Well I'm not new to fanfiction but i am new to writing on here. Read some pretty awesome stories, so hope you people out there keep up the amazing work.
Obviously i don't own Harry Potter. Or any of the characters, all too J.K Rowling, copyright and all that jazz...
He sat in the armchair, near a roaring fire. The flames danced wildly in the fireplace, atop the burning logs, sparks occasionally breaking free from the ember trap. It sent a golden glow around the room, which was a reasonable size. Next to him there was a table, an untouched cup of tea sat on it.
It wasn't that he didn't like the taste, but he couldn't drink it, let alone hold the china. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair in an eager attempt to focus his thoughts elsewhere. His eyes turned to all directions as he scanned the room, but they finally settled on his fingers still tapping at the cover, currently decorated with flowers on a pale pink background. Watching the tips of his fingers touch the fabric, leaving small indents which quickly faded when he moved them, but quickly returned once he moved his fingers again.
It had taken him a lot of self-control to come here. He'd been trying to get himself here for days, but it seemed his legs refused to participate in those plans. But he'd known he had to come here some time. It was his duty, and he couldn't hold it off any longer. Also it wasn't fair on the person he was going to see.
He sat in silence, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes. Orange meeting emerald and they illuminated the tears currently building up within them. His eyes were already blotchy and red from crying, yet he couldn't help it. There seemed to be an endless supply of tears in him at the moment. And everything seemed to spark memories which sent a pang of grief to his heart; including pictures that were scattered on the walls around him. His mop of unruly hair was lank and even seemed to have lost its uncontrollable look. His skin was also pale, and he had started to get dark circles under his eyes. He had hoped his visit here would help him move on, and try to get on with his life. He knew he couldn't sit around mourning all his life. The people that had been killed wouldn't have wanted him to waste his life away.
He furiously wiped at his eyes, and put his head in his hands, sighing dramatically. Suddenly a scuffle brought him back the present, and his hand sprung to his wand, currently located in his pocket. And his head spun to look towards the door, diagonally across the room. The woman opposite him smiled, and he relaxed slightly, releasing his grip on his wand, and folding his hands in his lap. He smiled weakly at her. She also looked quite down. Her dark hair was tied up lazily, and her skin also seemed pale and clammy, her dark eyes similar to his; blotchy and puffy, also red from crying.