sinbcrn:
solitude hangs in the air . it fills her chest , leaves her cold and hollow . outside , the grounds are blanketed in several feet of snow . its cool , soft smell brings with it a rush of memories – of a time when she took greater joy in the holidays . in her earliest years , the onset of winter would find her aboard the train , bound for a home she has since lost . she is somewhat at home here , at least – winter leaves the castle chilled and deserted . the common room is her own domain till holidays’ end , but she is prone to wander . a structure older than her own imagination , hogwarts is filled with its own secrets , and to witness it without hoards of classmates spilling into the halls is a pleasure grace appreciates deeply . this morning , she has found her way to an empty classroom . worn copies of arsenius jigger’s the essential defence against the dark arts are crammed into the desks , and stacked high against the windows . it looks much the same as it does during term . out of the corner of her eye , grace spots that narrow stone staircase , leading to professor lupin’s office . shameless in her curiosity , she sets upon the stairs , finger tips pushing open the thick oak door . in contrast to the room below , his office is full , decorated with trunks and mirrors and tanks . then , upon his desk , papers and candies are strewn . so drawn in by the unfamiliar ( and seemingly occupied ) space , grace is taken aback when he speaks . ❝ professor . forgive me , i didn’t realize you were still here . ❞
brumal, icy land awaits beyond the doors & leaves the castle almost deserted. footsteps appear louder, & yet it is still seemingly a haunted sound. they echo, ringing his ears, for once leaving him missing an obnoxious overabundance. there are no melodic, harmonious laughs & delicate chatters to fill a gnawing void. for one prone to solitude now, mourning a forgotten past, he is still grieving the warmth. ‘ it’s quite alright. ’ the vulnerose beast. carnage trails behind & when he is full of lamentation, overbrimm’d with misery, it only begins again. an aeviternal cycle. still, he remains among the living & so he must act it: mask an eidolon & phantom-like spectre he has become. the mind reels & wanders back to a life before, trembling fingertips brushing a misplaced book, the faintest phantom smile upturning lips. ( i. she reminds him of someone, and he is forbidden to speak of it. ) ‘ i think i could use the company, if you don’t mind. ’ there are no questions that pass his lips; why have you not gone home? why are you here? he knows their answers are the same. where else is there to go?
