'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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'I was dreaming in my dreaming Of an aspect bright and fair And my sleeping, it was broken But my dream, it lingered near In the form of shining valleys Where the pure air recognised And my senses newly opened I awakened to the cry That the people have the power Upon the meek the graces shower
Vengeful aspect became suspect And bending low as if to hear And the armies ceased advancing Because the people had their ear And the shepherds and the soldiers Lay beneath the stars Exchanging visions and laying arms To waste in the dust'
CW: one paragraph references death and substance abuse/ how the overwhelming theme of loss could be what prevents Hera from casting her Patronus.
Producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was fundamentally different to producing it when confronted by something like a Dementor, and where Harry was keen to remind them Hera felt such advice applicable to most situations.
Had it not been for the D.A. lessons, Harry thought he would have been extremely unhappy. It became painstakingly obvious how much of himself Harry was exerting into this — often feeling that he was living for the hours he spent in the Room of Requirement. He'd always been an exceptionally hard worker and truthfully it made a difference that he was enjoying himself, swelling with pride as he looked around at his fellow D.A. members and saw how far each of them had come.
At times the Twins or Hera would joke about being taught by Harry, but in all honesty it never felt it; Fred and George's exceptional magic in their products had been proof enough of this, and through no help of his own, his older sister was becoming an avid dueller.
It seemed the only area she was struggling in was her Patronus — unable to form anything past a few feeble wisps of silver smoke from her wand tip for months now.
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy, " Cho had said brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty!"
"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you, " Harry returned, frowning, "What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor— "