6 Sep 2021, 20:39
September 1
September 1
There is a sense of uncertainty that washes over one so young and so... dead. Yes, Victor Moore was dead, dearly (or not so dearly) departed. That meant that he should be moving on. He had grown taller, by several inches in fact. An unobserved growth-spurt during his year-long absence. He blended well with the masses, a bit taller than the average youth his age the fifteen year old stood at six feet even. His brown hair parted to the left, his hair was already touching his ears, an indication that it was nearing the time for a haircut. Did dead men go to the hairdresser?
Victor seemed to be in better condition now than he was when he was still alive.
His pale eyes would flicker as he scanned the shifting student body before him, a part of him wanting to find a familiar face while another part of him dreaded the implications. He had no answers, not really. He was fine, no better than fine and he really did not want answers.
His wizarding robes dusted the carpeted floor, somehow a perfect fit. Eerie but again he did not ask too many questions, there was a fearful part of him that knew that there was no answer that could satisfy him. Perhaps that was why he lingered among the first years, a giant among ants. Perhaps that was why his gaze was downcast, he had a rather common face with the exception of his eyes which appeared to be fixed upon a book that he was reading. A textbook, nothing unique, nothing particularly uncanny.
The problem was when the Sorting Ceremony ended. When the students began to shuffle off to their new or familiar dormitories and Victor lingered behind in their wake. He had forgotten from where he had come. It was down wasn't it? He was not wholly certain as he shuffled behind a procession of students into the hall. Looking up he would see the shifting stair, the paintings whose faces should seem familiar but they appeared as strangers to him as he gazed upon them now.
Green, Slytherin. A reminder he gave himself as he watched his housemates find the stairs. It would be them that he pursued, into the depths of the castle. His luggage, a single wheeled case would rattle behind him in protest. He could not recall what he had packed. He could feel the bag shift unnaturally behind him, almost lurch under its own power and he would open his mouth as if he wanted to shout but no sound came. The presumption was reasonable, an upper classman or perhaps someone that knew him had decided to pull at his bag. He whirled around, only there was nobody there. "Bloody hell," he complained. "Keep your hands to yourself," he demanded of the unknown assailant.
A frustrated grunt he would grab the handle of his bag and continue towards the stair, only to feel the bag thrash after a few steps. Irked, there was nobody behind him. Was there a first year messing with him under the cover of an invisibility cloak? Not his first choice of cloak use, he would have probably snuck into the ladies lockers and died a mildly disappointed young man - the lockers were nothing like imagination made them out to be.
The halls were thinning, a lengthy ceremony had a way of making people look forward to spending time in their dorm. He swat at the air over the bag but his hand did not make contact with a mischievous trickster. Yes, he might have looked a bit cracked as he tried to defend his luggage from an unseen assailant. Then he saw it, his luggage shift on his own.
He could feel a cold wash over him as he visibly paled. His hand shook as he withdrew from his luggage and he fled. Victor was not a brave young man, when he saw potential peril he (unlike many other Hogwarts students) fled. He stumbled over his own shoes and scraped his way back to his feet only to rush away, down the stairs.
An abandoned bag in an already near empty hall did not beckon the attention of the scarcely remaining members of the student body. So the bag being left behind was not particularly unusual, there were a few bags too heavy for the studies to carry that were left in the halls. Primarily those that belonged to overzealous, pampered first years.
It was when the hall was wholly abandoned that the bag would move again. This time it would fall onto its side. The lid would open, the hard walls of the wheeled luggage seemed to somehow shift as the locking mechanism would turn, open on its own. The hinges would creek as the lid swung open with a bang.
There was something inside...
Something dark would slither out from the unseen, unfathomable confines. A hand of shadow, not flesh and bone would emerge. Crawling, like the first fish that escaped from the sea and strode upon dry man. A man, but made of darkness. Long and gangly in form,slender and tall with a featureless face, no expression would emerge from the recesses of those forgotten confines. Behind him, at least "he" was presumed but there was no means of knowing. He would pull a bag, a large satchel as dark as he was would be ripped from the trunk. The trunks insides were larger than the outsides.
The sack was too large to have fit even in the absence of the creature that emerged. There were some that would know this creature as they survived the inscrutable creature's bizarre actions. The darkness would amble away with long strides with its abnormally lean legs.
It was headed towards familiar places, not so dark spaces but rather the warm, cozy confines of a badger's burrow.
There is a sense of uncertainty that washes over one so young and so... dead. Yes, Victor Moore was dead, dearly (or not so dearly) departed. That meant that he should be moving on. He had grown taller, by several inches in fact. An unobserved growth-spurt during his year-long absence. He blended well with the masses, a bit taller than the average youth his age the fifteen year old stood at six feet even. His brown hair parted to the left, his hair was already touching his ears, an indication that it was nearing the time for a haircut. Did dead men go to the hairdresser?
Victor seemed to be in better condition now than he was when he was still alive.
His pale eyes would flicker as he scanned the shifting student body before him, a part of him wanting to find a familiar face while another part of him dreaded the implications. He had no answers, not really. He was fine, no better than fine and he really did not want answers.
His wizarding robes dusted the carpeted floor, somehow a perfect fit. Eerie but again he did not ask too many questions, there was a fearful part of him that knew that there was no answer that could satisfy him. Perhaps that was why he lingered among the first years, a giant among ants. Perhaps that was why his gaze was downcast, he had a rather common face with the exception of his eyes which appeared to be fixed upon a book that he was reading. A textbook, nothing unique, nothing particularly uncanny.
The problem was when the Sorting Ceremony ended. When the students began to shuffle off to their new or familiar dormitories and Victor lingered behind in their wake. He had forgotten from where he had come. It was down wasn't it? He was not wholly certain as he shuffled behind a procession of students into the hall. Looking up he would see the shifting stair, the paintings whose faces should seem familiar but they appeared as strangers to him as he gazed upon them now.
Green, Slytherin. A reminder he gave himself as he watched his housemates find the stairs. It would be them that he pursued, into the depths of the castle. His luggage, a single wheeled case would rattle behind him in protest. He could not recall what he had packed. He could feel the bag shift unnaturally behind him, almost lurch under its own power and he would open his mouth as if he wanted to shout but no sound came. The presumption was reasonable, an upper classman or perhaps someone that knew him had decided to pull at his bag. He whirled around, only there was nobody there. "Bloody hell," he complained. "Keep your hands to yourself," he demanded of the unknown assailant.
A frustrated grunt he would grab the handle of his bag and continue towards the stair, only to feel the bag thrash after a few steps. Irked, there was nobody behind him. Was there a first year messing with him under the cover of an invisibility cloak? Not his first choice of cloak use, he would have probably snuck into the ladies lockers and died a mildly disappointed young man - the lockers were nothing like imagination made them out to be.
The halls were thinning, a lengthy ceremony had a way of making people look forward to spending time in their dorm. He swat at the air over the bag but his hand did not make contact with a mischievous trickster. Yes, he might have looked a bit cracked as he tried to defend his luggage from an unseen assailant. Then he saw it, his luggage shift on his own.
He could feel a cold wash over him as he visibly paled. His hand shook as he withdrew from his luggage and he fled. Victor was not a brave young man, when he saw potential peril he (unlike many other Hogwarts students) fled. He stumbled over his own shoes and scraped his way back to his feet only to rush away, down the stairs.
An abandoned bag in an already near empty hall did not beckon the attention of the scarcely remaining members of the student body. So the bag being left behind was not particularly unusual, there were a few bags too heavy for the studies to carry that were left in the halls. Primarily those that belonged to overzealous, pampered first years.
It was when the hall was wholly abandoned that the bag would move again. This time it would fall onto its side. The lid would open, the hard walls of the wheeled luggage seemed to somehow shift as the locking mechanism would turn, open on its own. The hinges would creek as the lid swung open with a bang.
There was something inside...
Something dark would slither out from the unseen, unfathomable confines. A hand of shadow, not flesh and bone would emerge. Crawling, like the first fish that escaped from the sea and strode upon dry man. A man, but made of darkness. Long and gangly in form,slender and tall with a featureless face, no expression would emerge from the recesses of those forgotten confines. Behind him, at least "he" was presumed but there was no means of knowing. He would pull a bag, a large satchel as dark as he was would be ripped from the trunk. The trunks insides were larger than the outsides.
The sack was too large to have fit even in the absence of the creature that emerged. There were some that would know this creature as they survived the inscrutable creature's bizarre actions. The darkness would amble away with long strides with its abnormally lean legs.
It was headed towards familiar places, not so dark spaces but rather the warm, cozy confines of a badger's burrow.