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The Metamorphosis pt. 2
In a location parallel to time and space, wide, doe-like eyes flew open. With a gasp, a woman jolted up from where she had been lying, a hand clutching at her throat. Her other hand clawed at the fabric of her dress as she panted as if she had been running for miles.
She took a moment to compose herself before her brown eyes narrowed.
Something was not right.
This bore intervention.
From its ground-hugging position at the feet of a tattered armchair, a lengthy, green snake sat coiled in wait. Its keen, unblinking gaze was locked on the men in the middle of the ill-kept, shabby room. In the gloom of the dimly-lit sitting room, they could have been arrested from just how suspicious the proceedings appeared.
One of the men was very modest-looking — he could have passed for anything from an office-worker to a farmer if he hadn't looked like he had been severely beaten with a plank of wood before being dragged across the countryside through dirt and muck. This man was unconscious and spread across a dusty, low-standing coffee table with one of the other shady fellows hovering over him with a polished stake of wood, prodding at him harshly. For whatever reason, the unconscious man didn't wake up despite the rough treatment.
The second man was a fair-haired, pale fellow that might have passed as attractive if it wasn't for his stress-lined face and the distinct madness he exuded. He was crouched over the first man like a vulture looming over its fallen prey. With a steady hand that belied the mania of his expression, he bound his victim through invisible forces.
The third man was what elevated the proceedings from merely suspicious to horrific. Flesh sagged in the most unflattering way. The skin was unhealthy and limp with that sallow, oily sheen meat got when it wasn't only rotting, but hosting maggots that were finally mature enough to begin eating their way out into the open. Leathery patches of hair and skin were hanging off in the way of an animal that had run afoul with a wood-chipper. His body was draped across a faded settee, and if it wasn't for the occasional blink, one would have thought him to be as dead as he looked. As it was, it was difficult to ascertain if such a creature was a true man or a reanimated carcass.
"I grow tired of waiting," the vision of horror said in a breathy, groaning voice. His tone was flat and impatient. As he spoke, the chapped skin of his lips split apart, oozing congealing blood and pus.
"Wait no more, my lord," said the fair-haired fanatic, stepping away from the prostrated body and lowering himself into the dust in a kneel. "The body is ready to receive you."
The abomination of a living thing creaked to his feet and made his ungainly way over to loom over the unconscious man like his servant had. Flakes of unknown substances fell from him as he teetered forward. Without further ado, he then climbed onto the prone body and reached his decaying hands out to rest on the shallowly breathing chest.
"Silence the room, Barty," the walking corpse commanded. "We wouldn't want the Muggles to come snooping after hearing this filth's screams."
This proved to be a well-thought precaution, for not long after those words the entire decrepit room echoed with inhuman shrieks and the sound of wood pounding wood as the body writhed and thrashed spasmodically.
Nearly two hundred miles away, Heri Potter bolted straight up in bed, breath ragged, eye wide, her scar throbbing furiously. Distressed, octopus-like tendrils erupted from her, lashing out blindly, destroying whatever was in reach.
A good week and a half after the capture of Pettigrew (and three days after Sirius had been cleared of all charges), Sirius had managed to set up a place to live just in time to receive Heri as she came for the summer holidays. It was an old townhouse that had seen better days, but it was clean enough where it mattered, and really anything was more welcoming than staying with the Dursleys. What mattered to Heri was the fact that the room set up for her was obviously done up with care, actually being the cleanest place in the house on top of being the only room with all new furniture. It was a sweet gesture, and she let Sirius know that she appreciated the accommodations already made and that she wasn't in the least bothered that they weren't living in a castle (as he seemed to have feared she might).
Not that they let it remain ill-kept, of course — a few hundred charm'd cleaning supplies working non-stop for over just half a week and it was clean enough to eat off the floors.
Living with Sirius had the potential to be uncomfortable if it hadn't been for a few helpful factors that eased their interactions. It should have gone without saying that Remus was a godsend.
They dragged Remus in right off the bat, sweet-talking him into staying with them at least for the summer.
Remus had been living in muggle London before his time as a Hogwarts' professor, working modest jobs that were willing to let him have three days off in a row during the time of the full moon. He cited religious reasons for why he needed that specific time, but even with Muggles as a whole not believing in magical creatures anymore, Muggles still looked at you funny if you mentioned needing time off during the full moon. Thinking about it, saying he was part of a religion that had rites during the full moon likely made Remus' potential employers think he was in a cult.