let's get the seven lines. (bookshop) wrote,
let's get the seven lines.

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I stole this link from Sam. It's funny. Sean Penn Demands To Know What Asshole Took SeanPenn@ gmail.com

I feel really... I don't know how I feel tonight. A couple of weeks ago I promised part of my friends list I was taking a break that I haven't taken, and I think the lack of break-taking is taking a toll on me.

Plus I've been listening to this song on loop ever since I uploaded it for Sam earlier, and it's so gorgeous and melancholy and sad and beautiful that it's affecting my mood in strange and inevitable ways.

I got two packages today. I'm not sure when they were sent because we check our mail at very spastic intervals. But amberleewriter and loftily, thank you so much. Amalin, as always you have perfect timing, and I love you for it. I need some time to process, I think.

Prince of Tennis fandom is very active today. pot_challenge reopened, and sionann started tenipurifantasy, which looks wonderful and fun. Between these two places and pillarchallenge (which is currently in the middle of Wild Card Week where you can basically write whatever you want for any of the previous challenges), I shall surely find a way to get someone to write me the netkissing-at-Wimbledon fic of my dreams.

Every day is like Sunday.

Today's Tenipuri Screencap of Love.

This song is so beautiful that it is making me realize just how long it was since I experienced the sublime. I need to get off my ass and start looking for it. Nothing ever comes of a life that is spent waiting around for the extraordinary to come find you, instead of the other way around.

It is hours before the fighting stops, and when it is over the last Death Eater simply straightens and lowers her wand awkwardly, as if the reality of the end has just hit her and she is making a sudden conscious choice to return to her day job. Harry watches the Aurors put the shackles on her - Harry doesn't know who she is, which means she's a relatively new recruit. He thinks she looks relieved.

"Don't hurt her," he tells one of the Aurors with his wand at her back - unnecessarily, because the Auror is also a new recruit, Dennis Creevey, who looks just as relieved. He has not had time to learn how to hurt, Harry thinks, looking over the rubble of what was once Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Maybe now he won't ever have to.

It is a foggy, dreary dawn to follow a vicious night, and the noises of the morning are all tinny and too loud in Harry's ears. He stumbles away from the Aurors yelling at each other, away from the birdsong from the Forbidden Forest, away from the rock where Voldemort's corpse still lies. He had been standing only yards from where Dumbledore died nearly a year earlier. Harry entertains, for a moment, thoughts of their ghosts rising from the desolate crags of castle stone, to look about them at the collapsed remains of what used to be their home. He wonders what Voldemort would have been like if his soul, even a piece of it, had been allowed to remain. He thinks about Dumbledore, and misses him. He wonders if he misses Voldemort.

Someone brushes his hand, and Harry squints against the rising sun when he turns. The light shadows Malfoy's face, and Harry thinks for a moment that he is looking at Lucius.

Then Malfoy ducks his head and drawls, "You've got blood on your shirt, Potter. You should really do something about that."

"Hermione taught me a spell to get rid of impurities, but you never know what would happen if I used it around you," Harry says automatically--then stops because he is a moment away from a laugh, and he doesn't want to laugh. Not now.

Malfoy looks around them. He does not look at the ground, or at the places where people are still trying to revive the wounded or take care of the dead. He looks towards the horizon, where the sun is high enough to begin streaming light through the fog over the ruins of Hogwarts.

Harry gropes for his hand all at once and closes his own around it. Malfoy blinks in surprise, looks back and holds Harry's gaze.

"It ended," he says hoarsely. His throat is dry from screaming most of the night, but he hadn't expected it to be a whisper; like he can't bear to say it any louder.

Malfoy is still for a moment.

"It began," he says at last, and shifts his hand beneath Harry's so that they are touching, palm to palm.
Tags: fic, h/d, life, music, potcaps

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