'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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♱
' And I will await your highness I'm so high I cannot walk And I will await You take away my time My peace, my empathy No babies sleep on atrophy Your unborn love and fetal dress Hard bitter candy, legless caress '
To whom it may concern,
At the bequest of our late clientele, Mr James Potter and Ms Lily Evans, we have attached a letter dated 'Christmas, 1978'. This letter — amongst others, have been safely stored with the Gringotts Wizarding Bank in the name of Hera Euphemia Potter. We are pleased to state that she maintains four corporate accounts/vaults in two different currencies.
For more information, we require an in-person meeting, where we will be happy to discuss the explicit contents of each vault (shares, personal items, family items, heirlooms, business, etc)
Furthermore, we are pleased to state that these accounts have been conducted in a satisfactory manner. Please let us know if we can be of any further assistance.
Sincerely,
Head Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank
I can still see their gravestones.
It was an open casket funeral, and my younger self couldn't help but think how tragically beautiful it was that they would be together in another life. I was still young when they were buried, and it was one of the few memories of my late parents I still had.
Petunia had taken me to funerals from practically the moment I was given to her. When I asked her about it, she would say how she wished for me to understand life's value and the beauty in death.
Truthfully, and in my present mind, I think she just wanted to dig the knife deeper — they were gone, and I was hers.
When I found out how my parents had died, I nearly despised the world that stole them from me, and for a while, I hated them for leaving me. Everything I merely glanced at would blister, and I started hating them less and myself more.
I wanted nothing more than to read their letter — anything to feel closer to them. Deep down, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it, but with each passing moment, I found more and more excuses falling into my palms.
