The light wasn't strong, and the colour made everything it touched look sickly. But Corrie could see enough, and clearly enough, for the sight to make her heart sink. The staircase, the walls... it all looked old and fragile, and filthy with dust. The air was musty. No one would have believed that Min was only six years old and had been loved and lived in the whole time.
"Oh, Min." What was wrong with her? She would never have let herself stay like this normally, not for long. She was beautiful, and knew it, and horribly vain about it. She was constantly tidying up even Corrie's small room and organizing or whisking away clutter.
That boggart was going to suffer, Corrie thought fiercely. She was going to turn it into a fucking carousel pony.
Something caught her attention halfway up the stairs, jerking her away from the beginning of planning her pink and purple, flower-coated revenge. A sound... a creak? Would Min just be creaking for no reason? She was badly out of shape now, but... "Did you hear that?" Corrie whispered, unsure whether to charge ahead up the stairs or keep very still in the hope of hearing more. If there was anything, if it wasn't just her imagination, it had sounded like it came from upstairs. But maybe she was just imagining things. Min had turned into the kind of house where you imagined noises, after all. She would have been perfect for Albus Potter's haunted-wedding-house.