'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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'Tonight I'm tangled in my blanket of clouds Dreaming aloud Things just won't do without you, matter of fact I'm on your back If you walk out on me, I'm walking after you
If you'd accept surrender, I'll give up some more Weren't you adored? I cannot be without you, matter of fact I'm on your back Another heart is cracked in two I'm on your back If you walk out on me, I'm walking after you'
Hera hadn't planned on staying that night, just as she hadn't planned to stay the next five nights. She'd grown a bit too comfortable at Grimmauld place, though that was most likely down to the lack of protection charms on her home.
Where she'd previously been wearing everyone else's clothes — from Harry's jeans, held up by a mere shoelace, to Fred and George's jumpers, even a couple of Sirius's shirts for sleeping in — Hera decided it was time she put aside her anxieties of the outside world and go home for a change of clothes.
Hera hadn't been long, and after an hour or so where she mainly had talked with Alicia, she returned to Grimmauld Place.
Fred and George were sat cross-legged behind the piano in the drawing-room — a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive-green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhumed little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it, and the moth-chewed velvet curtains seemed to be buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees.
Admittedly, Hera wasn't doing much in the way of helping — while the others all looked rather peculiar, with tied cloths over their noses and mouths, Hera was plunking random piano keys and humming aimlessly.
"Cover your faces and take a spray," Mrs Weasley had said to Fred and George just moments after they had rolled out of bed, pointing to two bottles of black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table, "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad — what that house-elf's been doing for the last ten years— "
An advantage of having the third floor to herself was that Hera slept much better than she had in a long time — she was only ever interrupted around lunchtime, when Sirius would quietly enter for his morning shower. By that point, she figured she should be up anyway.
