𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁, 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙹𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂 : 𝙷𝙴, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙴.
OFTENTIMES, HE WILL COPE WITH THE NOTION OF UNDESERVING. harry’s breath frosted against the staining chilled glass / where the clutch of death denied so many the once simple art. his eyes will stare blankly, void all charm in the witching hour, to the ceiling when he’s lying in bed every night. his throat will feel invisible grips handling tighter … [ SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, BOY. YOUR SKIN IS CRAWLING, IT’S NOT GOING WELL, IS IT? ] while his body will tremour with the ghosts since past, and the ones still within. misery stains and aches, bleeding through pores: though lyra reed is there to mother him back to existence. every single time. just as he was to reel her back in upon the brinks of mental and physical devastation. how they connected. and how he loved her. if not for himself, harry lived for lyra, BECAUSE OF HER!
as the old saying goes: he is grinning from ear to ear. pawing at the long sleeves of a weathered sweater, [ mere tick in these cool months ], the laugh begins low in his throat before processing aloud, meeting the atmosphere and delicately melting into it. still an expression so unused, [ UNDESERVED ! ] that when it does manage to expel from the insides, harry’s often caught between graciousness and uncertainty. alas, homing himself with that mother of his was indeed such a grand decision, and not lacking the pleasantries both were denied for so long. ‘ i’m not normal “men”, miss lyra. and ‘sides that: i think you would be terribly lonely without me here, yes? ’paused, contemplation riding; you always need to have the last word! ‘ or should that be lady reed? madame reed? ’
all banter placed aside, [ only for now, sure to return far sooner than later! ] while melody allows moments peace. soothing rhythm before only the roar of their own pulses are caught in silence. harry is eyeing her close… the curve of her lips state encouragement while the hue in her gaze provides instructions to continue forth; never give up. not the first time she’s peppered his life with similar words and means. he’s nodding, a faint mhmm yeah rolling from the tongue so low that the air barely registers. sight focused evidently upon the keys, their momentarily interlocked fingers, now, paying attention solely to instruction. prompted to continue — he doesn’t linger there, but he sinks into those tips dancing ever lightly upon his back — following her word constantly invited into his chest, coming so easily.
stumbles at first, and to be exact, it takes the sum of three before the note is played correctly. sharp and unpracticed, but bettering; just as his soul was by her side. I KNOW IT’S BAD WHEN WE LOOK OUT THE WINDOW / BUT BAD, BAD PEOPLE DON’T LIVE IN OUR HOUSE. genuine glee drips from those soft features he bears, puddling and warming his entire body upon that final note of accomplishment. it may have sounded trivial, but importance was sought in the tiny things, these days. false security was constantly shadowing harry potter – it had become necessity to appreciate all. ‘ and there we go, ’ he turns tone akin to a smug child, but that smile is oh-so genuine. ‘ somehow i doubt i’ll be out making rudding igloos anytime soon — you’re far too proud of me to let me out of your sight. ’ tune not quite convincing as he offers her hand the tightest squeeze, a million thanks enveloped within. distraction, goals met, reasoning and accomplishment ( even in simplicity ) … just the little moments in life.
‘ before we start on the next sheet, some tea? ’
𝑷𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑫 𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑰𝑻 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺. clumsy infant weeping, then honed to adolescent speech / fingers shall tap upon ivory and upon black before at last they play. pride may indeed have swelled there, in the organ thundering out against her sparrow bones ( ... ) but the sound of it coaxes something .. else. something that nips at the corners of her budding smile, and drags it away from her eyes. THE MUSIC COMES, AND IT IS BITTERSWEET IN ITS NIGHTSHADE SORROW! a skeleton finger reaching in and plucking upon slippery heartstrings. as quickly as she might blossom to his progress, she wilts beneath the sound ; it tempts her gaze into a middle distance where there is no end. into a memory of dark, abyssal irises. ( the air in the house shifts, and for a moment she can smell him as though he could indeed be found standing just there at her back.. ) but she won’t turn her head to it. there is more knowing in her than just that naïve and girlish yearning. instead, a hand feeds into the depths of her pocket .. she traces the intricate handle of the ebony wand within its depths, and tightens her jaw.
there was once a time that this same sequence of keys had been played for another in this house. can you remember, dear heart? do you remember it? a better question : how could you ever forget?
it jolts her. the body nearly rocks to it, though the mind remains stagnant. maiden / matron / nurturer .. she hears the sound, and parts her lips : ❛ ── that’s the lad, well done. ❜ she utters in a cadence of praise, though in a voice that is not quite her own. used to it by now, she reckons, though lyra’s gaze shifts at last to find familiar striking green / and somewhere neatly folded within the grey, something of an apology can be found.
despite the sorrow’s desperate struggle to wrap her up and writhe to constrict her joints until they pop and slide out of place, the sight of beaming boy is enough to clasp her eagerly by her narrow wrists : enough to reel the gaze back, and resituate her feet upon the wood floor just beneath the piano bench. it resuscitates the heart. IT BREATHES AIR BACK INTO HER LUNGS! such is the impact of his company. she smiles to him. ❛ i’d say - and this is assuming i do indeed have a choice in the matter - that madame reed will suffice from the likes of you. ❜ and suddenly, the voice gathers the maiden back up and cradles her in open palms.. rolls her around, until the dust settles / until the pebble smooths, and in looking down, she can yet again see her face reflected back to her. ( the ghosts that haunt her house recognize her again .. she recognizes herself. )
a low hum from some shallow place in her fluttering chest, and the hand absently abandons the wand in her pocket. just for now, she thinks.. just for now. and she turns the soft of her cheek to her memories and to her yearning / to the pitiful howling of her aching heart. a moment’s restlessness coaxes her to finish out the bar, before the piano once more fades away to gentle quiet. ❛ a spot of tea sounds divine, actually. you pick the flavor, lad, i trust your intuition. .. against my better judgment, mind, but nonetheless ( ... ) ❜ and in leaning back from the keys, she’ll offer a playful nudge to his shoulder. ❛ off you go, surprise me! ❜
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