Among the shadows of London lurked creatures made of flesh and blood, desperate to taste something copper and foul. They whispered and dealt beneath the fullness of a silver moon, and clawed out at the innocent passersby with hideous intentions. And until a week ago, Cygnus Black had crept within their circles, content to find pain, fire, and mayhem after hours. Those sorts were his family, silent as they were, his drinking buddies and fighting partners and everything between. He lived for their distrust and distaste. His own cold face was no different than their own so they asked no questions, they just traded and drank and stumbled around. Like old friends, he often thought, or brothers.
But now, now that he did not sleep and could not think, he didn’t return to that brotherhood of darkness. They would sniff out the weakness pouring from his clammy skin. The simple tremor of his fingertips was more than enough of a sign that he had grown old, too old, and that he was not to be feared. Bullshit. Cygnus wanted to scream into the warm night air presently. Fuck that, I’m going to burn the entirety of England to the fucking ground. And then we’ll see who is scared.
He raised his wand to the sky, his eyes squinting at the distant target. To his left was an alleyway he could escape to, should he need a quick exit. To his right sat a small strip of shops. If this were the middle of the day perhaps he would have witnesses. But this late at night - early in the morning, actually - the streets were bare. He tightened his grip on his wand, ready to let the flame fly towards the farthest building - but nothing came. Nothing could. The thought of those orange embers, that blazing heat, had him dropping his arm stiffly to his side. He had broken into a sweat, he was panting from former terror, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. “Fuck!” He shouted, twisting around to slam one open palm into the brick of the alleyway. And then over and over until the fleshy bits were scraped up. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
