'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'Pale grey eyes so dumb Pale grey eyes so far away Take him too the river, forgive us all his pain Pale grey eyes so young Pale grey eyes so far away Take me too his sorrow, forgive us all his pain
And I've come here to confess To the wind and the rain and the glorious fame And I've come here all undressed For the numb and the dumb All say the name that you burn'
Hera adjusted her dress of witchy velvet, the sleeves a sheer lace paired with a heart pin and Pearl choker — if she had known what was to come she probably wouldn't have worn this but there wasn't much she could do now. She always had a thing about how she looked; in an entirely vain way, her day would be ruined if she felt the slightest bit off about her appearance. So at the very least, it was lucky she still looked good.
Hera walked up the worn stone steps, staring at the newly materialised door. The once silver doorknocker had now oxidised to a near black, parts of the twisted serpent being chipped in places.
Remus was the first to tap on the door, and many loud, metallic clicks sounded like the clatter of a chain before the door creaked open.
"Get in quick, Hera, " Lupin whispered shiftily, looking around the square with an edge about him, "Careful not to touch anything — a lot of it's cursed. "
Hera stepped over the threshold into the darkness of the hall that only worsened once Moody shut the door behind her.
Moody tapped Hera hard over the head with his wand, lifting the Disillusionment charm.
"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light in here, " Moody whispered, brandishing the strange lighter yet again.
The hushed voices at the end of the hall gave Hera an odd sense of foreboding; death seemed to cling to the very walls of this house.
There was a soft hissing noise, and then the old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered to life all along the walls, casting flickering light over the peeling, jade-coloured wallpaper and crooked, age-blackened portraits.
Hera looked up nervously as a glimmering chandelier swayed overhead — she was sure there was some scuttling beneath the floorboards. Upon second glance, Hera realised just how oddly decorated the place was; it seemed with every step she took, she counted more and more snake candlesticks.
