Toujours Pur (Wolfstar)

chapter fifty one

once again left for ages, so have tried to write a bit of a longer chapter to make up for it. happy new year? and enjoy?

Despite being late July, it was raining. The water fell fast and heavy, forcing the dips in the roads to overflow as the raindrops danced across them. Even as they walked through the streets, everything was dark and miserable, the ashy clouds pressing downwards, suffocatingly so. Sirius's feet were soggy, squelching every time he took a step and painfully rubbing his foot against the wet backs of his shoes. With a huff, he pulled at his coat, forcing it further around himself. The frustrating part was that it wasn't even that cold, in fact it was actually rather hot (to the point he was even sweating). But after already being dealt with sodden shoes, he wasn't necessarily in the mood to walk around in damp clothes too. As they trudged along the pavements, he eyed Narcissa with a frown. Of course she was perfectly dry, having happily thrown a water repellent charm over herself before they'd left, pointedly smirking as she'd brushed past Sirius.

"How much further is her house?" As much as Sirius wanted to complain that they hadn't apparated and saved his shoes from their unfortunate drowning, he knew non-magical transport was their safest and smartest option. With the magical world being rather egotistical in their belief that magic was superior, they were rather ignorant in terms of anything non-magical. Hence reducing him and Narcissa's actions to be essentially non-traceable. Meaning, there was a minimum chance anything could ever get actually come back to them.

"Just a little further," she replied smoothly, pushing on so she walked ahead of him. Sirius found himself scowling at her and her thoroughly dried self, pulling at his trousers that were now becoming a second skin. It felt like they'd been walking for hours and from the way the heels of his feet had been chafing, it was no surprise he could feel a lovely large blister forming. He gripped onto the lapels of his jacket, driving himself forward to match her pace.

The pair continued, descending upon the road, weaving their way through the crowds of muggle's who were all as equally sullen as Sirius, grovelling and wiping at their faces as the rain hammered down upon them harder. Sirius pushed the wet hair out of his face, one hand gripping at his jacket so it didn't loosen. His feet were aching him now, the blister throbbing with every step he took, yet they didn't seem to be slowing down. Instead they walked until the crowds began to disperse, leaving but a few odd people dotted at random. The houses too became smaller, the bricks evidently becoming more washed out, allowing the houses to become more dingy in appearance. The area itself gave off an overall grubby aura, with disheveled, overgrown front gardens and grimy windows.

Finally they stopped, Narcissa pursing her lips as her eyes settled upon a singular red door. The house itself was probably the best kept in the entire street, grass trimmed, curtains white and not stained a dirty yellow. But there was also no denying it was very compact and trapped between two otherwise seedy houses. Narcissa stayed routed to the spot, eyed still fixed upon the door.

Sirius shifted slightly, twisting so that his body faced Narcissa. Watching her, he was plunged back into a memory of a much younger version of himself. He must have only been around six, toothless and the closest he'd ever been to happy. But both him and Narcissa had been anxiously waiting outside of Andromeda's bedroom door. They'd been silent and shaky, much too scared to knock after having fought over one of her books, yanking and pulling until it had eventually torn, splitting in half. Of course magic had quickly came to the rescue and repaired the book soon after, but at the time they hadn't exactly established everything magic accomplished, and has stood motionless by the door for hours, terrified of what she'd say. He specifically remembered the way Narcissa had fumbled with her sleeves, pulling at the buttons with the tips of her fingers. "Well are we going in or...?" He allowed his question to trail off as he noticed the frantic movement of her hands, attached to the sleeve of her cardigan. Despite her face showing no clear emotion, there were sparks of the same trepidation that had rooted itself in her all those years ago. The only difference being that her once youthful compassion had turned stony and cruel.