Dear Diary,
Gallivant owled today asking if I had a source for common quetzalcoatl feathers and skin. Some of the other European nations are attempting a continent-wide ban, a small contingent of researchers is very upset by this, and the Ministry isn't wholly sure what stand to take. He didn't go into detail on what the problem with the supply is in an owl, but I take it the Ministry wants to do some independent testing before joining the debate. If I'm lucky, I'll have some in hand by tomorrow.
Time is beginning to blunt the loss of Harry. But it still sneaks up on me sometimes. Hebrides made the Calming Draught into a lozenge for me, very slow acting and gradual. As if grief were like a coughing fit. But sometimes it is. The lozenges taste like elderberry wine. I think, actually, the latest batch, he didn't put any of the draught in at all, and I'm just calmed by sucking on something now.
This afternoon is quiet, there's little to do, and I figure I must be returning to some semblance of normal because I find myself fantasizing about Severus. Our lovemaking since the night of the nabbing--since we resumed, I mean--has been by turns tender and fierce, but largely driven by our mutual need for physical comfort.
Today I find my mind drifting not to comfort, but its opposite. I've not gone into the well in quite some time. And the cup does not like to be empty for too long.
Just writing the word "empty" I feel an ache in my centre, an ache which only being taken can soothe.
I have not forgotten our discussion of phalluses, and I am sure Severus has not either. Before the operation against Lucius did not seem a prudent time to do it, and now I suppose I shall have to hope the day I wear it is not one when I will be called to the Ministry.
Merlin, my fantasies are vivid. He appears at the back door. When I open it, he pulls me into the back alley, lifts my robes, and quick as thought has replaced the phallus with his own cock, fucking me against the brick unrelentingly until he comes. Then he replaces the plug, charming it to torture me the rest of the afternoon with a mild vibration, enough to keep me aroused, not enough to make me come... and I know better than to arrive home later anything but stretched and straining, aching for him.
I believe I shall give a try at transfiguring something suitable.
Time is beginning to blunt the loss of Harry. But it still sneaks up on me sometimes. Hebrides made the Calming Draught into a lozenge for me, very slow acting and gradual. As if grief were like a coughing fit. But sometimes it is. The lozenges taste like elderberry wine. I think, actually, the latest batch, he didn't put any of the draught in at all, and I'm just calmed by sucking on something now.
This afternoon is quiet, there's little to do, and I figure I must be returning to some semblance of normal because I find myself fantasizing about Severus. Our lovemaking since the night of the nabbing--since we resumed, I mean--has been by turns tender and fierce, but largely driven by our mutual need for physical comfort.
Today I find my mind drifting not to comfort, but its opposite. I've not gone into the well in quite some time. And the cup does not like to be empty for too long.
Just writing the word "empty" I feel an ache in my centre, an ache which only being taken can soothe.
I have not forgotten our discussion of phalluses, and I am sure Severus has not either. Before the operation against Lucius did not seem a prudent time to do it, and now I suppose I shall have to hope the day I wear it is not one when I will be called to the Ministry.
Merlin, my fantasies are vivid. He appears at the back door. When I open it, he pulls me into the back alley, lifts my robes, and quick as thought has replaced the phallus with his own cock, fucking me against the brick unrelentingly until he comes. Then he replaces the plug, charming it to torture me the rest of the afternoon with a mild vibration, enough to keep me aroused, not enough to make me come... and I know better than to arrive home later anything but stretched and straining, aching for him.
I believe I shall give a try at transfiguring something suitable.