❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
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LXXVIII. MAGIC IS MIGHT
━━━━━━
"And I couldn't stand the person inside me
I turned all the mirrors around"
AUGUST WORE ON PRETTY FAST when you're practically stuck all the time. It was with certainty that the inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The Muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.
But lately, a steady stream of visitors found the peculiar anomaly between numbers eleven and thirteen in Grimmauld Place intriguing. Every day, they arrived, leaning against the railings, fixated on the join between the two houses. These curious souls, dressed in unconventional attire that drew curious glances from passersby used to London's eccentricities, seemed to derive little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally, one would start forward excitedly, as if spotting something of interest, only to retreat moments later with a disappointed look.
On September first, more people than ever lurked in the square. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silently, watching houses eleven and thirteen intently, yet whatever they awaited remained elusive. As evening approached with an unexpected chill of rain after weeks of dryness, there came a brief moment of excitement among them. The man with the twisted face pointed eagerly, his podgy companion moved forward, but soon they resumed their vigil in frustration and disappointment.
"It's almost pitiful to watch..." said Marjorie as she sauntered back into the kitchen after having look out of the window upstairs, which she had found to be a routine now.
"If Miss wills, Kreacher will deal with them?"
Marjorie glanced around at Kreacher, who was preparing dinner. Their relationship was peculiar, to say the least. She had spent countless hours with him in the kitchen, preparing meals together.
Kreacher was uneasy about accepting help from someone he felt should be served by him. He had pleaded with her many times to leave the work to him, but she would only smile in response, sometimes changing the subject or gently reminding him that it was an order for him to assist her with cooking. It was her way of reassuring the house-elf that he wasn't being lazy, but rather fulfilling his duty to 'serve.'
"That'll be unnecessary, Kreacher." Marjorie said as Kreacher handed her a bowl of minced beef. "It'll only further their theory that we're here, and we can't have that now, can we?"
