She closed her eyes and pretended it was alright.
(but was it ever alright? was anything—the stupid rape, the stupid happiness—was it ever slightly normal?)
But now, laying in her bathtub, legs sprawled out, useless as can be, she could hear the steady dripdripdrip of something she had almost (loved) enjoyed. Something that sort of made the
(rape)
more bearable. More…worthwhile. Less of a tragedy, because she always did want a baby, but she never could get anyone into a relationship. Not anyone she wanted, like Sirius or Tonks or Marlene or anyone that had a pretty face. But still. It was…rape. Terrible, disgusting, painful…
and then s-w-e-l-l, which was nice. Her little, adorable monster. Despite everything, she sort of liked(loved)needed(W A N T E D) it. Even though it belonged to h-i-m.
A sharp pain in her lower back made her cry out, and she grit her teeth.
(it's not okay it'll never be okay stop KIDDING yourself Hestia you were—)
Blood dripdripdrips down her thigh, and she knows the truth.