「 poppies 」

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[ VOLUME FOUR ]

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE;
poppies

[ JULY EIGHTH, 96' ]


Harry Potter,










♱

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'He's delighted to love me, but you know
I just don't know what to say to him.
Goin' on the corner, I'm gonna score
Baby wants somethin', she's in the mood to
Baby wants somethin', I want more
When I don't get it, I get blue, blue

Although was tense and gleaming in the sun
They split her open like a country
Everyone was very pleased to be a state of
Her mind was gently probed like a finger
Everything soaking and spread with butter

Their flowers on an average on the seed
And then they laid her on the table
She connected with the inhaler
And the needle was shifting like crazy
She was, she was completely still
It was like a painting of a vase'








Hera groaned, sitting upright as a sudden sharp pain came over her; the surface of her stomach appeared incredibly inflamed and any movement that would contract her abdominal muscles only added to the tender feel.

She didn't want to wake Sirius for she hadn't seen him sleep so intently in all the time they'd been together. Part of her felt guilty too, that she might have tired him out in caring for her.

Though Hera had tried not to bother him with the immeasurable pain she was feeling, Sirius had insisted on sticking around and she was hardly complaining.
Still, she pulled herself from their bed and set about making a tea, a drowsy silence assuming the place.

"Hera?"
Harry moved closer, hesitant to wrap his arms around her shoulder in case he should hurt her.

"Yeah... " she sounded hoarse, smiling lightly at how much he'd grown in the past few months, towering over her — though not quite as much as Remus, or Sirius even.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Hera hummed in response, "Did you sleep alright?"

"Fine, let me do that... " he grabbed the milk from the fridge alongside the counter, lifting his eyebrow to ask when to stop. "I fixed the pillows on the couch so we could sit down — if you wanted?"

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