'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.
♱
'I saw the sign No one's gonna drag you up To get into the light where you belong But where do you belong?
Under the pale moon For so many years I've wondered who you are How could a person like you bring me joy? Under the pale moon Where I see a lot of stars, Is enough enough?'
By morning, after the dressings were changed, the pain shifted into something quieter but heavier. A deep bruise in the bones. The kind that throbbed with her heartbeat.
"You saved us, " Harry said softly, his hand clasped around hers.
The metal bed frame pressed into his side, but he paid it no mind. She wasn't strong enough yet for him to sit beside her, lest his body cause a dip in the mattress and delay her recovery.
She was able to lift her head more now, having slept through the night with the aid of Dreamless Sleep Potions.
Still, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the ache. It would get better, she knew as much.
"I'm no hero, Harry, " she breathed strenuously. "I'd just rather it be me than any of you. "
And so Harry filled in the gaps of what had happened the night before, with his and Hermione's foray into the past.
All the while, she kept imagining the shape of her wounds — what the scars would look like once the magic settled and the skin decided what memory to keep.
Though Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her see them yet, her mind filled in the gaps with terrible accuracy.
She was grateful to be alive, of course she was. But lying there, feeling the bandages pull whenever she inhaled too deeply, a small, traitorous part of her worried that the scars would be too noticeable. She feared the permeance of her scars — the idea that for the rest of her life, she'd carry a moment she never had time to think about, only act on.
And maybe that was what Gryffindor courage really is — the instinct that leaves a mark long after the danger has passed.
"And what with Lupin resigning— " Harry said grimly.
