Title: Hauntings
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character / Couple:
Sirius Black Prompt: 023. Lovers
Rating: NC17
Summary: Shrieking Shack is said to be haunted by ghosts. Remus Lupin knows it is not so, but in the old house looming presences that are part of him.
Notes : shot pretty old, and now it seems a little 'past .... But there are very fond of (my first stage thrust, which gently) and I think pucciosa enough to adapt to this prompt. Unfortunately I am forced to split it in two different places, because lj is excessively wordy and I do not want to fit into one.
HAUNTINGS
Man is the kind tired and shabby, a that seems to have seen too many things, or at least much more how many would like. And certainly not all pleasant.
The coat that covers the shoulders a bit 'curves is very worn, should not take very hot, especially given the fact that it is January, snowing an icy wind and pulls and penetrating than those that make you just want to be holed up in an inn with a fireplace, to join hands around a nice cup boiling water.
Man, too, is an inn. It has an almost empty mug in front, resting on the table next to the newspaper open dough with little interest. The face is pale and tired. Beyond a few early wrinkles, you can guess a face that can not be called handsome - it was not him, that handsome of the band - but that seems designed with a sort of serene elegance, with soft features for now overshadowed by the Incarnation and wasted, as well as some scars of dubious origin.
The man's expression is exhausted. That kind of expression, in other words, rejecting the observer, instilling him with a sort of depressing, bitterly puzzled as to make him shift attention elsewhere, not saddened as well. And the amber eyes that wander the pages of the Journal are absent, empty and lifeless. Evidently his thoughts are a thousand miles away from there, from the little inn crowded but the rustling chatter of diners, from the village scared that closes on itself to protect themselves from new arrivals came to take refuge in the magical community , for Hogsmeade.
looks up suddenly, catching a fragment of speech, and when he does it resumption as if life, his eyes light up and it looks sharp sniff the air.
"... Innocent! Crazy stuff, eh? And she killed him! "
The man goes on the individual glacial two pupils who has just spoken, chatty tone of gossip-one of the most popular of the last few months-just colored of concern. You know him, out of sight, but at this time did not mind.
"It was also her cousin ..." mutters an old whore, mentally he stresses, his voice deeply concerned.
"But then," adds a third, another official of the Ministry of gray and tasteless as many, of which man does not remember the name. "We are confident that was just innocent? Maybe it's just a red herring. Do you remember the tone-up, as some others try to interrupt what he had said-the Auror when they arrested? He laughed, he, among the corpses of the explosion! "
A buzz so inquisitive and goes through the knot of talkers crowding around the central table. The man pulls out a long sigh of exhaustion, looking at the crossroads of people with profound bitterness, and in his eyes almost with hatred.
not want to hear that conversation. Give some galleons on the table, nods to the old bartender and, settling the best coat, goes quietly exit and leaves, leaving the door creaking swing behind him.
Outside is the ice age. But man does not even seem to notice, taken as some kind of thoughts that make him frown and squint with impotence, the look that bit further. Walk slowly along the nearly deserted street, covered by an icy wind and lashing sleet. Every now and then, mechanically, his hand goes to better accommodate the cloak worn around the neck, shake or graying hair now soaked.
After a few minutes of driving in winter white man slows to a stop, a little at a time. His eyes, since has turned into the road leading out of the country, has remained vacant, aimed strictly down to his feet enclosed in shoes and crumpled to the road muddy and wet.
sighs imperceptibly but sadly, it seems difficult to perceive that the costs to ensure that the air slides down his windpipe to the lungs, the effort of breath deeply. As if for years he had a habit of breathing air but to gather in a hurry and in small doses, but when can not do it anymore.
Then the man lifts his eyes upward surrendered.
Down the street on the right, there is an isolated house. An old house in ruins, those clearly uninhabited for decades, with the shutters dangling and bare, the walls leaking plaster blocks, weeds us assembled around the entrances as railings. Bleak and gray.
The man smiles, like in front of a beautiful sunset, or a picture of artist
"The caaasaa of fantaaaaasmiii! "bellows the dark boy with a playful grin, his hands raised in the upper mo 'claws.
His interlocutor, blond, golden eyes, burst into laughter before launching into an exclamation of terror and fright recoil.
They both laugh.
's beautiful, the dark boy, when he laughs. It almost always is, in reality, but laughs heartily when something happens to his face out of town, as if life is animated by a second, it takes light and color, almost glows. His lips curved to discover dazzling teeth and eyes, as if they were enchanted, not simply gray-and yet so intense, but are magnetic and become a real liquid silver, shine a light changing.
Did you see it that way, but he did.
"It 's scary, is not it?" demand alarmed , recovering from the alleged fear.
"Do not you know the worst!" Confirms the other, still smiling bright. "Some people made assumptions about people of worse Shack," continues left.
He shows worried.
"Meaning?" Question, holding a smile.
"They say," whispered the dark and gloomy circumspect, bringing her face to his ear, "that the creatures most despicable, disgusting and terrible magic of the world have chosen this hovel as a den. Be filthy and devoid of any humanity, messy hybrid that have no respect in life, only able to follow the call of the blood ... "continues with low tone and vibrant with contempt.
"I Lestrange?" He asks innocently.
The boy's face is crossed by a short brown discharge and her lips are stretched in retaining a laugh.
"No, worse," he continues, not being able to maintain composure and the pathos of his tone of voice. "Being without a soul, undeserving of living creatures ... werewolves," Finally, in a mournful whisper that the most expresses disgust.
not have time to finish speaking when the fist of the other deadly strikes on his head, ripping out a groan and a laugh as he jumped away with a soft side and a pirouette.
" Were in you I would stay away from here, Moony ... By the way, where does this nickname? It has to do with the Moon? "Continues with innocence, thoughtful before to burst into another peal of laughter.
Moony laughs in turn, shaking his head.
"However I have never heard of this hypothesis ... I have only ever talked about ghosts," said with affected surprise.
"I know," replied the other system scarf rossodorata. " I'm spreading the voice, to make it more risky, " announced casually.
Moony resigned chuckles as he grins.
"You're an asshole , Pad, " says push.
"One funny shit ..." points out brown, shaking his head and waving the black hair before my eyes.
"If you say so ..." replica Moony, frowning built with skepticism.
"Please Moony , we all know that without me and two languish in boredom ..." insists the boy called Pad a tone more low, deep and an insinuating glance, before you slide your arms around his chest.
Moony pretends to stiffen severe.
"Do not be a pimp, now, stupid pulcioso. Puss away, "exclaims angrily.
"It daaai ... Come on, come on, come on, give me the scratch card " whining continues Pad , rubbing her head against his temple. Then begins to laugh. Ride lot, for any little thing.
"But quant ' Botolo bastard ... this is boring," huffs Moony exasperated, and the smile that spreads amber colored eyes to his lips. Lips, immediately are captured by a fleeting kiss before Pad move away quickly a few steps toward the village.
"Where are you going?" Asks Moony puzzled.
"It's five o'clock," said the brown patiently, putting forward again and with a nod inviting them to follow him.
Moony looks empty, without moving.
The other sighs.
" Prongs would expect the three handles, "he says slowly, as if speaking with a delay.
The blond snorting, shaking his head, then raises his hands in surrender.
"certainly do not claim to come before your wife," he jokes.
Pad bursts out laughing again.
"Come on, idiot," replies simply. As he approached, the tip on those two gray fog, with a toothy grin.
"Go forth, up, up!" Jokes Moony with diligence.
"Yes, talk, talk ..." humor him Pad first to approach him. "After you see what happens with impunity to those who use the word come ..." and blows in his ear, his voice low and slightly husky.
Moony gasps for a moment.
The man is staring, absent; lips bent down, his jaw stiffened.
staring at the old house with intensity, as if he expected to see rising out of something or someone.
take some time to recover, and when Greenhouse is the eyes with a long sigh.
Then he walks, beginning to circle around the house. Find the passage to enter as if he had opened himself, hesitates only for a few seconds, clutching meager in the mantle, before bending to pass.
When comes out the other side is covered with dust and cobwebs of stuck on me, just blows away the dust from his eyes before looking around.
Inside the house, the deterioration has tripled from the outside: the furniture are broken, upside down, doors off their hinges, broken clay and dirt everywhere, dense and penetrating. Layers of dust on every surface, droppings of small animals, everything suggests that no one enters more them in a long time. There is no trace of human passage, if not the clear impression that he leaves behind the thick dirt covering the floor. As if that place in the world no longer exists, out of time.
A soft grating sound and draw his attention, his eyes darting to the side and thin, feral, while the lip is curled in an imperceptible way.
"Rats ..." whispered a man in vacuum.
His deep voice echoes slightly by extending the air the subtle anger that there was instilled.
The man moves slowly, he started his ascent to the upper deck along the scale map which takes you. Instinctively leans to the handrail, but he immediately retracts, watching the palm with a face blackened by the filth.
At the top, pauses on the edge of a door removed from the fixtures, and observes, taking his other hand to the face, the room which gives access.
In that room bare and depressing, some years ago, an innocent and a murderess have made clear their roles, too often confused. Almost as if he warned still present, the man looks fixedly at the spot where they were, approaches to study the wall and the floor, as if looking for the imprint of a body that now no longer exists.
Then shift our gaze to the corner where a bed in wrought iron, moldy mattress and gutted, makes a fine show. She smiles, her lips tightening.
CONTINUE
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