Green Orbs

Chapter One {Green Orbs}

The fire crackled keeping the pale man’s feet warm. But the coals were only simmering now, the fire had gone out. He hummed the Lazy Song by Bruno Mars.

And murmured the lyrics to himself:

‘Today I don’t feel like doing anything, do do do, do do do, I just wanna lay in my bed.’

His servant meandered in, with a determined step.

‘Do you want me to turn on the fire for you, master?’

The small head with the large ears slowly turned around to face him. The man had to hold back a gasp. A thin lighting scar was etched above his green orbs, which glowed like his mothers.

The man hated having to kill his mother, her eyes bored into his soul, and he couldn’t do anything but just leave the son alone.

He couldn’t touch the sun, it was too hot.

He couldn’t touch her son either.

But it wasn’t the scar that made him gasp; it was the beautiful, thin lips that were next to his wrinkly skin.

He had aged so much since last Christmas.

He was, there was only one way to say it, beautiful now.

But the green eyes as well, they were.. I don’t know.

Maybe… pretty.

That seemed like the right word.

Or maybe, muscular. Yes, that was right.

‘Master, can you hear me?’ the sweet voice crooned.

The man had to turn away, emotions weren’t good for people, and he was sure full of them now.

‘Yes, relight the fire, then leave.’

‘Of course,’ he bowed down, and his attire fell open, exposing an abbtacular chest. He had a seventeen pack, but the man couldn’t perve for long, because he was standing again. Then his servant turned and walked away.

For the next hour, he dwelled on what he had seen. He couldn’t possibly, no. I don’t know.

He picked the letter out the fire, which his servant had delivered almost a year ago. Wait, maybe it was a day ago.

He didn’t understand time, this man.

It was confusing and complex, and clocks, they scare him. More than anything.

Even more than dead rabbits.

Dearest Friend,

We write to you from Australia.

We are camping out, in a park, in the middle of Sydney, which is in Australia.

The drive to the airport went well, we weren’t spotted by one muggle. Even though the car was invisible.. we weren’t.

And Bill was naked.

He lost his clothes.

We tried finding them, together, and then we got spotted by some muggles.

Why must they walk around in London?

It’s stupid.

A stupid idea, by the stupid Prime Minister of the Muggle world.

I hate them, HATE THEM ALL!

Anyway, on a lighter note,

Bill gave birth.

About time too, we’ve been waiting nine months.

It was a girl, she’s part Vampire, even though Bill’s a werewolf.

We named her Renesmee.

Speaking of Vampires, have you heard from Lupin lately?

I haven’t seen him since that day.

I miss him.

That was a joke.

Haha.

Anyway, on a lighter note,

I gave birth too.

To a kitten, called Hajglhkh.

It’s pronounced, ‘Frog.’

But spelt differently.

Bogans in this ‘Australia’ do it all the time. So we thought we’d take it to the next level.. seeing as we’re wizards and all.

Except Bill, he’s a werewolf.

Did I ever tell you that he was a werewolf?

Bill, that is.

Bill’s a werewolf.

I never thought I’d fall in love with a werewolf. But I fell in love with Bill. He’s a werewolf.

Bill that is.

Some may call it incest, but I call it love.

Reply to my inboxes.

Yours Truly,

Fred Weasley xoxo

PS. Bill is a werewolf.

He put the letter back in the fire, he’d read it again later.

He pulled out his iPhone Seven. Then asked it,

‘Is Bill a werewolf.’?

‘Not bad today, only two meetings,’ it replied, after taking two hours to load.

Or was it days. I don’t know.

‘GOBLIN CROTCHES!’ screamed Voldemort, as he threw his new phone in the fire.

Then his servant walked in.

‘Is everything okay master?’ asked Dobby, as his green eyes returned, to bore into his soul.

‘Yes,’ he snapped, ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Rabbit stew,’ he replied promptly.

Voldemort screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Dobby looked at him, then passed him the bowl of soup.

‘THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER!’ Voldemort screamed, and threw the bowl in the fire. He’d eat it later. Maybe in a few minutes. Maybe in a year. I don’t know. I don’t like time. I’m scared of clocks. Almost as much as dead rabbits.