death inviting ─ f. weasley

death inviting.

❝ I BURIED MY NOSTALGIA...❞

❝... AND MY NOSE IN THE
CROOK OF YOUR NECK. ❞

( SYNOPSIS ! )

When Moirai Altham found herself in a state of despair, like she did most times within the walls of her eerily large home, she'd count the books in the family library. Her long fingers would skim over the spines, dust sticking itself to the pads of her skin as her chapped lips would utter the numbers as she landed her gaze elsewhere. 

It'd pass the time, as well as dismiss the hopelessness in her heavy heart that burrowed itself within. Now, it seemed as if time was all she had after her grandmother, Thesma, had passed, leaving behind fond memories of apple cider and cinnamon lingering in the past. Among countless beakers and silver utensils was a thick blanket of yellowed, withered pages tucked between hardcovers. Its contents ─ nothing like you'd ever seen before ─ multiple predictions of death that clogged itself with Moirai's lungs. 

One that stuck, the death of Cedric Diggory, vague, and written in scratchy ink beneath outrages theories. She had heard that her grandmother had a special sense for things; but didn't know how far that applied until a certain red-headed Weasley decided that he reached a sense of curiosity. That satisfaction quickly turned into a fascination as he indulged in the fear laced within the vast assumptions, until he was caught red-handed. 

Moirai didn't know what exactly to expect when she had let Weasley help her avoid Cedric's untimely demise ─ but maybe it'd be beneficial.