She dreamed of a swarm of bees, diligently flying in and out of their hive, their wings making a faint buzz as they beat.
The bees brought prosperity to the hive. Bees were Napoleon's heraldic emblem, and the association suddenly brought his face before her.
She tried to block those beautiful hands of his, but her resistance was futile.
She was exhausted and wanted to rest, yet his youthful vigor gave him no intention of stopping.
This chaise longue was truly well suited for an afternoon nap. He had indeed been thoughtful, but she wished he could show a little restraint.
Severus had been the same before. He would rather drink potions than restrain himself in that regard.
If she did not possess the beauty bestowed by Veela blood, would they still love her?
The question was like asking Remus whether he would be happy if he were not a Werewolf.
Perhaps he would have lived a calm, peaceful life, but then he would never have met Tonks, that foolish girl who cared about nothing except being with him.
She should not deny the monstrous side of herself as Remus did. That was Albus's teaching, because he had always concealed the fact that he was homosexual.
But she felt utterly ashamed and wanted nothing more than to cover herself with something.
"Don't move," she heard Leon Sterndale say. Like someone admiring a portrait, he sat in a chair and watched Georgiana lying on the chaise longue.
"Go away!" Turning her back to him, she wrapped herself tightly in the thin silk quilt covering her.
"I've read Shakespeare's works. I used to think he could not compare to Corneille or Racine at all, that reading Shakespeare was pointless," he said behind her. "How shameful."
I have made my eyes into painters