Two dark figures made their way through the thick grass, weaving on and off the tiny dirt path, bumping into the other, laughing. They continued on their way, the thick trees overhead offering only glimpses of the brilliantly starry sky and the occasional patch of bright moonlight. One bottle clinked as it made contact with the other and with a loud, warbly "Ay!" the two figures downed the saccharine liquid inside them, smacking their lips before lifting the bottle to their mouths for another hearty swig.
"Ah, that's good stuff right there." The taller of the figures said, running his arm over his lips.
"The very best." The stockier one tittered.
The two men stumbled a little father along the path, then collapsed into a moon bathed meadow, nursing their bottles of rum as they lay on their backs in the tall grass, which swayed omniously in the light breeze. The taller of the two stretched out leisurely in the field, folding his arms behind his head and handing his bottle to the stocky man, who took it eagerly in his grubby hands,
"You can take care 'o that mate," He grumbled, closing his eyes, "I've drunk enough to drown a fish, I 'ave." The stocky man gave an appreciative laugh.
"Ah, maybe so, but ya deserve it." He said, examining the two bottles. After a moment of weighing the amount of rum contained in each one he chose the fuller bottle, uncorked it, then poured it into his mouth.
"There ya go. Now we're even." He yawned, handing the bottle to the taller figure and leaning back in the tall grass. He closed his eyes and in seconds was snoring, his his chin resting on his flabby neck. The taller figure took the bottles and tossed them over his head into the field, then ambled down the hill towards a small thicket. One hand was on the belt of his trousers when he heard it. A heavy grunt and a shuffling of branches, coming straight from the tall trees. Worried there might be wolves about the man quickly relieved himself, then ran back up the hill to wake his friend.
"Norman," He whispered, coming up from behind the stocky man. "We gotta get out of here, I think there's somethin' big in that thicket down there…" When Norma did nothing but remain silent, the tall man seized him by his broad shoulders and began to shake him roughly. "Norman!" He cried, "Come on, even you don't sleep this sound, c'mon now…stop playin' and wake up already!" He shook harder. "I'm warnin'—" But the tall man didn't finish his sentence. Norman's head lolled unpleasantly to the side, and his eyes were wide open and glinting in the moonlight. The tall man quickly let go of his friend, his bruised hands slippery with sweat. He leaned back on his haunches, closing his eyes, feeling the cool safety of darkness. There was no way Norman could have snuffed it in the time it took for him to amble down the hill and run back up it. He must be playing….but the tall man shook his head. Even Norman wasn't that good an actor, and people playing dead don't usually have a trickle of blood running from the corner of their mouth, deathly cold skin and wide open eyes. The tall man leaned in closer to Norman, inhaling the stale smell of liquor, sweat and cloth, and lay his ear over his chest. There was no steady ba-bump of a heart beating under Norman's ribs. Beginning to panic the tall man seized Norman's wrist and began to franitcally search for a pulse, but…nothing. Confused, the tall man knelt beside Norman, studying him. "Why, looks like the man's been scared to death!" he thought, peeling back one of Norman's eyelids. His fingers trailed down one of Norman's arms and he shuddered. Norman's skin was so cold it gave him the chills just touching it. By now, the tall man was extremely worried. It couldn't have been the rum that killed Norman. Even the strongest liquor in the world couldn't do this to a body, especially an old drunk like Norman. The man had been drinking ever since he could walk. Though saddened by the evident (and mysterious) passing of his friend, the tall man didn't want to stick around and have to explain such a strange occurance. What would people say, when they wandered up here tomorrow morning, to find him towering over an ice cold body? Not that many folks wandered up this way anyhow, but the tall man wasn't going to risk it. No, he was going to run…run to the nearest place, get a cuppa and sleep it off, decide what to do in the morning. He began to survey the valley below the hill, squinting around until a small light far off in the distance caught his eye. Another light joined the first, then another….soon the tall man could see an outline of a little house, as well as a few streetlamps, and was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. Taking one last look at Norman he hurried down the hill, walking rather faster than he normally would have done and sprinting past the thicket where he had heard the grunt. As he neared the house he wondered what time it was. He certianly didn't want to be inconvenient to anyone, and it sure did look late…for the life of him the tall man couldn't remember when he and Norman had headed towards home from that bar. Nine o'clock? Maybe ten? Ah, it could have been twelve thirty for all he knew. He'd been drinking half as much as Norman had. He vaguely remembered a forceful voice and shove, a pretty woman screaming about "filthy layabouts" and then hitting the street. He rubbed his back. Maybe that's why it was paining him so.
The windows of the little house now shone brightly, although the brightness was muffled by heavy curtains that blocked all view into the place. A small river ran the side of the house and as the man turned from the dirty little path towards the house his workboots clicked loudly on a cobblestone road. A tall iron street lamp illuminated a crooked sign and the tall man paused to take a look, lifting his cap off his head and wiping his brow with it.
"Spinner's End, huh." He said. He turned away from the sign and walked towards the front yard of the house, which was overgrown with weeds and littered with all kinds of trash. The tall man kicked a magazine out of his way, wrinking the face of a beaming movie star, and a tin can, disguised in the dark, caused him to trip and fall, landing splay legged in the grass. The tall man swore loudly and stood to dust himself off. Looking up towards the house he thought he saw one of the thick curtains on the first floor move, but then again, the rum was probably playing tricks on him. The tall man swayed up the broken cobblestone walk to the little house, then paused. Surely the curtain had swayed again, and surely someone had been looking out this time…He stratched his head, squinting at the little window. Even with the dim light coming from the window, he couldn't tell whether it was open or not.
"Prob'ly just the breeze." The tall man muttered to himself. He was almost at the large wooden door when something rustled behind him. The tall man turned to see a flash of green light, then crumpled to the cobblestone walkway, his long legs twisted together, his blue eyes staring up into the starry sky. A pair of heels clicked down the walkway and a woman with dark, curly hair pocketed her wand and nudged the tall man with the edge of her boot, her lip curling in disgust as she realized what she had killed.
"Filthy Muggle." She hissed, giving the tall man's body a kick. "Now what am I supposed to do with you?" She lifted up her robes and stepped over the man, tossing her curls out of her face in a ruffled way as she knocked on the wooden door. There was silence, then the door swung open to reveal a hook nosed man, his face hidden behind a thick curtian of jet black hair.
"Ah, Bellatrix. What do I owe the pleasure?" The man sneered, eyeing his visitor apprehensively. The woman named Bellatrix scowled.
"I've got strict orders from our Lord but we mustn't speak of them here…" She nudged the tall man with her boot again. "There's too many Mudbloods lurking about, I've already got one here." She looked up into the face of the man, who was staring at the body with his cold black eyes, his upper lip curling the same way Bellatrix's had.
"What should we do with the body?" The woman asked, her lip curling again as she caught the smell of liquor and piss from the tall man's body. "Normally I would just leave it but it won't do to have a dead Muggle on your doorstep any time of day…and especially not now, when our Lord may be making an appearance." The man nodded, his beady eyes still fixed on the tall man's body.
"You are absolutely right, Bellatrix." He said smoothly. "Though he is foul, I advise you against slaughtering Muggles on my doorstep in the future. Not only does it cause great inconvenience to me, but it also does not add much to the landscaping…" He surveyed his lawn bitterly. A newspaper blew across the tall grass and tumbled down the cobbelstone street out of sight. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.
"Where then, Severus, do you propose I put him, if not on your lawn?" Severus shrugged, turning away from her and heading down the narrow hallway through which he came.
"Just dump him in the lake." He drawled. "It's been done before."
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