Duplicitous | T.N.

LIII • A scented boy

Coldness eloped the leering walls of Hogwarts. Draped in silks of exhaustion and dullness, the school found itself trapped within the yawning pit. Life refused to thrive within the stillness. As light refused to glow within the pitch darkness.

Hope had been vanquished, replaced with the blank sense of death that waltzed through the hallways like any other student. Playing as a constant reminder that the dark lord had returned, and each and every one of their lives was bound to cascade further through the wild descent into wickedness.

A particular grey exhaustion had coloured the space. The grey sought to have any positivity evading the atmosphere, to have any goodness slither through the hair width cracks and from them. Simultaneously moods and attitudes dropped and withered along with the livelihood of the castle. Petals fell, stems rotted and trees sunk lower. The entire castle embraced in a waft of misery and depression.

Buds of positivity occasionally peaked through the cracks in the walls, like beams of sun rays peaking through the trees a smile every once in a while was urged.

The tiredness had latched its' inescapable hold through Auroras limbs and curves, tugging harshly at her attitude much like it did everyone else. She viewed Hogwarts as a soft and dying beige colour, the gentle gleam of light dimming progressively, until it would become a simple flicker. Eating dinner the previous night she could have sworn she noticed the candles of the ceiling begin to die out. Snuffing out whatever brightness the castle offered, her mood soured.

The world seemed as though she viewed it through a fogged glass panel, louring her perspective day by day. And to think, her mind often whispered, the first day back seemed so happy until Dumbledore gave his anual speech. Students at Hogwarts talked, the sight of his charcoal tainted fingers were no exception. As though death had disguised itself as black soot and begun its journey through his hand, destined to rot up his limbs, through his body until he remained nothing but a withered corpse.

How negativity had allured to them those days like a sluggish spell had been cast upon them, hypnotising the youthful witches and wizards of all those dark and peculiar. Aurora would often shiver at the thought.

It didn't help when the grieving process would visit her, eloping the witch with a wave of thick sadness, aloneness. The mere absence of Sirius flaying her sagged figure around much like a rag doll. Mourning showed no mercy during the bad days. Thankfully that day was not one of them.

Influenced by such, Aurora smiled softly, the only display of affection she could willingly display at the sight of her previous years results. Grasping the flimsy sheet of frayed paper, she read its contents with a dying grin.

Flores & Nott : O, 96.8%'

An 'Outstanding' was certainly an achievement, especially if she had received such results from a potions assignment. However, no matter how appropriate it would be if the girl flayed and propelled her arms around, she could not find it within herself to celebrate as such. Instead, she settled for a simple gnawing of her chapped mouth, sucking proudly on the peach coloured flesh that was her bottom lip.

Walking through the crowded hallways, a particular bounce produced within her stride, following along the moving girl as she walked to potions class. Accompanied by such positivity evoked a larger grin to pull at her lips, she had missed the feeling dearly.

Leant comfortably against the sandstone wall as he awaited entry into his potions classroom, Theodore stared dully at the empty wall before him. Reminiscing on snippets of regret and guilt fractions of memories wizzed through his mind, reminding him of his absent soul. His essence of which he had sold to the eager clutches of Voldemort himself. Such thoughts often passed through his slow mind, his stiff hand caressing the unforgettable patch of tattooed skin through the cloth of his shirt.