Yes, I do hate the epilogue. I think Seviet is incredibly talented, but it's like looking at illustrations for 'An Artist's Interpretations of Happy Families - Dick and Jane take Spot, Spot and Spotty to the Beach'
Mmmm sweet potato. I understand your feelings, and wish I could share them, but sweet potato is an essential food group. Not sure about it v's chocolate... will think about it.
You mentioned the bike accident - I shudder. My pain threshold varies, I've never been too sure how you actually judge it. But I'm so glad you got through that.
You sound adorable on the phone - and you have the best laugh ever. I may not have recognised the deranged, given my natural state of being.
Hmmm...
Oh, dear Lord! There is was again. There was no escaping it. Silencing charms didn't work, it cut through them like a knife through... pretty much anything, really, because knives are generally fairly sharp.
Why did she always think this was a good thing? What misfiring piece of her brain came back to this every time he was injured? After all, this time it was only a mildly maiming hex, and he was sure to get the use of his lower limbs back soon. He was in therapy, dammit!
Two weeks trapped at home. The children at school, Ron assigned to a temporary partner to keep going with their time-critical investigation, Hermione lost in the bowels of the Ministry on 'Unspeakable' business - and here he was, caught in the loving web of his wife's care and no way to escape.
It was getting closer. Bugger! Must be almost time for his massage and potion regime. Harry cringed, his skin crawling. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife. He was sure that somewhere deep down the flickering remains of the fiery passion they'd shared somewhere between Potions and Divination classes still... well, flickered. Or maybe just smoked a little and glowed dully.
Merlin wept! She was just outside the door now, and he could feel the wax in his ears already softening in self-defence.
"Did you ever knooooow that you're my HeRoooooooooo..." came warbling through the two inch thick solid timber door. "You're everything IIIIIII wish IIIII could BeeeeEEEeeee..."
The door opened, the screeching volume suddenly at eardrum piercing levels.
"Honey?" he begged, knowing he would be drowned out, but determined to make one last try at saving himself. "Honey? Do you think maybe...?"
Ginny turned bright, feverish eyes on him, already flexing her fingers as her mouth opened wider, pinching the brackets of her cheeks into whitened ridges. Someone at St. Mungo's had convinced her of the 'healing power of song' (Harry strongly suspected it was Malfoy - damn his eyes for becoming a healer), and his wife was on a mission. He hadn't allowed her to help save him during the war, and now she was out to do so with a vengeance.
Harry was sure that somewhere in the world there were laws against this sort of thing. Some rule against the unreasonable torture of captives? As his Eustachian tubes twisted in abject fear and his surviving neurons all went into a huddle somewhere behind his sinuses, Harry felt the words slipping away from him... all he could think was 'Ginevra... Convetion? no that's not it... but close'
Oh well, at least she hadn't moved on to the Celine Dion yet. That was her favourite! And while she was sure her heart would go on, Harry kind of wished his wouldn't.
A breath, a momentary blessed silence, but before he could overcome the ringing in his ears and muster a feeble argument, it began again.
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Date: 2008-06-22 10:53 am (UTC)Mmmm sweet potato. I understand your feelings, and wish I could share them, but sweet potato is an essential food group. Not sure about it v's chocolate... will think about it.
You mentioned the bike accident - I shudder. My pain threshold varies, I've never been too sure how you actually judge it. But I'm so glad you got through that.
You sound adorable on the phone - and you have the best laugh ever. I may not have recognised the deranged, given my natural state of being.
Hmmm...
Oh, dear Lord! There is was again. There was no escaping it. Silencing charms didn't work, it cut through them like a knife through... pretty much anything, really, because knives are generally fairly sharp.
Why did she always think this was a good thing? What misfiring piece of her brain came back to this every time he was injured? After all, this time it was only a mildly maiming hex, and he was sure to get the use of his lower limbs back soon. He was in therapy, dammit!
Two weeks trapped at home. The children at school, Ron assigned to a temporary partner to keep going with their time-critical investigation, Hermione lost in the bowels of the Ministry on 'Unspeakable' business - and here he was, caught in the loving web of his wife's care and no way to escape.
It was getting closer. Bugger! Must be almost time for his massage and potion regime. Harry cringed, his skin crawling. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife. He was sure that somewhere deep down the flickering remains of the fiery passion they'd shared somewhere between Potions and Divination classes still... well, flickered. Or maybe just smoked a little and glowed dully.
Merlin wept! She was just outside the door now, and he could feel the wax in his ears already softening in self-defence.
"Did you ever knooooow that you're my HeRoooooooooo..." came warbling through the two inch thick solid timber door. "You're everything IIIIIII wish IIIII could BeeeeEEEeeee..."
The door opened, the screeching volume suddenly at eardrum piercing levels.
"Honey?" he begged, knowing he would be drowned out, but determined to make one last try at saving himself. "Honey? Do you think maybe...?"
Ginny turned bright, feverish eyes on him, already flexing her fingers as her mouth opened wider, pinching the brackets of her cheeks into whitened ridges. Someone at St. Mungo's had convinced her of the 'healing power of song' (Harry strongly suspected it was Malfoy - damn his eyes for becoming a healer), and his wife was on a mission. He hadn't allowed her to help save him during the war, and now she was out to do so with a vengeance.
Harry was sure that somewhere in the world there were laws against this sort of thing. Some rule against the unreasonable torture of captives? As his Eustachian tubes twisted in abject fear and his surviving neurons all went into a huddle somewhere behind his sinuses, Harry felt the words slipping away from him... all he could think was 'Ginevra... Convetion? no that's not it... but close'
Oh well, at least she hadn't moved on to the Celine Dion yet. That was her favourite! And while she was sure her heart would go on, Harry kind of wished his wouldn't.
A breath, a momentary blessed silence, but before he could overcome the ringing in his ears and muster a feeble argument, it began again.
"Every niiiight in my dreams...."