This is a wizard adaptation of "Observe The Sons of Ulster Marching Towards The Somme" by Frank McGuinness. The world is that of the Harry Potter stories by JK Rowling. This chapter is of my own invention to link both worlds.
Observe The Pureblood Sons Marching Towards Grindlewald
Prologue
He turned quietly. He sniffed the dusty air, slowly inhaling the repressive nature of his heavy bed coverings, and the ancient sweat that lingered around him.
He had dreamed of them that night.
The door creaked open. He heard soft, slow footsteps as they padded towards him across the carpet. They grew louder, and then they stopped. He could feel the shadow of the figure on his body as the walking being stood by the bed. It was Draco, he assumed; he could hear his breathing as the boy placed something heavy on the bedside table.
Tiresias lay still, his shoulders hunched, his arms wrapped around his body to protect him from the cold morning air. He knew it was morning, for the birds were singing. Those sounds held little joy for him.
He waited for Draco to leave. He had no need for companionship. He heard the boy's retreating footsteps as they left the room, and the click of the door as it closed shut after him.
Tiresias breathed again.
He moved his arm out from beneath the security of his blankets, and reached for the sharp corner beside him. His hand rested on it for a time, feeling the pleasantly firm point dig into the palm of his hand. He slowly slid his hand over the cracks in the wooden table surface, until it gently faltered on a smooth object, hot against his frail skin.
The smell had drifted to him, a familiar smell, one that shamed him. Carrots, potatoes and leeks tunnelled into his nose, drowning out any other smell he routinely sought comfort in.
His finger continued up the hot convex bowl wall, until it teetered casually on the edge. Then, in sudden decision, he plunged his finger into the soup,a burning sensation taking hold. He stirred the soup slightly, the soft chunks swirling around his aching skin. He withdrew it. He could bear the pain no longer.
He moved the moist digit to his mouth, his tongue burning too, the blistering pain affording no room for taste.
His arm slammed down on the bedclothes. It made no sound, only causing the mattress to shake slightly.
Tiresias rolled back into his natural position, his hand shaking slightly. He was not used to such excursions. He had done it out of simple necessity. It was a mere break from his monotonous world. He wondered if that act had changed anything.
How he hated his life. Lying there in the darkness, being cared for by his family, who refused to acknowledge his existence as a human, however futile it was.
He turned his back to the steaming soup bowl. He tucked his hands under his armpits and slowly drifted into his usual stupor.