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The musty air of Spinner's end frolicked with the inevitable brisk of serenity, an abrupt silence as if a cautious indicator of what was to come; only for it to lighten into a chilled and horrid mist upon its very last house.
The passerby found it rather unnerving and eerie, how sullen the weather would become as they walked by. But the once who had already resided in this poor stricken neighborhood long enough didn't seem to complain much about any of it, it was as if they were accustomed to this. Mrs. Hooper, the 80-year-old woman who lived on the other side of the street presumed that the house was haunted by a lingering spirit every twenty years, seeing that she had only noticed this paranormal activity way back in the '70s and now.
But only Margret Watson, who resided beside the said house knew the truth. Unblind to the mystic happenings and activities in the past decade or so, the middle-aged woman knew that the family next door wasn't quite normal. The normality of her neighboring house only seemed to have faltered more and way out of proportion when it came to a troublesome pre-teen child alongside a weird-looking creature, who seemed to only come out once in a blue moon. And her doubts morphed into a confirmation of having watched a flying broom crash upon her roses, and atop it was the troublesome teen.
Only Margret Watson, who resided beside the house and watched the girl whom she adored like her own grow, knew the truth of her departure and the ways it had affected her father. She had seen how the mysterious black-headed man who ruminated a darkened aura had brightened into a gleamed moon under the young girl's sunlight; in turn, the sunlight only retracts its rays and lets the moon wound in its darkened state.
She took it upon as her responsibility to check up on the young man as if understanding exactly what he was going through. The grey-haired woman did so by inviting him and the little elf for dinners and lunches, or even for some evening snacks only for him to decline most of it meekly but he accepted some of them for the sake of the little creature and her pleas.
The woman was currently standing afront his door, but before her knuckles could even contact against the brittle door, the wistful wind fated into opening itself to a narrowed peak, which easily caused voices from inside to be heard as clear of the water.
"You know exactly why I'm here Severus" silk and drawly tone echoing from within.
Promptly, intrigued by the new voice, Margret halted her actions as she patiently waited for the other person to reply but only for it to never come.
"It's time-," the voice declared.
"I don't know what you speak of, Lucius" the monotoned voice that she was used to snapped almost instantly.
Margret turned her right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a porcelain glass being put down upon some hard surface, and then the crackling and rumbling of the fire in the grate. The woman, having bent her shortened figure just enough to catch a glimpse of the long-haired blonde man, who looked as if he were straight out of a shampoo commercial, his lip blew leisurely at the scorching liquid in the teacup as he playfully looked at the black-haired, which she presumed was Severus in front of him. He was wearing a velveted and long black cloak, a fancy walking cane fallen discerningly across the floor.
