--Eric Halliwell--

Aaaaaannnd it's suddenly, once again, a lonely hallway that smells of delicious mochaly goodness, with only Eric and his book to be seen.

Stretches his lanky limbs out with a satisfying groan. "Good evening, Night Time."

[♙]— ᴇʀɪᴄ ᴀ. ʜᴀʟʟɪᴡᴇʟʟ .

". . . I hope he didn't run from -me."

"Well, then. . ." Someone should probably tell Sirius that Eric isn't a professor, only a tutor. x.com/BlvckDog_/stat…

Eric'll pity the boy forever then. x.com/BlvckDog_/stat…

❛ ᴺᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵃʳ, ⁿᵒ ᵐᵃᵗᵗᵉʳ ʰᵒʷ ⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳʸ, ⁿᵒʳ ʰᵒʷ ʲᵘˢᵗⁱᶠⁱᵉᵈ, ⁱˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᶜʳⁱᵐᵉ. ❜ ꜰɪʀsᴛ ᴡɪᴢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ᴡᴀʀ . [ 1970-1981 ]

On the night of December the 23rd, 1978, in the garden of a respectable Scottish village, there were several sounds to be heard.——

—— An owl's hoot. A car driving in the distance. Trees rustling in the soft wind. Quiet. Several loud cracks. ——

—— Shouting. Screaming. Explosions. A boy calling out for a father and brother. A woman's cries. Shrieks of laughter. ——

—— "Morsmordre!" Several loud cracks. Crackling of fire. Bricks tumbling. Walls falling. Embers sparking. ——

—— Silence. Silence. Silence. A single loud crack. Footsteps. Silence. "No." Running. "NO!" A young man sobbing. Scrambling. ——

—— Rubble being moved frantically. Several cracks. Running. A low, heartwrenching moan. Men's shouts. A young man's protests ——

—— of, "They're still in there! They're still alive! Let me go! LET ME GO!" A sizzle. The protests stopped. Quiet sobbing. Receding ——

—— footsteps. Several cracks. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. . .

"I hope you all had a spooky and festive Hallowe'en."

"I know I did. . ."

Sighs quietly. "This is why I don't have friends. . ."