(𝟐𝟗 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫)
𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 - 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔.
His scuffed Converse echoed through the old, grimy house as he entered through the front door.
Sneezing at the amount of dust in the air, he turned around and closed the door, casting a quick cleaning spell to clear some of the dust away.
With his headphones playing music softly in his ears, he used his wand as a light to explore the home that had been gifted to him by Harry.
Grimmauld Place belonged to Teddy Lupin now. And he happily accepted it.
The narrow halls stretched before him, lined with portraits of ancestors long gone, their eyes following him as he passed.
He felt a mix of excitement and trepidation, knowing that this place held both history and secrets. As he wandered deeper into the house, memories of Harry's stories about its past inhabitants floated through his mind, adding an eerie yet intriguing atmosphere to his exploration.
As he entered the library, his eyes traced over the names of the Black family that adorned the shelves.
Among them, his grandmother's name stood out, etched in elegant script. But it was the black scorch mark on top of her name that caught his attention—a stark contrast against the pristine background.
With a scoff, he rolled his eyes and turned away from the Black family names, walking towards the shelves lined with books.
The library seemed to stretch on endlessly, its atmosphere a blend of old parchment and faint enchantments. He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, each one a portal to knowledge and mystery.
Moving pieces of his dirty blonde hair from his eyes, he left the library, feeling bored by the endless rows of books.
Yawning as he did so, he turned up the music on his phone, oblivious to the shouts of the portrait down the hall, her voice lost in the melody pumping through his headphones.
The portrait's animated gestures and frantic warnings went unnoticed as he continued down the corridor, his focus consumed by the music.
As he entered the main room, his eyes caught sight of scratches on the wooden floor. Curiosity piqued, he bent down and traced them with his fingers, a feeling of unease creeping over him.
The marks were jagged and deep, resembling those made by human nails rather than something accidental or natural.
A shiver ran down his spine as he considered the implications. Who or what could have made these marks?
Standing up, he glanced around the room, searching for any other clues that might shed light on the origin of the scratches.
The air felt charged with a strange energy as if the house itself held secrets waiting to be uncovered.
"Nope," was all he said as he left the room, his unease palpable.
Walking down the hall, he entered a study room filled with the scent of old cigars. The air was thick with the musty aroma, hinting at years of use and contemplation.
Sunlight filtered through dusty windows, casting shadows across shelves lined with leather-bound books and aged parchment.
Plopping himself down on the leather chair, he pushed himself forward towards the desk with a smile, eager to explore.
YOU ARE READING
The Tragedy of Walburga Black
Fanfiction[COMPLETED] In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds. She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman. ⭑⭑⭑ "You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and s...
