'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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♱
'Now I'm here with you and I Would like to think that you would stick around You know that I'd just die to make you proud The taste, the touch, the way we love It all comes down to make the sound of our ... Love song
Dream a dream, here's a scene Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby Grab my waist, don't waste any part I believe that you see me for who I am So spill my clothes on the floor of your new car Is it safe to just be who we are?'
CW: SEX!!
Hera was no longer afraid. She didn't know if it was because she was so relieved to be home again, that she should return to their life better than she'd left, or simply that she was alongside her husband once more.
What she was certain of, however, was that with all the suffering they'd endured, there was little capacity for fear any longer. Sure, she was anxious over how Harry was getting on, but she trusted his instincts — if not his judgement.
She also trusted that God, in whichever form or deity that seemed to take, some transient being would grant peace in the land. And if it wasn't God, it was the sheer willpower each of them possessed, only spurred on by their dreary confinement.
Hera knew the best thing to do in this war-ravaged country was to lie down and let no one instil fear in her any longer.
She and Sirius enjoyed a short silence, holding each other most securely. He realised it had all been rather silly to assume she wouldn't return; abandonment simply wasn't her style in the time he'd known her.
And Hera too realised it was foolish to think the world would fall apart in her short absence. Sometimes, she used to think life would be far easier if her handlings with other people were reduced to copies of herself — she felt things ought to move a lot quicker, in spite of her procrastination and insubordination.
All her life, she'd been so afraid that once she was removed from a situation, all that came with such an existence would fall into nothingness:
She'd left Harry when she was eleven, and he'd persevered. She'd left her old friends from London behind, knowing she couldn't continue with sobriety if she remained in contact with them. And yet, they too had either come out of it stronger with the desire to heal from their choices or continue entirely with their substance abuse.
