InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "turn around, bright eyes"

vee lestrange is not her mother's daughter. (eyesopen) wrote in flippedrpg,
@ 2012-08-12 19:59:00

Entry tags:

ch: heir: harry potter, ch: heir: verena lestrange, p: giles, p: kit

Who: Harry & Vee^heir
What: Dropping the pretenses
When: Sunday, 12 August; after this
Where: Harry's Grecian house
Warnings: Language, Angst

Vee couldn't sit around and wait for her sister's reply. She could barely see two steps in front of her as she sobbed, the grief overwhelming and consuming her just as it had done that fateful day and nearly every day after that. She thought she'd felt as terrible as she could manage on the one-year anniversary, Harry's birthday, but this was worse, so much worse. No amount of firewhiskey, no amount of denial would ever erase how she felt about what had happened. Nothing could make her forget. And even if she forfeited her memories of that day, nothing would fill the hollowness left behind by what had happened that day.

But somewhere amidst her gut-wrenching sobs that made her double over and ache, she got angry. Angrier than she'd been this whole time. Angry at herself. Angry at Harry.

There was only one way that she could pull herself out of her own grief, she felt, and that was to latch onto that anger and do something about it. Yell maybe, scream into a pillow. Or maybe yell at Harry. Scream at him until he understood his error. Understood what he'd cost her, what his death meant for her beyond just losing him or her sister. She'd lost everything and, in turn, deserved nothing.

Vee didn't even know how she'd gotten there but, looking like a right mess, she found herself at Harry's door, pounding on it with her fists. It felt good, so good, the way the unyielding hardness of the door made her fists hurt and her skin scrape. "Harry," she yelled, uncertain of the level of hysteria in her voice, "open this door. Fuck. Harry. God, Harry, you son of a bitch. Open this door, right now."

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heirypotter
2012-08-13 03:18 am UTC (link)

He held her body tight to his, as much to keep himself from collapsing as to support her, because Vee's sobs were a knife in his heart. And he was weeping too, letting loose with a grief that had been slowly fighting its way to the surface since his arrival in this place, as the last pieces of a lifetime's worth of armor he'd built around his heart finally fell away . . .

Grief for those he'd loved. Vee. Ara. Mum. Dad. Severus. Sirius Black, damn his stubbornness. Theo. Pansy. Even Draco, damn it. And grief for those he'd killed. Charity Burbage and Lavender Brown and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Vincent Crabbe and the Frobishers in Leeds for whom he'd only been in time to slit their throats while they were still writhing in Fiend Fyre and gods only knew how many others who'd died by his hand or his order or merely in his name, Weasley's brothers included, damn it. Grief for the human wreckage war left behind on both sides, the 'good' and the 'bad.' Grief for his daughter, the only hope he had left. Whom he'd left just as his parents had left him . . . almost. But not alone.

Cecily.

"Vee." He really did collapse then, sinking to his knees, garbling nonsense.

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