He could never quite pretend he was a soul at peace, but when Barnaby felt especially restless a spirit, a drift through the cemetery never hurt. It was some respite from the impudence of Life and noise of the rest of Hogsmeade, the hasty pace of lives briefly lived; and if he encountered anyone in these not-quite-fields of Asphodel, at least one could count on the visitors to be appropriately sombre about Life and Death.
Mostly, Barnaby came here when he needed a little due awe and attention afforded him – those in mourning were typically more interested in his opinions than those getting on quite happily in mundanity.
Today, however, he had fancied this a place quiet enough to delve better into his thoughts and into a recent composition he was working through. “...heals,” he echoed to himself, a muttered refrain as he contemplated how best to continue. “Wheels – keels – ideals – ordeals...”
He had been flitting through these musings so all-consumedly that he hadn’t noticed his phantom form sweeping dangerously close to a body until he was practically breathing down the man’s neck. “Ah, if it isn’t a live one!” Barnaby exclaimed, abruptly shaken out of his reverie – never mind the man’s.
Mostly, Barnaby came here when he needed a little due awe and attention afforded him – those in mourning were typically more interested in his opinions than those getting on quite happily in mundanity.
Today, however, he had fancied this a place quiet enough to delve better into his thoughts and into a recent composition he was working through. “...heals,” he echoed to himself, a muttered refrain as he contemplated how best to continue. “Wheels – keels – ideals – ordeals...”
He had been flitting through these musings so all-consumedly that he hadn’t noticed his phantom form sweeping dangerously close to a body until he was practically breathing down the man’s neck. “Ah, if it isn’t a live one!” Barnaby exclaimed, abruptly shaken out of his reverie – never mind the man’s.
