'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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♱
'And although my pride, is not easy to disturb You sent me flying when you kicked me to the curb With your battered jeans and your Beasties tee Now I can't work like this, with you next to me
And although he's nothing in the scheme of my years, it just serves to bludgeon my futile tears. And I'm not used to this, no, I observe, I don't chase. But now I'm stuck with consequences, thrust in my face
And I knew the truth, when it came, would be to that effect. At least you're attracted to me which I did not expect. Didn't think you'd get my number down as such. But I never hated myself, for my age so much'
December came and went in a blur. At first, Harry wasn't sure what month they were in — the radio had stopped reporting on what day it was, which they attributed to the growing need for censorship. People began to question less as festivities crept closer, and things seemed largely the same: if you were Pureblood, no less.
Hermione's attempts at keeping track had all but gone out the window after a few sleepless nights keeping watch, which rendered each of them unintelligible on the more straightforward matters.
Harry knew when it was Christmas by the mere atmosphere around them, most notably through his and Hermione's ill-fated visit to Godric's Hollow.
They pretended this was the healthier alternative, that by not dwelling on the fact that they'd been on this path for months now with no more success than they'd had when they'd started, they'd be able to turn their attention to more pressing matters.
However, this had not been the case with Hermione, as dejected as she was by Ron's absence, and Harry lamenting the loss of his wand following their run-in with Nagini.
Somehow, Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand's fault that he could no longer feel the connection between him and Voldemort, the very one who had saved him those times before. Harry was now less confident he'd be able to defeat him by the time they next met.
They'd thought about going to Hera and Sirius' for Christmas, and though he felt he needed it as he did the air he breathed, something about it seemed wrong to Harry. He doubted a trap would be laid out for him, particularly given the notoriety of his sister and godfather — had they been captured, he was sure to find out, right?
