「 strangers in the night 」

283 8 1
                                    



[ VOLUME FIVE ]

CHAPTER 117;
strangers in the night

[ SEPTEMBER FIRST, 97' ]


No one in particular,










♱

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.











'Strangers in the night exchanging glances
Wondering in the night, what were the chances?
We'd be sharing love before the night was through

Something in your eyes was so inviting
Something in your smile was so exciting
Something in my heart told me I must have you

Two lonely people, we were strangers in the night
Up to the moment when we said our first hello, little did we know. Love was just a glance away,
A warm embracing dance away

Ever since that night we've been together
Lovers at first sight, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers in the night'






          August ascended like shards from a flung bottle of wine, wearing on as boats did against the current.

Over the past few weeks, Hera had written a series of letters and notes intended for Sirius that she'd never sent. The situation was far too precarious to risk both of their safety with the pure intent of communication.
Their time could come again, she knew.

Sirius,

I realise now it's been over two years since our first proper conversation. One where we actually spoke to each other, and not Harry, the Order, or any of the other troubles in our lives.
Being in the same place we started has rehashed quite a few memories, to say the least.

I hate not sleeping beside you. I'd underestimated how hard it would be.
Some nights, I sleep in your bed. Others, I'm on the floor in the same room as Harry, Ron and Hermione because I can't bear being alone.
I can't wait to see you again, to talk and hopefully laugh some more. I don't think we've ever spent this long apart from each other, certainly not this year. I miss you more than anything.

And I love you.

The square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place had shrivelled in the sun until it was brittle and brown.
The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself.

Dark Synesthesia ͛ Where stories live. Discover now