A/N – For the Graphic Design Competition held by MelodyPond77.
The Competition was to create an image for the avatar of her story Sort of a Half-Blood along with a piece on the symbolism of the image.
I created two and this the second of them.
This one went more into the foreign feeling the love of the Potters must have felt compared to her treatment at the orphanage.
I'm reading into it again, aren't I? Damn.
Word count: 255
Okay, okay, I'm leaving. Jeez.
…
Dusk was falling upon the grounds.
She never had been afraid of the dark, it had never frightened her.
Others were afraid of shadows, of the lonely feeling the night gave them.
Cut off from the world.
To her, it was normal.
She'd spent so many years being alone; being the one that had to fight for others…solitude was what she was used to.
When people acted with kindness, it felt so foreign. So different.
She wasn't a child that had grown up being held close or loved.
If anything she had always been at least an arm length away.
Or a belt length.
But that still didn't stop it.
Her bruises could hold testimony to that.
A tear slowly fell down her cheek and she wiped her eyes roughly with the heel of her palm.
No. She wouldn't cry.
She didn't cry.
It was weak ad selfish, especially when they children were still with…her.
She wouldn't cry.
She wouldn't.
She was a Gryffindor.
She had courage.
And, if that failed, she would borrow it.
Borrow her courage.
Like bread from the kitchens.
Her hands gripped the grass beside her, trying to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Stop.
No.
You can't cry.
Stifling her sobs in the fabric of her dress, she finally stopped.
She took a few breaths to calm herself and wiped her damp cheeks with her hands.
With one last deep breath, she stood up and brushed herself off.
See?
Just as easy as taking bread from the kitchens.
