Dennis James Creevey. (ofmuggles) wrote in snitched, |
The note, sent via owl to him earlier in the morning, lay crumbled in the over jacket he had chosen to wear. It wasn't rain or cold that had been the reasoning in which the jacket had been chosen, but the idea of Death itself. It was odd to think that a simple mass of cloth, stitched together in order for wearing, was able to keep the thoughts of the dead from his mind, as well as the sickening stench of death, but one could hope. He had only smelled it once before, nearly a year ago, and it wasn't something you forgot. Where death was, death would stay. If someone was to die in a house, you could strip the interior and chemically clean it, you could scrub until your hands were raw and pained, but it would not fade. It was as if it was entombed in the wood of the house, almost an entity in itself, always present despite all efforts. No matter where it was, where it happened, Death would linger, claiming its spot.
The idea of over a hundred of people having died in a certain area, of the smell of burnt flesh lingering, was nearly horrifying. It wasn't a thought, however, that would allow Dennis to rethink his choice for coming. Be there death or no death, be there a smell that was indescribable and unforgettable, he was not afraid. He forced himself to think of the people he was helping, of the souls that had died that day and would remain nameless if they didn't go, if they didn't try and do what they could to help the dead rest peacefully.
He Apparated into the woods that surrounded Crowden, like a barrier from the outside world, keeping order and peace inside it's streets. The image the woods gave off, like a wall keeping everything out, appeared as if it had worked to ward away the Death that had taken the compound not far from here. Though the day was still thick with it, death, he imagined it wasn't near what awaited them. The afternoon was hazy, almost marsh like in its setting with the fog that hovered close to the ground, and he noted it with gratitude, as it would offer a good deal of coverage for them to fall back into if it was so needed.
Sighing, he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and set off a bit, edging around the woods just cut off from view of the town or its inhabitants. He noticed her not long after he started, and he couldn't help the blood that was suddenly pulsing in his head. He was restless to help, to be of some assistance. He didn't want to startle her, so he stood a good distance away and spoke her name, loud enough to carry to her, but not to be heard by anyone else that might be near, "Nymphadora Tonks?" He had yet to learn of her name preference.