⊰ survivor ⊱

With a hand that ached and a forehead that was crease by a frown, Hestia was leaning over her parchment. All the stories her brothers had told her about seventh year had sadly been true, and not in the least exaggerated: the year was already promising to cause an immense amount of stress, and she was only a month and a half in. Putting down her quill – she had been busy writing for quite some time now, and her hand did deserve a break by now – she let out a sigh and leaned over to the person sitting across of her.                     “Who does Slughorn think he is, giving us this much homework?.”

i was just a kid            & all i really w a n t e d                      was my  f a t h e r