Ravenclaw, drabble, Mysterious noise, WC: 403

AU, for definite.

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An elderly couple shuffled down the stony path through the graveyard, slippers catching on the ground as they walked. The woman drew her jacket tighter, arms covered in goosebumps from the whispering susurrous of the breathing wind. Leaves churned in the breeze, fluttering down slowly, as if caught in time. Solitary, they moved towards the soil below. Jean Givings watched the colours fold into the darkness, caught in the blades of silvery moonlight, loosely grasping her husband's hand. It was cold to the touch from the air of the night. Their breath misted and crystallised in front of them.

Even after sixty-three years of marriage, Jean still felt that twinge of love and nervousness holding his hand. She felt as blissfully in love, as though they were still fifteen years of age. Harrold smiled back at her, his wisps of grey hair fluttering in the breeze. Around them, the hollows of trees whistled tunelessly throughout the graveyard.

Chettenham Church was one of their favourite haunts, in both youth and old age, having taken their evening stroll through there every day since they had moved to the village sixty years previously. The history of it had interested her, while the mystics had intrigued him.

A noise disturbed the pair, unlike anything either of them had heard before. A pounding; a heartbeat emanating from the darkness and shadows themselves. The pair of them stared into the black surroundings, searching for the source of the mysterious noise. Jean pursed her thin lips, frowning. It was old folklore that spirits of the place were significantly more active on Halloween night, and certainly would be in the graveyard.

Scratching, pounding, scraping, pulsating noises persisted. Maybe Jean had thought there was shouting, as evidence to the haunting. Nevertheless, the couple had already moved on.

As they continued into the dark, they missed the patch of churned, fresh soil. They walked right past the place where Draco Malfoy lay, six feet beneath the ground, nailed inside a coffin, desperately shouting and banging against the wood, slowly suffocating.

He wasn't completely certain as to how it had happened. Chloroform maybe. Perhaps he had been knocked out by a punch, waking as they nailed him inside, forcing him back against the wooden background.

He'd been buried alive.

And now he would just be a mysterious noise in the dead night air, until he succumbed to an everlasting sleep.

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Ta.