[He lowers his head, feeling the weight of those words. He knows, of course, that he'll never be like that again. In a way, the person he had been died that day with his family. 'Henryk Gurzsky' perished months ago. But moving forward? He's tried, so many times. It doesn't seem to work. And he doesn't know that he wants to move forward from them.
Even though time will do that inexorably, no matter how he fights it.
His hand is rough, skin coarsened from years of hard labour. After a moment, he lets out a breath and curls his fingers around Hermione's.]
no subject
Even though time will do that inexorably, no matter how he fights it.
His hand is rough, skin coarsened from years of hard labour. After a moment, he lets out a breath and curls his fingers around Hermione's.]
This isn't what I had in mind when I came over.