'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...
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE; ... i live on sheer willpower
[ JUNE TWELFTH-EIGHTEENTH, 96' ]
No one in particular,
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'If I have to climb all the mountains on the moon I'll be in butterfly morning's And wildflower afternoons I woke to my morning On the wings of a sunflower On the day I was born in On the petals of a wild flower With the sun high at noon
I'll find you in a cantaloupe Down there sittin' on seed Gonna trace your footsteps Underneath the weeds Gonna string you up some dandelions You're gonna wear 'em as beads You will be dancin' in lace wings and dimples On a big city sign that reads... '
Hera pushed through the crisp afternoon air, the Highlands being noticeably colder than the London mugginess she was used to — and admittedly fond of. Hogsmeade never had quite the appeal to her as it did her friends.
She remembered from her first year how McGonagall often tasked other prefects to do the dorm inspections while confined to her quarters with a piping hot cup of tea and tartan dressing gown. The problem therein lay with the fact that the prefects weren't doing so well themselves, having accompanied them out on the town the night before.
Most of these girls — Hera included, though running with a crowd much too old for her (and at the time, she'd thought, cool) lived for the weekends, and revolved every other day around preparing for these nights out. They'd dress themselves up and hang around in bars towards the end of the village, out from Madame Rosmerta's watchful eye in favour of flirting relentlessly with men in return drinks.
Hera couldn't judge as this was a game she was well-versed in, so much so that it soon became unlimited to the weekends, with her going out every night whenever she felt sad.
As with most things, it had taken years before Hera realised the magnitude of the situation and that no twelve year old should be doing anything of the sort. Her own children never would that was for sure.
Every time Hera walked through Hogsmeade, she felt this resurgence of memories brought on and so she did it for what she hoped would be the last in her lifetime. It felt so freeing, knowing there was seldom a week left until she'd be through and onto the next stage of life; whenever that may take her.
