Okay well I'm not going to talk long. I just hope you enjoy! I don't own either Harry Potter or The Virgin Suicides.
Owls began to swoop into open windows, fire places burst into life with human faces and even phones began to ring as we all started to contact each other. The Daily Prophet sat open to the obituaries on tables and laps as the sad grey eyes of Remus Lupin gazed half heartedly up at us. The last of the Marauders had died. For years we had followed them, from the moment we started school with them to the untimely deaths of the three that mattered, watching every move they made through newspapers and second hand stories.
We had compiled a collection of things, a lock of Sirius' hair when James had cut it in his sleep, one of Remus' perfect papers, one of James' Quidditch socks, to a picture of the boys taken by a friend down by the lake. The things we posses are of value to no one other than us and their previous owners, but the owners are dead.
Now all we have been left with is a series of empty clues to lives we never got the chance to be a part of. The lives of three boys and one rat whom we worshiped like the gods they were. We watched from afar and complied so many random things we swear we had been to every adventure, make out session (and beyond), and detention the boys themselves had been in. We sat in the cracks of the walls, stuck under desks, lurked outside of bathrooms and slept in their beds along with them every step of the way. Yet they would never come to know our names.
Each of us picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting out what seemed to be the last piece of our obsession. Sitting around Ashlee Simerson's table, all of us ranging in ages from twenty-something to forty-something, laid out the articles, notes, pictures and diary pages we had found over the years and started to do what we had always done. Mary Hathaway picked up the ticket that started it all and we took the train ride back to the beginning.
Okay so that's it so far. Reviews are much loved! Bye for now.