'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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' Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind. But to what purpose Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves I do not know '
I was beginning to wonder if the school would ever move on with all the talk about Sirius Black. A few days had passed since the incident on Halloween, and the man was inescapable. His crazed face was plastered everywhere —from notice-boards to walls, posts, newspapers and doors. Whether you wish it or not, Black was occupying the thoughts of every person in this castle.
I had done a lot of thinking these past few days and was starting to see connections in places I'd previously considered useless. For one, I was most curious to find out what the cause was for the tension between Professor Lupin and Professor Snape. Looking back, there were multiple statements said that suggested some kind of link between Sirius Black and the two Professors at one point.
My current headspace was seemingly beginning to reflect on my outward appearance — the last few weeks had taken a toll on me. As the Holidays were fastly approaching, I found myself sinking further and further into that pit at the bottom of my stomach.
Whenever I spoke, I did so with my face immobile, speaking through my teeth to not disturb my chapped lips. The dried blood and cracks on my mouth were a sign of my own neglect, and already I could feel it flaking away on my skin.
It was midday. I know I was supposed to be in Lupin's lesson right now, but as the time slipped away from me between the little stone alcove in the common room, I became more and more apprehensive about going.
Considering it was mid-autumn in Scotland right now, one would think it was colder than it currently was. Either way, the weather always provided a good excuse, and the motherly breath of the countryside enfolded me. It smelt of maple and oak, rolled to a halt and stuck inside the dying embers of the fireplace.
An autumn calm laid its soothing hand over everything, like death. My brother was behind me, waiting on the slate-grey stone as he waited for me to notice his presence. "Christ! What happened to your face?"
