HELLLOOOOOO my lovelies! I hope you are all well x
I'm really excited for you guys to read this chapter, so I thought I'd update a bit early this week! Thank you so much for all your reviews. Now our ginger haired youth is now on Voldy's radar, which is definitely not good, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see how that pans out, won't we? ;)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
As always for my dears Sable and Lais xxx
Sunday, 27th May, 1979
Potter Manor
Smack! The slap rings loud and clear as a bell.
Mipsy is standing on the foot of the bed, shaking her head defiantly, hand still raised. There is a split second where Kreacher is completely stunned with shock, eyes firmly set on the hand that Mipsy had slapped—Mipsy takes advantage of his shock and snatches the bandages out of the other House Elf's grasp.
Kreacher scowls darkly, "Mipsy should not have done that."
Mispy harrumphs, narrowing her eyes as she begins to walk up the middle of the bed towards the slumbering figure. "Mipsy will do as Mipsy wants, he is my pup, I will take care of him."
Kreacher follows swiftly on her heels, his bare feet sinking into the soft mattress—he almost trips over himself when Mipsy halts abruptly to send him a warning glance. He wrings his hands together, looking upon the sandy haired wizard with obvious disdain, "Master Regulus told Kreacher to help however Kreacher can…which includes helping your miserable pup."
Mipsy takes the hand still holding the roll of bandages and props it up on her hip, raising her other hand and pointing a finger very close to Kreacher's long, hooked nose, "Now listen here—"
She cuts herself off when she hears soft sounds coming from just behind her, with wide eyes she slowly turns around and sees Remus's eyelids begin to flutter.
Mipsy drops the bandages onto the bed, the roll bouncing once and rolling towards the edge of the bed, unravelling rapidly. She gasps softly, and without thinking she vaults off the bed, "I need to go tell everyone that Mister Remus is waking up!" She calls behind her merrily, her cotton shoes barely making a peep across the hardwoods as she hurries out of the room.
Kreacher smiles to himself as he picks up the end of the bandages that is still on the bed, with a noise of amused triumph he begins to pull it back, gathering it all into a messy bundle. He then turns towards Remus and his smile falters, he was so overjoyed at having won the fight with Mipsy that he'd forgotten what they were fighting over.
"Mistress Walburga is turning in the afterlife," Kreacher mutters to himself as he begrudgingly edges closer to Remus.
The wizard is clearly awake to some extent, though frankly Kreacher does not care. The boy's eyelids are half-drooped and his lips have parted slightly. Kreacher shakes his head as he drops the fresh bandages beside the boy's arm. The boy winces as Kreacher lifts up the injured arm with one hand and starts unwinding the dirty old bandage.
"The things Kreacher does for the House of Black," Kreacher grunts lowly.
Cold fingers.
Someone is speaking but he can't quite make out what they're saying. Rough, weathered and thin fingers are on his arm—which is throbbing and he can't recall why.
Why is he so tired?
His eyes are open, at least he thinks they are, but everything is so bright and there are little green men dancing across the blur of colour.
His throat is dry as sandpaper, and scratchily he manages to get out, "J—James?"
The cold fingers pause, but then resume their work, fastening the bandage on his arm; the owner of said fingers scowls in annoyance whilst they slowly lower his arm onto the bed. The short figure murmurs something to the approaching one and departs almost instantly.
Caramel and vanilla pours into the room, overflowing, and enveloping him completely.
A hand ghosts over his cheek, moving to then firmly cup it and the warmth from their palm floods across his face.
Other scents are now melding in, cinnamon, leather, lavender, honey and a few others he can't quite distinguish at the moment— they blend together and languidly drift into his nostrils. The smell surrounds him, engulfs him and he can vaguely hear them talking. He's so tired.
Their warmth lulls him back to sleep, and he floats away into the darkness. Dreaming of honey brown curls, caramel and vanilla.
