are happy. They are loving. But something in the looks that pass between them makes the house attentive for the first time in decades. It recognizes worry and fear and is reminded of another family, a broken family.
Because of this, the house is awake one night to hear a knock at its door. The woman dashes up the stairs while the man, such a young man, braces himself to meet his guest. For the second time in its life the house sees a body fall before a flash of light and in a few minutes a third and fourth.
The only living being in the house is the child. Strangers come and take him away. The house sits alone. It is damaged. This latest tragedy has rent the walls and roof. The foundation is unhurt.
More time passes. The house begins to notice that, despite being bereft of occupants, many people are still around. They come and go and are rarely the same ones twice. Every day the cycle repeats, but life gets quieter and quieter. One day two people arrive. A boy and a girl stand by the gate where these visitors often linger. Something in the flickering consciousness of the house feels something familiar about the boy, but his visit is brief and the house stands empty again.