𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝

Until Next We Meet

Rewritten

Silence resonated throughout the empty chamber, the quick fluttering of breaths being the only sound to break that quiet.

She was so warm, so cosy, she didn't want to get up.

And yet, she had to.

Aurora sat up from in-between the tangled sheets and blankets, running a hand through her hair, waiting for her differently coloured irises to adjust to the darkness of the room. She looked up towards one of the higher windows and observed the barely visible rays of sunlight echoing in, deducing that it must be about a half-hour before the sun rises. Her hand reached for her coat on the floor, searching lazily through the pockets until her fingers grasped the packet she was looking for.

Aurora swiftly dragged a cigarette out and brought it to the tip of her swollen lips, lighting it with a muggle lighter she always carried around. The first cigarette in the morning was always the most satisfying one.

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands and trapped the little stick of death between her fingers, watching it with a thoughtful expression, the small piece of rolled paper and nicotine, her filthy muggle habit.

Aurora wouldn't call it dangerous, they didn't affect her all that much, but once upon a time, when she'd been naive and desperate and her knowledge of her true origins were limited, she'd started the filthy habit in a hopeless attempt of greeting the Grim Reaper earlier than originally planned.

A stupid choice, of course.

Only after that did she truly realize that survival would always come first, as it was geared into the mind, everyone would hold their breath should they ever be sunken into water. It's not by choice but by basic instinct.

Aurora continued to watch the slowly shortening cigarette. Besides, death is so final, whilst life is full of endless possibilities, who would want to leave now especially when so many interesting things are happening in the world?

She inhaled once more and pinched out the cigarette by her palm, watching slowly as the small burn-mark started healing until there was not a trace left.

Her wings stretched and rolled as she looked to the side, a small smile gracing her lips.

He was so hauntingly beautiful, he was. His features were ones you'd read about in a fairytale book where the main character is a handsome but unfortunate prince who slays dragons to find his one true love. Those dark lashes brushing against his pale cheekbones. His eyes lidded and closed, hiding the most beautiful emeralds. His hair as inky as the dark sky, wild and untamable, just like him, most peculiarly.

Yes, Aurora concluded to herself, Harry Potter was beautiful, the most enchanting person she's ever had the pleasure of meeting. His whole being was like an exquisite lullaby, the words to it you just can't forget. But the music to go with those lovely words was sad and soft, reminding you of all the terrible things that can happen to a human.

Harry was like that, his life was filled with glory and the heroism everyone thrust upon his shoulders, and yet the tune that accompanied these glorious days was a slow and tragic sound, shading the parts of his life that people seem to forget when they first meet him and see only the Boy Who Lived, and not the boy who witnessed death, more than once.