'A crashing ocean wave,
She's powerful like the sea.
Born from a cage of blur
She flies like birds set free.
She glows wherever she walks,
Her wings so softly feathered.
She'll forever be his sunshine;
Nevermore will she be tethered.
Her freckles are the stars,
Her smile is like the sunrise.
And if you look closely, you can see
The light within her eyes.
He'd sacrifice everything for her.
His life; his very heartbeat.
He'd catch her when she'd fall
And stand her back to her feet.
So the night that she was taken,
His heart was only ever pain full.
It would ache until he bled
As he named himself the shameful.
But he has to remind himself,
When he names himself as blameful,
That she's in a better place;
With her kind among the angels.'
-G. Lee
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Hogwarts, The Half-Blood Prince.
The world was in greyscale that day. The sky like mercury glass, translucent with silvery clouds. Even the trees looked sullen, drooping under the weight of gloominess. It was warm inside her room—with both the heat and colour tones, but it was the coldest she'd felt in a long time. On the inside, at least.
Her suitcase spilled clothes out onto the maroon duvet—most of which were made and gifted by Mrs Weasley, or given generously by Hermione. Her dress, the only thing she still held from the mansion, other than the memories, of course, though too short and small for her near sixteen-year-old self, lay neatly folded at the bottom of the piles. It remained a murky colour from the lake those years ago; tinged a slight green rather than its original pearly white.
Adeline planned to be unpacked by now, as the welcome feast was being held in a mere twenty minutes, though only a small portion of her belongings had actually been put away. This included the rose—though that didn't really count, as she kept it at Hogwarts for the holidays, petals mildly wrinkled on their ends.
Dark curls, reaching her mid back, curtained the sides of her face as she sat cross-legged, her right side facing the floor-to-ceiling window. He smiled from across her on the carpet, and reached into the cardboard shoebox.
"Was this the first one?" Harry asked, pulling out the paper plane and, gently, turning it over in his hand as he examined the fragile craft. He tucked a bloodied handkerchief he'd previously been holding to his nose back inside his pocket.
