#survivalworn

Harry, 

   This is a short letter, because if there are the right words, I don’t know what they are. The best I can do is I am sorry, and the confession that I know that isn’t enough. You deserved a better childhood than what I gave you. I have no pretensions to an ability to make up for that. But I can offer you something I think you’d like. Something I should have done a long time ago. 

I would like to talk to you about your mother. Tell you things about her. What she was like as a little girl. I’ve enclosed some photos for you of her. I don’t have many, but these are all of them. You should have them. 

Also enclosed is an address. There is a small cafe there, quiet, out of the way. I would be happy to meet you there and tell you all about Lily. Your mother was an amazing woman. 

“stop.”

it comes out of my mouth before i can stop it & the guilt ebbs at my throat. i’ve killed people. people have died for me. & for what? so i could play house with peeta? it isn’t like that. none of it is like that. but it doesn’t make me living while others die alright. i don’t deserve anything. especially not peeta. that doesn’t mean i’m complaining.

i look up from the bow i’ve been trying to carve. i immediately waver as i feel myself relax. i love you comes to mind. i find his eyes. i still don’t know what he sees in me. i won’t ever understand why he wants to stay. even after everything.

maybe snow had it right about me. 

maybe the shininess is right.

the remorse coats my skin as i swallow. i look back to the small piece of wood, the dagger haymitch gifted me in my other palm. there’s a fresh layer of dirt mingled with the remorse. i’ve missed it, seeing the lines of ash & coal & earth caked into the lines of my palms. no matter how hard i wash them. i go back to softly digging the blade against the wood. pushing the bark out. exposing the raw wood.

“sorry.”

my throat closes up. i don’t know why he sees me as special as he does. i’m just me.

“i guess i just don’t think it’s based in merit.” because if it was, he’d be wrong. // @survivalworn

there’s confusion in her large doe like eyes, ones painted with about five layers of different eyeshadows, glitters, & rhinestones. she doesn’t understand what he’s asking. or at least, she’s not supposed to, even though she does know the answer. even though the four letter name pops into her mind. the cotton candy strands of hair fall along her features as the glass of tonic in her proffered hand remains still. they’ve maxed him out on morphling, so this was the next best thing to see if it could help c a l m him down.

her head tilts to the side, inquisitive as her brows furrow. she pulls the glass back & instead sets it on the small nightstand beside his h o s p i t a l bed. her lips aren’t sewn shut anymore, but she still fears mouthing things to people. the only time she opens her mouth, literally, is to drink her special smoothies. or maybe to fix her lipstick.

she would hum, if she could, to help relax him. then that brings an i d e a to mind. standing up, candie reaches into the deep front pockets of her work dress. it’s a small music device & with a sparkly pastel blue & pink nailed digit, she deactivates the headphones. she opts for the small speaker it has, letting the soft melodic music play as she b ea m s over at him. 

whenever she gets nervous or scared she turns this one on, pulling up the holographic image of the album cover. she points at the n a m e of the playlist. for when the world feels too much. // @survivalworn​

@survivalworn

Back in September, it had seemed like winter would never come. The days hadn’t gone as slowly as they had during Harry’s first year of school, when Hermione had poured over every letter with eager delight and sent back a thousand question about the moving staircases and underwater dormitories and floating candles (where did the wax go?) but they had still dragged. When Harry had finally stepped off the train Hermione hadn’t been there to greet him; she wasn’t permitted to go to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, had to wait at home where it was safe -- but she had still met him with a great big hug, arms flying around his neck and voice raising in a gleeful squeal, despite the delay.

Dinner had begun with just as much excitement all around, Harry dominating the conversation of course -- he had the most to tell; Hermione understood that, especially after mum had explained it thrice over the preceding days -- and Hermione listening eagerly as he went on and on and on about his new Quidditch team, his first match as Slytherin’s Seeker. At first that had been exciting too; Hermione had never seen a Quidditch match and she had a hard time picturing what was going on when the family listened to them on the wireless, and Harry’s letters home hadn’t elucidated much, but she had been excited because he had been excited, and certainly flying sounded exciting, but...but.

But it was one more thing that she would never do, wasn’t it? Going to Hogwarts, getting a wand of her own, riding a broomstick...all things she would never see, never experience for herself. Not because she wasn’t smart, not because she wasn’t talented, but because of what she had been born. It wasn’t fair, and suddenly Hermione couldn’t bear to hear another word of Harry’s wonderful, exciting, marvelous, magically perfect life.

“Excuse me,” she whispered. “I’m feeling a little queasy. I think I’ll go lie down.” Not waiting for anyone to speak, to excuse her or stop her or question her, Hermione shoved her chair back from the table. She practically ran as she carried her half-full plate into the kitchen; she did run as she fled upstairs to her bedroom. She made it through the door before the tears started and she threw herself down on the bed, muffling her sniffles into her pillow. She took a sort of self-righteous pleasure in the fact that she wasn’t going to ruin Harry’s homecoming by letting anyone know she was upset -- but the knock on her door a few minutes later burst that pretty delusion, too.

Harry and Lily having to run after James sacrifices himself for them. Lily grows wary and suspicious of everyone in the aftermath, even Remus and Dumbledore, and so she raises Harry on her own, constantly on the move, a little paranoid, but is it really paranoia at that point? She does her best to provide Harry with everything she can, giving him all the care and love in the world, while still preparing him to deal with a world that wants to use him. When he turns eleven, they’re waiting for his letter, and she stands next to him until the last second that the train rolls away from the platform. Just, Harry and Lily vs. The World. Because The World sucks.

That inane T100 version of Marauder era I have in my head -- the Marauders having been part of the 100 sent down, and Lily and Petunia being grounders. You know so much more about the fandom than I do, but I still want it. 

And then for James and Harry both alive, the one where they adopt Hermione too!!

@survivalworn { ginny }

The house was quiet and cozy, the other two inhabitants long in bed. Unlike Hermione and Ginny who were enjoying a lazy winter’s break from their final year at Hogwarts School, Ron and Harry both had to be at work at the Ministry the next morning and needed their sleep. It had already been past midnight when Harry had finally reluctantly led the way to bed, Ginny teasing both him and her brother for not being able to stay up with her and Hermione.

“You don’t have to face Proudfoot’s lectures about ‘the dangers of dull reflexes’ if you show-up yawning,” Ron had retorted. “I swear, it’s like having Moody back all over...”

The girls had laughed at them as they trooped upstairs then shooed Kreacher away, insisting that they could take care of themselves if they needed anything else. Now there was solitude and quiet, their conversation having lulled away into comfortable silence some time ago. Hermione knew she should go to bed as well but she was warm and comfortable and bed was two flights of stairs away. It was nice just sitting here in front of the slowly dwindling fire, not having to do anything. Not having to worry about anything or fight anything or fear anything.

It couldn’t last, although when Hermione’s voice broke the silence it wasn’t to speak of the threats or dangers that had once been so common in their lives.

returning to school, well, to her, had been one giant mistake. in fact, the only reason ginny had gone to complete her final year, was due to her mother insisting that she complete her newts, despite already securing a position on the holy head harpies. much to her annoyance, && her mother’s satisfaction, she reenrolled, doing her best to achieve decent marks. this, however, proved tough when every corner of the school reminded her of the year the carrows ran amuck, && each && every time she sat in the great hall, she remembered finding her brother in their -- lifeless. life without fred was still empty && pointless, but she was slowly pulling herself out of the hole she was in earlier this year, which in part could be thanks to being quidditch captain && getting to fly a broom whenever she wanted (( the one thing that made her feel somewhat like herself again. ))

the burrow was decorated to the nines this year, she noted, entering the living room with her travel bag over her shoulder. this was of course due to her mother throwing herself into the holiday to avoid missing fred. her family as a whole each had a different coping mechanism, though none were exactly the healthiest. her eyes wandered around the room, counting the number of stockings -- her heart fell, noticing that there was one missing, the giant stocking embroidered with the letter ‘ f ’ was gone. dropping her bag to the floor, a heavy sigh could be heard escaping her mouth, head shaking slightly in disbelief. it had already been six months without fred, yet it felt like worlds longer.  trying to forget about her departed brother, she walked into the kitchen, knowing there had to be something to eat. her mother warned her not to fill up on sweets since she was hosting a rather large dinner tonight to celebrate her coming home, which in a way, gave her something to be excited about. she hadn’t seen her brothers in months, so this family dinner could be good. what took her off guard though, was seeing harry potter standing in her kitchen. of course, she wasn’t completely surprised -- her mother viewed harry as one of her own, so naturally he && hermione would be invited to a family dinner, but ginny hadn’t spoken to harry in months, so seeing him so soon && without warning caused her heart to stop momentarily, her mouth widened slightly in shock.  “   harry !   ”   she exclaimed, though her tone wasn’t all that telling. it wasn’t displaying any type of emotion other than shock.   “   i wasn’t expecting to see you here.    ”   she simply stated the obvious, not daring to get all that close to him. while they weren’t on bad terms, they were no longer dating, so ginny wasn’t entirely sure of what was normal && what was overstepping boundaries. she tried to be mindful of that.    “   uh, how’ve you, er been?   ”   not one to usually be at a loss of words, she was trying her hardest to fill up the uncomfortable silence.  

     ‘ i know you did. but gale, you must understand ; these things are more DELICATE than simply making noise. acting so brashly could get you hurt. ’  a small, tentative pause.  ‘ i don’t want you to get hurt, gale. ’