shell cottage is beautiful , idyllic even . its the kind of place harry finds himself wanting for himself so bad , it feels like an ache beneath his ribs . harry used to think he needed people , he needed the ebb & flow of students & classes at hogwarts just to remind himself he existed ; but at a place like this , with sea salt in the air & not a whisper of a soul within a half - mile radius , he thinks maybe he might start to live .
wishful thinking , of course . there is still a war going on ; there are still countless witches , wizards , muggles whose names get read out on potterwatch every week . harry’s palms sting with the blisters from digging dobby’s grave , the mound of freshly overturned , red earth just near the edge of the garden .
how many ?
how many more ?
harry washes his hands in the kitchen . as blood & grime swirl down the drain , the window above the sink holds a view of the sea , glittering with the gold of the sunrise . at the kitchen table sits hermione , with a mug of tea that has undoubtedly long since gone cold . bandages are wrapped tight around her forearm .
harry winces involuntarily , his heart shredding itself in his chest . hermione had almost been one of the names --- part of a number that grew every week . there is nothing harry hates more than being powerless ; whether bellatrix intended to torture him that way or not is anyone’s guess .
harry wipes his hands on a dish towel .
❝ hey , ❞ he says gently , hesitantly . a sudden snore from ron in the living room alleviates just a little of the gravitas in the air --- some things never change , huh ? ---- & harry might’ve smiled , if he had not just buried a close friend of his . ❝ d’you mind if i sit here ? ❞ // @circeschild !!
