vi·sion·ar·y
/ˈviZHəˌnerē/
adjective: visionary
1.
relating to or able to see visions in a dream or trance, or as a supernatural apparition.
The story of a kind Hufflepuff who wishes no one would feel as alone as she does and an in denial Gryffin...
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July 8th, 1981
The silence was thick. The pair sat next to each other as if they had no clue who the other was. It was paining the both of them to be this way, but they didn't know how else to act.
The woman was slumped against the arm of the sofa. Her blue robe had engulfed her figure completely and her feet were tucked under her. She had her head resting in her hand as she looked straight ahead of her.
The man was stiff, on the opposite end. His clothes had been considerably less loose than the former. Black and grey covered his body as he crossed his ankle over his knee, trying to loosen up.
He hated how they were like this. That they couldn't get past this. It wasn't fair. He longed for the way things were a few years ago, hell even a few months ago. Everyone was happy and there hadn't been a war that completely ruined his family.
"Can I get you anything?"
The attempt at conversation was pathetic, he knew that, but he had to try.
"This is my house, I should be asking you that."
The response was meant to have a teasing tone to it, but she couldn't bring herself to force it. She couldn't bring herself to do much these days.
He looked at her and let a smirk fall from his lips, which she immediately looked away from. She couldn't look at him. It pained her.
It pained her that she couldn't see his face without memories being flooded into her mind. It pained her that she didn't know how to be around someone who she thought of as a brother, who was a brother. It wasn't fair that this was now her life. That she was happy a few months ago, even with being in the center of the war, and now she was miserable.
His smirk faltered when she looked away, but he had to try and remain strong. If she couldn't, then he would. It was only right and he had made a promise.
"I could go for a glass of water now that you mention it," She looked at him, her eyes not meeting his but rather his hair.
He nodded and stood walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass. He looked at his reflection in the window as he held it under the tap. He knew why she couldn't look at him, he barely liked looking at himself for the same reason. The water overflowed and he quickly cursed turning off the tap and drying his hands on the towel.
