She swallows, trying to clear the knot from her throat, doing her best to listen to his words and let the emotion struggling to be anger roll off her back. Her eyes catch on a thin scar on his forehead, barely exposed through his fringe, and after staring for a moment, she brushes the hair away gently, smiling rather sadly.
"We talked about fairytales the first time we met," she says softly, her fingers barely skimming his forehead, following the line of the scar. "There's a legend in my world about a boy with a scar on his forehead--The Boy Who Lived, we call him, cursed by You-Know-Who in an attempt to kill him. The curse backfired, and the Dark Lord fled into exile, not quite dead, clinging to life through some Dark means, and though the Boy's parents were dead around him, his house in ruins, he went on. He grew up with Muggles that treated him poorly, and when he found out he was a wizard, he didn't know what to make of himself. And then he made everything of himself, and when You-Know-Who returned, more powerful than before, the Boy Who Lived became the Chosen One, and he sacrificed himself for the world. And he lived to tell the tale, though his scar told it for him. Just a little scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, hidden by a fringe of hair in an attempt to be normal..."
She trails off, her hand falling to her lap, eyes growing distant, something of her own private sorrow lingering in the line of her shoulders. It shocks her, sometimes, how much she misses Harry, and Ginny, and all of them. What she wouldn't give to see them again...
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"We talked about fairytales the first time we met," she says softly, her fingers barely skimming his forehead, following the line of the scar. "There's a legend in my world about a boy with a scar on his forehead--The Boy Who Lived, we call him, cursed by You-Know-Who in an attempt to kill him. The curse backfired, and the Dark Lord fled into exile, not quite dead, clinging to life through some Dark means, and though the Boy's parents were dead around him, his house in ruins, he went on. He grew up with Muggles that treated him poorly, and when he found out he was a wizard, he didn't know what to make of himself. And then he made everything of himself, and when You-Know-Who returned, more powerful than before, the Boy Who Lived became the Chosen One, and he sacrificed himself for the world. And he lived to tell the tale, though his scar told it for him. Just a little scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning, hidden by a fringe of hair in an attempt to be normal..."
She trails off, her hand falling to her lap, eyes growing distant, something of her own private sorrow lingering in the line of her shoulders. It shocks her, sometimes, how much she misses Harry, and Ginny, and all of them. What she wouldn't give to see them again...