𝐎, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎥ "He wants a fight with
a God? I'll give him one."
﹙ from stardust we came, to stardust we return ﹚
Prisoner of Azkaban - Deathly Hollows
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𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇
｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡
Surviving is never beautiful, it's not heroic like they tell you in fairytales or movies.
It's dirty, it's tears streaming down your face and sobbing in a dark corner.
It's blood on your hands and in your face, it's fear and feeling numb at the same time.
You don't preen yourself for being a survivor, you lull yourself to sleep with stories of a life where you have never been forced to fight in the first place.
𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 as a sharp stinging pain erupted in his jaw. Momentarily stymied in his thought process, he rubbed the sore spot and gazed around the tent. Hermione was dead asleep, slightly snoring. He groped around for his glasses and shoved them onto his face.
Half thinking he was hallucinating the pain, he pushed himself out of bed and moved towards the entrance of the tent, expecting to find Elara and asked if she had punched herself to spite him.
However, she wasn't there. It was dead silent in the forest. Pressure formed over his hands. Harry examined them, once again wondering if he had finally lost it or Elara was playing a really good prank on him. It seemed neither was the answer, as a blinding pain slashed across his leg.
"Hermione!" yelled Harry, on the ground and clutching at his leg.
