26th January, 1894 — Gallivan House, Bartonburg
Veronica and his sister were both far too invested in the names on Cee’s dance card for Theo to have needed to detail his excuses for leaving, but he’d had the Cannons’ upcoming game ready in his back pocket just in case. It was late at night, though still early to have left the party, so he had taken his time wandering home, back through the midnight-still Bartonburg streets. Theo wasn’t actually planning on going over any work tonight; to be honest, he was probably just going to go to bed.
The house was quiet when he let himself in, the windows dark downstairs. He trudged up the stairs – carefully; Selene had been in bed before they’d left – and to his room. Once he’d kicked off his shoes and started loosening his shirt collar and cuffs, Theo went to his window to draw the curtains, but paused at the sight of something outside.
Hogsmeade was home to plenty of ghosts, so an odd streak of silvery-translucent-grey drifting past wasn’t altogether strange. But they didn’t usually look so familiar, and didn’t tend to be – people who weren’t dead. There was an unpleasant twist in his gut as he watched, unsettled, uncomprehending; abruptly he pushed up the window sash and leant out, forearms on the windowsill, as if the sudden rush of air to his face would dissipate the illusion. But no: there it still was, there he was, floating nearer. What the hell? In spite of his better judgement, maybe, Theo called his name.
The house was quiet when he let himself in, the windows dark downstairs. He trudged up the stairs – carefully; Selene had been in bed before they’d left – and to his room. Once he’d kicked off his shoes and started loosening his shirt collar and cuffs, Theo went to his window to draw the curtains, but paused at the sight of something outside.
Hogsmeade was home to plenty of ghosts, so an odd streak of silvery-translucent-grey drifting past wasn’t altogether strange. But they didn’t usually look so familiar, and didn’t tend to be – people who weren’t dead. There was an unpleasant twist in his gut as he watched, unsettled, uncomprehending; abruptly he pushed up the window sash and leant out, forearms on the windowsill, as if the sudden rush of air to his face would dissipate the illusion. But no: there it still was, there he was, floating nearer. What the hell? In spite of his better judgement, maybe, Theo called his name.
