All Hallo Eves
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Some where in a small graveyard there was a man tied to a gravestone. He
was wearing a black robe with a bright silver phoenix on the back and
silver trimming on the sleeves and neck. He had brown eyes that had a
haunted look to them. You could practically see the pain and misery he has
been through if you happened to look in them. He his dark brown that went
down to his shoulders was tangled and looked as if he hadn't been washed in
days. He had a scar that ran from the corner of his left eye to the bottom
of his left ear. His face was covered in dirt and grim and he was covered
in bruises of different colors and sizes. He a nice black shiny circle
around his right eye, his nose was broke and swollen though his lip was
still bleeding at a corner and he had lost a few teeth. He leaned against
the headstone of one James Potter staring at the bright full moon. He
wondered how his friend Remus better known as Moony was doing. He and all
of his friends, who were probably dead by now, are not normal people. They
were wizards. And the cemetery he was in was also a wizarding cemetery. He
prayed to every God he knew of that everyone he knew was alright and that
they hadn't been caught. His thoughts where cut off by the appearance of
the most evil wizard there was Lord Voldemort. His pale face had no
appearance at all of being human. He had no nose, instead there slits like
that of a snake, his eyes were blood red and were full of anger, hatred,
greed and knowing that he had control over him. His cold voice then spoke
"Black you are trying my last nerves. Tell me what you know or else I shall
make you suffer so much that you shall wish that the Blacks never existed."
He grimaced as his binds became tighter and answered "I will NEVER tell you
where my Godson is. No matter what you do to me I will never become a
traitor like some people." As he said the last part his eyes glared at a
short fat man cloaked in black. His face was covered but there was no
mistaking the glistening light that came from the moon shining down on his
silver hand. "If that's how it shall be then so be it. Cruico" Black
withered in pain. He bit his tongue forcing himself not to cry out in pain
and give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of crying and screaming in pain.
"STUPID FOOL. ADVERA KADERVA!" (sp?) With that the man named Sirius Aidan
Black died.
Far across the Atlantic, Ginny Weasley woke with a start, and then wondered
what caused her to do so.
It was still night or the wee hours of the morning. For a moment, she laid
tensely, eyes narrowed, as she tried to ascertain what danger might have
stirred her survival instincts while she slept and yet . . .
She heard nothing.
She opened her eyes farther, twisted silently around.
Moonlight streamed through the window above the charming courtyard of her
Charleston home. Harry sat in the rocker by the window, looking out at the
night.
It wasn't strange that he should be there. Ginny had changed her own
natural sleeping schedule to coincide with his, and he had learned to lie
down and rest in the darkness of the night. But still, many a night she
woke, and saw him there. Sometimes, he read, with a book light, so as not
to disturb her. Sometimes, he sat, rocking, watching the moon. Mot of the
time, he was at ease, simply a quiet night owl, who, when really restless,
went downstairs to work or watch one of the twenty-four-hour news stations
or an old classic movie.
Tonight . . . there was something different.
Ginny sat up. Reaching for her robe at the foot of her bed, still afraid,
though she knew not why, and feeling strangely vulnerable in the naked
state in which she slept. She knew that he was instantly aware that she had
wakened; he could sense her slightest movement.
He turned to her, and even in the dimness of the moonlight, she saw that he
smiled apologetically.
"I woke you. I'm sorry. I thought I was quiet."
She shook her head. "You didn't wake me. I just woke."
He pulled her down to sit on his lap. She drew fingers through his hair,
wondering if it was a sin to love anyone so much.
"What is it?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.
He shook his head. "I don't know."
A shiver shot through her. His arms tightened around her. "Don't be
frightened. It's . . . whatever it is, it's away. Far away. Of course,
that's what bothers me. I can feel something. But I don't know what."
As if he were afraid that he might be sending his tenseness straight to her
soul, he stood suddenly, setting her upon her feet. "I'm in the mood for a
hamburger."
She looked up at I'm dryly. "At five in the morning?"
They were interrupted by a sudden wail. "The baby," Ginny said. She turned,
hurrying to the next room down the hall. She knew that Harry dogged her
footsteps, though she didn't hear his movement.
She flicked on the light and hurried over to the crib where six-month-old
Jameston slept. At the moment, he was wide awake, tufts of light brown hair
standing straight up from his tiny skull, cheeks red, little fist flying,
tears streaking down his little face. Ginny scooped him up into her arms.
The hardest thing for her to face when she married Harry was the fact she
couldn't have children. She had decided not to adopt; she wouldn't put an
infant into danger. But then, she heard about Jameston, just days old at
the time he was orphaned.
And now . . .
It didn't matter that she couldn't bear children. Jameston was he child.
She loved him fiercely as she ever could any child who had been born of her
own flesh and blood.
She cradled him gently in her arms, crooning to him. He began to calm down,
making little gulping sounds.
"Little boy, little boy, little boy . . . you're all right. It's all right.
Mommy is here."
His sobs subsided, and then began again.
"Here, "Harry said, and took him from her arms. Harry looked down at their
son. He spoke softly in French. Jameston looked up at his father, fell
silent, and slowly closed his eyes, sound asleep.
Ginny took him from her husband and slipped him back into his crib, then
came back to Harry. "I should resent your ability to calm him so easily,
you know," she said.
"I cheat. My French is excellent. And it's a soothing language."
She smiled. "Don't worry, raising him, and trying to keep working . . . to
keep up . . . I'm far too exhausted most of the time to be resentful."
He kissed her on the forehead. "Go back to bed, my love. Get some sleep."
"I'm not tired anymore. Let's have hamburgers."
"You don't want an omelet?" he asked. "It is veering toward breakfast
time."
"I'm in the mood for beef, very rare. How about steak and eggs?"
"That will do."
They went down the stairs, hand in hand. Ginny was proficient in a kitchen,
and good scrambled eggs were one of her specialties. But she noted, though
Harry spoke to her, his words casual, that he kept staring out the rear
windows. The pool---not much of a pool, but enough of a little lap pool---
was in the back, surrounded by latticeworks and vines, a beautiful area.
And a high stone wall that dated back more than a hundred and fifty years
surrounded the back work. She couldn't understand what he was watching so
intently.
Or perhaps she did.
He watched the moon.
Moment's later; she came out to the dining room. "Steak and eggs, and a
wonderful Burgundy to accompany the meal."
"Burgundy---at this hour of the morning?" he inquired
"You bet," she told him.
They sat down to eat. She tried to be casual. She talked about Jameston's
smiles. The book she was reading. He responded with all the right words but
he wasn't really listening.
The deep darkness of the night began to lift.
He stood watching. "Well, that was delicious. We should try to get a little
sleep."
Ginny nodded. She started to pick up the dishes. He caught her arm, and his
deep emerald eyes touched hers.
"We'll get them later," he said.
She nodded, feeling a jump in her heart, in all her senses.
Her husband was an expert lover.
He loved her, and she knew how deeply, and the past didn't matter at all.
She followed him up the stairs, her hand in his, and at the foot of the bed
she shed the robe she had wrapped around herself. In seconds she felt his
hands upon her bare flesh, and as always, it was as if she was set afire,
as I she melted . . .
As if nothing else mattered in the world at all . . .
No matter the darkness, no matter the light, always, she could still feel
such passion, time after time, as if the world burst into gold, and
sometimes, after the volatile climax seized, seared, and salted her, the
brilliance would fade to black.
Finally, exhausted, she slept in peace.
He lay awake, and when he was sure she was completely into a world of
dreams, he rose.
He closed the curtains, and went downstairs, then down again to the
basement.
He kept a computer there. He started toward the desk, determined to send an
e-mail.
Then he decided against it. He found his place in the dark coolness of the
lowest section of the house. There he closed his eyes.
And receded into the depths of his mind
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
What do you think? Good? Bad? Well you better enjoy it its 12:31 am and I
have to get up at 7. I have to take my brother to school and then go to
work. Babysitting a 6 month old, a 2 year old and a 4 year old. Oh what
fun. So I have to go and everyone have a HAPPY
HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JJJJJJJJJJJJJ
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Some where in a small graveyard there was a man tied to a gravestone. He
was wearing a black robe with a bright silver phoenix on the back and
silver trimming on the sleeves and neck. He had brown eyes that had a
haunted look to them. You could practically see the pain and misery he has
been through if you happened to look in them. He his dark brown that went
down to his shoulders was tangled and looked as if he hadn't been washed in
days. He had a scar that ran from the corner of his left eye to the bottom
of his left ear. His face was covered in dirt and grim and he was covered
in bruises of different colors and sizes. He a nice black shiny circle
around his right eye, his nose was broke and swollen though his lip was
still bleeding at a corner and he had lost a few teeth. He leaned against
the headstone of one James Potter staring at the bright full moon. He
wondered how his friend Remus better known as Moony was doing. He and all
of his friends, who were probably dead by now, are not normal people. They
were wizards. And the cemetery he was in was also a wizarding cemetery. He
prayed to every God he knew of that everyone he knew was alright and that
they hadn't been caught. His thoughts where cut off by the appearance of
the most evil wizard there was Lord Voldemort. His pale face had no
appearance at all of being human. He had no nose, instead there slits like
that of a snake, his eyes were blood red and were full of anger, hatred,
greed and knowing that he had control over him. His cold voice then spoke
"Black you are trying my last nerves. Tell me what you know or else I shall
make you suffer so much that you shall wish that the Blacks never existed."
He grimaced as his binds became tighter and answered "I will NEVER tell you
where my Godson is. No matter what you do to me I will never become a
traitor like some people." As he said the last part his eyes glared at a
short fat man cloaked in black. His face was covered but there was no
mistaking the glistening light that came from the moon shining down on his
silver hand. "If that's how it shall be then so be it. Cruico" Black
withered in pain. He bit his tongue forcing himself not to cry out in pain
and give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of crying and screaming in pain.
"STUPID FOOL. ADVERA KADERVA!" (sp?) With that the man named Sirius Aidan
Black died.
Far across the Atlantic, Ginny Weasley woke with a start, and then wondered
what caused her to do so.
It was still night or the wee hours of the morning. For a moment, she laid
tensely, eyes narrowed, as she tried to ascertain what danger might have
stirred her survival instincts while she slept and yet . . .
She heard nothing.
She opened her eyes farther, twisted silently around.
Moonlight streamed through the window above the charming courtyard of her
Charleston home. Harry sat in the rocker by the window, looking out at the
night.
It wasn't strange that he should be there. Ginny had changed her own
natural sleeping schedule to coincide with his, and he had learned to lie
down and rest in the darkness of the night. But still, many a night she
woke, and saw him there. Sometimes, he read, with a book light, so as not
to disturb her. Sometimes, he sat, rocking, watching the moon. Mot of the
time, he was at ease, simply a quiet night owl, who, when really restless,
went downstairs to work or watch one of the twenty-four-hour news stations
or an old classic movie.
Tonight . . . there was something different.
Ginny sat up. Reaching for her robe at the foot of her bed, still afraid,
though she knew not why, and feeling strangely vulnerable in the naked
state in which she slept. She knew that he was instantly aware that she had
wakened; he could sense her slightest movement.
He turned to her, and even in the dimness of the moonlight, she saw that he
smiled apologetically.
"I woke you. I'm sorry. I thought I was quiet."
She shook her head. "You didn't wake me. I just woke."
He pulled her down to sit on his lap. She drew fingers through his hair,
wondering if it was a sin to love anyone so much.
"What is it?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.
He shook his head. "I don't know."
A shiver shot through her. His arms tightened around her. "Don't be
frightened. It's . . . whatever it is, it's away. Far away. Of course,
that's what bothers me. I can feel something. But I don't know what."
As if he were afraid that he might be sending his tenseness straight to her
soul, he stood suddenly, setting her upon her feet. "I'm in the mood for a
hamburger."
She looked up at I'm dryly. "At five in the morning?"
They were interrupted by a sudden wail. "The baby," Ginny said. She turned,
hurrying to the next room down the hall. She knew that Harry dogged her
footsteps, though she didn't hear his movement.
She flicked on the light and hurried over to the crib where six-month-old
Jameston slept. At the moment, he was wide awake, tufts of light brown hair
standing straight up from his tiny skull, cheeks red, little fist flying,
tears streaking down his little face. Ginny scooped him up into her arms.
The hardest thing for her to face when she married Harry was the fact she
couldn't have children. She had decided not to adopt; she wouldn't put an
infant into danger. But then, she heard about Jameston, just days old at
the time he was orphaned.
And now . . .
It didn't matter that she couldn't bear children. Jameston was he child.
She loved him fiercely as she ever could any child who had been born of her
own flesh and blood.
She cradled him gently in her arms, crooning to him. He began to calm down,
making little gulping sounds.
"Little boy, little boy, little boy . . . you're all right. It's all right.
Mommy is here."
His sobs subsided, and then began again.
"Here, "Harry said, and took him from her arms. Harry looked down at their
son. He spoke softly in French. Jameston looked up at his father, fell
silent, and slowly closed his eyes, sound asleep.
Ginny took him from her husband and slipped him back into his crib, then
came back to Harry. "I should resent your ability to calm him so easily,
you know," she said.
"I cheat. My French is excellent. And it's a soothing language."
She smiled. "Don't worry, raising him, and trying to keep working . . . to
keep up . . . I'm far too exhausted most of the time to be resentful."
He kissed her on the forehead. "Go back to bed, my love. Get some sleep."
"I'm not tired anymore. Let's have hamburgers."
"You don't want an omelet?" he asked. "It is veering toward breakfast
time."
"I'm in the mood for beef, very rare. How about steak and eggs?"
"That will do."
They went down the stairs, hand in hand. Ginny was proficient in a kitchen,
and good scrambled eggs were one of her specialties. But she noted, though
Harry spoke to her, his words casual, that he kept staring out the rear
windows. The pool---not much of a pool, but enough of a little lap pool---
was in the back, surrounded by latticeworks and vines, a beautiful area.
And a high stone wall that dated back more than a hundred and fifty years
surrounded the back work. She couldn't understand what he was watching so
intently.
Or perhaps she did.
He watched the moon.
Moment's later; she came out to the dining room. "Steak and eggs, and a
wonderful Burgundy to accompany the meal."
"Burgundy---at this hour of the morning?" he inquired
"You bet," she told him.
They sat down to eat. She tried to be casual. She talked about Jameston's
smiles. The book she was reading. He responded with all the right words but
he wasn't really listening.
The deep darkness of the night began to lift.
He stood watching. "Well, that was delicious. We should try to get a little
sleep."
Ginny nodded. She started to pick up the dishes. He caught her arm, and his
deep emerald eyes touched hers.
"We'll get them later," he said.
She nodded, feeling a jump in her heart, in all her senses.
Her husband was an expert lover.
He loved her, and she knew how deeply, and the past didn't matter at all.
She followed him up the stairs, her hand in his, and at the foot of the bed
she shed the robe she had wrapped around herself. In seconds she felt his
hands upon her bare flesh, and as always, it was as if she was set afire,
as I she melted . . .
As if nothing else mattered in the world at all . . .
No matter the darkness, no matter the light, always, she could still feel
such passion, time after time, as if the world burst into gold, and
sometimes, after the volatile climax seized, seared, and salted her, the
brilliance would fade to black.
Finally, exhausted, she slept in peace.
He lay awake, and when he was sure she was completely into a world of
dreams, he rose.
He closed the curtains, and went downstairs, then down again to the
basement.
He kept a computer there. He started toward the desk, determined to send an
e-mail.
Then he decided against it. He found his place in the dark coolness of the
lowest section of the house. There he closed his eyes.
And receded into the depths of his mind
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
What do you think? Good? Bad? Well you better enjoy it its 12:31 am and I
have to get up at 7. I have to take my brother to school and then go to
work. Babysitting a 6 month old, a 2 year old and a 4 year old. Oh what
fun. So I have to go and everyone have a HAPPY
HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JJJJJJJJJJJJJ