dead weight. sirius black.

twelve.

good morning.
i greet the clerk in honeydukes awkwardly.
her face is wrinkled with age
and her hair is a whispy white.
despite the poor state of her shop, the woman smiles.
she feels like something familiar, but maybe it's just the warmth in her crinkled eyes and crooked grin.
candy wrappers litter the floor, thrown messily around our feet.
she doesn't seem bothered.

morning, dear.
she answers.
her voice is pulling at my cheeks like a puppeteer.
she sounds like my grandmother, vaguely.
behind me, james tugs at my sleeves.
he wants to go look at quidditch supplies,
but i want to talk to the lady.
despite my social awkwardness, and probably bitchy looking face i can't turn off, i say,

um, how's is going?
she nods slowly.
well.
eileen, sensing james beginning to pull on my patience, guides him out the store and to wherever she wanted to go.
Remus and Davina settle on a bench outside the shop, Peter and Vega are stuffing their faces with the candies I haven't bought yet. ( i still have yet to turn in the money, although she's rung us all up. they've migrated outside )
so it's just,
me, you, and the old lady.

i want to hold the conversation but i can't find it in me to find the right words.
so, as always, you do it for me.
bessie, right?
you ask slowly, coming up to stand next to me.
you lean forward onto the counter, wrapping an arm around my waist so were both pressed closer to the lady.
the closer we get, the more this lady hurts my feelings with her piercing stare.
her voice seems to be honey, but her eyes tell different words.

thats me.
she answers.
i'm no longer in the mood to talk.
i fumble over my hands to set the correct amount of pay on her table when she reaches out and latches onto my hand.
i yelp, obviously surprised, and your grip around my waist tightens the tiniest bit.

you sense it, too.
there's something off about her.

her grip is vice like and i cant seem to pry my hand out of her old fingers.
you attempt to pull us away, but she yanks us right back.
bloody hell, i curse.
bouncing uncomfortably on my toes.
hell is hot, you mutter.
lets not curse an old lady.
i roll my eyes.
old lady can kiss my arse.

her head finally whips up,
meeting my gaze with such an intense glare
i stumble back and you pull me into your chest.
im still facing the lady, so maybe its more like (your arms are wrapped around me while i rest my back on your chest)

what a horrible ending, she jests.
she seems amused.
what?
i ask.

what a horrible, horrible, ending you have, my dear.

you slam much more than it was on the counter, grab the bag and drag me out the door like a ragdoll.

a week.

do you get it, now?