'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...
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♱
'The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree Sing all a green willow Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee The fresh streams ran by her, and murmer'd her moans Sing willow, willow, willow Her salt tears fell from her and soft'ned the stones.
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve Sing willow, willow, willow He was born to be fair, I to die for his love, I call'd my love false love but what said he then? Sing willow, willow, willow If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.'
Some things were certain, and others had the power to make or mar us.
Upon Hera's return from Privet Drive, she felt rather unsettled. It was to be expected, really, given the absolute bombshell Petunia had consecutively dropped on her:
She'd been present at her birth. She'd cared for her mother in some manner while pregnant.
She'd hated having Hera in the house, feeling they were too similar. And she missed her sister.
Hera didn't know if she was drawing sticks out of mud through her last assumption, but the more she thought about it, the more things fell into place. She didn't look much like her mother or even her aunt. She didn't share much resemblance, if at all, to the Evans side of her family.
It had been the Potters that her aunt had resented, believing them endemic in her sister's downfall. If it hadn't been for Hera, Lily might not have held herself so closely to James, or gone on to marry him and have another child. It was more than likely Petunia saw it as her sister limiting her options out of convenience.
Yet Lily and James Potter loved each other. Though it wasn't the most romantic of tales she'd ever heard — given the crude awakening that her existence had served to the couple — there was love there.
The biggest misgiving was that they never got the chance to grow old, nor the opportunity to find themselves outside of their family unit.
