'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
'How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? How many times must the cannonballs fly Before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
How many years must a mountain exist Before it is washed to the sea? How many years can some people exist Before they're allowed to be free? How many times can a man turn his head And pretend that he just doesn't see?'
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'Yes, and how many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? How many ears must one person have Before he can hear people cry? And how many deaths will it take 'til he knows That too many people have died? Oh, the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind The answer is blowing in the wind'
As Harry sat there under the hot sun, a chilled bottle of beer in hand, he saw very clearly in his mind the people who cared about him standing there one by one; Hera, Sirius, Ron, Hermione and Parvati, all determined to protect and nurture him. But now, that was all over.
He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one: that the shelter of a parent's arms meant that nothing could hurt him.
There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; Dumbledore, the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was more alone than he had ever been before.
A small ringing sound filled his ears, reaching him even from where he'd sat himself in the middle of the garden. He glanced up to the kitchen window, where a small hand stuck out, ringing a bell enthusiastically.
"Lunch!" Hera yelled out in a sing-song voice, finally withdrawing her wrist from the window and pausing her waving motions.
Harry shrugged out of his position against the tree trunk, walking dazedly towards the house.
"Uh, no! Outside, " she shook her head quickly, "I'll put up a little table, it's way too hot inside. "
"That tends to happen when you live in a stone house in the summer, " Harry joked.
"Are you suggesting I get one for each season?" Hera repeated incredulously. "What is this, the 'three little pigs'?"
Parvati grinned a little, wearing a blazing hard smile as she looked up at Harry.
