Reunions || Game of Bros
@the-better-lestrange
An eerie air filled the corridors of place he once called home. Shadows, sleepless in the soft lines of dimmed lights, danced across the lavish halls at every turn. Footfalls rustled across the glistening wood floors of the manor in the ghost of a whisper emptied into the stiff air of a house practically unused. Closed doors remained deaf to the soft sounds gently echoing through the darkened halls, ignorant to the subtle ruckus of a welcomed invader traveling down familiar halls. It would be easy, Rabastan supposed, to get lost among the twisting corridors of the Lestrange manor.
A deafening screech echoed through the halls as heavy wood fell to the side. The room was bare – absent of the life so long ago lost. Lashes tangled in a brief embrace as Rabastan felt the stagnant stench of his late father’s study fill his lungs, a toxic pollution that left the lingering taste of something darker than dust in the back of his throat. Olive eyes opened with a bored stare, void of any emotion akin to nostalgia. The presence of a large desk occupied the majority of the room, decorated with globes and blank stationary on the surface. Matching bookcases lined the walls, interrupted only by the sharp stones of a cold fire mantle and the painting that resided above it. The room was disgustingly ordinary.
Moving over the threshold, Rabastan made his way toward the desk. His gaze fluttered over the boring contents laid out on the smooth surface of the oak before turning toward the cold metal of a drawer’s handle. Each was pulled out with the diminishing hope that the object of his attention could be found within the depth of the desk. A pocket watch remained elusive in the dark oak of dressers and desks alike. It was a search, Rabastan feared, that would only allow him the success of finding dusty books and trivial trinkets unneeded in retrospection.
