'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'Creating a radio play just for two In the parlour with a moon across her face And through the music he sweetly displays Silver speakers that sparkle all day Made for his lover who's floating And choking with her hands across her face
And in the dark we will take off our clothes And they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine There's no reason to grieve The world that you need is wrapped in gold silver sleeves And I will take you and leave you alone Watching spirals of white softly flow Over your eyelids and all you did Will wait until the point when you let go'
Hera had grown rather sick with all this talk of the future. Both Potter's tended to attract commotion wherever they went, but the commotion inside Grimmauld Place on the morning they were set to go to school was a different kind, one that made Hera very glad this would be her final year.
She tried not to say these things aloud, though, as it only promoted more conversations for the future — conversations she never quite seemed to have an answer to. People seemed hellbent on reminding her that in fifteen years time, the people she had practically grown up with at school would already have children, and be dropping them off at the station just as their parents are now for the last time.
The truth was, Hera had no plan for the future. War had tarnished every word that fell from her girlish lips with a cynicism she seemed to be the only one expressing. Everyone else was going into seventh year with the rest of their lives planned and ready for them, and here Hera was steering the streets of London like her own private car.
Only Hera wasn't even steering anything — not even her own life. She only hoped she would find some job that amused her; she couldn't bear to be the only one not doing anything with her life, and as long as she wasn't bored out of her mind, she figured any old job would work.
Hera had gotten dressed that morning at top speed, not that she'd had much choice; nearly everyone had banged on her door — or rather, Sirius' — that morning, yelling at her to hurry up.
Considering Fred and George had accidentally knocked Ginny down two flights of stairs with their bewitched trunks, Hera found everyone's concern with her timekeeping to be misplaced.
