Pretending.
In a puff of smoke Mundunges Fletcher sunk down on a deserted barstool. Looking around, he saw Muggle's, just going on with their lives as though there wasn't anything wrong. Stupid, moronic monsters, all of them! They pretended that the magical world wasn't real, even though Muggle's died every day by the hands of those dreaded deadeathers! "Stupid Muggle's, dun know tha back from the fron," he muttered and downed whatever he was drinking.
I
don't wanna feel
anything today
I don't wanna feel
anything
today
Anything at all and just be alone
I just wanna know
that you
wanna know
"They do know, but they just choose not to. Everyone would like to do that at one time or another," a squeaky voice next to him said and Mundunges noticed the blonde, balding man next to him. "Dun I know ya?" he asked, in yet another green puff of smoke and the other man made a face. "We've met before," he answered some time later, almost hesitant. "Dun know ya no more, let me ya a drink lat," Mundunges said and waved his arm to the bartender, flashing at least twelve golden watches with odd signs.
I
don't wanna live trough
another day
I don't wanna live
through
another day
Meaningless to fight for
the victory
I just wanna dive in the
heart of misery
Hours, and many empty bottles later, Mundunges was drunk beyond believe. The other man however, seemed very sober and rather nervous. But before he could protest, Mundungus put an arm around him and said: "Ain this fun lat? Dark times, those wars. Ya always need a drinking mate!" The bartender raised one brow and said to the blonde man: "Oi Peter, better take him upstairs, he has a room. Drunk maniac, there isn't a war,…"
I
will never be anything again
I will never be anything again
I'm
tired to give,
I don't wanna try
I'm afraid to live
I
just wanna fly,
throw it all away
I just wanna fly,
throw
it all away
Meaningless to fight for
your sympathy
I just
wanna drown in the
heart of misery
"Come on Mundunges, time to go to bed," the blonde man said and Mundunges turned his glazy eyes to the slightly younger man. "You're commin' with me?" he asked, a smile appearing on his face, but Peter choose to ignore it. "I'm taking you upstairs," he muttered, guiding the thief towards the stairs. "Oh okay, could do with a nap," Mundunges slurred as the door swung open and Peter pushed him onto the bed. "What was your name lat?" Mundunges askes again, his face buried in the pillow. "Peter Pettigrew," the blonde man answered in a whisper and placed his chubby, trembling hand on the back of the other man's head.
One
man forgot to breathe
One heart refused to beat
One
loss
Mundunges fought to get his head out of the pillow, but Peter's grip was stronger than one would expect. Slowy his movements died down and Peter let go of the man. "I didn't kill you, the war already did that for me," he whispered. "Slowly everyone I knew is dying by it, the symptoms are always the same,… Dead, when you don't expect it." Peter looked down at the still form of Mundunges Fletcher, the man didn't even remember all those time they had spent together. He had deserved this, hadn't he? Or had he received what Peter himself wished every night in his prayers?
I
don't wanna live through
another day
Meaningless to fight for
the victory
I just wanna dive in the
heart of misery