#fireboltz

              “What do Muggles think of your scar?” Neville asks suddenly as a group non-magic looking folk pass by outside a window of the Leaky Cauldron.  

          Despite Harry conquering the Dark Lord several years earlier, witches and wizards were still fascinated by the mark that served as a reminder that Harry (probably) nearly died as an infant.  Strange how people obsessed over a horrendous incident and its outcomes rather than Harry’s accomplishments.  How awful and annoying that must be.  He hoped Muggles just thought it was a cool. . Body modification as Muggles called it. 

              Neville shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  “S’a bit weird, isn’t it? How our folks focus so much on your scar. A horrible event that happened and they keep talking t’you about it— As if you could forget.”  Neville then realizes that he’s doing the exact same thing those ‘folks’ do, even if he isn’t peppering Harry with questions about the mark.

              His ears turn pink and he averts his gaze.  “Sorry.  I s’pose I’m doing that to you right now.  S-Sorry, Harry.”

                  bones crack and ache under his skin as he leans back, nearly toppling the stool over in the process of stretching. ( being hunched over a desk for hours doesn’t suit him, he thinks, but he knows it could be worse. he’s lived through the worse. if suffering at the hands of lower back pain is the biggest downfall of his job, he’ll take it. ) still, his eyes are heavy with exhaustion as he turns, gives harry a lopsided grin.

        “She’s old and it’s about time she died.” Her shoulders   rise and fall in a quick shrug as she glances back at him. She knew it wasn’t good to speak so carelessly about the dead, especially since Lydia Arnold never really bothered her, but Ziggy’s been trying to get away from anything concerning death as much as possible since that fateful summer. Maybe she’d earn back a few morality points after packing up Lydia’s belongings.

        “Would you come to my funeral?” It’s asked in the   absentminded and pondering manner her voice always carries, though Luna is quite curious. Death was never a topic she thought about often but it was one of the only things she was certain would happen at some point, to her and to her friends and family. Her question was innocent; there was no shame in dying, nor was there shame in wondering about it. “I’d come to yours,” she adds.

@fireboltz​​  sent   .  .   .    ‘  i  did  violence  to  my  own  heart .  ’

THE  ORGAN   SHE  KNEW   SO  WELL    ,       SHROUDED  SO  OFTEN  STILL  IN  MYSTERY      .           the  mechanics  she  knew  so  well  ,     (   BLOOD  BEATING  ,   VENTRICLE,   ATRIUM,   ARTERIES  AND  VALVES   .    )        but  the  inner  workings  she  did  not  .      even  with  her  years  of  study ,    she  did  not  understand  how  it  fluttered,  how  it  ached  .     she’d  felt  blood  speed  through  the  atrium,   knew  how  it  pumped  faster,   but  she  did  not  so  easily  decipher  the  meaning  of  that .   THE  MECHANICS  ,    THE  FEELINGS  -   not  so  easily  married  .  

❝      and   how  did  you  do   that      -       ❞        she  knows  what  they  think  of  her  ,     that  she  can  heal  all  hurts  of  the  heart  .     if  that  were  true,   she  would  not  ache  so  much  .      but  she  plays  the  role  anyway  ,     for  now  it’s  the  only  one  she  has   .           ❝    accidental  ,    deliberate   ?    -    or  was  it  done  to  you    ❞      this  they  sometimes  did  not  want  to  admit  ,      AS  IF  ONLY  VIOLENCE  WAS  DONE  TO  THE  SELF  .     as  if  it  wasn’t  sometimes  borne  out  of  love ,   loss  ,   pain ,    first .