#relegious

I don’t think it really gets recognised enough that some radical Christian commenting something along the lines of, “You need Jesus!” is basically the same as some wise-guy atheist saying, “Lol you know that’s not real right?”

For me and all the Muslims around the world. Peace be upon you ♡♡

Happy Easter!

He is Risen!

Enjoy!

He doesn’t feel...  Present?  Or at all?

Barty remembers, but he doesn’t understand.  Can’t comprehend.  Potter told him of his master’s demise.  Master?  Does he use that word?  The dementor attacked him, and Barty knows better.  He wants to deny it, but he knows.  He knows Voldemort always intended for it to kiss him.  Tying up loose ends, you see.  Discarding Barty.  But Voldemort is dead.  Is he emotionally confused?  Is that it? 

So no, he doesn’t feel.  He can’t feel.  He’s numb because everything will hurt as soon as he does.  Or was his soul taken?  Is he hollow, unable experience emotion because he is a shell of a man?  A husk.  Nothing.

Instead of continuing to linger on these thoughts, he forces himself to shove them out.  Survival.  That’s what he should concern himself with.  Somehow, he is here.  Wherever he is.  No longer at Hogwarts.  He realizes that he’s looking at the sky, and the stars are shining, and the moon is bright, and this is still the same night that he last left.  He turns his head, seeing the grass that he lays upon.  Trees in the distance.  There is movement next to him, so he turns once again, now looking toward his other side.

It takes him a moment to make sense of the form next to him.  A man.  But it’s not just a man; Barty knows this man.  That face, though it was younger when he last saw it.  

Barty wonders if he is dead.  

Perhaps there is still an afterlife even if the dementors succeed.  He wouldn’t know what happens.  No one could.  There is time to figure it out.  He reaches over slowly, sliding a hand along this man’s hair, thumb outlining his jaw.  It is David, isn’t it?  Touching him lets Barty know he really is there, is physical, isn’t just a figment of his imagination.  The roaming hand cups David’s cheek.