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mastermindmiko · 7 months

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Blue Butterflies (Part two)

Pairing: Harry Potter + fem!reader

Word count: 6863

Warnings: kissing, slight angst? let me know if you find anything that I didn't

masterlist

Harry was sitting in the highest box along with the Weasleys. The match hadn’t begun yet, but everyone was waiting on the edge of their seats. Unlike most of the stadium, Harry was leaning on the edge of the railing resting his head on his hand.

He was sure that Y/N was going to be mad at him because he left without saying goodbye, but it wasn’t his fault that the Weasleys nearly kidnapped him. Mr. Weasley looked at Harry and asked, “Potter! You’re at the Quidditch world cup, cheer up!”

“Don’t be hard on him, dad. He’s just missing his imaginary girlfriend.” Fred teased, and he placed a faux sympathetic hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry swatted Fred’s hand away, and George and Ron laughed. Harry’s face heated, and Hermione, “I believe that she’s real, Harry.”

“This is not some controversial thing, she is real, but she’s not technically my girlfriend. She’s only a friend.” Harry explained, and Ron had to hold in a laugh, but it came out as a snicker. Harry’s head snapped to Ron, and Ron stilled. Ron said, quickly, “No, I definitely believe you.”

Before Harry had a chance to reply at his unconvincing words, the match had started. The bulgarian mascots, the veelas were flying all around the stadium, showing off their beauty, capturing both the eyes of men and women. Ron was so entranced that he almost jumped off the railing, and he would have, if Hermione hadn’t grabbed him down.

Harry, much like Mr. Weasley, wasn't captured by their beauty, though Harry had to admit that they were very beautiful. Mr. Weasley kept an eye out after Ron almost jumped off, looking at all the kids with a close eye. He noticed Harry’s bored expression and clasped a hand on his shoulder, “You’re just like me, ey?

Once again, before Harry could question, the Bulgarian mascots had left, and were immediately replaced by leprechauns.Harry made a note to ask Mr Weasley about what he meant after the match. Fred and George cheered for their team, and the atmosphere that had been created by the veelas was changed into a more joyful and boisterous one.

Soon enough, the match had begun, and Harry was so taken by the excitement in the space, that momentarily he had forgotten about his sad feelings. He cheered when Viktor Krum had caught the snitch, but he was sad to find out that even with the extra one hundred and fifty points, the Irish still had one.

The twins couldn’t stop celebrating all the way back to the tent, and Harry enjoyed their songs, but what he enjoyed the most was how angered Ron looked. He snickered at his friend's expression and watched as Ron declared his love for Viktor Krum.

Soon enough shouts were heard and Mr. Weasley entered the room, panicked. “That must be the Irish!” exclaimed George, still waltzing around the room with his twin. Mr. Weasley placed a firm hand on Fred’s shoulder to get them to stop, “It’s not the Irish, we have to go.”

***

“Now that we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen-” Dumbledore’s speech gets interrupted by Filch running inside and then whispering something in his ear.

The students wait around anxiously and Harry can already see Fred and George making bets on what the announcement will be. Filch runs back to the gate, and Dumbledore continues, “So, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event, the triwizard tournament!”

Chatter erupts in the hall, and Fred hands George two sickles. George has a smirk on his face. “Now for those of you who do not know, the triwizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests, for each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone, and trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint hearted.”

The chatter stops at Dumbledore’s eery words, and a frown settles on Harry’s face. “But more of that later, now please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons academy of magic and their headmistress Madame Maxime!”

The doors to the Great Hall open, revealing a large group of ladies all wearing blue uniforms. Harry thought about how Y/N would love that. They walked with their hands behind their backs and leaned in on each side to show off for the boys.

They started running to the front of the hall, and Ron’s mouth was agape. Then blue butterflies erupted from around the girls, and all Harry could think about was how perfect Beauxbatons seemed for Y/N. When they were done, the headmistress walked behind them, and seamus said, “Blimey, that’s one big woman!”

A girl tumbled behind the girls, and as soon as the ladies bowed. The hall erupted in cheers and wolf whistles, Ron and Harry cheering loudly like all of the boys. Hermione and Ginny opposite them only clapped their hands politely. The ladies went to sit on the Ravenclaw table.

“And now, please welcome our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karkroff!” Dumbledore bellowed, and everyone’s heads snapped to the door to see the other school’s entrance.

While turning to look at the entrance of the Great Hall, he saw a familiar face sitting at the Ravenclaw table, standing up to be able to see the Durmstrang boys more clearly. Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed Y/N in the blue Beauxbatons uniform. His thoughts were interrupted by Ron saying in awe, “Blimey, it’s him, Viktor Krum!”

Harry looked to where Ron was looking and noticed that it was in fact Viktor Krum, standing next to the headmaster, Igor Karkroff. The two headmasters embraced and Igor placed a soft kiss on madame maxime’s hand. Harry slapped Ron’s shoulder and he pointed to where Y/N’s sitting, “Look, Look! That’s Y/N!”

“Right!” Ron scoffed, as he looked at the Beauxbatons’ girl sitting next to a Ravenclaw boy who was clearly flirting with her. Three blue butterflies flew around her as several boys looked at her in awe. “It is her!”

Ron rolled his eyes, and Hermione and Ginny looked at Y/N. Harry noticed and said, “Hermione, tell Ron that you believe me!” Hermione bit her lip then looked back at Y/N, “Even that does seem a bit far fetched Harry.”

“What’s all the racket about?” Fred asked, and George beside him. Ron pointed to where the Ravenclaw was and said, “Harry expects us to believe that that veela over there is Y/N!”

Fred and George looked to where Ron was pointing and they started snickering. Ginny couldn’t help but join in on the laughter. Harry’s face turned red and he shouted, “That is her!”

“Wasn’t she a muggle, Harry?” Hermione asked, trying not to join in on the infectious laughter. Harry looked at her and replied, “I thought she was, but apparently not.”

The whole table started laughing as Ron told Seamus and Dean about Harry’s claim. Fred then told George through laughter, “How about you give me a hundred galleons if that’s actually Y/N?”

“You really want to lose a hundred galleons, Fred?” George countered back, and soon enough Harry had had enough of the teasing and he started to leave the Great Hall.

At the Ravenclaw table, Y/N was laughing along with her friends, grateful that madame Maxime allowed the ones with the highest grades in each year to join in watching the triwizard tournament. She was about to continue chatting when she saw a familiar mop of hair.

“Hey, Terry. Could you tell me who’s that?” she asked, and Terry looked at where she was pointing, and he replied to her with an awestruck smile, “That’s Harry Potter!”

She gives him a quick smile as thanks. She walks towards Harry and starts to call out his name. She was beyond excited, if this really was her Harry then she’d be on the moon for the rest of the year. It would truly be brilliant if the guy she liked was also a wizard.

Back at the Gryffindor table, “You all should be ashamed of yourselves, he’s your friend, you shouldn’t tease him like that!” Hermione scolded as Ginny started poking her shoulder with a surprised look on her face. “What?!” Hermione shouted, and Ginny pointed to where Y/N was standing, talking to Harry.

Ron, Dean, Seamus, Fred and George all looked to where Ginny was pointing and they all gave each other a quick look before they ran towards Harry. They all stood behind the boy and they watched Harry and Y/N hug. She opened her eyes to see five boys looking at her excitedly and so she moved back from Harry’s embrace, shy.

Harry looks behind him, and gets startled by the boys behind him. She gives them all a wave with a small “Hi.” They all wave back like idiots, and Harry folds his arms. He turns back to look at Y/N, and he asks, “You never told me you were a witch!”

“You never told me you were a wizard!” She counters back, and her excitement leads her butterflies to flutter around them. One of them stands on Ron’s nose while the other two stand each on one of Dean’s shoulders. “This is so exciting!” She exclaims and brings Harry to another hug.

Seamus clears his throat, and she looks at the group of boys still looking at her. She moves away from Harry and faces the boys. She notices Ron’s red hair and says, “You must be Ron, Harry’s told me about you!”

Ron flushes under her attention, and he mumbles, “Uh huh.” Fred pushes Ron to the side and asks with a cheeky smile, “Well then, darling, you must know who we are.” He points to himself and George.

“Oh! You’re Ron’s brothers, George and Fred.” She says, excited that she remembers all of Harry’s friends. “That’s right, gorgeous.” George replies, and Y/N is unphased by the pet name, having received many of them over the years, yet she’s never heard one from Harry. She doesn’t let that thought bother her as she turns to the other two boys and notices that one of them is very good looking, he doesn’t make butterflies erupt in her stomach, but still she blushes, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember Harry telling me who you two are.”

Seamus and Dean stare at her without a thought in her head, and Harry taps her shoulder. She looks at him and he says, “It’s the veela-ness.”

She notices and says, “Oh, I’m sorry you can blame my grandmother for that!” She chuckles as she tries to suppress the veela powers, leaving only one butterfly, still on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m Seamus Finnigan.” seamus holds his hand out for her to shake and she does so.

“I’m Dean.” Dean says, shyly, and Y/N couldn’t help but blush at how cute he is. Harry notices their weird interaction and he frowns. Y/N notices the butterfly on Dean’s shoulder and she walks closer to him, effectively cutting off his breath. She takes the butterfly and it flies above her again. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing!” Dean nearly shouts, and seamus snickers behind him. “If you guys don’t mind, I want to do some catching up with Harry.” Y/N says, as she grabs Harry’s hand and leads him out of the Great Hall.

The boys watch as they exit the Great Hall and as soon as they’re out of the hall, Fred turns to George and says, “Pay up, git!” George looks at Fred, appalled, “I never agreed.”

“You never disagreed either, now give me my money!” Fred says, and George points to behind Fred and says, “Oh, what’s that?” Fred and all the boys turn to look where George was pointing, giving George just enough time to run away towards the Gryffindor table.

Outside the Great Hall, “So your dad was a student at Beauxbatons?” Harry asked, after Y/N shared more about her life. She hummed in agreement at his words, and she pulled him into a hug again. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy, you’re a wizard!”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Harry said while pulling her closer to the point where he lifts her toes from the ground for a bit. He’s about to let go of her when she wraps her arms around him tighter, “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but he pulls her back into an embrace. Once she’s had enough, she pulls back and looks at him. A frown settles on her face, and Harry gets confused. She takes a bit of his hair between her fingers and she asks, “Harry?”

He hums in acknowledgement, looking into her eyes. She looks back at him for a second with a sweet smile, and his heart races. That’s new, he thinks. She pulls that strand of his hair that she was holding, and shouts, “What have you done to your hair?”

He moves away from her and rubs his head in pain. He grimaces and looks at her angry expression. “What do you mean?” She walks closer to him and holds his cheek, making his face effectively turn red. “Harry, you know that I mean this in the kindest way possible, but your hair looks disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks, confused but not focused with her hand holding his face. She pats his cheek sympathetically and says, “The question you should be asking is what is right with it?”

“You really think it’s that bad?” Harry asks, and she bites her lip, and his gaze shoots down to her lips. She doesn’t take notice and says, “Well, it’s bad, but it’s not awful because it’s you.”

He blushes and smiles at her. They get interrupted by Viktor Krum walking outside the great hall, and he spots Y/N. He puts one hand around her waist and says in a thick Bulgarian accent, “Madame Maxime wants to see you inside.”

Y/N’s face forms an ‘O’, and she gives Harry a kiss on the cheek. She wonders if he knows that he’s the only one that she kisses on their cheek, and says, “See you later, Harry.” He nods while looking at Krum with an angry expression. Krum gives him a nod and then leads them back to the Great Hall. Harry stares at Krum’s hand around Y/N’s waist and he walks inside the Great Hall to sit back on the Gryffindor table.

He sits back next to Ron and he mumbles, “I hate Viktor Krum.” Ron gasps from beside him with a spoonful of food in his mouth. Harry notices that the feast has begun and he starts to fill his plate with food. “You take that back!” Ron gasps.

“No.” Harry says, shortly. Halfway through dinner, a boy from Beauxbatons comes near Harry and asks, “Are you Y/N’s friend?” Harry nods and the boy says, “I’m Elliot Dupont, Y/N told me that you wanted me to cut your hair.”

He looks at the Ravenclaw table to find Y/N missing, and he scans all the tables to find her sitting next to Viktor Krum on the Slytherin table. He nearly seethes when he finds that on her other side Draco Malfoy is talking her ear off. She makes eye contact with him and she notices Elliot. She gives him a big thumbs up with excitement.

Harry turned to Elliot and said, “Yeah.” Elliot surveys Harry’s hair with disgust and grabs his arm. “Let’s go!” Harry didn’t have time to protest as he was pulled out of the Great Hall into the boy’s bathroom. Elliot conjured up a chair and a pair of scissors. He opened and closed the scissors and looked at Harry with an evil grin, “Let’s start.”

***

“He’s such a git.” Harry mumbles, frustrated. “Why is he acting like this?” He groans and puts his head in his hands. Y/N shuffles closer to him and says, “Maybe, he’s just feeling overshadowed.”

They’re sitting together in the courtyard after Ron had another fight with Harry, also after Professor Moody had turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret. They’re in a far off corner where no one can see them, and where Harry can’t see the ‘Potter Stinks’ Badges.

“I think you should try to forget about Ron for a bit and focus on something other than him…” She trails off, trying to plant an idea in his head. She sticks to his side and plays with his, now trimmed, hair. “Are you thinking about who you’re going to ask?”

“Ask who to what?” Harry asks, confused. He’s looking at the ground, and Y/N grabs his face to make him look at her. “There’s a ball coming up, and you have to have a date.”

“I’m not going to some ball.” Harry said, and Y/N rolled her eyes, “It’s mandatory for the champions to go, Harry.” He groans, even more frustrated. She hums telling him to tell her who he’s thinking of taking. “Maybe Cho, she seems nice.”

“I heard she fancies Cedric.” Y/N said, ignoring the pang of jealousy she felt in her chest. Harry rolls his eyes, remembering Hermione and Ginny’s reactions to Cedric back at the Quidditch World Cup, and says, “Everyone fancies him.”

“I don’t.” Y/N says firmly and so she continues, “Anyone else you want to ask?” Harry shakes his head, and he sighs, “I’ll think about it when we get told about it.”

“You know, I coloured my dress crimson red.” Y/N said, still not giving up. Harry’s face brightened and he said, “Oh! That’s my favourite colour-” as if she didn’t already know that, “How do you know about the ball anyway?”

“We were told before we came here, so we can get our dresses from home.” Y/N explained, the Durmstrang boys also found out, considering that Viktor Krum had already asked her, she declined, but he’s been trying to get her to agree. Truthfully, the only person she wanted to go with was Harry, and if not Harry then maybe Dean.

“I don’t have a date, you know.” Y/N says still playing with his hair, once he had looked away. Harry looked at Y/N sympathetically and patted her shoulder while saying, “Don’t worry Y/N, you’re going to find one.”

She rolled her eyes at what he was implying and she grabbed her bag. She slung it around her shoulders, “You’re really thick, you know that.” she huffed and walked away towards the castle. She found some of her friends from Beauxbatons and she stayed with them. Harry was left confused in the end of the courtyard.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" Fleur asked, asking Y/n what’s wrong. She pointed towards Harry and replied, “cet idiot là-bas ne comprend pas que je veux qu'il me demande d'aller au bal”

The group looked at Harry at the mention of him not understanding that she wanted him to take her to the ball, and Harry stood still under the glares of several, older Beauxbatons students. He looked around him to see if they were looking at anyone else, but he was the only one there. He gave them an awkward smile then promptly ran away.

Soon enough, the Yule Ball was announced to the population of Hogwarts. Y/N got asked to the ball more times than she could count, and because of that she had decided to use all her energy to suppress her veela powers considering that almost all the boys who asked her didn’t even know her name.

Suppressing her powers was very draining, but not more draining than waiting for Harry to ask her. She turned down Viktor Krum two more times before he decided to ask Harry’s friend, Hermione. The Yule Ball was in two days, and Harry didn’t ask her.

During breakfast, Y/N decided to ask Harry to be her date, why should she wait around for him to ask her. According to her knowledge Harry didn’t ask anyone which means that he has no date. “Harry, considering that you have no date, I was wondering if-”

“But Harry does have a date.” Ron interrupted with food in his mouth, and Y/N breath got caught in her throat. Harry was eating, only listening to the conversation. “Oh, that’s great! Who is it?”

“Parvati Patil.” Harry said, and he looked at Y/N to ask, “So, who are you going with?” She rolled her eyes and huffed, she couldn’t have made it anymore obvious. For the second time, she grabbed her bag and left the Great Hall.

She was walking in the corridor, heading back to the carriage. The Yule Ball is in two days, of course everyone has a date, she might as well go home for Christmas rather than spend it alone here. Tears involuntarily began to fill her eyes, and she wiped them away with her hands. She wasn’t going to cry because of some boy who didn’t want her.

“Y/N!” seamus called out her name, and she turned to look at him, praying that her eyes don’t look red. Seamus pushed Dean towards her and she could hear Dean whisper, “She’s not going to say yes.”

“Hi Dean.” She said with a smile. He’s very shy with a blush on his face, he clears his throat and looks her in the eye as he asks, “Would you um would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

“Yeah.” She replied with a wide smile, she rushed to give him a hug and she said, “Thank you so much for asking me, Dean!” He’s positively flushed when she releases him from the hug. He gives her a crooked smile, and he says, “I’ll pick you up at 7:30?”

“Sure, I’ll be waiting outside the carriage.” She confirms, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek before leaving, “See you then!” She turns around and nearly skips back to the carriage. She couldn’t deny the disappointment that she felt that she wasn't going with Harry, but she was excited to go with Dean. It felt weird kissing someone on the cheek that wasn’t Harry, but she ignored that feeling.

***

Harry was waiting outside with Parvati Patil and they were just about to make their grand entrance. Harry was waiting to see if he could find Y/N, considering the fact that he was about to puke from nervousness and she was the only one who could calm him down. Hermione’s talking with Viktor Krum so he wouldn’t want to disturb her, and Ron’s on edge because Hermione’s talking with Krum.

Professor McGonogall walks up to him and says, “Are you ready, Potter?” His eyes widen and he looks at his watch, 8:05, the ball was supposed to start 5 minutes ago. “Professor, can’t we just give it a few more minutes?”

“I’m sorry Potter, but we can’t hold off everything for some reason, only you know.” Professor McGonogall shook her head, and headed inside to tell Dumbledore to start to announce the champions. He headed inside with Parvati holding his arm.

They walked inside behind all the other champions, on his right he saw Ron with Padma. Parvati waved to her sister, and beside Ron, he could see Seamus, beside Seamus there was Dean, and who was Dean’s date? Y/N. He looked away quickly and focused on walking towards the centre of the hall.

The music started and Harry started to fumble with dancing, he clearly had no practice. It was painful to watch, and right beside him, all of the other champions were dancing gracefully and elegantly. Luckily for Harry, no one really focused on him and they all focused on Fleur who was looking even more beautiful tonight than usual.

Once the torturous dance ended, Harry went out looking for Ron who was sulking on one of the tables. He sank into the chair beside him, and Padma asked, “Aren’t we going to dance?” Parvati nodded along to her sister’s question looking at Harry hopefully.

“Not in the mood.” Ron said, and both the twins sat next to their dates, doing nothing. Ron watched angrily as Hermione danced with Viktor Krum. He whispered, heatedly to Harry, “I hate Viktor Krum.”

“Welcome to the team.” Harry offered back to him, and he watched as Dean twirled Y/N around, watching her bright smile. Of course, she wouldn’t want to go out with him. He sighed and sank deeper in his chair. He watched her the entire night, it was involuntary really. All he wanted was to forget that she didn’t want to come to the ball with him, but all his eyes wanted was to look at how beautiful she looked in that crimson red dress.

Parvati stood up to dance with some boy from Durmstrang while Padma stayed beside Ron, the entire night. Right when the night was near ending, Ron had a spat with Hermione. Y/N got alerted by the sight of her new friends shouting and so she heads towards them.

“What happened?” She asked, looking at how Hermione was running out of the ball. Ron said, grumpily, “She was with the enemy!”

“The enemy, you mean Viktor Krum? Well, I’m from Beauxbatons, why wouldn’t I be considered the enemy.” Y/N asked with her hands on her hips, Ron fumbled and pouted, then he sank inside the chair more.

“Hmm?” Y/N turned to Harry and he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands in surrender. Harry noticed that on the other side of the hall, Dean was looking around. “Aren’t you too busy with your date to care about what’s going on here?” Harry seethed.

“I always have time for my friends, Harry, and you know that.” Y/N answered, firmly. Harry stood up to be face-to-face with Y/N, and he spat, “Not since you found that new boyfriend of yours. You haven’t talked to me in two days!”

“Oh, I’m sorry that I haven’t been in the mood to talk to you, Harry.” Y/N hissed back at him, and he grinded his teeth against each other, “Why not?”

“I didn’t enjoy the thought of spending time with someone who didn’t want to go to the ball with me.” She explained, then she headed towards the entrance of the Great Hall to find Hermione, leaving Harry standing very confused. Dean came up from behind her and tapped her shoulder, “I’m going to go hang out with Seamus for a bit.”

She nodded her head, and said, “I was actually thinking of going to bed, but I had a great time Dean, really.” He smiled, and pressed a kiss on her hand that left her blushing at the gesture. He went back to the centre of the crowd to find seamus.

She went outside and looked around for Hermione to find her crying on the stairs. She climbed the few flights till she was beside her, and she sat down. “They’re the biggest idiots in the world.” Y/N told her, and Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle as she wiped away her tears.

“I just think that Ron’s jealous of Viktor more than anything else, really.” Y/N said, sympathetically. She had picked up on her crush very early on. Hermione rubbed her hands over face, and said, “Don’t give me hope, he’s hopeless.”

“Harry, on the other hand, really does like you.” Hermione said, and Y/N shook her head, she took off her heels, the same way Hermione did. “That’s not possible.”

Y/N folded her knees near to her chest, careful that her underwear does show. She folded her arms on her knees then rested her head on her forearms. She sighed, and Hermione mirrored her actions, exactly. Hermione expressed, “They spoiled the night.”

Y/N hummed in agreement, and she said, “I think I’ll go back home tomorrow.” The only reason why she wanted to stay after in the beginning of the year was because she’d thought that Harry would be her boyfriend after the ball, and they would spend the break going on dates. That didn’t seem to be happening.

“No, come on! You can’t let him ruin your holidays.” Hermione said, and Y/N just shook her head. She pressed her face tightly against her palms as she said, “I’ve liked him for nearly two years now, and it’s not like I’ve been subtle! He doesn’t like me, that’s the only explanation.”

Hermione said nothing as Y/N picked up her heels and stood up. She brushed the dirt off the back of her dress, and decided not to wear her heels, she’d wash her stockings when she got back home.

She wasn’t even sure if her parents would be thrilled if she came home. She had told them that she wasn’t coming back after Christmas, so they might have organised a trip somewhere. She knows that they’ve been wanting to take a trip for a while.

She sighed and she was nearing the carriage when her name got called out. She was far enough that she didn’t recognise the voice, so she turned and saw Harry. She turned back around and started walking at a faster pace. She could hear his footsteps picking up too.

She reached the dim carriage, alerting her that there were no students inside. It’s miserable how everyone was having a good time, and she’s the only one who will spend the night in the carriage all alone. She placed one foot on the first stair of the carriage when Harry grabbed her wrist.

She looked back at him and shoved her hand out of his grasp again. She started to climb up again, when Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up. She squirmed and slapped his arm, “Put me down, I don’t want to see you.”

“I won’t until you listen to me.” Harry said, and he didn’t at all seem bothered by the fact that she was hitting him. She noticed that he didn’t seem to be getting tired at all from carrying her, and her frustration grew. “Put me down, you git!”

“I did want to go to the ball with you.” Harry squeaked out, and she stopped moving. He slowly set her down, and he kept an eye out for any sudden movements she might do. She didn’t do or say anything for a moment, and Harry saw it as a chance to talk to her.

In a flash, she hurried up the stairs and reached the door. Her hand was nearly on the handle when Harry stood in between her and the door. She huffed out angrily, and grinded her teeth against each other. “I’m a seeker, you can’t outrun me.”

She looked away and she started to descend the stairs again. He grabbed her wrist again, and that was the final straw. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to talk to you or see you.” She shouted, and he was left unfazed. She shoved him, and he said, “Just listen.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t owe you anything.” She seethed, and stepped away from his grasp. She stepped off the stairs and sat on a bench on the side of the carriage. She thought that if she stayed long enough, he’d get bored eventually then leave her alone.

She sat down, and he followed her. Just as he was about to sit, she lifted her legs up, so she took up the entire bench. She avoided his gaze even though she could feel him looking at her attentively. She started to play with her hair out of boredom, and looked at the lake.

“Why did you want to go to the ball with me?” Harry asks, and she scoffs, he truly is oblivious isn’t he? He doesn’t even know about her feelings, and he didn’t want to go to the ball with her, so why should she confess her feelings. She sighs, “You’re my friend.”

“You’re friends with so many people, why me?” He pressed and she tucked the strand of hair that she was playing with behind her ear. She started to shiver from the cold weather, and she said, “I enjoy spending time with you.”

He hums, unsatisfied, she can tell because she knows him like the back of her hand, but he doesn’t ask anymore questions. Snow began to fall, and she started to absolutely freeze. She got up and made her way towards the stairs again. “You should get back, you’re the champion and all.”

“Are we…fine?” Harry asks, and she lets another sigh escape her. She nods her head with a smile, even though she knows that she’ll never be fine until she moves on. He beams, and turns around to head back to the ball. She couldn’t help the way her eyes watered.

She climbed up the stairs for the final time that night and she didn’t bother changing her clothes as she reached her bed. She fell on her bed, and stayed there. She started sobbing, knowing that it was alright since no one was there anyway, that made it all more miserable.

***

It was the middle of the night when she heard knocking on her window. She took out her wand, and held it tightly. She was just about to go to sleep, so she stood in her pyjamas. She heard the knocking once more, and she made her way to the window cautiously.

She had the window open so she didn’t understand why the intruder would knock in the first place. She quickly pushed the curtain aside, and pointed her wand at whoever was there. Harry gasped as he saw the wand pointed towards his nose, and she lowered her wand with a sigh of relief.

“You scared me to death.” She said with a stern look, as Harry entered her room. He closed the window behind him, and then the curtain. He looked at her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he pulled her in for a hug. Harry said, “You wouldn’t be scared if I was able to use the front door.”

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and she sighed. Ever since Cedric Diggory died in the triwizard tournament, and Harry said that Voldemort had returned, her parents forbid her from seeing him. They thought he was a lunatic and a bad influence.

They still didn’t allow Harry to see her even after the ministry had published Voldemort’s return. They thought Harry was dangerous. He had been sneaking into her room for a while now. This was the first time she’d seen him after the summer. He had just arrived from Hogwarts.

They sat on her bed, and she said, “I’m glad you’re back.” He nodded his head, and looked to the floor. The room wasn’t lit considering that she was just going to bed, so she opened her small bedside lamp. It lit the room in an orange way, but it was then that she noticed Harry’s tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

She cupped his cheeks with her hand, and asked, “Harry, what happened?” She could see tears begin to collect in the corners of his eyes again, and he choked out, “Sirius is dead.”

She pulled him into a hug, and then he started sobbing. He had his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he continued to cry. He had his head resting on her shoulder, and every so often she would place a comforting kiss on his head.

She knew all about Sirius Black, at first she thought he was a murderer, but back in their fourth year, she saw him talking to Harry in the fireplace, and he explained everything to her. He told her how he was the only family he has left, and the biggest connection to his parents.

He told her that when his name got cleared, he’d go and live with him, and he’d invite her over because he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to spend the summer without her. He even told her how he had a small suitcase packed in his closet, ready for him to take when Sirius’s name got cleared.

She couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling at the moment. She was sure that he wasn’t going to feel well for the rest of the summer. Harry cried for an hour, and then his tears began to escape silently. She lifted his head up from her shoulder and grabbed a box of tissues from her nightstand. She handed him a few and he wiped away his tears.

“Sorry for ruining your night.” Harry said with a guilty look. “You didn’t ruin anything, I’m glad you’re back. I really missed you.” She reassured him, and he hugged her again in thanks. Harry expressed, “I thought you were going to be mad at me.”

“Why?” She asked, confused. She can’t remember anything annoying or rude that he did. “You never replied to my last letter.” Her heart sank, she remembered now. He had told her that Cho had kissed him after one of their DA lessons last Christmas. She forced out a chuckle, “I must’ve forgotten.”

“You’re still my favourite girl.” Harry teased, and she chuckled out, “I thought that was Hermione.” A blush coated Harry’s cheeks as he said, “You’re both my favourite girls just in different ways.”

“Oh, so you like Hermione, now?” She asked, trying as much as possible to shield away any negative emotion that she might be feeling. He shook his head, and her eyes widened. He couldn’t possibly like her, could he?

She blushed and she said, “What do you mean?” She had to hear him say it because she was terrified that she’d kiss him, and he wouldn’t kiss her back. He turned to face her completely, and he said, “I like you.”

She blinked a couple of times before she jumped on Harry, pressing her lips to his. His back hit the mattress as he lifted his arms to her waist to kiss her back. She cupped his face, and kissed him until she felt him smile against her lips, effectively ruining it.

She smiled, and giggled. She climbed off him, and blushed, “Sorry, it’s just that- I’ve wanted this since I was thirteen.” Harry’s smile widened and he replied, “You don’t have to be sorry, I’ve wanted this since you kissed me when we were eleven.”

She was smiling like a maniac after his words, and involuntarily a group of blue butterflies swarmed around the room, and a bunch of them landed on Harry causing him to laugh. She suppressed her powers once more, and they all disappeared. A question popped into her head and she voiced, “Why did my powers never affect you?”

He blushed and he explained, “I wondered the same when in the Quidditch world cup everyone was drooling at the Veelas, Ron was about to jump out of the top box while I was acting normally. I asked Mr. Weasley about it after the match and it turns out, I can’t be affected by Veela powers because I was already too in love with you.”

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maiiefizz · 18 days

Text

Jegulus Prompt: Football

@jegulus-microfic

11.04.24

261 Words

___

Regulus doesn't understand.

James and he are two of the most famous Quidditch players. Harry could fly before he could really run. He got his first real broom for his 3rd birthday and Sirius gave him the rest of his Quidditch equipment.

And now?

Now Regulus is sitting here in this stadium. Next to him is James, as expected, but there's no Quidditch pitch in front of him. It's a white ball with black dots?

When Lily first talked about Muggle sports, Regulus was just confused but Harry was head over heels in love.

He brought his first ball home straight after spending the weekend with his mum.

"What just happened?" Regulus jumps up from his seat like everyone else and asks James about the rules. Again.

"Harry! Our little one!" James yells in reply. He turns to Regulus and gives him a big smack on the lips. "He's scored a goal! Oh Reggi I'm so proud of our little boy!"

Regulus grins. A goal gives you a point. At least he knows that. And points are good here.

There are still cards. A red one and... A blue one? Or a yellow one? He thinks the red one is really bad, and the other one is semi-crap. There doesn't seem to be much more.

"He's going to make it big one day!"

"James, he's only 13, let's see what happens."

"He's going to play in the World Cup, I can see it! Our little man!"

Regulus smiles slightly.

Maybe this football isn't as bad as he first thought.

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starzioo · 2 months

Text

𝐂.𝐃 ❦ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘. Pt.2

This is pt. 2!

I wanted it to be a one part story but I seem to always write way more than the character limit. :,) If you haven’t already go read pt.1 link right here!

⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈ ⤈

Anyways there’s no warnings for this read!

Enjoy!

"Okay...see you then," he says walking away with his father. As you walk into the tent, Fred and George crowd you, "So...when's the wedding?" they say in sync. "Shove off." you say rolling your eyes. As you walk into the girls' room of the tent, you see them both staring at you smirking. You immediately burst out with joy, "Oh. My. God. He asked me to go get butter beer with him later!" you exclaim. "Are you serious!" Hermione asks. "Yes!" you say flopping down onto your bed. "You're one lucky girl!" Says Ginny. "I swear if a boy like that asked me on a date, I'd faint!" Hermione says putting her clothes away. "It's not a date! We are just going to go grab some Butter Beer together!" You explain. "You keep telling yourself that Y/n!" Ginny says laughing. “And oh my god, so when I told him my name you wanna know what he said?” You said sitting up. “What?!” the girls said nearly in sync. “He said, ‘That’s pretty’ like oh my god I nearly died!” You laugh. The girls giggle and continue asking more about Cedric. “And oh my merlin don’t even get me started on how handsome he is-” Suddenly Ron opens the curtains, "Uh, Y/n Cedric is here for you?" He says with a confused face. "Are you serious? Already? Gosh, I'm not even ready!" You say running to your mirror to brush your hair. "Y/n! Y/n! You look fine just go!" Hermione yells at you. "Yes! You can't keep him waiting!" Ginny exclaims. "Okay! Okay!" You shout as they both shove you into the living area of the tent. "Hey, you ready?" Cedric asks smiling at you. "Yes...I am" You say practically enchanted by his smile. As you two head out of the tent you hear two voices in sync say, "Where exactly do you think you're going Y/n?" You turn around to see no other than Fred and George acting all parental. "Out. I'm going out." You say sighing a bit. "You better take good care of her." George says. "And no funny business!" Fred says sternly. You look up at Cedric and see him sarcastically smiling and nodding at them. As you both turn to walk away, you look up at Cedric to just see him silently laughing to himself. "Good God. I can't with those two." You sigh with your hand on your head.

TIME SKIP TO THE CAFE

You both sat down in the tent the world cup set up to be a cafe. "You know I'm glad we met," Cedric said looking at you, taking a drink of his Butter Beer. You smiled at him "Me too." You said looking into his eyes. The both of you just talked and talked for hours until the waitress told you two that the game was starting. "Cedric we got to go! I can't believe I forgot!" You said with your hand on your head, you threw a couple of galleons onto the table and ran out of the tent. "Wait up Y/n!" Cedric exclaimed as he tried to catch up with you. You slowed down for a second and took his hand; you continued running. You both finally reached your seats in the stadium. Both of you out of breath you finally stood with the rest of the group. "Why are you two all out of breath?" Fred looks at you and Cedric smirking. "Piss off Fred." You say taking the cup of Pumpkin Juice out of his hand and drinking it after you take a big drink of it you pass it to Cedric. "You know Y/n, you should be doing track instead of quidditch," Cedric says laughing still trying to catch his breath. You all watched the game laughing and cheering for the Irish. The odds were against the Irish until they swept the game and won. When the Irish scored the winning points, you and Cedric looked at each other happily. Next thing you know you two are hugging each other tightly, when you two are done hugging you both look into each other's eyes smiling.

This was the day you knew you fell in love with Cedric Diggory.

=====

So that’s it! I wanted to write a cute kissing scene but imo that would be too fast paced lol. Anyways hope you enjoyed!

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expectodragons · 7 months

Text

Bitter Water || Chapter 6

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 15,500 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, dual POV, language, mild injuries, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

The merriment of the holiday season had faded like warm breath on a window pane and all that remained was the bitter sting of January’s fury. It doused the valley in snow drifts higher than one’s knee. Pointed icicles threatened to plunge down upon anyone who dared walk under an archway or a line of barren trees – frozen in the silence like toy soldiers amongst the desolate winter landscape.

While Catherine found herself eternally grateful for her late Christmas gift from the potions professor, even the furious heat from the warming charm in her new gloves did little to battle off the wretched chill of the stinging wind.

She hurried through her morning chores each day – finding comfort at the Fire Crab’s enclosure more often than not, though she certainly didn’t dare to stand too close. As though she needed another third-degree burn marring her skin.

Most days the courtyard remained empty apart from the students coming to and from her class. Sometimes, she would spot the bright robes of the quidditch teams as they made their way across the snow-packed path to the pitch. In a world washed out by white and gray, the blur of color was a welcomed sight.

As she fed or groomed the Unicorns and Kneazles, she would sometimes find herself lost in the practice runs and mock games of the teams.

On one particular morning, before the sun had even fully risen, Catherine was out braving the cold. Wrapped up in the warmest clothes she could manage, her eyes alone peeking out from the soft fabric of her scarf. The last of the Mooncalves were out in their paddock, prancing through the snow when she approached with their breakfast.

She checked over all sixteen of the furry big-eyed creatures. Nora’s bandages would need changing by afternoon from the looks of it. And Harold would require another bout of supplements lest he fall ill again.

“Yeah, go on then,” she says softly, patting the head of June – the newest member of the cluster.

They disappear off into their covered enclosure – likely refusing to come out until their lunches are brought about.

With a flick of her wand, the large woven feed sack floats out from the shed and levitates across the yard to the unicorn’s paddock, where five usually stoic creatures were just beginning to rise from their slumber.

“Come on, come on. Before I catch my death, thank you.”

Sometimes, she missed the temperate weather of the lower continents. As much as she had complained of the overbearing direct sunlight during her time in the Golden Coast and Cairo, she would give just about anything for a warm ray of natural light these days.

As she begins portioning out their specially mixed feed into the long wooden troughs, she hears a distant shout from the neighboring quidditch pitch.

“Come on, Parson!”

The Gryffindor team had been out practicing before even Catherine roused to tend to the beasts. She had watched the whirl of red robes ducking in and around the stadium’s towers with a belated interest. They stood a decent chance at the Cup this year if their training was anything to go by. That was, until…

“Watch out!”

She barely has time to lift her head up when a noticeable thump crashes into the top of the classroom’s wards and bounces off into the canopy of trees before slamming down onto the forest floor.

The young professor slashes the warding in an instant and takes off towards the small figure crumpled near the bottom of a towering Scots Pine.

With her scarf now tugged down to her neck, she asks in a harsh breath, “Are you alright?”

The girl tries to roll to her side but lets out a rather pathetic moan.

“Okay, easy now.”

She takes a quick visual assessment of her positioning – nothing twisted, nothing noticeably broken – before she eases out the girl’s legs. Now fully on her back, the young player lets out a long breath, her hands resting on her chest as she stares up at the empty canopy above her.

“I’m fine… I think. Just… wind knocked out of me.”

Catherine pulls up onto her knee, staring down at the student.

“No wonder, flying like you just did.”

The girl’s eyes roam across to her, a thin smile on her face, “New broom.”

With a nod, she extends her hand out to the prone player.

“Think you can stand?”

Another jerk of her head and then Catherine’s hauling her up onto her feet. She casts a wary eye upon her, almost expecting a sudden injury to emerge. After a moment, the girl reaches down to grab hold of her forgotten broomstick – a flush creeping across her cheeks that the young professor assumes isn’t from the sharp sting of the wind.

“I… I better get back.”

“As long as you think you can manage.”

She mounts the broom, looking momentarily hesitant before she gives herself a reassuring nod and kicks off.

Catherine watches her go – swaying back and forth through the trees before she dips down over the crumbling castle wall toward the pitch. With a shake of her head, she walks back over to the paddocks and finishes up her rounds.

It just so happens that she’s walking back to the castle at the same time the Gryffindor team is trudging along – likely heading back in an attempt to grab breakfast before classes were due to start.

“The hell are we gonna do?”

A blonde-haired player lingers back alongside a stout boy who strides forward with an air of confidence.

“She just needs more training – one on one.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do. Are you sure we can’t convince Miles to –”

“That’s a null and void conversation. Don’t even bother.”

Her eyes travel through the group – counting them all off – before she realizes one sole player is missing from the troop. She glances back at the pitch and spots a tiny blur of red still circling the stadium.

As the team heads inside, Catherine pauses near the frozen fountain.

It’s a split-second decision that has her wandering through the snow drifts away from the warmth of the castle.

Standing in the middle of the field, she watches the young girl fly lap after lap – her eyes never straying far from a small glittering winged ball of gold. Only once she’s able to nab hold of it, does she even look down to see the bundled-up witch in the center of the pitch. She swoops down just a foot away from the professor.

“So, you’re the new seeker then.”

The girl’s fingers tighten around her broom’s handle as she gives a quick nod.

“Teller, well, his Mum and Dad weren’t too happy with his last grading report before Christmas and they had Professor Weasley kick him off the team. And no one wanted to try and take on the position – he’s been on for the last five years now, you know. And, well…”

“And here you are?” Catherine surmises.

She nods again.

The young witch stares down at the third-year – spotting a familiar look in her nervous features. A soft smile graces her face as she beckons the girl forward – the two beginning to walk back to the castle together.

“You know… I was Gryffindor’s seeker in my seventh year. Never even played the game before they had me doing laps at try-outs.”

She can feel the sudden gaze at her side, “Really?”

“Mhmm. Plenty of talented players, people who knew every bit of trivia about the game – all the tactics and high-profile people on the National Leagues. Felt like I was a Porlock in a sea of Graphorns.”

Catherine glances down, spotting the curious look on the girl’s face.

“What… what did you do?”

Staring forward, toward the approaching castle doors, she replies, “I put my heart into it. Studied everything I could between classes, and started following the big teams in the papers each week. And practiced. Every free moment I could spare.”

A contemplative look befalls the young student’s features. A frizzled brow and a scrunched nose.

“I don’t know if that’d work for me.”

“Why not?”

With a steadying breath, she finally says, “I know all the moves. I follow the Harpies and the Tornadoes every play. It’s just… when I get out there with the rest of my team, I just…”

Her expression grows distant and a brief moment of understanding crosses Catherine’s mind. At last, they climb the steps to the Bell Tower. But before she can push the door open, the professor pauses.

“You know, as a fellow Gryffindor and an ex-player, I would have every right to offer my… wisdom, should your captain welcome it?”

A smile, slow at first but soon stretched wide in awe, greets her.

“Would you?”

She smiles down at the girl in return.

“I’m sure something can be arranged. Miss…?”

“Parson. Laura Parson, professor.”

Aesop peers up from the cauldrons currently resting under a stasis charm in a secluded corner of the classroom at the sound of a gentle rapping of knuckles against the door. He finds himself fighting to contain a smile as the young woman crosses the room, beaming back at him in return.

Though classes had resumed on the fifth, he had scarcely seen the Beasts professor since her arrival back from her winter holiday in France. There had been passing words in the staff lounge, of course. A curt greeting when they happened to cross paths in the tapestry corridor. But a full conversation had been waiting in the wings ever since that last chaperoning trip to Hogsmeade together in December.

“Hello again, properly,” she smiles as she crosses the flagstones.

He watches as stray snowflakes fall from her hat and the shoulders of her cape, toppling to the floor as they leave a melted trail of droplets all the way from the door to where he stands.

“It has been some time,” he admits in his gruff tone of voice.

“Well, hopefully, what I have here will more than make up for that!”

His eyes flicker down to the bright white of her smile as she licks her chapped lips and unceremoniously deposits her leather bag on his desk. Aesop folds his arms across his chest, peering down at the pouch as she begins to pull two small containers out.

“My fifth-years just sorted these this afternoon. Don’t worry – the Gryffindors collected them while my Ravenclaws handled the actual grinding.”

He doesn’t even attempt to smother his smirk as she easily pokes fun at her own House. Grabbing hold of one of the jars, he holds it up to the candlelight and examines its contents with an assessing dark eye. The Unicorn horn was a fine white powder with barely a blemish to be found within the granules.

“It was quite lucky, actually,” she continues on, unprompted. “I noticed the beginnings of shedding Saturday evening and sure enough, this morning I had three unicorns rubbing against the fencing trying to rid themselves of their own horns. Two weeks early, at that! I just hope the other two hold on long enough for my other fifth-years to get a chance at it as well.”

Sharp gives a hum of acknowledgment as he sets the container down, “My compliments to your teaching skills, Hart.”

That makes the young witch quirk her brow as a roguish smile graces her pale features.

“Oh?”

“Clearly you’ve instructed your students well. Perhaps better than even my own attempts…” he trails off, considering the state of some of his older students under his tutelage and their inability to properly slice, dice, and grind ingredients after several years of instruction.

“Ah, that. Well, I merely explained that part of their grade for this quarter was dependent on how well their potions professor found the quality of their ingredients. That might have done the trick.”

He feels his own brows rise at that.

“I mean,” she begins twisting her fingers together as her blue eyes leave his face to gaze down at the floor.

“Creature handling is usually thought of in such limited terms, but there are so many different aspects to it that I think some of my students forget. Like harvesting byproducts for potions, or rehabilitative work, even healing situations – there’s a whole branch of veterinary work out there. It’s not just all – ”

She flaps her hands out for a moment, trying to tie together her next words as if they were an invisible item just out of reach, “– pet the Puffeskein, play with the Kneazles, and earn an Outstanding. You know what I mean?”

A half-smile graces his lips, “I believe so.”

She stares up at him then with this… unreadable expression on her face. It makes him feel both put on the spot by it and equally lost in the warmth of its intensity.

And then she smooths her hands over her trousers and says, “And on that note, I do actually need to go groom some Kneazles right now.”

Collecting her bag and resettling her powder-blue hat upon her head, Aesop watches as she prepares to leave and he finds some inner part of himself reaching out – a phantom hand trying to grab hold of the invisible strings that lay between them like dust in the sunlight. They had not shared a common space and been able to fill it with familiar conversation in so many weeks that he was reluctant to see her walk out the classroom door just yet.

Just like Mirabel, Abraham, and Dinah, he found himself drawn to her presence and welcomed the warm interactions they shared together. He could not say that for many other members of the faculty. There was just something about her that made him seek out her candor. Finding a smidgen of pride bubbling up in his chest whenever he managed to pull a genuine laugh from her lips.

“I never did thank you.”

That makes her pause mid-step as she slowly twirls back around, her face struck with an air of curiosity.

“For your gift,” he clarifies.

A rather amusing blush crosses her cheeks as she looks toward the adjacent brewing station before she meets his eyes once again.

“I know it probably seemed a bit out of place from what you usually get, or what I assume you usually get.”

He smiles down at her, resting his hands behind his back, “All the more reason I enjoyed it as much as I did.”

A swell of pride swoops through his chest at the smile she bestows upon him. And he finds himself falling down a path of rambling thoughts before he can even blink back to awareness at his surroundings.

“I assure you, Hart, it was a welcome change from the stacks of brewing books and paperweights that are typically sent my way over the holiday. I must admit, I found myself looking through the portraits well past the midnight hour that evening.”

Slowly, she lowers herself onto a stool – swiping her blue pointed hat from her head, her eyes never leaving his – as if in a trance.

“Which was your favorite, if I may ask?”

Aesop ponders this for a moment as he joins her at the empty station – this was their shared free period at the end of the day, there was little more to do now besides grading papers – with his right foot resting on the spindle of the stool and his left foot placed on the ground beside the corner of the station.

In his mind, he can see many of the images from the book in near clarity. A few notable favorites, some less so. But finally, he settles on an answer.

“A Bar at the Folies-Bergère by Manet.”

And then he blinks and he finds himself focusing in on the lazy smile on the woman’s face as she stares up at him with another unreadable thing flickering around in her crystalline blue eyes.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Out of curiosity, do you have any opinions on the art movement?”

She straightens up, resting her hands on the table as she leans forward with this ringing air of excitement, “Yes, absolutely! While I’m partial to Monet’s Water Lily Pond, I actually favor more of Van Gogh’s work.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning forward as well – drawn in by her enthusiasm.

“Yes, his Starry Night –”

Aesop gives a playful groan, rolling his eyes for the full effect.

“Why does that not surprise me, Hart?”

Her brows pinch together, clearly taken aback, “What?”

“A typical museum-goer could point to a handful of classical renderings. The Mona Lisa, or Girl with a Pearl Earring, or… Liberty Leading the Peoplefor example, and claim it to be their favorite simply by having such a limited range of exposure to the arts.”

She bites the corner of her lip and gives a little roll of her shoulders that makes it seem as though she’s preparing for a battle on an artistic plane. He finds himself even more intrigued.

“Okay, Sharp,” she begins, leveling him with a steely gaze.

“I was about to say my favorite Van Gogh is Starry Night Over the Rhone, even though it’s typically overlooked by the more famous Starry Night painting. I find the subdued colors more appealing, for a start. And his work with the lighting is impeccable: the way he has the stars reflect off the water. And the texture! It practically jumps off the painting to the point where I feel like I could actually touch the waves as they were truly there on the canvas.”

Slowly, a curved smirk rises from his lips as he folds his hands together into a fist on the countertop.

“All right, that’s a marginally reasonable answer. But you can’t deny the fact that Van Gogh wasn’t actually an Impressionist painter.”

With an audible groan, she rakes a hand through her ice-blonde tresses, “At the beginning of his career he was! Almost every Impressionist moved onto the Post-Impressionism movement beside Monet.”

“And if I might say,” she jabs her finger on the table for emphasis. “Impressionism in itself uses color as a way to represent landscape and how light affects it. Post-Impressionism just uses color to convey emotions. You can’t tell me that Over the Rhone is a post-impressionist landscape.”

“And yet, as a whole, it is Monet who is frequently accredited with the first movement. While Van Gogh is solely recognized in the post-movement,” he surmises.

“Actually,” she interrupts. “Manet is the sole founder of the movement. Does Le Déjeuner sur l'herb ring any bells?”

Aesop finds himself momentarily stunned by the graceful way the French title falls from her lips before he grins – pressing forward with another retort. He hadn’t enjoyed a conversation this much in ages.

“Which further shows your inability to accept the fact that your precious painter is not in fact a part of the Impressionism movement itself. Merely inspired by the true artists in Paris. Was it not Van Gogh himself who admitted he was completely unaware of the style until he visited the city in 1886?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“And while one could argue that an artist’s style is capable of changing over time, perhaps it can be said that Van Gogh was never a member of the original movement, merely a user of the muted Dutch palette of the time.”

Hart shakes her head in disbelief, muttering to the table’s surface, Merlin give me strength, before she fixes her gaze on Aesop and starts back up.

“Well, one could say, that Monet became stagnant in his process of painting hazy pastel landscapes while the rest of the artists in the original Impressionism movement moved on with the times and adapted their styles accordingly. Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy some of Monet’s work, because I do – but the point I’m trying to make is –”

A flicker of fight dies from his lips as he finds his curiosity piqued.

“And which paintings would those be?”

He watches as she exhales through her nose, the frightening height of her argument brought back down to a respectable level for polite conversation – though he almost immediately misses the blaze of determination in her eyes.

“Woman with a Parasol and Bordighera.”

With a quirk of his lip, Aesop adds in an easy, soft sort of tone, “I find myself partial to Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Café Terrace at Night.”

They both stare at each other for a breathless moment before Hart tips over with her wide smile and ringing laugh – one that Aesop finds himself quick to replicate with his own low chuckle.

“So,” she wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, her face still flushed with laughter. “What I believe we’re both agreeing to is the fact that we’re capable of enjoying many artists despite their reported in or out status within the Impressionism movement?”

Shaking his head, unable to hide his smile, he says, “I believe so.”

He looks at her then, truly looks at her. At the near-permanent smile on her face, the flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, and something else. Something he can’t quite put a name to – there, in the depth of her expression when she blinks and looks up at him – her closed smile growing impossibly wider.

“So…” she breathes out, giving a little shake to her head as an errant curl falls across her cheek. “Is your stance firmly settled on just Impressionism, or do you have varying opinions on other eras?”

Aesop bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, “I find Impressionism to be one of my least favorite movements, in all actuality.”

Her eyes bulge and a frown begins to form on her unblemished face.

“Not to say that I don’t enjoy it, obviously,” he makes quick to explain. “But out of several centuries worth of painting, I can hardly claim it to be my absolute favorite, now, can I?”

“Okay then,” she crosses her right leg over her left knee, leaning back to fold her arms over her chest. “Let’s hear it then. Where do your loyalties lie?”

“Baroque has its merits, of course.”

She scoffs, “If you’re interested in a darkened palette and exaggerated movement, I suppose.”

“You find fault with it?” he raises his brow, sensing another well-placed debate brewing in the downturn of her lips.

“Obviously.”

Aesop smirks, folding his own arms across his chest as he stares at her.

“Then, by all means, enlighten me. What era do you find more appealing?”

She seems to mull it over for a moment, as her tongue peeks out to wet her lips before she finally settles on: “Rococo.”

He chuckles, “You’ll argue against the merits of Monet but you find Rococo-style works to be just fine?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she says, “I prefer the palette, for one. And the more natural movement. Baroque-era styling just feels so… dramatic; heavy. Whereas Rococo brings a more, I don’t know… easy-going sort of feeling. I suppose you’d also be so bold as to say that Classicism holds a special place for you as well?”

“Nat as much, but there are some portraits that I find… welcoming on the eyes.”

Hart gives a little nod, “And your thoughts on the Renaissance era?”

At that, he snorts, “Over-rated.”

“Oh, thank Godric,” she sighs, placing a hand over her heart as if she had expected him to tell her the worst sort of news. “You’re still capable of some common sense, that’s truly a relief to hear.”

Raising a lone brow, he dryly says, “I’m pleased to find that I’ve met your high standards.”

She lets out a short laugh, shaking her head as she says, “Hush. I was just afraid you would sit there and spew some snobbish nonsense to me about how that style is far superior to any other in the entire history of the world of art.”

“Decidedly not.”

She offers him a small smile then, flicking her gaze from his face to her hands on the countertop of the brewing station.

“So… if that’s not a favorite of yours, then what exactly would you say is?”

Aesop stares up at the curved stone arches of the classroom ceiling, pondering the question for just a moment, before he replies.

“Romanticism.”

Catherine blinks; once, then twice. Her mouth forms a curious little o shape before she presses her lips together and asks, “Really?”

“Is that somehow surprising?” he wonders, uncrossing his arms as he stares down at her – trying to place the pieces of the puzzle that was her expression.

“Well, I thought perhaps you would say something more… I don’t know, obscure? Like Tonalism or something of that nature. But, Romanticism, genuinely?”

He hums in return, finding his gaze lost in the dumbfounded look upon the woman’s face.

“Wha– uhm, what artists do you favor?”

“Well,” he lingers on this for a moment before finding the answers rather easily. “Friedrich, J.M.W. Turner, Eugène Delacroix – of course –”

“Of course,” she murmurs along.

He nods, “And, perhaps… John Constable.”

“Oh, his stuff is quite good,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

They sit there for a moment in the draping silence of the conversation before several thoughts cross through Aesop’s mind. The first of which, he is quick to voice.

“You never said.”

At the lift of her eyebrows, he reiterates.

“Your favorite style.”

“Oh.”

Hart looks away, twisting her fingers together once again. He finds a desire to uncover the reason for the strange response. Leaning forward, offering a warm expression, he teases.

“Come now, Hart. Afraid I’ll tear apart your answer as you did mine?”

She looks up, eyes bright and alert, “No, of course not. It’s just… well, it’s not a common answer.”

He gives a little hum, “Consider me intrigued then.”

Readjusting herself on the stool, he can feel the light brush of the toe of her boot against his left knee – nothing hard, or discomforting. But a gentle press as she bounces her foot in thought.

“Have you ever heard of Ukiyo-e?”

Perhaps he had been expectant of too common an answer, some strange little movement of the American or Eastern European variety. But he has to shake his head in response, “I’m afraid I have not.

“It’s a, uhm, Japanese art style. Usually in the form of printed woodblocks. Two summers back, I was trekking through Imperial Japan, and I happened upon a village in the mountains. This muggle sutler had these blocks displayed out across a cloth sheet on the ground and I was just immediately entranced by them. The color, Aesop. It just pops off the wood. The lines were so crisp, I don’t even know how to properly describe it to you.”

She shakes her head then, giving a little laugh that seemed to stem from some sort of place of embarrassment, though for what reason he’s not sure.

“I actually have one on display, down in my room. It’s a copy, obviously.”

Aesop leans forward, steepling his index fingers together.

“How did your interest in the arts come about?”

Hart lets out a low breath, leaning back on the stool once again. Her gaze grows distant for but a moment before the electric blue of her irises meets his eyes.

“Traveling, in all honesty. Certainly didn’t have the time or funds to go to a museum when I was younger. And obviously being here at the school changed those prospects for me quite a bit as well.”

She absently chews on her lower lip, teleported back to the memories of her youth. And for a moment, Aesop is reminded of the clear and undeniable fact that the girl who was once his student is in fact a fine young woman now. He would have never imagined, nearly a decade back, that he would be sitting here with the new fifth-year having an in-depth conversation about art, of all topics.

“When I was assigned to an encampment in France, at the beginning of my tenure with the Ministry, they placed me with a man – Edmund Hughes.”

Aesop found the name familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it to any particular face in his mind.

“Anyway, we kept busy most of the days we were there. At the time, we were tracking down this aggressive Bretagne Vouivre Dragon that was encroaching far too close to a muggle town. Well, one night, we were stuck dealing with negotiators from the French Ministry who felt they were better equipped to handle the situation, even though the Department had requested our assistance with the matter in the first place. Uh, sorry. Anyway…”

She waves her hand as if to clear the memory from the air.

“Hughes knew we were stuck with our thumbs in our pockets, as it were, for likely the next week or so while bureaucratic dealings went on. Just up and decided – after downing a lovely French port of wine, of course – that we should enjoy the evening on our own terms. He rounded up our little team and we apparated to Place Cachée. Led us straight down to the Louvre.”

Hart gives another little bubble of laughter, “I had never stepped foot in a museum before that night.”

Aesop feels his own heart clench at the admission. Admittedly, his own upbringing had brought about many opportunities – perhaps a few that he hadn’t been completely grateful for at the time. Not necessarily a silver spoon sort of life, but well-off in many senses of the term.

A no-nonsense governess had given him his first introduction to the world of art at the tender age of five. He was well-versed in all the classical wizarding artists: Monsieur DeBlanc, Cetus Barringer, Andorra van Kemp. It was only thanks to his own natural pursuit of knowledge that he became acquainted with the greats of the Muggle world.

While wizards and witches had the astounding ability to create life-like moving portraits, the muggle world was restricted: forced to make a painting capture a single moment, a multitude of emotions. Aesop almost considered that feat more awe-inspiring than that of their wizarding counterparts.

“Have you been to many others since then?” He wonders, his tone softened by his musings.

“A few, if I’m given the chance,” she admits with the crack of a proper smile.

“Over your travels, have you ever found your way to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square?”

“I’m afraid I have not,” Hart sighs in admittance.

Aesop gives a half-curved smile in return, “You should go: if you find the time to do so. I find it to be an appealing institution dedicated to the arts.”

“Perhaps I should,” she gazes up at him under the flutter of her fair-colored eyelashes.

It was not unusual to find the Beasts and Potions professors walking together for dinner in the Great Hall most nights. In fact, it was a very common occurrence, one that the general populace rarely – if ever – took note of. In the same way, Professors Ronen and Weasley could be seen making the journey together during the lunch period. Or, in the opposite case of Professor Onai and Shah, who avoided each other like a severe case of Dragon Pox.

No, it could be said that the sight of Sharp and Hart walking into the Hall together right after the food graced the tables was nothing to pay much attention to.

But tonight, Catherine noted, several curious eyes followed their path as they breezed past the outer section of the Slytherin table. She only noticed it given the fact that she had looked away from Aesop to laugh in another chastising tone.

Their conversation from that afternoon had continued, nearly non-stop, well into the evening hour. When the final period bell had sounded for the day, they had both made attempts to resume their duties and go their separate ways. Until she made a follow-up comment to something he had said earlier in their little debate, and then they were both drawn back to the brewing station – tucked into yet another conversation.

And it hadn’t let up.

They were well past the point of reasonable small talk or friendly collegial conversation. But neither one of them seemed particularly interested in bringing an end to it. And so, it continued on, all the way to the Great Hall several hours after it had first begun.

“I find quite the inspiration from Delacroix’s printing techniques.”

She snorts, “You would.”

Sharp shoots her an amused look with another hitched eyebrow as they make it to the table, “Meaning…?”

Catherine presses past him as she finds her seat. Aesop pushes in her chair for her after she sits down before he moves to the vacant spot to her left. She stares after him for only a second more.

“Meaning…” she begins, portioning out bits of roasted garlic potatoes and rosemary-scented asparagus onto her plate. “That I find it fitting that you would see greatness in a French printmaker’s work.”

She can feel his curious expression gazing into the side of her face, though she thoroughly ignores it. There’s a bitter-sounding scoff of disbelief. She thinks she can even see the shake of his head – the billowing of his chestnut-colored hair.

“Is that all?”

Finally affording him a look, she continues, “An outdated technique is where you find your muse. You have an interest in older art movements, it’s truly not all that surprising.”

Aesop snorts, “I’m not sure I would consider it to be outdated if one could still find it in use within nearly every newspaper currently in circulation.”

She faces him then, “Printmaking, in itself, is not an outdated technique, Sharp. If it was, I most likely wouldn’t be calling Ukiyo-e a current favorite art movement. But as it is, that is a form of relief printing. Whereas what you’re referring to with Delacroix’s portfolio is lithography – a far older version of printmaking that is far less frequently in use than you’d like to believe it to be.”

With a huff of self-determined breath, she looks at her companion. There she finds the darkness of his eyes staring back at her, though there’s a warmth radiating from them that leaves her feeling less than discontent.

“And the reason you find printmaking – sorry, lithography, so foul is –”

“What I mean to say is,” she sighs, placing her spoon down and leaning towards him, “It’s rather silly that a Frenchman had taken up printmaking techniques when the near entirety of the artists in his country were devoted to oil painting at the time. Now, sketches I could understand. But where was he hoping to advance the realm of lithography?”

Aesop’s lips curve into a slight smirk, giving another shake of his head, and then he picks up his own cutlery once again, “I merely said I found inspiration in those particular works, Hart. Certainly, you can’t find fault in every statement I make.”

At that, she grins.

“I most certainly can, and will, if you keep making such ridiculous statements.”

There’s a lapse in conversation, but it lasts perhaps two bites worth of food more before it continues right back up again.

Her gaze rarely strays from the man next to her, if only for a moment to look away with a laugh spilling from her lips or to give another wry shake of her head. But, she is at least aware of the instant the noise in the hall begins to fade as the students lift themselves from the benches and begin to head toward the corridor once again.

“I believe,” she leans over to say with another tired smile. “That this is a conversation we’ll need to continue another day.”

Sharp seems to agree as he stands up and offers her a hand of help – one which she takes with a grateful look.

“Professor,” he bows his head, his eyes trailing back up to her face – focusing on her own eyes for just a second more – before he takes his leave of her, heading down the stairs and making his way out of the Great Hall.

Catherine watches him go for a moment more before she redirects her attention to the remaining faculty members. A memory of her ongoing lists of things to accomplish before the weekend jolts to the forefront of her mind when she spots Aragon pressing past Satyavati.

“Oh! Headmaster? Could I have a word, sir?”

The older man’s face lights up with curiosity.

It wasn’t a particularly common occurrence for Catherine to seek out candor with the Headmaster, if ever.

“Something I can do for you, Hart?”

Even though she was nearing thirty, standing before any sort of authority figure, like Aragon, still made her body awash with nerves. As if she was about to be on the questioning of a lifetime for some accused thing she had no part in.

“I was wondering, sir, if there were any particular rules in place that would keep an outside source – say… a professor – from assisting one of the Quidditch teams.”

That inquiry clearly takes him back, but it’s a smile that graces his face as he seems to ponder over the question.

“Well…” he drawls. “To the best of my knowledge, there aren’t any rules that keep a non-player from offering assistance to a team. So long as nothing is being done to give an unfair advantage in the form of, say… self-braking brooms or charmed uniform pieces that enable higher aerodynamics, for example. Or, obviously, the use of illegal substances such as Felix Felicis. No, I should think there would be nothing that would keep a professor from offering their help.”

He pauses for a second, giving her a bitten-down look of amusement.

“Any particular reason you asked?”

Catherine can barely contain the smile that wants to shine on her face, but she makes a valiant effort at it.

“Perhaps… sir.”

An appearance of understanding falls across his face and he gives a short nod, “Of course, of course. Send my regards to Mr. Spinnet, yes?”

He then gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder before he departs.

Schooling her features into something resembling a normal expression, she heads down to her quarts with a slight skip to her step. She had a letter to write.

Catherine rouses even earlier that following Friday, keen to finish her work in the classroom before her meeting time with Arthur Spinnet was set to take place. Bundled up in two pairs of trousers and a heavy woolen sweater, she collects her gloves and a warm hat before she ascends the stairs to the courtyard with her broom in tow.

Just as she’s finishing up her rounds with the Porlocks, she hears the familiar warble of voices across the grounds. Grabbing hold of her broom, she wanders over to the Pitch.

Spinnet already has the team working through a series of exercises up above the field when she arrives, while the young man stands contemplatively still in the center of the stadium.

“Merlin’s balls, Bell! My gran can fly smoother than that!” he calls out to a lanky-looking boy sailing by.

With a smile, she approaches the ambitious fifth-year.

“Mr. Spinnet.”

His eyes drop back down to the ground and he quickly uncrosses his arms, extending out a hand, “Professor! Thank you for meeting with me.”

She had shared a series of three notes with the Gryffindor boy over the past week. The first expressing her willingness to aid in any form of advice or training. The second was an agreement for a day that would best suit both parties. Catherine didn’t have a first period to teach today and she was already planning on taking the free hour to massage her sore muscles after whatever hell she went through at this early morning practice.

Taking on a vigil beside the boy, she watches the team up above. Their flying was fine, by all appearances. The two chasers and two beaters flew together in near synchronicity. It was the lone, small-statured player at the rear that seemed most out of place from the rest of them.

“I stand by what I said in my first correspondence, Mr. Spinnet,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on the players overhead. “It’s not just your new Seeker who needs a spot of extra help.”

He snorts, crossing his arms once again.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Professor. No offense, of course. But this team has been a solid front for the last three years.”

“Complacency in that idea is what is causing your stagnation, Captain. Take my word for the next two hours and we’ll see how everything plays out, as agreed upon. Yes?”

With a jerky nod, the boy shoves his fingers into his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle – alerting the players to make their descent. Once the group of six students lands and takes up a half-circle formation around her, Spinnet gives a vague the floor is yours gesture and backs up to join his team.

“Good morning,” she smiles. “I’m sure your esteemed Captain has informed you all as to why I’m here today. I come offering only advice and wish to impart a bit of time-earned wisdom upon you all. I think we can all agree, we want to see Gryffindor take the Cup this year.”

“Yeah!” two boyish voices holler at once, followed by several nods of enthusiastic agreement.

“All right then,” Catherine claps her hands together, pocketing her broom in the crook of her right elbow. “Let’s see how well you know one another’s positions, yeah?”

Several confused looks are spared her way as she assigns each player a new position. Spinnet, for his part, takes it all in stride – following upon the terms of her agreement to do this little training session with them today.

“You’re a good team – I’ve seen you practice these past few months. But a player who’s only capable of doing their position to perfection isn’t a team player. You need to know the moves of your fellow players. Anticipate how your next action affects them.”

Throwing a beater’s bat to Georgina Wilkes, one of the three chasers, she pairs her off with Cassius Diggory – one of the actual team beaters. Melinda Mason takes on the role of Keeper for Theodore Bell. While Laura Parson switches places with the team captain.

When she tosses the Quaffle into play, the ensuing match is chaotic – to say the least.

While the chasers merely have to score against a single Keeper and have no real outside interference, their technique is severely underpar. But this wasn’t an attempt to watch them fully succeed at another position, Catherine wanted to press home the point that every role on the team mattered. That they needed to work together in harmony if they stood any chance at winning.

Wilkes sends the bludger directly at Bell’s head, while Oscar Clark fumbles the Quaffle and watches it fall for several feet before Parson soars after it.

She lets them go on like this for several minutes – scoring only one singular goal in the process – before she calls them back down to the field.

“Well, that was entirely pointless,” Clark whispers to Bell.

“Was it?” she asks just as dryly.

When she’s met with a mixture of sheepish and questioning looks, she rests back on the handle of her broom.

“Mr. Clark, I would hope you would gain an appreciation for the skill it takes your Chasers to garner to successfully handle a Quaffle. Perhaps, instead of begrudging newcomers to your team, you could take a moment to offer wisdom.”

Referring to the conversation she had been privy to last week when he had been bemoaning his frustrations over the new Seeker to Spinnet, seems to make the boy blanch.

“A well-oiled team knows the intricacy of every team member’s position. If your strongest player is incapable of filling in for another, then what is the point of proclaiming you are the best team in the school?”

Giving them a purposeful look, floating to every player, she continues, “Yes, you succeeded in past years. You had wonderful victories. Don’t let that keep you tethered to mediocrity. I have watched the other teams practice – they all move in cohesion. While I can offer you tips and plays, I can not turn you into a perfect machine. That’ll be up to you to manage. But for now…”

Her eyes roam across the team until they land on Laura Parson.

“I think I agreed to teach your new seeker a move that no one else at this school knows.”

The girl’s expression immediately brightens under the glow of the morning sunrise.

After a beat, she asks, “How many of you follow the international teams?”

Bell slowly raises his hand, “Sure. I went to Sydney to watch the World Cup last year with my Da.”

A few similar nods follow his statement. Catherine gives a knowing smile.

“And outside of the largest sporting event in the game’s history?”

Silence meets her in return and she grins.

“Well, it looks like this might just be a new play for you all. Has anyone here heard of the name Josef Wronski before?”

She spends the next hour introducing Parson to the Polish tactic. It was only introduced into the world of the sport seven or so years back and hadn’t truly taken off in many places outside of its country of origin. Catherine had managed to catch a game when she was passing through the country on her way into the German Empire back in 1897.

It’s a different sort of freedom when she’s flying around the pitch with the team. While her flight times with the Hippogriffs last semester had been a liberating experience, with the wind whipping against her frozen cheeks today, she felt a determined thrill ringing throughout her body. An old sensation buried after graduation. Maybe she could convince Matilda to start up a faculty league.

“That’s it, Laura!” she shouts behind her as the girl gains speed on her. “As far as you can go, come on!”

It was a matter of zigging and zagging across the pitch before taking a sharp dive down to the field – almost to the point of crashing – before you managed to pull your broom up at the last possible second. The intention was to have your opponent crash or become so distracted that they didn’t notice the true location of the snitch.

Parson had been doing beautifully in replicating her moves and as she glanced back at Spinnet, the team captain seemed equally impressed down on the ground.

After touching back down beside him, she instructed the chasers on an old tactic that had worked for her team a decade ago. Apparently, it was one that Spinnet said had fallen out of use over the years and might just prove to be a game-changer against the other houses.

In the end, there’s a group of sweaty, exhausted, but completely exhilarated students who wave their thanks to her as they trudge back through the snow to the castle. Both Parson and Spinnet offer her another few words of gratitude, and the captain gently hints at having another possible training session in the future.

“We’ll see,” is all she says in return – beaming at the feeling of tired muscles and aching bones now plaguing her body. It wasn’t every day the twenty-eight-year-old powered through a full morning of training, after all.

With how many paces she was putting her broom through these past few days, Catherine found herself in Hogsmeade on a blustery Saturday afternoon to purchase a new set of flying gloves. While her Christmas present from Aesop had been a true treat for the winter weather, their grip wasn’t quite what she needed for early morning training sessions with the Gryffindor team. The frost had a nasty way of clinging to the handle of her broom before the sunlight managed to melt away the ice crystals.

The wizarding village was rather emptied out for a Saturday, though she placed the blame on the dismal weather entirely.

While the Christmas season had brought the joy of shopping for friends and loved ones which enticed several people to go out and peruse the local wares, January had no such draw.

In fact, most people would prefer to stay at home near the fire if given the choice.

And she would have too if it wasn’t for the need of new gloves and a particular desire to converse with the tavern boy at the Hog’s Head again.

Though, unfortunately, Aberforth had no amount of news to share with her. A sad fact that was piling up in her private life as well. There had been nothing from any of her contacts and she was trying to place it further from her mind – devoting her attention to classes, Quidditch training sessions, and art debates (of all things).

But the fact was, Catherine was desperate for a new lead in her case. Every new smuggled shipment could be her ticket. But almost all of the major operations on the northern coast of the country had ceased shipping – finding new, hidden, locations most likely to resume their trade.

Which did not bode well for her mission.

“Oh! Professor Hart, are you headed up to the Three Broomsticks as well?”

She whips around at the call of her name over the windy street. There, near Ollivander’s doorstep, stands Mirabel all bundled up in a thick cloak and a knitted pastel scarf. Her nose is as red as a rose petal as she offers up a stiff arm in a sort of wave.

“I wasn’t planning to, no. But I couldn’t say no to a warm Butterbeer right about now,” she smiles as she crosses the street to meet the other woman.

“Honestly, I was thinking just the same,” her words form a billowing stream of frozen breath.

With a nod, she finds her arm looped through the herbology professor’s who quickly leads them both up the road to the tavern in question.

The instant rush of heat once they step through the doors feels strong enough to melt the frost that clings to their outer clothes and hair. With an almost visible sigh of relief, the two women look toward one another before eyeing the vacant table near the roaring fireplace. If ever there was a place to thaw out in front of, it would be there.

For a weekend afternoon, the inn is surprisingly empty. Another thing she’ll blame the weather for. But with ripe pickings and fast service in return, Catherine can’t find much of a reason to complain.

“Helga’s heart,” Mirabel sighs after taking a sip of her steaming drink. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you since last month. Are you usually this terribly busy?”

Catherine gives a laugh as she wipes a bit of frothy foam from her upper lip. She didn’t want the news that she was assisting the Gryffindor team in their training sessions to become common knowledge. So, instead, she comes up with another easy answer.

“No, I’m afraid the Mooncalves have kept me rather busy as of late. I don’t know how they manage to injure themselves so frequently, and yet, here I am every day bandaging up one and forcing a healing draught down another.”

“So, is that why we never see you for breakfast?”

The blonde witch gives a slight shake of her head, resting her elbows upon the wooden tabletop, “That’s all thanks to my morning chores. Even if I have a first-period class, I’m still responsible for getting the creatures sorted out first thing.”

Mirabel gives a warm chuckle, “You sound so similar to myself when I first started on. I’m not sure even Matilda could pull me from the Greenhouses before or after any of my classes. There was always something to be dealt with before my students arrived.”

“I suppose plants and beasts are almost one and the same with the sense that they require a constant form of care.”

The other witch gives a soft hum of agreement.

For a short while, as they work through their mugs of Butterbeer, the two women converse on all matters of topics. From Mirabel’s current fascination with foreign tea blends to Catherine’s assessment of Mr. Macnair and how she believes the boy will surely fail her class.

Tucked into the warm corner of the tavern, the heat radiating off of the crackling fire, the Beasts professor feels truly at ease. Even when Professors Kearney, Weasley, and Kogawa walk in. With a wave of her hand, the three women join their comfy spot in the corner of the room.

“It’s rather brisk out there today, isn’t it?” Matilda comments, rubbing her arms as a sudden chill sends her body into a shiver.

“A good sort of cold though. Good for the lungs,” Kogawa smirks, resting her arm across the back of Catherine’s chair.

“So,” Roslin beams. “What are we gossiping about then?”

Catherine gives a roll of her eyes, though her sense of amusement does not fade, “We were just trying to figure out which of our students will be repeating a year and which will fail out entirely.”

Kogawa snorts, slamming her glass down, “If we’re placing galleons on it, I’d put them all on Mr. Collins. That boy still can’t hold an ounce of control over his broomstick. It’s been almost three years’ worth of remedial classes.”

Matilda, ever the mediator, gives a courteous thin-lipped smile, “Let’s save the betting for the next quidditch game, shall we?”

“Fine then,” the flying instructor sulks, crossing her arms over her chest. “But don’t be surprised when that boy’s held back for another round of third year.”

“Oh, that boy,” Mirabel sighs – rubbing a tired hand over her forehead. “I want so badly for him to take on my help. I’ve offered afternoon sessions and everything. He’s got a thumb as black as they come, I’m afraid. Even the Tentaculas shy away from him. Please tell me he fairs better in your class, Matilda.”

The older witch gives a sigh, followed by the slightest shrug of her shoulders.

“That bad?” Catherine muses, lifting her second mug of Butterbeer to her lips.

“Well,” the Deputy Headmistress smooths out her robes for a moment as if pondering the question with great consideration. “He’s not currently at a Troll if that’s what you mean. He… oh, I really shouldn’t say this, but… he’s quite on the edge of it, as it were.”

Roslin then gives a soft cough, which causes four sets of eyes to peer over at her.

“It’s just, well, if we’re referring to Benjamin Collins, I have him every Thursday as part of the choir. He has a real talent there – quite a natural actually.”

“Hmmm,” Chiyo hums. “Maybe all he needs is a recommendation to the Academy of Dramatic Arts?”

“Not the W.A.D.A, surely?” The Deputy Head says, fully aghast.

“Why not? If he can’t fly, and he can’t care for a plant, and he’s barely passing Transfiguration –”

“Poor sod,” the Beasts professor sighs with a shake of her head as she lifts her mug to her lips once again.

Matilda’s hazel eyes seek her out, almost imploring, “You don’t have him in any of your classes, Catherine?”

“No,” she snorts. “I get the likes of Adrian Macnair – ”

The mention of the seventh-year Slytherin’s name brings about a few curious reactions: pointed disgust, a compassionate grimace, and shock – which certainly said more than words could manage.

“– and Nereus Bulstrode.”

That name also pulls a similar reaction from her colleagues.

Even though she’d been teaching for barely even five months at this point, Catherine was all too aware of the fact that those particular boys were just barely scraping by in her class. No thanks to their own prideful egos that gave them a disturbing boost of assuredness that they knew more on the subject matter than the actual creature expert.

Their behavior had become so abhorrent that she found the need to split them up during the practical lessons. Usually with one sent to muck out a pen and the other sent to handle the feed.

Some people were considered naturals in the field of beasts. Others were more interested in the academic aspects of the class. Those two, however, she couldn’t quite pin down. And that thought kept her frequently on her toes whenever they were around.

Even with students like Mr. Kettleburn, she knew her animals were in safe hands. With Macnair and Bulstrode though… well, that was still to be fully determined.

“Oh, such awful boys,” Roslin frowns, downing a shot of whiskey with not so much as even a grimace.

“Talented,” Weasley placates. “But with wasted whims, perhaps.”

“Trouble’s more like it,” Chiyo mutters.

Catherine nods, tapping her glass against the flying instructor’s, “Here, here.”

“Now, now,” Matilda chides lightly. “It is our role as educators to guide them down a higher path. Not just forsake them to the wolves.”

“Wolves would be a merciful fate,” Chiyo snorts into her ear, causing Catherine to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid openly laughing.

“Matilda,” the music professor laments in a drawn-out whine, her accent coming out in longer grasps as she finishes off a third shot. “Ye can’t exactly fault us in our beliefs when someone like Abraham even finds nothing of promise to say about ‘em.”

“If it came from Aesop, perhaps it’d be more understandable,” Mirabel chimes in.

The young witch feels her brows rise as she quickly butts in, “Why’s that?”

From across the table, the redhead meets her gaze with a rather curious quirk on her lips, “Well, Aesop never speaks too highly of any particular student – even within his own house. It takes a true talent to get him to sing any sort of praise.”

“A certain Hero of Hogwarts, you might say,” Matilda grins none-too-subtly as she sips from her glass.

“Now that I find serious doubt with –” she starts to say.

“Oh no, it’s quite true. It must have been after the well…” Mirabel blinks, clears her throat, and changes her angle of approach. “After your fifth year. I think all of our opinions of you changed quite a bit, Catherine.”

At that, she stares down into the bottom of her mug where a thin layer of amber-colored drink resides.

Her silence must settle a little too heavily over the group because Matilda is quick to clear her throat, “So, what are the going bets for next week’s game? I want to know who’ll be going up against me this round.”

She drowns out the debate over the two teams – Gryffindor and Slytherin, quite the infamous match-up if ever there was one.

Instead, she shuffles the glass between her hands. Letting the warm drops of condensation slip between her fingers as she contemplates the earlier conversation. The title had followed her up until graduation, even trailing a little further on to her job at the Ministry. In fact, it had been some time since she had last heard the name being directed her way.

The name, that silly godawful name that the Prophet had coined twelve years back, had taunted her. She certainly hadn’t felt much like a hero in the aftermath of the repository battle.

Catherine raises her near-empty mug in agreeance when Matilda claims Gryffindor will be victorious, but otherwise keeps to her thoughts for the remainder of the meet-up.

So much has changed since then. Perhaps too much.

From a factory girl to a witch overnight. Destined to fight a war she didn’t know she was signing up for. Taking on a goblin rebellion at fifteen. Was it any wonder her professors looked at her differently after Fig’s memorial? They had been truly oblivious to her… extracurricular activities at the time.

Maybe they just thought she held promise – discovering magic so late on in life and having to work incredibly harder than her peers to catch up to five years worth of studies.

But no. She had just been fooling them all. Taking classes by day, a few supplementary lessons here and there to catch her up to speed, and then there she was taking down poacher encampments and goblin mining facilities by nightfall.

Was that the act of a hero or an act of reckless insanity?

Even after all this time, she’s still not entirely sure.

“We really must do this again,” Mirabel smiles as the five women finally push up from their seats, grabbing hold of their cloaks.

Matilda nods, “This was quite fun, really. Just us girls.”

Catherine hums in agreement as she wraps her blue cloak back around her shoulders. Pulling her chestnut-colored gloves from within her pocket as she braces herself for the bitter wind outside of the tavern’s sanctuary.

The swoop of wind catches her breath as the tip of her broom handle slams into the ground, rocketing her forward into a somersault that leaves her head aching and her bottom even worse off.

“Professor!” someone screams from behind her.

With a quick shake of her head, she brushes her tangled curls from her eyes and peers up at the triumphant smile of the young third-year floating just a few feet above her.

“You pull that off tomorrow, and you’ll be sure to win,” she smiles.

It takes a moment, pushing up onto her left foot before she manages to fully stand upright once again. Oh, there were certain to be bruises come morning.

“Are you all right?” Melinda Mason questions with a clear voice of concern.

Catherine supposes it would be rather unfortunate to be the cause of injury for one of your professors. But she turns and gives the girl a warm smile.

“I promise that I’m quite well, Ms. Mason. I have sustained far more grievous injuries in my time than a flying fumble.”

As Parson dismounts, holding the snitch in her tight grasp, the Beasts professor surveys the team with a pleased eye and a nod of approval.

“I think you’re all more than prepared for the game. But, if I may offer a final parting piece of advice?”

Spinnet nods quick and sure. The young captain had, admittedly, surprised her. She had expected a certain cockiness, perhaps similar to her own team captain back in her seventh year. But this boy was destined for something great in the future, she was sure of it.

“Never underestimate the power of deception.”

When she’s met with a sea of confused looks, she elaborates.

“If you come into the Hall acting like you’re the kings of the game, they’ll double down even harder to get you knocked out of the match. But, if perhaps, a rumor was to be placed around the school… your dismay at the prospects of your new player, or the state of your team without your old seeker? Then their guard will be lowered and you’ll have the higher ground when it comes to the actual game. They won’t know what hit them.”

Sly smirks and secretive glances finalize her words into a proper plan. To be fair, her advice had been intended to bolster the team, but it would also give her and Matilda a bit of advantage with the betting that was to take place in the faculty stands tomorrow.

But the Gryffindor players certainly didn’t need to know that fact.

Her advice clearly met the landed mark she had hoped it would, as when she appears in the Great Hall the following morning for breakfast – passing by the Slytherin table – she notes that the green team is looking particularly smug as they sit together. While the Gryffindor team is dispersed across the length of their table, looking thoroughly annoyed with one another.

Catherine knew it was an act, despite what the rest of the populace would believe.

She had watched the way that they had bonded these past few weeks during their training sessions. Parson had been accepted as part of the team and their synchronicity was almost unparalleled.

“Ah, Hart. What a rarity.”

Offering a smirk toward the potions professor, she takes her seat beside him.

“It would be a shame if I was ever fully predictable.”

She can feel his turned gaze upon the side of her face as she fills up her bowl with porridge and syrup. His black coffee steams in a mug beside her left hand, the aroma of roasted beans filling her senses.

“Would it be right to assume you’ll be attending the match today, or would that be too predictable?” he muses in a rich, gravelly tone of voice.

“No, in this case, it would be completely predictable. And rightfully so. I intend to watch the dismal expression that will crest your face when Gryffindor wins.”

His warm chortle feels like wading through honey.

“Oh, quite the optimist today, aren’t you?”

She hums in return, savoring another spoonful of her warm meal.

“Is it wrong to have pride in one’s house?”

“Maybe not. But if you have any intention of keeping your money purse full, perhaps you’ll avoid the betting pool this time around.”

Catherine lets her gaze fall upon his dark eyes for a moment, as she sighs, “Meaning…?”

Aesop scooches his dish forward, the plate nearly cleared of his breakfast, “Well, if you must know, word travels rather quickly through the castle; even in the dungeons. Though perhaps you don’t hear it all the way out there in your paddocks.”

She blinks, curious to see where this will go.

“The prevailing rumor seems to be that your team has had quite the trouble filling their seeker position after the holidays. In fact, I don’t even think they’re speaking to the poor girl,” at that, he points his chin toward the Gryffindor table where Laura Parson is sitting, dutifully, alone – pushing her eggs around her plate.

Playing the part exceptionally well, actually.

Catherine snorts, returning to her meal, “I never placed much faith in rumors, Sharp.”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Of that, we’re quite in agreement.”

Their conversation takes a momentary lapse as the sound of owls hooting in the rafters takes their focus. The great birds swoop down over the tables, depositing mail and packages. A large gray owl drops a rolled-up Prophet onto Aesop’s empty plate. Nothing arrives for Catherine, much to her dismay.

She had been hoping today would be the day she would get another tip-off.

Pulling the twine free, she watches as the potions professor unfurls the newspaper. On the front page, a rather large moving image captures her attention – making her lean across the table, shoving her head beside his shoulder, to peer at the article.

SON OF MERLIN KILLER CAPTURED

There, on the front page, the repeating image of the distressed-looking man with his hands tied behind his back with shimmering strings of magic screams on the front steps of a dark shopfront. Beside him stands two stoic-looking Aurors in their work robes and the very familiar face of one of her dearest friends.

“That’s Natty!”

Sharp seems to scrutinize the image for a second more before he looks across the staff table.

“Mudiwa, you might wish to seek out your own copy of the Daily Prophet.”

The seer smiles, waving her hand in dismissal, “Bah, I already know all about that.”

“Of course,” Catherine groans – the woman probably knew about it weeks before it even happened.

“Natsai sent me a letter last night. She wished to keep me from happening upon it myself in the morning edition.”

Oh, well, that was slightly surprising.

“Shall we be expecting the wedding invitations soon then?” the young witch calls out to her.

Mudiwa merely offers her a knowing smile as she resumes drinking her tea.

Aesop offers her a bemused look before the two of them begin to read the article together. He at least has the courtesy to angle it to the right so she can see it without straining too far out of her seat.

“A man has been arrested in Knockturn Alley in connection to a series of killings that have plagued the Great London area for the past year, authorities announced in an interview with the press late Friday evening.

Robert Dryer, 38, was arrested overnight while “out celebrating,” said lead investigator Natsai Onai in an interview with the Daily Prophet with Minister for MagicVenusia Crickerly and Head Auror Simon Hendrick. He was discovered outside of The Golden Thestral pub in an inebriated state where he was heard, by passersby, saying he was going to “carve up every [redacted slur] witch this side of the Channel.”

Dryer is facing several charges in regard to the 47 bodies that have been discovered in the city baring what investigators called his “signature” – a series of dark runes that Dryer burned into all of his victims. The last victim, a Miss Eugenia Drood, 25, was found near the banks of the River Thames, which required the assistance of Obliviators after the local Muggle police force happened upon her branded body.

Aurors confirmed that he is the sole suspect at this time.

During the interview, Investigator Onai revealed that Dryer has lived in London for nearly six years. He has a criminal record, though Aurors did not reveal the details of his past crimes.

According to trustworthy sources, Dryer holds criminal convictions in both Scotland and England for charges such as: performing magic in front of Muggles, improper use of Horklumps, drunkenness in a public venue, and destruction of private property.

Minister Crickerly said that the public will now be able to move on without fear and that public safety is her number one concern after obtaining office.

“Let it be known, to the people of Great Britain, your world is safer now than it was yesterday. When the wizards and witches in our community work together with our law enforcement agencies, anything can be accomplished. The scrum of society will be cleaned off our streets and people will know peace once again.”

Dryer will be facing trial at a later date while he is held in Ministry custody. Head Auror Hendrick said that the Wizengamot is working to determine the charges against him.

Officials are still unsure of the extent of his intentions behind the killings but said his patterns were consistent.”

“Godric’s heart,” Catherine sighs in disbelief as she watches Natty’s stern, but clearly pleased, expression as she watches the other Aurors lug Dryer down the steps, over and over again.

“I’ll be surprised if he’s not sent for the Kiss itself after his trial.”

“Or,” Catherine nods. “If you don’t see one of the victims’ family members trying to enact justice beforehand.”

Aesop gives a sullen hum of agreement, folding the paper in two.

“What horrid business,” she finally settles on, pushing the paper as far away from herself as she can manage.

“But, he’s in custody now. At least tonight the people of London can rest easy.”

“And perhaps receive some justice in a few months’ time,” she adds.

Sharp gives a nod, “Indeed.”

Looking out over the hall once again, Catherine notices the empty seats dispersed across the tables as more and more students head out into the corridor.

“The match should be starting within the hour,” Sharp comments dryly, offering her a pointed look.

The change in conversation washes over her like a cleaning charm, pulling with it the awful images that the article had created in her mind.

Allowing a teasing smile to befall her lips, she looks over at him, “Well then… shall we?”

Sharp stands before she can even scoot her chair back, pulling it away from the table for her as he offers up yet another hand of assistance.

On the way out to the pitch, wrapped in a warm cloak and a fur-lined coat, respectfully, they pass by several students on their way to the stadium. With painted red and gold or silver and green faces, carrying felt flags, and large hand-made banners. She can hear cheers for both teams from large groups of teenagers.

“We are the Lions!”

“Mighty, mighty Lions!”

“We’ll kick your arse in!”

“Better flying Lions!”

“They really could do better than that,” she teases, looking over in Sharp’s direction to gauge his reaction.

The potions professor shakes his head, calling out over the large pack of students, “That’ll be twenty points, Mr. Bartlett, for the use of foul language!”

The boy in question flushes a brilliant shade of red as his friends all tug him in, ragging on him like he’s a triumphant gladiator in the ring and Sharp is nothing more than a maniacal Roman emperor.

“Twenty points, really?” Catherine gently pushes against his right arm. “Are you just trying to start a feud before we even get there?”

Sharp scoffs, glancing down at her, “I don’t recall hearing any Slytherins shouting profanities at the top of their lungs, Hart.”

No, they were more than likely setting up dungbombs in the Gryffindor stands before the match began. Or perhaps enchanting a cloud of rain to follow around certain students. Gryffindors, for their part, were loud and brash when it came to their gloating. Slytherins were far more subdued and tactful about their approach.

The path to the pitch is slick with ice. The recent snowfall masked the dangers, though many students were wise enough to press through the drifts along the sides of the path instead.

Catherine was barely that lucky, as she felt her boot glide across the frozen ground with absolutely no traction. Her heel lifted up and nearly sent her tumbling backward if not for Sharp’s quick hand flying out to catch her arm.

She stares at the blanket of gray sky above her as snowflakes begin to settle across the grounds. Her chest heaves with the exhilaration of almost falling when she looks over at her savior.

He chuckles as he pulls her upright, “Careful.”

She blinks once, twice at him before the embarrassment clouding her vision simmers.

“I do endeavor to be, Sharp.”

“Of course,” he smirks, offering his arm to her once again.

She lets her gloved fingers grip the fabric of his gray coat sleeve before they begin forward. The journey is slow-paced. Not just in thanks to the man’s noted injury, for once. But it doesn’t matter, as only a portion of the stadium is filled out when they arrive at the faculty’s section.

Together, they find a spot to sit in the center of the allotted seating, where a clear divide can be drawn once the other professors join them.

Rubbing her gloves together, Catherine pulls her cloak tight over her shoulders so it can drape across her knees which she presses together as the wind picks up over the valley. Beside her, Sharp radiates off a warm aura of heat that she finds herself leaning into.

They do not speak, as there is nothing further to stumble through. The silence is comfortable, as it usually is between them. And she can sense his gaze when he looks down at her over the bridge of his nose. She can feel the rumble in his body when he clears his throat, or the press of his foot against her own.

Slowly, one by one, familiar faces make their way up the stairs. With the majority of the staff choosing to sit beside Sharp, showing their clear favoritism in the betting pool this time around.

Next to Catherine, Matilda, Mirabel, and Mudiwa find a spot to sit. Maybe it would be more apparent where the outcome of the game was set to lie when the noted seer chose your team. But alas, she watches as the rest of the staff fills up the left side of the wooden benches.

“All right, all right,” Roland beams as he stands on the lowest level of the stands. “Let’s hear the bets, people!”

The blonde witch watches as her colleagues quickly place their easy bets for the match.

“Put me down for 10 galleons, Sterling,” Crestwell grins, leaning back on the bench as he nudges Waterford.

“And eight for me, please.”

Sharp glances down at her, “You still have time to switch sides, Hart.”

She fixes him with a sturdy glare before she calls out, “Forty galleons on Gryffindor!”

“Forty?” Sterling exclaims, furiously writing it down on his pad of paper. “Willing to risk it all today, are you?”

Catherine settles back on her seat with a knowing look at the stadium. She can feel Aesop’s warm breath on her left shoulder as he stares down at her with a scrutinizing eye.

“What do you know?”

With the most innocent of expressions, she looks up at the potions professor.

“Me? Why, nothing more than house pride, Professor.”

Sharp lets out a huff of breath, biting his tongue as he looks away, “That remains to be seen.”

“Mark me down for twenty galleons, Roland, if you would please,” Matilda says in a rush of excitement, looping her arm through the Beasts professor’s.

Perhaps Aragon had let his Deputy Head in on Catherine’s plans to assist the Gryffindor team after all. And what could a true lionheart like Matilda Weasley do if not place down a heavy amount of money on her house’s team?

Mirabel, noticing this, quickly adds twenty-five galleons to the pot and offers a cheeky wink at them both.

The other faculty members, sitting firmly on the Slytherin side of the staff tower, fix the three women with equal looks of bewilderment and – in Sharp’s case especially – suspicion. But Catherine merely holds onto Matilda’s arm as the student announcer settles into place.

“Welcome to the first match of the new year: Slytherin versus Gryffindor!”

Cheers of enthusiastic team pride ring out through the stadium and she can’t help but smile as the wind picks up – sending her blonde locks billowing backward – as fat snowflakes rain down on the pitch.

The dark green robes of the Slytherin team fly out first, in a perfect arrow formation as they glide past their house members down in the lower stands. Beside her, she can barely make out the predictions being laid out by the male professors, though Sharp remains oddly silent. With his arms fixed across his chest, he flexes his fingers as he watches the students slow to an easy glide in the center of the pitch.

What starts out as a dull throb of noise turns into raucous shouts as Gryffindor soars out onto the field in a surprisingly synchronized V-formation with Spinnet leading the charge.

They fly directly over the heads of the Slytherin team – earning more cries of excitement – before they turn into a left-flanked spiral, breezing past the Slytherins in the stands. They turn their heads away in a clear sign of disinterest as they zoom towards the opposite side of the stands where the noise level is at its highest.

Red and gold banners blur together as the student section cries out.

Catherine can’t help but clap in delight, sharing an equally excited look with Matilda who gives a quick shout of encouragement toward the team.

As Kogawa flies out into the center of the pitch – her light-colored robes barely visible against the beginning of a true blizzard – Sharp leans toward her. Lowering his mouth close to her ear so that his words can be heard over the noise.

“What did you do?”

She glances over at him with another doe-eyed blink, “Why, whatever could you mean by that?”

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, eyes trailing back to the start of the match.

The young witch beams when he pulls back, unable to contain her joy.

“And it’s an immediate fight for the Quaffle as Captain Cygnus Black secures the ball! Ooh, that’s quite a hit by Macnair – Gryffindor better watch their backs this match. The Slytherin team will not be holding back this time.”

Catherine can feel her breath catch in her throat as Black soars past, nearing the goalposts. But as the storm picks up, Bell swoops down and kicks the Quaffle away before it can make it through the hoop.

“Yes! Come on!”

“Spinnet’s in possession of the Quaffle now. Can the Gryffindor captain keep a better hold of it than Black? Here come Mason and Wilkes, forming a blockade on either side of their captain. Will Slytherin be able to break it down?”

Warrington and Macnair team up, smacking one of the bludgers at the trio of chasers, but Cassius Diggory flies up at the last moment and sends it right back at the two Slytherin beaters.

“Gryffindor scores! That’s ten points on the board!”

Matilda lets out a whoop of pure thrill at the announcement. Catherine can’t even look away to spy on her fellow colleagues’ faces as the three Gryffindor chasers begin tossing the ball back and forth between each other.

“Tabitha Walsh is on a collision course with Spinnet, and she – yes! She has the Quaffle. Quite the nasty concussion for the Gryffindor captain.”

A line of Slytherins careens down across the lower half of the pitch, avoiding the Gryffindors who were soaring much higher above them. But as they approach the goals, they’re slowly picked off one by one as Wilkes kicks Cygnus Black directly in the stomach – sending the poor boy spiraling into a freefall – with the Quaffle back in her safe grasp.

“And that’s another ten points!”

Blasts of ice and freshly fallen snow are tossed up into wide arcs across the stands as the players fly past – desperate to maintain a hold of the ball for more than a minute. Catherine’s cloak is coated in a thin layer of snow and flakes dangle from her eyelashes as she blinks furiously to see through the blinding white blizzard.

“Yes!” Aesop gives a sharp call, followed by thunderous claps as Slytherin makes their first goal of the game.

She glances over at him, at his newly decorated snow-white beard and hair. The flakes cling to the fur of his coat, though he doesn’t seem to mind as he squints to see through the storm.

“Third-year seeker Laura Parson has spotted the snitch!”

Catherine freezes in her spot as she watches the blur of red robes soar across the stadium at lightning speeds, with the trailing of green not too far behind her. And then, to the gasps of shock from the stadium, she takes an immediate nosedive next to the Slytherin’s central goalpost.

Swirling around the metal pole, she drops to dangerous heights with the Slytherin seeker immediately on her tail.

With a giant whoosh of snow flying up on either side of her, Parson pulls up at the last possible second. Even having a moment to spare as she looks behind her, just in time to see the other seeker slam into the ice-covered ground.

“Marcus Vance is out! And, what’s this? Has Parson lost sight of the snitch?”

An immediate grin of victory crosses Catherine’s face when she realizes that the young seeker had just played the entire stadium, as she leisurely glides past, offering a wave to the Beasts professor in the faculty stands.

“What on Earth –” Matilda begins, staring at her with wide brown eyes.

“That was the Wronski Feint.”

“Oh! How clever!”

“Yes,” Sharp sneers to her left, fixing her with a pointed dark gaze. “Very clever.”

Before she can form a proper retort, the announcer calls out yet another goal for the Gryffindor team.

“That was a close call for Parson! Macnair is not happy that their seeker’s been fooled.”

With bated breath, Catherine watches the back and forth as the two green-robed beaters send bludger after bludger at the Gryffindor team. Determined to strike one of them out of the match entirely. After Parson’s little play, the other team holds absolutely no punches back as the game becomes increasingly bloody.

By Gryffindor’s seventh goal, Spinnet is sporting a blooming purple bruise over his right eye and Wilkes has a massive seeping cut across her cheek. Bell gives a roar as he slams the Quaffle right back into play, repelling yet another attack from the Slytherins.

Warrington goes after the Keeper then, zooming past the rest of the players as he sends the next bludger directly at Bell. It slams into the boy’s helmet, tossing him back into the goal and he nearly slips off his broom.

Dangling by a single hand, Cygnus Black manages to throw the ball through the right-hand post before the Keeper manages to straddle his broom once again – a clear face of annoyance on his features as he claps his hands together, ready for another assault.

“That was a little too close for comfort,” Matilda worries her hands together, watching with a concerned gaze as Spinnet soars past Berle and Walsh – knocking the Quaffle from her hands.

“That’s eighty to twenty! It’s anyone's game now with the snitch still in play. Though how anyone can see it out there in all this mess is a mystery to this announcer!”

Catherine couldn’t agree more as the sky opens up with another torrential downpour of thick snowflakes that nearly whites out the entire pitch. Her body shivers against the bitter sting of the prevailing wind – even under the canopy of the tower. She holds onto Matilda’s arm even tighter as Mason goes careening past – having been hit with a bludger straight to the back.

The girl slams into a neighboring tower, ripping through the outer fabric, before falling several stories down to the ground. Her unconscious form topples out onto the snow-covered pitch. Both her and Matilda stand up then, peering over the edge of the stands with gasps of worry.

“Gryffindor’s now one chaser down, but Spinnet isn’t calling for a substitute! He’s barreling toward Black now with clear intent! Yes, ooh, that’s quite the hit! Another ten points!”

Blainey, down on the ground, bundled up in a thick red coat, levitates the seventh-year girl off the pitch on a stretcher as the match continues on above them.

“Kogawa has called on a foul on Macnair! That’s five points from Slytherin and the Quaffle is back in Wilkes’ possession!”

Blasting through one another, the chasers battle for the ball. The duo of Black and Berle manage to toss Slytherin ahead two more goals, while Diggory and Clark send an onslaught of bludgers at the opposing chasers. Their keeper, Rosier, ducks out of the way to avoid a particularly powerful swing, giving Spinnet another shot at the goal.

“Vance has spotted the snitch!”

Her gaze flies across the pitch just in time to catch the Slytherin seeker soaring after the tiny ball that even her own eyes can’t quite see through the whipping winds of the snowstorm.

Like a shot of lightning, Parson takes off after the boy.

“Come on, come on,” she mutters under her breath, standing up to watch as they travel across the pitch – circling the blue and bronze flag of one of the Ravenclaw towers.

Shoved together, side by side, the two seekers zoom past – sending up an arc of frigid cold winter air. Catherine cranes her neck to follow their path. Up and over the Slytherin goal posts, down into a near nosedive in the center of the pitch. Parson leans forward, her arm extended out.

“Warrington has sent a bludger at the seekers! Did he intend to knock out his own teammate? And there goes Black, soaring after them both – what on Merlin’s magic does he plan to do?”

Vance kicks at Parson’s broom, sending the girl off course for just a minute before she manages to righten herself back. Behind them both, Cygnus Black is flying at breakneck speeds to catch up to the pair.

Pulling her hands together to her lips, Catherine mutters a silent prayer.

Black slams his foot into Parson’s broom, giving her side a shove as well.

“In a never-before-seen move, Captain Cygnus Black has doubled up with the Slytherin seeker to nab the snitch!”

Beside her, Aesop and the rest of the faculty stand, watching as the Gryffindor team throws the Quaffle to the ground and zooms down in an immediate dive formation after the two players in green.

Vance jerks his broom to the left, before making a near 180° turn. Shouts of anger and determination can be heard from the cheers of the student section as Spinnet throws himself off of his broom and tackles Black in midair. Kogawa’s whistle blows, but no one on the pitch pays any heed to it. Diggory slams his bat into Vance’s broom, just as the rest of the Slytherin team joins the fray.

“Fucking hell,” Sharp swears from beside her and it shocks Catherine so much to hear the potions professor properly cuss that she swivels her head around to stare at the man.

He shakes his head in disbelief as Macnair sends a bludger at Wilkes' head, with the poor girl barely being able to twist her broom out of the way, just for the vicious ball to slam into his own teammate’s right arm. Tabitha Walsh gives a howl of pain as she loses grip on the handle of her broom – falling to the pitch as the madness of the other players plays out over the top of her.

Kogawa charges down to the mess – trying to grab hold of arms to pull the students off one another, but she gets kicked back much to the absolutely outraged look on her face.

And, on the other side of the pitch…

“Vance and Parson are in a sprint to the snitch! Not that the rest of their teams have noticed!”

No, in the chaos of the other players trying to bludgeon one another to death, only Spinnet had managed to look up for a second – before Warrington slammed his fist into the captain’s head – to notice the two seekers.

“Yes, yes!” she cries, watching as the two robes of red and green blur together across the spray of blinding white snow.

But Vance slams into Parson’s side and the girl’s grip on her broom slips and she tumbles off the side, over a hundred feet in the air.

Catherine grips Aesop’s arm, slamming a hand over her mouth.

Laura feebly flings her arm out, kicking her legs as she tries to regain control over the broom, but Vance twists to the side – pressing into her once again, and then the seeker falls.

Matilda lets out a cry and Mirabel gasps as they watch the girl, with one hand still on her broom, fall for several feet.

The stadium grows silent as she careens to the ground just before she manages to righten the handle and twist her body in such a way that she straddles the broom once again.

Followed by many cheers from the Gryffindor stands, Catherine finally feels like she can let out a single breath of relief.

Parson flies down, managing to surpass Vance who is still several feet above her, reaching her hand out just in time to nab something from the air!

“After her almost death plummet, Parson has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins, 270 points to Slytherin’s 65!”

Matilda immediately grabs her arm, pulling her off of Sharp, as she hugs the younger professor with nothing short of pure happiness.

Across the stadium, cheers of joy ring out. With the announcement, the scuffle on the pitch finally comes to an end with the majority of the players looking far worse than a normal game would cause. Kogawa has both Spinnet and Black by the arms, tugging them down to the ground before unceremoniously dragging them off the pitch with cries of discomfort.

But Catherine can’t stop smiling as Parson does a quick lap around the pitch, holding the snitch up like a trophy. When she comes past the staff’s tower, she does a little bow to the Beasts professor – which Catherine gives right back to her in return.

“So, you’re to thank for their sudden abilities,” Sharp muses in a thin voice as he peers down at her.

“Well, as far as the official rule book goes, there’s currently nothing in place to stop a professor from aiding a team. Didn’t you know?” she gives him a wink before she turns back around to Matilda to give a little squeal of delight.

In the end, Sterling dismally hands the three women forty-seven galleons, each. She finds it a little bit funny that Sharp gives her a bemused smirk as she pockets her winnings, but he says nothing further to her.

Together, Catherine and Matilda walk arm-in-arm back to the castle, following the roaring cheers from the crowd of Gryffindor students who swarm the victorious and bloody team.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#aesop sharp x oc #aesop sharp x mc #professor sharp x oc #professor sharp x mc #aesop sharp fanfic #professor sharp fanfic #hphl fanfic #series: bitter water #my fic

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howtomakelovestay · 1 year

Text

Meeting at the Quidditch World Cup

Part 2

Cho offered to paint their faces with the colors of Ireland just as she had done to hers. Harry didn't hesitate to nod and stood still as she brushed his face and held his chin for stability.

"All yours," Harry instructed as he rose from the seat, freeing it.

Cedric wasn't convinced, but he sat down.

The paint didn't seem like one of those that irritated his skin.

"You're adorable," Cho told Cedric with a big smile when she finished. A little shy all of a sudden, she added, "Both of you are.”

"Would you have painted me even if I supported Bulgaria?"

Cho laughed at Harry's indiscreet question.

"Yes, but it wouldn't have been my best work."

Harry's gaze fell on Cedric's face, studying it carefully as he recognized, “It does look really nice.”

The rosy hue, however, was not part of the Irish flag.

***

Along with Cho, they made it back to the Weasleys' tent just in time for all of them to head out into the woods towards the stadium. Ginny and Luna had the team colors painted on their cheeks. Harry entered just for a moment to grab the items he had bought for tonight.

He came out wearing all that, as if he were a walking flag.

Cedric covered his smile. He looked so adorable —and funny.

“Want one?” Harry handed him a green shamrock rosette. "I think I'm a little loaded."

"Sure," he said, stifling a laugh.

He took the brooch and clipped it to his coat.

In the same place where Harry had his, identical.

#ao3 #always yours #so i am gonna post like every moment i love?#yeah i might just do that #cedric diggory and harry potter #cedric diggory #harry potter #boy love #i love hedric with all my heart #hedric

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bridgertonbabe · 2 months

Note

“and being invited on days out to various wizarding locations and events.” i imagine eliza got to attend the quidditch world cup with the bridgertons

Sophie and Benedict wouldn't have hesitated to buy an extra ticket for Eliza to join their family at the Quidditch World Cup during the summer before her and William's second year at Hogwarts. The young girl was thrilled to be invited along and had slept over the night before at My Cottage ahead of their early start to travel to the World Cup via portkey. She had been bemused by the portkey being an old boot and had been even more flabbergasted when holding onto it had transported her and the Bridgertons and Woodsons to Australia within the matter of seconds. She was incredibly fascinated by the international gathering of witches and wizards as they made their way through the campsite and she was bewildered to crawl into the tent Benedict had set up only to discover that the inside was magically far more spacious and basically a portable home with plenty of room for all of them. Though the wizarding world was still so new to her, she had taken an instant liking to Quidditch and it helped to have William's extended family surrounding her talking about the sport so incessantly to fill her in if there was anything she didn't quite understand about it.

At the World Cup final Benedict had been about to purchase a pair of omnioculars for Eliza when he noticed Alex running over to the cart ahead of him and purchasing a pair himself. Benedict had initially rolled his eyes thinking his son had lost or forgotten the pair that Benedict and bought for him at the last World Cup, but then he watched Alex hand over the newly purchased omnioculars to Eliza instead. He hadn't anticipated his middle son's thoughtfulness and Benedict was very proud of Alex's kindness and generosity. Once they had taken their seats in the stadium Benedict observed his son taking the time to show Eliza how the omnioculars worked, pointing things out to her, and explaining the team mascots and their origins during their pre-match displays. Even throughout the game Alex was more focused on ensuring Eliza wasn't missing out on anything than the match itself, and Benedict couldn't help smiling fondly as he reminisced being by Sophie's side during the first Quidditch match she had ever spectated. In fact, watching Alex and Eliza interact was like a flashback into the past from the way his son gently had a hand on Eliza's back as he guided her to look from one end of the pitch to the other where the seekers were whizzing off to, to the way in which Eliza listened intently to everything Alex said and glanced up to him with sparkling eyes and blushing cheeks-

And it hit Benedict like a dozen stunning spells all at once just how much Alex and Eliza's bond and interactions were identical to his and Sophie's at that age. It wasn't simply like a flashback; it was a mirror to the past as Alex went out of his way to look out for and care for Eliza all the while remaining oblivious to being the object of his brother's best friend's crush. Benedict briefly considered that just because Eliza fancied Alex didn't necessarily mean history would repeat itself since it could simply be a passing crush and the young girl could easily lose interest and find someone else at school to hold affection for instead - but with his family's history of falling for the best friend of one of their siblings, Benedict couldn't help feeling that one day Alex would come to realise that his feelings for Eliza were far stronger than he had previously thought. As much as he would have liked to have pulled Alex aside and give him a heads up of what was bound to happen to him, Benedict knew his son would have to figure everything out for himself in his own time. All he could do was hope that his son was quicker to work out his feelings for Eliza as well as not put his foot in it by saying the wrong things and push her away when he did realise how he felt for her (however with Alex being his father's son, of course things didn't go as smoothly as Benedict had willed them to be).

#asks #harry potter au #benophie babies #alexander x eliza #alexander bridgerton #lizzie mills

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lifeofkaze · 1 year

Text

A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 43: IRISH GOLD

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

A/N: Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to my favourite @kc-and-co

The day of the final didn’t seem to pass. The sun had come out early in the morning, basking the city of tents in its warm, golden glow, and Lizzie and the others used the good weather to explore the campsite. They met old friends and made new ones, but even so, the hands on their watches moved as if they had been dipped in syrup.

As the evening drew close, the general tension grew, and the air was buzzing with anticipation by the time the sun had gone down.

Having stayed up late after her conversation with Orion, it was only when the low sound of the gong heralding the match’s beginning sounded across the campsite that Lizzie felt something like proper excitement overcoming her. They joined the throng of people streaming towards the Trillenium Stadium, the winding path flanked by red and green lights and thick with Irish and Bulgarian memorabilia.

After taking one last turn, the stadium came into view. It loomed high above the masses, casting a soft, golden light against the darkened sky. Singing, shouting, and the stomping of feet could already be heard from the inside, and Lizzie felt the butterflies swarming in her stomach as they showed their tickets and found their seats about three-quarters to the top.

Whatever deal Katriona and Skye had struck with their tickets, they had done well. Their places were almost in the middle of the stadium’s curve, with a perfect view of both sets of goalposts rising from the velvety green lawn. Lizzie breathed in the cool night air, her eyes sweeping over the surrounding ranks, brimming with energy.

Abrupt movement in the ranks below drew her attention. She scanned the crowd for the source of it and immediately drew her brows together in a frown. Skye must have also seen it because she nudged Lizzie in the side and nodded at the commotion.

“What’s she doing here?”

Below them, Rita Skeeter was moving through the ranks like a magenta-coloured shark in a sea of Irish green. With a flash of anxiousness, Lizzie waited for Matthew’s face to appear behind her, but luckily, he was nowhere to be seen; the friendship between him and the reporter seemed to have ended for good.

“Bad weeds grow tall,” Skye muttered, giving Rita a contemptuous look. “Do you think she’s snooping after you again?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I doubt it. I’m hardly the biggest headline around here.”

Skye made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “Hopefully. Can’t have her ruining the final.”

Lizzie was about to agree but was cut off when the magically enhanced voice of Ludo Bagman - the head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Games and Sports - rose above the noise.

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

A roar of approval went through the stadium as the gigantic magical scoring board changed from the tournament’s sponsors to show the names of the two competing teams. Bagman waited for the racket to die down before he continued.

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!”

The hollering intensified as a group of otherworldly beautiful women glided onto the lawn below. As the Veela began to dance, Murphy and Orion both suddenly became very interested in their program leaflets, but Skye wasn’t as quick-thinking; Katriona and Lizzie had just enough time to reach for her shoulders and push her back into her seat as she made to shoulder her way to the front railing of their section.

The enchantment the Veela had placed on the crowd broke when the Irish Team Mascots made their appearance. The Leprechauns flew into the stadium in a flash of green and gold, forming a shamrock that soared above the cheering ranks and rained gleaming coins of gold on them.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch team!”

They clapped politely as seven players in red robes shot onto the pitch. They were promptly followed by the Irish, who received a considerably warmer welcome. The national anthems of both countries were being played, and while Lizzie didn’t sing along, she smiled to herself at the enthusiasm with which Murphy belted out the hymn of his country.

A tense silence settled over the stadium as the teams assembled at the centre circle. The silver whistle of the umpire flashed as he brought it to his lips. Its sound rang clear and sharp, and the Quaffle was thrown into the air. The final had begun.

Lizzie had been to many a Quidditch match in her time, but even so, the showdown between Ireland and Bulgaria wasn’t like anything she’d seen before. Bulgaria did their best to stem the fast-paced attacks of the Irish Chasers, but their skill was remarkable. Golden omnioculars gleamed from all across the stadium, but Lizzie soon found that she preferred seeing the match play out in real-time; watching how each player worked with their teammates like the cogs of two finely-tuned machines was a true joy.

“They’re so fast!” Katriona said to Lizzie as Ireland scored another goal. “I can barely see who’s who.”

“Because they’re all flying freaking Firebolts,” Skye snorted, motioning at the Irish Beater zooming past them.

“I’d sell my soul to fly one of those.”

“Get in line. Applied for one when looking for a replacement for my Comet, but you’d sooner have Snitches flying out your arse than getting your hands on one.” Skye cast a dark look at the Irish team. “And now we know why, too.”

The match soon grew increasingly heated. A gasp went through the ranks as the two Seekers suddenly plunged into a steep dive, their shapes reduced to two blurs of red and green racing towards the ground. At the very last moment, Victor Krum pulled his broom upwards, but Aiden Lynch - the Irish Seeker - wasn’t as lucky and made full contact with the ground.

After Lynch had returned to the air, the game threatened to slip into anarchy, the Bludgers flying too fast for even Murphy and Katriona to keep up. When the referee paused the match to decide on a penalty for the Irish, Katriona leaned over to Lizzie.

“Swap seats with me,” she said, rising to her feet. “Orion’s driving me crazy with all his Chaser nonsense. Come on, you two have all the technical talk I don’t want to be having, and I can watch the real stars of the show in peace.”

It was only with reluctance that Lizzie made to stand up as well when, suddenly, the Irish attacking formation scattered right in front of them. Lynch had shot through them from above, with Krum hard on his tails. Their robes billowed behind them as Krum drew level with Lynch, both of them approaching the ground at a rapid speed.

A roar that made the Trillenium Stadium shudder rose as Lynch collided with the ground a second time, and Victor Krum rose into the air. Blood was seeping from his broken nose and his expression was grim, but in his outstretched fist, he held the Golden Snitch.

There was a low rumble as murmurs of understanding passed through the stadium. Lizzie and thousands of others held their breath as the writing on the scoreboard changed. In flashing green and golden letters, it read:

Bulgaria - 160, Ireland - 170

It took a moment for the information to sink in, but then a wave of cheers brandished through the stands that made Lizzie’s ears ring.

“We won!” Murphy screamed with a cracking voice, hugging his wife, Orion, and the person sitting next to him. Tears were streaming down his face as he raised both his fists into the air. “Krum caught the Snitch, but we won!”

“What were the odds, McNully?” Skye shouted above the noise, but Murphy vigorously shook his head.

“Who cares about the bloody odds? We won!”

***

When Lizzie and the others arrived at the victory party of the Irish team, it had long since spilt from its initial area. It was like plunging into a whirlwind of green, white and orange; champagne, Irish beer and whiskey were flowing in gurgling streams from bottomless barrels into the glasses held beneath them, and the ecstatic sound of enchanted fiddles filled the air. At random intervals, Leprechauns would soar over the head of the celebrants, and several rainbows bathed everything in their colourful glow. They sprung from the centre of the scene, where the World Cup trophy throned on a pedestal surrounded by cauldrons of Leprechaun gold.

Lizzie watched the silver trophy gleam in the light, imagining how it would feel to hoist it towards stands filled with people shouting her name. She was so caught up in her daydreams that she didn’t pay attention to where she was going; as she turned to say something to Skye, all her friends had suddenly disappeared.

She wandered around on her own for a bit, wondering whether or not to congratulate those members of the Irish team she knew personally. Eventually, she decided against it; enough people wanted a piece of them tonight.

Suddenly feeling lonely, Lizzie searched the crowd for any sign of her friends. She spotted Katriona’s flaming red hair through a gap in the people, but just as she was about to set off towards her, someone else came pushing in her direction. Rita Skeeter’s bright coat stood out starkly against the mass of Irish green, her eyes behind her jewelled spectacles gleaming hungrily as they darted from face to face.

Lizzie didn’t think twice as she turned to walk away in the opposite direction. She had turned too quickly, though, and found herself stumbling backwards as she collided with the person who had walked past right behind her back.

“I’m so sorry! I really didn’t see you at all.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it,” the other woman said wryly. Her voice sounded familiar, but it took Lizzie another moment to recognise Morgaine Yarwood’s features beneath her mask of green-and-gold face paint. She was dressed all in green, and a crown of shamrocks sat upon her red hair.

“Morgaine,” Lizzie said in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Morgaine replied, but not unkindly. “I, for one, am celebrating the best team in the world!”

She had raised her voice at the last bit, getting cheers of approval from the people surrounding them. With a jolt, Lizzie realised how stupid her question had been. Morgaine was Irish, after all.

“Congratulations,” she dutifully said and meant it. “We all rooted for you.”

“We?” Morgaine tilted her head. “Who’s we?”

“Skye and her family,” Lizzie answered hurriedly; maybe her reply had come too quickly because Morgaine shook her head.

“You can say if you’re here with Orion. It’s cool.”

“It’s not. And I’m not. At least, not in the way you think.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Lizzie said stubbornly. “Don’t worry, no breach of League statutes here.”

Her words had come out more bitter than Lizzie had meant to. Morgaine must have heard it, too, because she dropped her eyes.

“Even if there was, I wouldn’t tell. Really!” she added when Lizzie made a doubtful noise. “I was a right idiot towards you last season. I don’t think I ever properly apologised for it.”

Lizzie had to think about Morgaine’s part in Matthew’s scheming. The thought of her lost necklace still hurt, but her anger was towards Matthew, not Morgaine. She had fallen for his charm, like so many others, but when Lizzie told her so, Morgaine shook her head.

“It’s not fine at all. I took your necklace and let you and Skye tear each other apart over it. It was unfair to you and the team as well. Skye… let’s just say she made me see sense. And not only about the thing with your ex.”

She sighed. “Had I known how things were with you and Orion, I would have… I’d have done a lot of things differently. I thought you wanted a sideshow with someone who deserved better and didn’t care about our team rules, either. I was wrong in both regards, I know that now. How you stood up for us during the final, that’s not something everyone would have done.”

Lizzie smiled wryly. “You lost the championship because of me.”

“No one wanted that last shot, but you took it anyway. Forget what that Skeeter witch is writing. Everyone knows you didn’t fail it on purpose.”

“Thank you, but what’s done is done.” Even though she felt like crying, Lizzie forced herself to smile. “Good luck to you next season. And… with Orion, too. You’re right. He deserves better. Just make sure Ethan doesn’t know. It’d be a shame if I didn’t get to play against you.”

Morgaine looked baffled, and Lizzie turned to go without giving her a chance to respond. She cursed when she spotted Rita Skeeter again, pushing in their direction with a smirk. Having seen her, too, Morgaine leaned in to whisper into Lizzie’s ear.

“Go. I’ll take care of her.”

Pushing Lizzie to the side, she raised her thumb and index finger to her lips and whistled sharply. Several heads turned at the sound, the one of Rita Skeeter included.

“Hey, Rita!” Morgaine called out, her words more muddled than they had been just now. “Write about these Quaffles for a change!”

With that, she raised her shirt to under her chin, shouted “Ireland!” and darted away in the opposite direction of Lizzie, with Rita and her raised camera hot on her tails.

Shaking from her daze, Lizzie slipped through the laughing people and toward the exit. She had just passed the security wizards when Skye caught up with her.

“Oi, Jameson! Where are you off to?”

“I’ve had enough drunk Irish for the night. I was going to see if I could find Charlie. I’d like to see him before we leave again.”

Not giving Lizzie a chance to object, Skye motioned to someone in the crowd and then fell into step beside her. Lizzie suppressed a sigh; she had hoped for some time alone, but it looked like she was stuck with Skye now.

They walked for a little, and soon their surroundings became more quiet. There still was the odd group celebrating here and there, but for the most part, silence had descended upon the campsite. They chatted about the match and the party; learning about Lizzie’s encounter with Morgaine left Skye grinning broadly.

“Yarwood has some guts, but that’s something even for her.” She laughed to herself. “The things I’d given to see Skeeter’s face. What did she want from you, anyway?”

Lizzie shrugged. “She hounded me all year. Maybe it’s become a habit.”

“Yeah, but you were with McRae then. And Orion, at times,” Skye quipped, acutely unaware of Lizzie’s silence. “Where was he, anyway? I thought he was with you.”

“Why would he be?”

Skye shrugged. “It’s the World Cup final. Stranger things have happened.”

“Are you serious?” Lizzie huffed, the anger that had been building since the day of their arrival bubbling to the surface. “I’m not daft, Skye, and neither is Orion. You bringing us here was a shitty move if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Hold your Hippogriffs, Jameson. We just wanted to -”

“I don’t care what you wanted, why can’t you get that into your head?” Lizzie almost shouted, tears of frustration pricking at the back of her eyes. “You think you just toss him and me into this situation, and everything will turn out well? That’s not how it works!

“You bloody well know I love him, and yet you won’t stop dangling him in front of my nose. As if it was so easy! I’m on a different team now, I’m not part of all this anymore, and it doesn’t matter how much it hurts, we just can’t be together!”

She screwed her eyes shut, willing the tears of frustration and helplessness to go away.

“Having to leave him broke my heart, and I just want to get on with my life. I thought you, as my friend, would want to help me, but now I’m back to square one, and tomorrow I’m going to go back to my new home, and my new life, of which he isn’t part and never will be because even if there was a way for us, he believes that all of this shit is written in his bloody stars!”

Lizzie’s voice had risen with every word, and she now threw the bottle she’d been carrying to the ground from frustration. Skye didn’t look impressed by her rant. She shook her head at Lizzie.

“Mate, where’s your fire? Your spirit? If you want him so badly, fight for him!”

“Why fight when there’s no chance to win? Forcing me to try is just cruel.”

“Cruel?” Skye echoed. Her posture had changed, tension now bristling between the two witches.

Lizzie welcomed the idea of a fight wholeheartedly, but she never learned what Skye had to say because both of them suddenly fell silent.

Somebody was screaming.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #balance series #search for balance #sfb

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potterwatch-transcripts · 2 years

Text

First Broadcast: January 3rd 1999

Lee Jordan: Good day wizarding world, and welcome to Potterwatch, the Harry Potter fan show voted ‘most obnoxious’ by Ginny Weasley for the second year in the row. My name is River, and with me as always is my lovable scallywag of a cohost, Rapier.

George Weasley: Good morrow fair River.

Lee: a pleasure to see you Rapier. Do we have some news today.

George: Boy howdy do we River. First, we go live to our man in the field, and famed Dolores Umbridge hater, Roonil.

Harry Potter: What up my dudes.

George: Roonil, I hear you have some breaking news for us.

Harry: That’s right Rapier. I’m outside the home of world renowned handsome man, Bill Weasley, trying to gain an interview with the newest addition to the Weasley clan, Victoire.

Bill Weasley: Oi Potter, either feed that baby or bog off.

Harry: Miss Weasley, before I give you your bottle, do you have anything to say to the listeners at home?

Victoire Weasley: Mik.

Harry: No, no milk until you talk to the listeners.

Victoire: MIK

Bill: Oh god she’s doing that weird Veela thing. Give her the milk Harry!

Harry: I don’t know how babies work! Kreacher, come and feed this baby!

Kreacher: Kreacher will not touch the half breed blood traitor.

Harry: Now isn’t really the time for your rubbish Kreacher. Here Victoire, look at the nice toy owl. Oh god why does she have fangs. Did she have teeth when I arrived…she’s mauling me..Kreacher, help.

George: Hello, Roonil? You still there.

Lee: Well that was a disaster. Why are there so many maulings on this show.

George: No idea. Anyway back to news. As the millennium approaches, Minister Shacklebolt has announced measures to ensure the upmost secrecy for wizard celebrations. These include the use of the Quidditch World Cup stadium as an official party venue. Fireworks supplied by Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

Lee: Nice Plug.

George: Cheers. And finally from news. Ronald B Weasley, professional sidekick and unprofessional ginger, assisted in the capture of a death eater today in Andorra. The identity of said death eater is unknown, but is believed to be Antonin Dolohov.

Lee: Not a fan of Dolohov. He tried to curse me like three times.

George: What a git. Ron Weasley was engaged in a duel on the slopes of an Andorran mountain alongside several representatives from the Spanish ministry. It is believed Dolohov chose to hide in Andorra due to the tiny wizarding population, and was only found by Weasley when he accidentally skied into him.

Lee: I didn’t know Ron could ski.

George: He can’t. Hence he skied into Dolohov. After a duel of over an hour, it is reported Weasley swore loudly, tripped over a rock and managed to curse Dolohov while the Death Eater was laughing.

Lee: Truly he deserves his order of Merlin. Such bravery. Thank you Rapier. And now we have a special guest. Please join me in welcoming Robespierre.

Fleur Delacour: Salut mes amis. I am worried now that Harry, pardon, Roonil is being hurt my…a bay.

Lee: No worries Robespierre, Roonil has survived more vicious maulings than that.

Fleur: That is not helping.

Lee: So Robespierre, you know Harry Potter very well. Is he as dreamy as everyone say?

Fleur: Harry is a nice young man, mais he is not really my type. Ma soeur, Gabrielle, now she is a big fan of Harry’s. She has threatened to duel miss weasley for his heart, but I am not thinking this is a good idea. It would be making Christmas dinner tres difficult at the Weasley house.

Lee: Potter to date a Veela? You heard it first hear folks. Sensational news.

Fleur: Merde.

Lee: Now Robespierre, since moving to the UK, you have gotten married, fought in a major war, and learnt how to knit. Which achievement are you most proud of.

Fleur: oh the knitting. In France we defeat dark wizards, how you say, on the reg.

Lee: Are there many dark wizards in France? I can’t think of one off the top of my head.

Fleur: No, because we do our jobs en France. We defeat ze evil wizards before they get too powerful. Not like en Angleterre where you let Voldemort rise. Is silly.

Lee: Didn’t one of Grindlewald’s top lieutenants come from France? And he recruited his first army in Paris?

Fleur: No I do not think this is true.

George: I’m pretty sure he’s right. What was her name. Raisin, Rosé, Rosia. I wish I’d listened in history of magic.

Fleur: Non non you are mistaken.

Lee: Rosier. That was it.

Fleur: oh yes her. Well zis was fun. Aurevoir.

Lee: Thank you Robespierre. Well Witches and Wizards, this was excellent as always. I was magnificent.

George: As was I. Next episode the password will be ‘Sock’ in honour of Dobby the Great, true king of the house elves, breaker of chains, whooper of ass. I’ve been Rapier.

Lee: and I’ve been River. Goodnight.

#potterwatchtranscripts #potterwatch #george weasley #lee jordan #harry potter #bill weasley #victoire weasley #kreacher #kinglsey shacklebolt #ron weasley #antonin dolohov #headcanon #fandom #fleur delacour #grindlewald

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looneyleyle · 8 months

Text

mad-eye moody ~ c. diggory

synopsis: who knew that going to the quidditch world cup with her two best friends would change ava's life forever.

warnings: character deaths

words: 6131

note: from my wattpad account, written nov 20 2020

ava's pov

i woke up to a wet, cold sensation washing over my body. wiping off what i hoped was water, i opened my eyes and glared at the culprits.

"nothing better than a good old-fashioned muggle prank." fred snickered. george fist-bumped him before handing me a towel. he then put down the bucket of water he had poured on me.

"if i weren't so tired right now, you two would be soooo dead." i mumbled, finally getting out of the bed and grabbing my clothes for the day.

"cheer up, save your sulking for when bulgaria loses." george taunted. i looked back at him and rolled my eyes.

"you wish. with krum on the team, the irish don't stand a chance." i got dressed in the bathroom while the twins continued to argue that the irish were superior. i walked out with my deep red jumper on and a pair of ripped black jeans.

"the irish haven't been good since o'hare left. their defensive skills are shit. plus, lynch isn't nearly as good as krum. bulgaria went up against the irish last year, and lynch fell for all of krum's tricks. he's too thick to see through krum's fakes, even if krum is equally as stupid." i said as we walked down the stairs. we each grabbed our bags and got a muffin off of the table before going outside. we were all waiting for ron and harry, who apparently kept falling back asleep.

"we have a ton of new products for this year. we'll mostly try them out on filch, but maybe we'll have another rubbish defense against the dark arts teacher that we can experiment on." fred explained as we all walked to the portkey.

"like that fool lockhart." george added.

"sadly, i won't have as many classes with you lot this year. i'm going to be taking mostly newt classes." i told the two.

"gross, you're willingly signing up for extra work."

"plus, you'll be with a bunch of the stuck up smart people." i just laughed.

"well, some of us take our education seriously." i said pointedly, the two looking away sheepishly. i held back a bit and joined hermione and ginny's conversation about the quidditch world cup. it was the first time going for all of us. our group kept walking for another half a mile before an older man appeared, leaning against a tree.

"ah, amos!" mr. weasley exclaimed. the two hugged before introducing everyone. i tuned them out, not particularly caring about this friend of mr. weasley.

"… and this strapping young lad must be cedric, am i right?" mr. weasley asked.

"yes sir." a male's voice said. i looked up to see an extremely handsome boy, probably around my age. hermione, ginny, and i all shared a look with each other. we continued with our conversation, but my eyes would drift to cedric every once in a while. noticing this, ginny purposely pushed me to the spot next to cedric when we got to the portkey. i was going to glare at her, but cedric looked my way and gave me a smile.

"hello, i'm cedric diggory." he said, extending his hand for me to shake.

"ava carpenter. nice to meet you." i introduced, shaking his hand.

"the pleasure is mine." he smiled, and i knew this boy must have hundreds of girls at his feet. we all grabbed the portkey, not minding the slight odor coming from the manky old boot.

"let go kids!" mr. weasley yelled. i let go, but felt a hand grab mine before i could start falling. cedric smiled as i gripped tightly onto his hand. following his lead, i started walking on the air.

"couldn't let you fall like that." cedric said as we landed. a smile crept its way onto my face, and i already could tell this guy would be the death of me.

~ ~ ~

after our encounter with the malfoys and our ascent up the hundreds of stairs, we finally made it to our spots in the stadium. spotting amos and cedric, we made our way over to them. coincidentally, my seat was next to cedric's. we both were wearing red and black clothes, and cedric had a red stripe on one cheek and a black one on the other.

"a man of taste, i see." i told him, sending a pointed look at the green-and-white colored twins. they just glared back as cedric laughed.

"you can barely tell you're rooting for bulgaria! where's your team spirit?" cedric teased. i rolled my eyes and pointed to harry and ron.

"those two left the face paint at home." cedric reached into his pocket, producing two small canisters of face paint: one red, one black. he opened up the red canister and dipped a finger into it.

"may i?" he asked. trying to will down my blush from this handsome near-stranger getting closer to me and offering to touch my face, i nodded. he put a stripe of red on one cheek and one stripe of black on the other, matching his face paint. he then smiled before turning to watch the irish come in. fred and george were cheering loudly as i rolled my eyes, slow clapping. the bulgarians came in next, totally outshining the irish.

"krum! krum! krum!" i yelled, joining in on the crowd's cheers. even the twins joined in on the chanting, despite being fans of the irish. the game ended just as fast as it started, and soon we were all descending the stairs and making our way back to the tents. we said goodbye to cedric and amos before entering our tent.

"there's no one like krum. he's like a bird the way he rides the wind. he's more than an athlete. he's an artist." ron exclaimed passionately.

"i think you're in love ron." ginny teased.

"viktor i love you, viktor i do~" the twins started. harry and i joined in.

"when we're apart, my heart beats only for youu~" we all burst out into a fit of giggles. loud bursts of noise came from outside the tent. fred said something about the irish, and before i knew it, a distraught mr. weasley was ushering us out of the tent.

"get back to the portkey everybody, and stick together!" almost immediately after mr. weasley said that, we were all separated. in the mess of people, i couldn't find any of the weasleys or their friends. i made my way back to the portkey, hoping everyone else would be there. instead, i found amos and cedric there, anxiously waiting.

"ava! are you okay? where are the rest?" cedric questioned, coming up to me. he scanned me up and down for injuries before making sure no one followed me.

"i'm fine. we all got split up, but mr. weasley told us all to meet up at the portkey. i'm sure they'll get here soon." i explained. soon enough, fred, george, and ginny made their way to us.

"where are the others?" ginny asked.

"we don't know." amos said doubtfully. after a couple minutes of waiting, mr. weasley showed up.

"you all get home. ron, hermione, and harry are still missing. i'll stay here and find them, you all get safe. i'm sure mum is worried sick." we all nodded and grabbed the boot.

back at the hill we left on yesterday morning, it was oddly peaceful compared to the ruckus at the world cup.

"you kids get home safely, okay? have arthur send us an owl once he gets back." amos told us. we nodded before saying our goodbyes.

as we were leaving, i looked back to see cedric still looking at us. he gave me a small smile, to which i returned and waved. he then left to catch up with his father.

~ ~ ~

"… and lee found a deserted bathroom end of last year. it's the perfect place for our operations!" george yelled happily. i chuckled at the two. pranking had always been their specialty, and i'm glad they're planning on making a career out of it.

"percy's been going on and on about some spectacular thing going on this year at hogwarts." fred said, changing the topic. i nodded. i had spent the last couple nights at the weasley house, as my parents were out on my mom's muggle business trip, so i had heard percy's incessant bragging.

"probably some prick alumni reunion. 'prefects only! whoever can be the biggest stick in the mud gets to kiss dumbledore's arse!'" i mumbled. the twins burst out laughing, agreeing.

once we all unloaded our things into the dorms, a large crowd started running outside. following the commotion, i saw a large carriage almost wipe out hagrid. to the left, a tiny ship was visible. said 'tiny ship' started emerging from the water, revealing a massive vessel.

"whaddya suppose that's all about?" two voices asked from behind me. i didn't even have to turn to see who was talking to me.

"i dunno. let's get to the great hall before the crowd."

~ ~ ~

"hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. the tri-wizard tournament. now, for those of you who do not know, the tri-wizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. from each school, a single contestant is selected to compete. now, let me be clear: if chosen, you stand alone. and trust me when i say these contests are not for the faint-hearted." dumbledore explains. i look over to see fred and george with wide smirks on their faces.

"but more of that later. for now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the beauxbatons academy of magic, and their headmistress madam maxime." dumbledore continued. the doors to the hall opened, and out came a group of girls with tight blue uniforms. the guys all ogled at the girls as they scurried to the front of the hall.

"and now, our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of durmstrang, and their headmaster igor karkaroff." now, a bunch of guys came in, hitting their staffs against the ground before doing some gymnastics. at the back of the group was viktor krum, and i let out a gasp. murmurs swept the room, the name "krum" repeating over and over again. as i watched the durmstrang students pour in, my eyes landed on cedric. he had hufflepuff robes on, in contrast to my ravenclaw ones. noticing my stare, he gave me his signature smile and waved. i returned both gestures before listening to dumbledore and barty crouch drone on about the tournament. this type of thing wasn't really my place, especially with the whole deadly, this-is-a-stupid-idea-but-we're-wizards-so-to-hell-with-caution vibe it was giving. i could tell fred and george would try to put their names in the goblet, even though they are too young to participate.

~ ~ ~

"by half a bloody year!" fred exclaimed.

"this is rubbish!" george continued. i only laughed at the sulking twins, the three of us making our way to defense against the dark arts.

"what can you do? it's not like you can magically make yourselves older." the two stopped in their tracks.

"that's brilliant ava!" the two yelled before running the other way.

"we have classes right now!" i yelled after them, but they were already too far away. i sighed and heard a chuckle to my right. i whipped around to see cedric, books in hand.

"hello again ava." he greeted. i started to walk with him.

"morning cedric." i greeted.

"those two seem to be quite the handful." he joked, motioning towards the area the twins were a moment ago. i groaned.

"you don't even know." cedric opened the door to the classroom, and we made our way in. mad-eye moody was standing in front of the classroom, murmuring to himself. cedric and i were the last ones in, so only two tables were left. i took the one in the middle, cedric asking if he could sit next to me. obviously, i agreed, not passing up the chance to sit with him. a couple hufflepuff girls glared at me, but i paid no attention to them.

"alastor moody. ex-auror… ministry malcontent… and your new defense against the dark arts teacher. i'm here because dumbledore asked me. end of story, goodbye, the end… any questions?" mad-eye introduced.

"well isn't he delightful." i mumbled, making cedric let out a snort.

"i heard that ms. carpenter." mad-eye said without turning to look our way. i looked at cedric with a mischievous smile, to which he returned, both of us trying to hold in our laughs.

the rest of class was filled with mad-eye using the unforgivable curses on a poor little spider. i pursed my lips, unsettled by the class. don't get me wrong, it was hilarious to see lee jordan get a spider shoved down his robes, but mad-eye seemed to… enjoy using the curses. an uncomfortable pit sat in my stomach as i left the classroom, mad-eye's glass eye following me the entire way out.

~ ~ ~

i sat on one of the bleachers surrounding the goblet. i needed to do some herbology homework, but i wanted to see who all would put their name in the cup. plus, fred and george had promised that they had some genius way to get in, and made me swear i'd be there to witness their 'greatness'. so, i sat next to hermione, writing down notes on the venomous tentacula. when i looked up from my homework, a couple hufflepuff boys ran in, pushing a grinning cedric. i watched as he put his name into the goblet. he then looked over and saw me. his friends started pulling him away, but he made sure to give me a wide smile before he ran away with the others. i just smiled to myself, going back to my homework. however, i felt a nudge in my side, interrupting my concentration.

"what's with that smile?" hermione asked teasingly. my smile became even wider.

"is it a certain hufflepuff golden boy who's caught your fancy?" she continued.

"mayyybe." i replied, knowing fully well that she was correct. before she could say anything more, the twins ran in, cheering.

"thank you, thank you. well lads, and ladies," george started, tilting his head towards me and hermione, "we've done it."

"cooked it up just this morning." fred added. hermione rolled her eyes.

"it's not going to work." she sang. fred and george crouched down next to her.

"oh yeah? why's that granger?" fred asked, acting super interested in whatever she'd say next.

"you see this? this is an age line. dumbledore drew it himself." she explained.

"so?" fred asked.

"so," hermione said, closing her book, "a genius like dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by something so pathetically dimwitted such as an aging potion."

"that's why it's so brilliant." george countered, a large shit-eating grin on his face.

"because it's so pathetically dimwitted." fred continued. the two drank the potion and hopped inside of the age line. hermione just huffed, obviously disappointed that their plan worked. however, just after they put their names in the goblet, red sparks flew and hit them backwards. when they got up, they both had white hair and beards. a playful fight commenced, the crowd gathering around them.

hermione shook her head before looking at the doors. krum, karkaroff, and one other durmstrang boy came in, watching krum put his name in the goblet. he made eye contact with hermione, who started blushing.

"oh ho ho, what's that on your face. a blush?" i teased.

"shut it." she whispered with a smile on her face.

~ ~ ~

once all the names had been called, whispers went around the great hall. i cheered loudly for cedric, but the giddiness i felt for him being one of the champions was replaced by fear for harry. ron looked especially pissed off, so i'm assuming he knew nothing about harry putting his name in the goblet.

hermione suffered the most from this feud between harry and ron. she started to stick with me much more often, usually ranting about how stupid the boys were.

"and ron wouldn't shut up at breakfast! it was all hypocrite harry this and pesky potter that. it took him an hour to come up with those names, and they aren't even good!" hermione yelled, exasperated. we got a couple looks from those we passed in the hallways, but hermione didn't care.

"granger, do you mind if i take ava for a bit?" a voice asked from behind us. cedric stood there, rubbing the back of his neck. hermione gave me a subtle smirk before going to the library, leaving me and cedric together.

"i never got to congratulate you. you've been swarmed by people ever since your name was called." i told him. his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"sorry 'bout that. i've been meaning to spend some time with you, but we only have a couple classes together." he said sheepishly. i assured him that it was fine.

"so, where are you headed?" i asked him. i had an open schedule, as it was the weekend, and most of my friends were cooped up in the common room.

"ah, i have some interview with the daily prophet." he told me.

"don't get too famous on me ced." i joked. he smiled at me.

"ced?" a faint redness swept over my face. before i could say anything, he cut me off.

"i like it." he stopped in front of a door, and inside, i could see fleur and rita skeeter.

"meet me in the great hall for lunch?" cedric asked. i tried to stop my smile, but it didn't work.

"yeah. see you there."

~ ~ ~

i sat at the breakfast table the next morning with hermione and ginny. harry and ron were still having their petty fight, and ginny didn't feel like hanging out with her other friends. ginny took out the daily prophet and handed it to me.

"read it." she said, an unreadable expression on her face. i warily took the article, reading it out loud.

"'harry potter, age 12, suspect entrant in the tri-wizard tournament. his eyes swimming with the ghosts of his past' what rubbish is this?" i said in disgust. ginny rolled her eyes.

"no silly, under that." my eyes drifted until, shockingly, i saw my name.

"'cedric diggory, age 17, hogwarts tri-wizard champion. a strapping young boy with no shortage of admirers. rumored to be going around with ava carpenter, daughter of famous potions-master robert carpenter.'" i read. hermione started giggling, while ginny nudged my arm. my face was a bit hot, and it was even hotter when a hand landed on my shoulder. looking up, i met a familiar pair of grey eyes.

"can i talk with you for a minute?" cedric asked. i nodded, and he took me out of the great hall and into a little cranny in the hallway.

"hey, i'm, uh, sorry about what rita wrote." he said awkwardly. i tried to laugh it off.

"it's fine. she writes whatever she thinks. more than half of the stuff she writes isn't true anyways."

"yeah." he said absentmindedly.

~ ~ ~

the first task. dragons. i had wished cedric luck before he went into the champions' tent, but my nerves were starting to build up.

"don't worry." george said, taking the seat to my left.

"your boyfriend will be fine." fred assured, taking the seat to my right.

"i- he's not-" i babbled. the twins smirked at me.

"it's quite obvious, really. waltzing around the halls," fred said.

"rosy red cheeks, pulling each other around with smiles on your faces," george continued.

"we may be idiots, but we're smart enough to tell that you two fancy each other." fred finished. i was about to rebuke their statements, but cedric's name was announced. he came out and looked around for the dragon. when he took a step forward, a swedish short-snout jumped out at him. he took a step back before transfiguring a rock into a labrador. as the dragon followed the dog, cedric makes a run for the golden egg. however, after he grabbed the egg, the short-snout lost interest in the dog and made his way toward cedric. the dragon let out a blast of fire, which burnt cedric. i yelped, terrified for him. nevertheless, he held onto the egg and ran out of the stadium with it. i saw madam pomfrey waiting for him at the exit. i watched as cedric was escorted into the med-tent. i wanted to go over to him, but i knew it was no use. they wouldn't let me in. so, i stayed with the twins and watched the rest of the champions. harry's match nearly scared me to death, with the horntail breaking free of its chains and them flying around hogwarts.

once harry got the egg, people started to make their way back to the castle. i stayed behind with hermione, fred, and george, who were waiting to congratulate harry. harry came out, holding the golden egg, cheering. the four gryffindors ran back to the castle, leaving me behind. as i was about to go and catch up with them, cedric emerged from the med-tent looking normal, save for a couple cuts. once he saw me, i ran up to him and hugged him out of instinct. he returned the hug chuckling.

"you okay? i thought the dragon hit you with the fire?" i asked, scanning him for any burns.

"madam pomfrey healed up the burns with a nasty orange paste. the dragon only got the side of my face." he explained.

"i'm glad you're okay." i sighed. he smirked at me.

"oh yeah? why's that~" he teased.

"shut up." i laughed, hitting his shoulder.

"by the way, i like the color yellow on you." he complimented. i had totally forgotten about my outfit. i had a yellow sweatshirt on with a black coat and leggings. i blushed as we walked back to the castle together, talking about his performance.

~ ~ ~

"the yule ball has been a tradition of the tri-wizard tournament since its beginning. on christmas eve, we and our guests gather in the great hall for well mannered frivolity. as representatives of the host school, each and every one of you are expected to be able to dance." flitwick explained. he tried to demonstrate what how to dance with luna, but he was simply too short to do it properly. luckily, we didn't have trouble picking up what to do. roger davies, another ravenclaw, asked to practice with me. it was a bit awkward, but it was done fairly quickly.

that night, everyone knew about the yule ball. some were waltzing down the hallways, while others were trying to get dates. i saw cedric, and was going to go up to him, but a flock of girls soon surrounded him.

that went on for a whole week. every time i saw cedric, a swarm of girls were following behind. the most prominent of them was cho chang, a fellow ravenclaw. she often would tap cedric's shoulder or initiate conversations with him. people started speculating that he would ask cho to the ball. i tried to not let that thought put a damper on my mood. i was hanging out with fred and george a lot, now that ron decided to stop being so pissy and made amends with harry, which meant hermione could hang out with the two again without picking favorites. she still talked to me a lot, especially after krum asked her to the ball. she was over the moon when it happened.

"what about you? have you picked out a dress yet?" she asked. i shook my head.

"i haven't even gotten a date yet. i'm not going to buy a dress before then." she let out a gasp.

"cedric hasn't asked you yet? i thought he would've asked by now." she said, jaw slightly dropped.

"nope. we've barely talked the past week with his swarm of girls flocking him at every waking moment." i sighed. hermione assured me that he would ask me, but i didn't want to give myself any false hope.

"speak of the devil…" hermione mumbled. when i looked up, cedric was coming toward us, his expression going from searching to relieved when he spotted us. hermione excused herself, leaving me with cedric in the empty hallway.

"hey ava." he said, slightly out of breath.

"hi." i said with a small smile. cedric frowned, furrowing his eyebrows in thought.

"are you okay? i'm sorry for not hanging out with you lately, i've been a bit busy." he said.

"i've noticed." i said, before wincing at what i said. i didn't mean to be jealous and petty, but the words escaped my lips before i could stop them.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean-" he cut me off.

"no, i understand." he sighed. "i've been a crappy friend lately." a silence set over us. he opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, wanting to say something. i waited for him to get it out.

"uhm… okay, here it goes." he said quietly to himself. i had to refrain from chuckling at that.

taking a deep breath, he asked me, "would you go to the yule ball with me?" i was a bit shocked for a second. he stood there, a nervous smile on his face.

"i thought you were going with cho." i said. his face scrunched up for a second.

"no, where did you hear that?" i shook my head.

"nevermind. i'd love to go to the ball with you, ced." his nervous smile grew wide and confident. out of reflex, he hugged me. as he was about to pull away from the hug, realizing what he did, i returned the hug.

~ ~ ~

"wow hermione, you look gorgeous." i said, looking at her from head to toe. she blushed.

"i could say the same for you. i love that dress." she replied. i twirled around in my blue tulle dress, pleased with my selection.

"who are you two…" a voice started.

"… and what did you do to ava and hermione?" an almost identical voice finished. hermione and i turned to see the twins, each with their dates.

"i'm sure diggory and krum will be all over you two." george winked. the four of them descended the stairs in front of us, promising to meet up with us later.

"shall we?" hermione asked.

"we shall." i answered, taking hermione's arm in mine as we went down the stairs. i saw cedric talking to a couple other hufflepuff boys, while krum stood awkwardly at the entrance of the great hall. harry and parvati stood at the bottom of the stairs, gaping at us. soon enough, cedric and krum turned around to see us. cedric made his way to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes not leaving me. a permanent smile graced his beautiful face, and i couldn't help but return it.

"you… look… amazing." cedric said breathlessly, taking my hands into his. there was this look in his eyes that just filled me up with happiness. it was a look of unrestrained joyfulness and care that made my heart melt.

"you look absolutely dashing." we stayed in awe of each other until mcgonagall took us to line up with the rest of the champions and their dates. first was fleur and roger davies, then krum and hermione, then me and cedric, and finally, harry and parvati. cedric held my hand as we walked out into the great hall. it was like a winter wonderland. once out on the floor, cedric put his hand on my waist, still not looking away from me.

the night went on, the two of us dancing almost the whole time, only stopping for drinks. by the end of the night, we were laughing with each other, prancing through the halls, spirits still high from the night's activities. he walked me to the ravenclaw dormitory, and i could tell he didn't want the night to end.

"that was amazing." cedric said, pulling me into a hug. i nuzzled my face into his chest, not wanting to leave his arms. as he pulled away from the hug, he kept me close. we stared into each other's eyes for a moment, subconsciously moving closer.

"may i?" he whispered. instead of answering, i leaned up to connect our lips. the kiss was happy and carefree, and by the end of it, we were both smiling, not pulling away from each other.

"sleep well." he said softly.

"you too." with a final kiss to his cheek, i went into the ravenclaw common room, a smile never leaving my face.

~ ~ ~

"the black lake? merpeople?" i repeated. he nodded.

"mad-eye suggested that i take the egg with me to bathe, and when i put the egg underwater, the screeching turned into singing." cedric explained.

"mad-eye told you?" i asked apprehensively. i had told cedric that i was suspicious of mad-eye, and him tipping cedric off on the second task didn't help his case in my mind.

"he's an ex-auror: of course he's going to be a bit creepy." cedric assured me. i just shrugged, still wary of mad-eye.

"and the merpeople are going to take something from you? better hide your lucky badger underwear." i joked. he lightly shoved me.

"i told you that in confidence." he whisper-shouted.

"and now i'll never let you forget~" i gloated.

"you just want to see my lucky underwear." he said suggestively, smirking.

"i know you were trying to be seductive, but that was a pretty weird way to put it." i smiled cheekily, laughing. he just blushed and pouted. rolling my eyes, i leaned up and kissed his cheek before putting my mouth close to his ear.

"i would love to see your lucky underwear sometime. maybe a bit more-"

"grossss!!!" two voices yelled from around the corner. cedric was blushing profusely as i went to go check on the voices. sure enough, fred and george were crouched around the corner, some rope attached to an ear thing in their hands.

"you two are nasty." fred said. cedric just wrapped his arm around my waist as we talked to the twins. soon enough, we had lost track of time, and it was almost night.

"ms. carpenter!"

we all turned to see flitwick running toward us.

"professor mcgonagall would like to have a word with you." he told me before walking off.

"okay, guess i have to go. see you tomorrow before the task." i told cedric, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

once in mcgonagall's office, i saw hermione, ron, and fleur's little sister. i stood next to them, wondering what this was all about. before i knew it, mcgonagall was casting a spell, and i blacked out.

~ ~ ~

i woke up freezing cold, gasping for air. for some reason, i was sopping wet. an arm was wrapped around me, helping me float. it was daytime, and all i could hear were loud cheers. i looked to see cedric smiling down at me. we swam to the ladder before we were given towels and robes.

"what happened?" i asked cedric, shivering.

"the merpeople didn't take my lucky underwear." he joked. it took me a second to realize what this meant.

"i was the stolen item?" he nodded and smiled, bringing me into a hug. i leaned into him for warmth.

the rest of the contestants came up from the water, with only fleur not completing the challenge. soon, we were all standing around dumbledore, waiting for the results. i stood next to cedric, along with some of his hufflepuff buddies.

"attention! the winner is… mr. diggory! for showing unique command of the bubblehead charm." dumbledore announced. i immediately started jumping up and down, cheering for cedric. his friends all started slapping him on the back, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss on the lips.

~ ~ ~

the weeks leading up to the third task went by in a flash. i spent most of my days with the twins, hermione, and ginny, and my nights with cedric. he started sneaking me into the hufflepuff common room. we would do some homework and revising, but mostly, we would cuddle up in front of the fire and fall asleep on the couches. most of the hufflepuffs didn't care. only the jealous hufflepuff girls, and a couple guys, didn't like me being there, but professor sprout wasn't going to say anything against golden boy cedric.

on the day of the third task, i spent my time with cedric. he was practicing defensive and offensive spells. a couple hours before the task started, he needed to go meet up with dumbledore and his father.

"ava?" he said before leaving. i hummed, acknowledging him.

"this might be a bit early but… i care about you. a lot. i might even love you." he confessed.

"i care about you so much. i'd even wager that i love you too. please stay safe out there today, and win this thing." i whispered on his lips. he smiled and gave me one last, long hug before running off with the happiest smile i've ever seen on his face. brimming with happiness, i skipped off to the library, where hermione would be. however, as i was walking, i heard a low voice mumbling.

"yes, the dark lord will praise me for my work." the voice whispered. shocked, i went toward the voice, which seemed to be coming from an empty classroom. inside, i saw mad-eye moody transform into some other man. he was kissing a black tattoo inked on his arm. trying to hold in my gasp, i started to sprint toward the stairs to warn dumbledore and the others.

"crucio!" the man's voice yelled after me. shit. an excruciating, searing hot pain seized my body, forcing me to the ground. i was shaking, trying desperately to rid myself of the unbearable pain.

"going somewhere?" he asked. as he got closer, he recognized me. "ah, diggory's little girlfriend. off to go save your boyfriend?" he smirked evilly.

"sadly, you know too much. the dark lord wouldn't be pleased to have his plans foiled by a little girl."

he took a step back, and i knew what was about to happen.

"avada kedavra!" he hissed, and everything became cold and dark.

3rd person pov

"avada kedavra!"

cedric's body froze before totally blanking out. when he opened his eyes, he saw himself, lying on the grass of the graveyard. he watched as harry was forced onto the tombstone, as voldemort was reborn, and as harry dueled voldemort.

"harry, take my body back, will you? take my body back to my father, and tell ava i love her." he told harry, who sullenly nodded. after cedric formed a shield in front of harry with whom he presumed were harry's parents, he was teleported back to hogwarts. he watched as harry cried over his body, and as his father's heart broke for his precious little boy.

"that's my boy! that's my son!" he yelled agonizingly. cedric looked all around, but he couldn't find who he was looking for.

"cedric!" a voice yelled. it wasn't sad, like all of the others calling out his name, but it was… slightly relieved?

"ced!!" he whipped around at the sound of that familiar voice to see the girl he was looking for jump into his arms.

"ava! but, if you're here, that means-"

"mad-eye. it was polyjuice that he was drinking. he was a death eater." she explained. cedric pulled her in for the tightest hug.

"you're dead." he cried, burying his head into her neck. she had already had a couple hours to accept her death, and no one knew she was dead yet. cedric had to watch as his father and friends wept for him. surely, he was extremely overwhelmed. ava simply ran her hands through his hair, trying to calm him down.

"shhh, it's going to be okay." she whispered into his hair. he nodded, starting to take deep breaths. as soon as he calmed down, he pulled ava into a kiss.

"i love you." he told her.

"i love you too, my champion."

#cedric diggory #cedric x oc #goblet of fire #fanfic #harry potter

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coffeedrgn87 · 1 year

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December 8th Drarry Drabble: "Snow"

Tags: Draco's POV, Draco is a good husband, Harry is a professional Quidditch player (seeker), this drabble plays in Norway, also, they are both as besotted with each other as on the first day, Teddy played matchmaker (sort off), Fluuuuuuuuff!!!

Draco’s personal opinion was that given the current weather conditions, the match ought to be called off and continued once visibility improved, but considering that England was playing Brazil in the Quidditch World Cup final, this was unlikely to happen. Whichever imbecile QWC committee members had voted for this year’s games to be held in Trøndelag County certainly had a lot to answer for. Yes, Norway was a stunning country, but Draco wasn’t very much of a winter person, and he liked blizzards even less.

Alas, his husband was England’s star seeker, and while Draco very much wanted to be a dick about sitting out in the cold (even the VIP boxes didn’t quite manage to keep out all of the cold and warming charms had to be renewed every so often to stop everyone from freezing to death in Norway’s arctic conditions), he also loved Harry very much and wanted to be supportive. And if that meant sitting in the freezing cold to watch Harry (whose gloved hands had surely frozen to his broomstick at this point), Draco was prepared to do just that. There was also the minor inconvenience that Harry Potter was still a war hero, and not openly showing his support for his husband usually resulted in unfavourable press. Generally, Draco didn’t pay too much attention to the tabloids; he’d learnt not to, but at the end of the day, he was only human, and there were limits to how thick his skin was.

At this point in the game, Draco had entirely given up on his Omnioculars; even the latest model could not compete with the large snowflakes causing white-out conditions. The skies were grey, and light quality was poor, and while the referees had ordered all players to wear reflective gear, it was almost impossible to properly follow the game. Every now and then, a player appeared briefly, but they were usually gone within a second. The wind kept pushing the snow sideways, creating heavy drifts, and the large stadium had been reduced to lumps of shadows. The barrier was less than ten feet away, but Draco could barely see it. Flakes of snow kept blowing into the box, peppering everyone’s clothing and hair, and frost clung to Draco’s eyelashes, the ends of his long ponytail, which he’d folded over his shoulder, as well as the edges of his shoes.

A heavy ozone-like scent lay in the air, which was so crisp that it hurt Draco’s nostrils. He alternated between breathing through his nose and mouth, but it made little difference. Another gust of wind blew into the box, pelting Draco’s frozen cheeks. He licked the tang of cold snow from his lips and wriggled his fingers to rid himself of the tingles of pain in his fingertips and toes.

The intense rushes of wind made everything feel colder, and Draco was grateful when the box attendee renewed the warming charm, melting away the crust of snow that had built up on Draco’s mittens and cuffs. He exhaled a long breath which briefly warmed his face, but the cold sapped it away almost immediately. Draco’s throat ached with thirst, but he suspected that his butterbeer had frozen. Since he was in no mood for a popsicle, he ignored his need to hydrate and blinked several times to clear his vision. The wind howled across the pitch, and a snow flurry hit Draco’s heavy winter coat.

Harry was still nowhere to be seen. In fact, Draco couldn’t remember when he’d last seen his husband. He had absolutely no idea how Harry (or the Brazilian seeker) planned to locate and catch the Golden Snitch, but if there was one thing that Draco possessed in spades, it was his trust in Harry’s skills. Granted, he didn’t trust Harry not to forget to feet their kneazle or use the wrong kind of household charm when ironing clothes, but he did trust Harry with a broom and a Snitch. Draco also trusted Harry with a wand during combat, not that Harry did much of that these days. After the war, he’d devoted some time to cleaning up the madhouse that had been the DMLE but as soon as Teddy learned how to balance a toy broom in the air, Harry had hung up his boots to teach his godson how to fly.

Draco smiled to himself. That’s how they’d met. One day, he’d stopped by Andy’s little cottage to pick up his mother for a shopping spree in the city and found Harry teaching Teddy how to ride his broom. That afternoon, Draco had watched from a distance, mesmerised by Harry’s patience and talent. He knew exactly how to boost little Teddy’s confidence, and watching the two of them together had gradually thawed Draco’s heart. By the time he’d noticed that he’d fallen head over heels for The Chosen Saviour, it had been too late to back out.

Wriggling his fingers inside his mittens, Draco toyed with his wedding band, twisting it around his ring finger. He was still half-lost in the memories of the early days of Harry and his relationship when his husband whizzed past Draco’s box. He was there and gone again in the blink of an eye. Once upon a time, Draco had found his husband’s ability to suddenly appear out of nowhere vexing; these days, he considered it an innate talent that brought him endless joy. Except for that one time when Harry had materialised in the shower and nearly scared the living daylights out of him.

The match dragged on for forty-five minutes, and then there was a commotion when one of the bludgers slammed into one of the stands. An announcement clarified that nobody had been injured, but the referees paused the game briefly while members of the QWC committee insisted on assessing the damage. Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. There was absolutely no point to this nonsense. Thankfully, Harry’s appearance distracted Draco from becoming bitter about the whole situation.

Harry looked rather worn out and like he was ready for the match to be over. Draco didn’t blame him. He cast a subtle warming charm in Harry’s direction, and when it enveloped Harry in a bubble of heat, Harry grinned. Draco’s heart fluttered in his chest, a sensation he’d often felt in the early days of their relationship. He’d been sure that it was temporary and would pass eventually, but seeing Harry still turned his knees to jelly. When it came to his husband, Draco’s heart had a mind of its own, and he had long since given up on trying to control it.

After five minutes of wordless flirtations, the game finally continued. The moment one of the referees blew the whistle, Harry was gone. He disappeared in a flurry of huge white flakes of fresh snow, and Draco was left feeling bereft. But before Draco could get used to the feeling, all hell broke loose. It took a moment before Draco realised what had happened, but when the official QWC commentator announced that England had won the match and had therefore won the Worldcup, Draco was out of his seat, jumping and clapping and screaming until his throat gave out.

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fractured-hq · 8 months

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The most anticipated sporting event in the wizarding world is coming to Britain!

The Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have been hard at work to make this year’s Quidditch World Cup the best yet. A shining, new stadium has been constructed in the remote reaches of Connemara National Park in Ireland, and devoted fans have been camped out since mid-July in anticipation of the August 24th match. This cup has been dubbed “the Battle of the Under-Crups” by many commentators, referencing the surprising shake ups that have led to Brazil and Mali facing off, a pairing no one saw coming! The match will be commentated by James Potter of the Wizarding Wireless Network, and former Holyhead Harpies chaser, Rolanda Hooch. To celebrate the occasion, the Department of Magical Games and Sports is hosting a Team Pride contest, where the individual with the best costume will have their picture taken for the special commemorative edition of the Daily Prophet. Additionally, in an effort to discourage illegal gambling, the Wizarding Wireless Network is gathering predictions on the final score, and the winner will receive a voucher worth 93 galleons to Quality Quidditch Supplies!

OOC Description

For this event, we will be celebrating the Quidditch World Cup! The event begins today, Saturday, August 19th, and will end on Monday, August 28th. Threads that have already been established (i.e. open starters that have been replied to and closed starters that have been posted) may continue past the end of the event, but we ask that you not post new replies to open starters after the 28th. More details about the event can be found under the cut.

As always, make sure to tag any relevant posts with ‘fracturedrpevent’, and most importantly, have fun and happy writing!

How to Participate

You can create an edit, pinterest board, or written description of your character’s team pride costume to enter the DMGS contest! A winner will be chosen from the characters who participate at random.

You can make a prediction on what the final score will be! The admins have already come up with the final score, and the player with the closest guess will win nothing but bragging rights.

You can post starters during the game, or in the days leading up to it.

Things To Do

A variety of vendors have set up stalls around the stadium, selling souvenirs, memorabilia, and fan merchandise, as well as traditional Irish food and drink, and some Brazilian and Malian fare.

Like in the fourth book, there is a campground near the stadium for people to stay and visit. For those unaccustomed to roughing it, and with the right social standing, Eamonn Burke has opened his nearby family home, Burke Lodge, to select guests.

The costume contest will take place on the day of the match, and predictions opened the week before, both in game.

The match itself lasts 23hr, from 8:30 pm on Tuesday, August 24th, to 7:30 pm on Wednesday, August 25th.

The Teams

Brazil; This is the first time in over 100 years that Brazil has made it past the quarter-finals. It was predicted that they would do middling-well in the tournament, but when a doping scandal overturned the final ruling of a game, the team grabbed their second chance with both hands and have been fighting tooth and nail to keep it. In their semi-final match, which lasted a grueling four days, three players suffered injuries. This is team Captain Beatriz Alves’ fourth time on the national team, but her first time in the finals; at 38, many expect this to be her last shot at the cup.

Colors; green and yellow Players; Beatriz Alves—chaser and team captain, 38, female, suffered a torn rotator cuff in semi-final match. Aline Oliviera—chaser, 33, female. Tiago Martins—chaser, 24, male. João Almeida—beater, 28, male. Felipe Borges—beater, 30, male, suffered a fractured collarbone in semi-final match. Mariana dos Santos—keeper, 26, female. Bruna Carvalho—seeker, 29, female, suffered two dislocated fingers in semi-final game.

Mali; This is Mali’s first appearance in the tournament, and no one expected much from them. However the team has been steadily climbing their way to the top with a series of decisive victories. Many credit the team’s success to the talent of beaters Hawa Toure and Miriam Kieta. At only 19, Toure is the youngest player to ever make it to the finals.

Colors; sky blue and white Players; Adama Malle—chaser, 28, male. Sekou Fane—chaser, 22, male. Sidi Bagayoko—chaser, 24, male. Hawa Toure—beater, 19, female. Miriam Kieta—beater, 27, female. Moussa Berthe—keeper and team captain, 29, male. Ibrahim Sidibe—seeker, 25, male.

#fracturedrpevent #marauders era rp #marauders au rp #harry potter rp

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https-maxine-stuff · 1 year

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“The star-crossed lovers.”

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

A/N: I know it’s repetitive with the Cedric interactions ;-;

She had been sat uncomfortably in that chair for a long period of time.

"Chin up, Astrid." Her mothers voice rang in her ears that she actually winced as she adjusted her chin slightly. She was stuck in that pose for an hour longer just enough time for the artist to her a good base. They exited the portrait makers shop and into Diagon Alley.

"We are going to the Quidditch World Cup tonight, be prepared."

"The World Cup? Why?" She looked up at her mother.

"We were invited by the Minister, the Malfoys will also be there." She didn't even spare her daughter a look as they walked.

.・。.・゜✭・.

She could hear the roars of fans from outside the stadium, Oliver's hand was nimbly held in hers as they entered. Lucius and his son Draco were infront of her and her family. He had said something to..who was that? She looked up and it was Harry Potter. 'Oh.' She waved subtly at the boy. He waved back. The closer they grew to the ministers box she felt eyes on the back of her head. She turned and saw a familiar face.

He was smiling brightly "Astrid!" He grinned he had moved past his father to his friend.

"Cedric! What are you doing here?" She smiled.

"My father brought me and the Weasleys! You?"

"Ministers box, we were invited." She sighed. Oliver was staring at Cedric with his big eyes. He waved at the younger boy with that same smile.

"That sounds like fun,"

"It won't be, my father will just be talking about politics."

Cedric chuckled "well you could always join me if you wanted."

"I would if I had a choice." She bent down to Oliver's level "you would too wouldn't you buddy?" The boy nodded his head very fast. He didn't speak much. "Well I'll see you later, Cedric." She grinned standing up again.

"I'll see you as-well."

She was so painfully bored her mind numb from the buzzing of her fathers voice. When would he just shut up?

.・。.・゜✭・.

They made it back to their tent without a problem, the sounds of fireworks and screaming seemed usual as the Irish had one the tournament. She was busy preparing her brother for bed when screams of terror began coming into ear shot. Her mother stood up heading towards the opening of the tent and immediately beelined towards her kids.

"We have to leave,"

"Why what's going-" a loud explosion could be heard nearby.

"Now!" She scrambled to pick her little brother up, the small trio leaving their tent and belongings behind other than you know their wands. She covered Oliver's face as they ran, soon the crowds got thicker as terror ran through them. "Mum!" She yelled out her mothers voice becoming drowned out with everyone else's.

She was now stuck in the middle of a DISASTER without her parents. "Fuck."

"Fuck." Oliver repeated, she looked down at him with wide eyes.

"That's the first word you say? REALLY?"

"Fuck."

"Oh Merlin's beard."

They eventually got out safely and home. She could hear her parents arguing in the den.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Platform 9 3/4

She re-read the sign at least four times. She tilted her head as she blinked. "What and interesting sign." A male voice hummed. She jumped in response she turned to see the one and only Cedric Diggory.

"You scares me you, Bloke!" She hit his arm.

"Ow! Hey, not my fault you didn't hear my ten name calls."

"Asshole."

"Your favorite one."

The sound of the snack trolleys wheels filled her ears. She squinted as she looked up, "trolley cart... you got any Galleons?" She whispered to her friend. He rolled his eyes and nodded. "The usual?" He asked. She nodded.

"Only for you."

"Only for me!" She grinned.

.・。.・゜✭・.

They eventually arrived at the school making their way to one of the bridges. She looked up to the sky noticing the Pegasus drawn carriage. "Oh my! Cedric look!" She bumped his arm, he looked up. "What is that!?"

"Carriage dummy."

"I know that but what's- is that a SHIP?" She turned her head to the ocean. "It's a bloody ship Astrid! Oh Merlin's beard!" He was excited.

"We need to get our stuff to our common room and fast!" She giggled, he held some of her luggage the two running to Hufflepuff's entrance.

They now sat in the great hall, waiting for some news about what was going on. Rumors started circulating but Dumbledore shut it down instantly with his words. "We will be hosting the Tri-Wizard tournament!" Her face lit up.

After the whole ordeal of dinner and the announcements she and Cedric stood in the main hall.

"You gonna join?" She asked in a low whisper.

"Most likely, you?"

"Yeah let's see how that'll turn out. I'm a tad scared." She frowned.

"Hey! Don't be let's hope I get chosen and bring Hufflepuff internal glory." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.

The sound of rain hitting the sides of her window awoke her from her sleep, she turned her body sideways a pillow covering one side of her head in hopes to drown the noise out. But.. it was futile.

A few sharp knocks hit against her door frame, "Come on Astrid wake the bloody hell up! We're gonna be late for breakfast!"

"Huh..? Cedric- crap! Oh Merlin's beard!" She stumbled out of her bed whizzing to open the door. "I'm so so-"

"Save it, you owe me extra toast and a butter beer."

"You bloke."

"A lovely one."

"Ugh."

.・。.・゜✭・.

The two made it to the great hall in one piece, the smell of freshly cooked food filling their airways.

"Do I smell.. oh.. it's delightful traditional English.. perfect." Cedric was smiling with such glee, his eyes closed his lips slightly apart. His eyes opened once more as he raced her to their seats.

"Ew so many beans." She grimaced.

"The beans are the best part." He frowned.

"To you."

"Always." He winked as he began to dig into the meal, she rolled her eyes as she placed some eggs, toast and bacon onto her plate. Taking a piece of bacon in between her lips she heard a familiar voice.

Her eyes lingered on a certain red-head, he was smiling and joking with his twin. She wasn't going to lie she did fancy George a bit but not too much. It was like he could feel her stare and turned a bit winking at her as he kept his conversation with his brother. Her face reddened.

She turned away as Cedric turned to her.

"Now what was that?" A small teasing tone in his voice.

"Don't, I swear I'll turn you into a toad."

"Who says I wouldn't like to be a toad?"

"Me, because I'll use you for my next potions class Cedric."

"Ouch quite mean don't you think?"

"Not mean enough."

.・。.・゜✭・.

"Oi, Evergreen!" She turned her head towards the voice, there stood Draco Malfoy.

"What do you want Malfoy."

"I was just wondering how you were considering what happened after the cup." He had his hands on his robe as he was towering over her. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm fine, what is it that you actually need?" She glared at him.

"...." He had murmured something under his breath.

"Speak up!" She hit his arm.

"Oi! That hurt. I need..the babbling beverage ingredients." She stared at him blankly.

"For..what?"

"A prank..just a small one."

"No."

"What do you mean no!?"

"No! If you want me to steal from Snape it's a no."

"Please! I'll pay you."

"Get the Weasleys to do it, and pay them well." She moved past him. What an odd way to start her morning.

Herbology, her safe space her love. It was her love until she could feel Neville's breath on her neck. "Neville."

"Astrid." You may be wondering what in the world is going on here? It's plain and simple. Rivalry, he had moved up into advanced classes and she was his competitor for another spot in a class.

"Move the bloody back."

"What do I have to do to get you to get out of the running for that spot?" He whined a bit. She stared at him.

"You are so much cuter when you aren't whining Neville."

"I know your mom-" she smacked his shoulder.

"Don't bring the muggle jokes in, not right now." She had a smile on her face, it wasn't one of those we hate each other rivalry just mostly a frenemy one.

#oc story #oc stuff #oscar issac #angst #cedric diggory x oc #death #draco lucius malfoy #cedric diggory #harry potter goblet of fire #hufflepride #hermione granger #harry potter #ron weasley #soulmates #eventual smut #smut with feelings #right person not enough time

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 1 year

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Ruined- Henry Potter (OC) x Ella Underwood (OC) (Harry Potter)

Henry Potter x Ella Underwood

Description: The night of the Quidditch World Cup is ruined. Luckily, Ella can go home to the comfort of her husband afterwards.

Word Count: 2.3k

Two years. It took two whole years for the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the Ministry of Magic to plan and execute the setup of the 442nd annual Quidditch World Cup. Many elements were a key part of the execution and each had to be dealt with without fail or any misunderstandings. Location, transportation for fans, vendors, sponsors, stadium. All of them took up almost all of the first year of planning.

The stadium took an entire year to build. Ella honestly thought it would take longer considering it was supposed to be holding a hundred thousand people. But, she wasn’t complaining as it gave her more time to go back and make sure everything was perfect. Sure, this wasn’t the first Quidditch World Cup she’d aided in setting up, but this year was different. Not only was this the first time that England would be hosting the World Cup in many years, but this was the first year she was in such a high position. This year she was third in command of preparations. Naturally, she wanted everything to be perfect. She desperately wanted to please her boss and show off her work ethic and leadership skills so that she could hopefully earn a potential raise and promotion.

That’s why over the last two years she’d put her all into the planning and construction of the event. Of course, spending so much time at work meant that she couldn’t see her husband Henry, which admittedly dampened her spirits. She was more than thankful that he understood and never made a fuss about it. As long as she was eating and sleeping properly (as well as taking appropriate breaks), he was okay. If this didn’t earn him some sort of world’s best husband award then she had no idea what would.

Finally, the day of the Quidditch World Cup arrived. Ella had to get to the stadium early so that she could go over some last minute details and review of the construction. So, she woke up bright and early that morning already full of nerves. She was surprised upon opening to realize that Henry was not laying beside her sleeping peacefully like she expected. Instead the bed was nearly made on her husband’s side. Her confusion didn’t last long as the smell of bacon suddenly hit her nose. A smile quickly formed on her lips and she quickly hopped out of bed, making her way to the kitchen.

Henry was just finishing setting their plates, which were full of food, on the table, but paused when he heard Ella’s footsteps. A smile matching hers appeared on his face as he faced her. The sight made butterflies erupt in the girl’s stomach. He always had a smile for her no matter how good or bad she looked.

“Right on time, love,” he greeted softly. “I was just about to come wake you up.”

“Aw, darling,” she cooed as she walked over to him. “You didn’t have to make breakfast for me.” Now, it wasn’t unusual for Henry to be the one to make breakfast as he was always the first one up, but today he’d made all of her favorites.

“Of course I did. This is a big day after all, can’t have you going on an empty stomach,” her husband answered simply, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck automatically. The girl hummed then pecked his lips.

“You’re sweet,” she muttered. Henry smiled and offered her one more kiss before pulling away.

“Come on, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.” With that, he pulled out her chair for her like the gentleman that he was. She offered him a thankful look as she sat down. Breakfast wasn’t filled with much conversation as they ate, but that wasn’t unusual for them. Ella was usually trying to wake herself and Henry just isn’t that talkative. After a few minutes of silence, she looked at him.

“You’re sure that you don’t want to come today? I still have the option for a plus one, for my spouse,” she asked. Henry shook his head with a small, awkward smile.

“I’m sure,” he answered softly. “The people…” Ella returned his smile and nodded so he didn’t have to say any more. His anxiety wouldn’t have allowed him to enjoy himself with so many people around. It’d gotten better since he first developed social anxiety, but they were still taking baby steps. Not that she minded, of course. Whatever pace he was comfortable with is the pace that they would go, no exceptions.

“Alright, then. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

“I’m not a kid, Ella,” he retorted, which made both of them laugh.

“Just making sure,” she joked before taking a sip from her tea. The man merely rolled his eyes in response and shoved some eggs in his mouth. Once they finished breakfast Henry shooed her off to get dressed while he cleaned up. It only took her twenty minutes to do so, which meant that she was right on time to leave. After pulling her shoes on she walked out to the living room, where Henry sat on the couch. He immediately smiled upon seeing her.

“You look beautiful, darling,” he complimented, standing up. A light blush dusted the girl’s cheeks and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Thank you dear,” she said, leaning closer to give him one last kiss.

“Alright, have a good day,” Henry muttered with a small smile. She returned his words then wished him one last goodbye before apparating to the stadium.

When she arrived, people were already beginning to show up. It was mostly the ones camping out around the stadium setting up their tents. A smile quickly formed on her face when she overheard several people marveling at the stadium as she began heading towards the entrance. After showing the ticket taker her special pass she headed inside. She had a meeting soon with the rest of her team, but her time was free before then, so she decided to just walk around and talk to a few people. It was as she was doing that, she suddenly heard a voice call from behind her.

“Aunt Ella!” She turned around, and was met with her nephew jogging towards her with Ron and Hermione behind her. A wide smile formed on her face and she opened her arms for him, which he quickly stepped into and enveloped her into a hug.

“Hi Harry,” she greeted happily, patting his back. “I didn’t know that you guys were coming to the World Cup. Your aunt and uncle allowed it?”

“Mr. Weasley won the raffle and got free tickets for him and his family,” the younger boy explained. “He invited me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of him,” she answered shortly before the rest of the Weasleys showed up beside them. “Hello Arthur.”

“Ah, hello Ella,” the older man greeted, holding out his hand. They shook hands before dropping them.

“Wonderful job on the stadium construction, excellent turnout,” he complimented, which made her giggle.

“Well, thank you. I hope you guys have a great time. If you guys need anything, I’ll be around,” she informed them, earning nods all around.

“Well, we should probably go get set up. We’ll leave you alone now,” Arthur said, beginning to lead everyone away. Harry stayed long enough to give his aunt one last hug before following them. Ella waved to them then began heading towards the stands for her meeting.

The rest of the day was helping people find their seats until the game finally started. It was Bulgaria vs Ireland, and the game was rather exciting. The Irish Chasers were too much for the Bulgarians. They scored repeatedly, and even though the game became quite dirty, the Bulgarians could find no answer. They were spared an embarrassing defeat when their seeker, Viktor Krum, caught the Golden Snitch causing them to lose by only ten points with the final score of 170-160. The Irish team performed a lap of honor before being presented with the Quidditch World Cup in the stadium's Top Box. The Irish fans, including Ella, were all in high spirits as those who camped went back to their tents while the others either headed home or chose to celebrate with each other.

In short, the game was nothing short of a success. Ella could not have been more proud of herself and the rest of her team. She was talking to Fletcher Rayme, the second in command of the project, as she prepared to head home. They were both Ireland fans, so their conversation was in high spirits. Unfortunately, that all went down the drain when they suddenly heard horrified screams. Both of them were confused, so they walked out of the stands to see what was wrong. What Ella saw absolutely horrified her.

There were masked men burning tents and causing much unwanted commotion. She became terrified when she realizedthe mob torturing a muggle man and his family. More wizards joined the marching group, laughing and pointing at the floating bodies as if they were at a zoo. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd grew larger. Ella watched as one of the marchers blasted a tent out of his way with his wand in shock. Several caught fire. It took a minute for her to recover from her surprise and when she did, she urgently grabbed Fletcher’s shirt and pulled him closer so he could hear her properly.��

“Get security and aurors over here now!” She yelled into his ear. The man nodded and pulled away from her before running off. While she waited, she began assisting the panicking wizards trying to get out of there.

And, just as soon as the panic started, it seemed to just… stop. The quidditch fans had emptied the arena, and in the process the terrorizing mob had disappeared, leaving aurors and other officials. Things were a blur after that. She vaguely remembered looking up and seeing the Dark Mark in the sky. Harry, Ron and Hermione had all been accused of casting it, but backed off when Harry gave them a description of the person who casted the spell. After that she, along with the rest of her team were taken to the ministry for questioning by aurors.

It took several hours for Ella to get out of questioning, finishing around 1:00 a.m. They were sure that she wasn’t a part of the attack, but she still needed to recount everything she saw frame by frame so they could understand what happened and how it was possible. Of course she understood why they needed to do it, but she was exhausted by the end of it because everything she said came with more questions, which prolonged the experience.

By the end of it she just wanted to go home and see her husband. So, once she got out of questioning, she used one of the many provided fireplaces and went home using the Floo Network. Upon stepping out of her fireplace she saw Henry sitting on the couch leaning over with his gaze transfixed on the floor. Once he heard her, though, his head snapped towards her and his eyes widened.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he breathed out, standing up and rushing over to her. Apparently he’d heard about what happened from someone else, likely Arthur or Fletcher. Ella was thankful because that meant she didn’t have to retell the story for a thousandth time tonight.

Now that she was finally in the safety of her home, every emotion Ella had felt throughout the day suddenly hit her. It wasn’t only just from today though. Everything she’d felt since the beginning of the planning process for the World Cup leading up to today culminated in her all but falling into her husband’s arms once he was close enough.

She clung to him like her life depended on it as sobs began wracking her body. Henry didn’t seem surprised by this sudden burst of emotion, in fact it almost felt like he was expecting something like this. And maybe he actually did expect it. Maybe she was just that predictable, or maybe he just knew his wife well enough to know what would finally make her break. Either way, he continued to hug her and comfort her with both his touch and words.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear, stroking her hair comfortingly. “You’re safe now, everything’s okay.”

“I-It was awful, Henry,” she whimpered with a sniffle. “Th-The entire night was a-a disaster after the game. I-I just…”

“I know darling,” he cooed gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” Ella shook her head quickly and looked at him through teary eyes.

“Henry, the Dark Mark reappeared. Someone cast it into the sky.” For a moment she could see fear flash in her husband’s eyes, but it disappeared just as soon as it appeared.

“You don’t need to worry about it anymore tonight,” he said simply, keeping an arm around her as he led her out of the living room. “Have you eaten?” The girl shook her head once again.

“I’m not hungry right now, just tired,” she answered softly.

“Alright, you go upstairs and change into your pajamas while I turn out the lights down here. I’ll be up in a minute.” Ella merely nodded, staying in his arms for another moment before dragging herself up the stairs.

She refused to look at herself while she took off her makeup and changed into some pajamas, already knowing that she probably looked terrible. Henry finally walked in as she was climbing into bed, and he wasn’t far behind her. He was already in his pajamas so all he had to do was turn off the lights before crawling in beside her. Immediately his arms were around her yet again and she cuddled up against him, allowing him to silently offer her solace until she finally fell asleep. She would forever be thankful that she had someone like Henry to comfort her after such a horrible time.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter ocs

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myysaints · 3 years

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fifth times the charm (g.w.)

george weasley x reader

summary: the five times you almost kissed george, and the one time you finally did

contains: fluff!!!, mentions of that pen in hbp, lots of pining

notes: this one’s a long one!!! not proofread much whoops. also im reentering my hp phase so maybeeeee more hp content coming 👀 would love to do a hp-related writing challenge for nov/dec!!!

The first time you almost kiss George Weasley, you’re admiring the scenery.

Because Christ, it’s beautiful.

It’s a strange thing to marvel over, you’re aware, but you can’t help it. With the way the sky is lit up with a thousand brilliant lights, the roaring enthusiasm pulsing through the crowd and through your own veins, the myriad of colours that dot the stadium - The 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final is utterly magical.

“Get the buggers!” George roars from beside you, practically leaping out of his seat as he wrings his hands. You chuckle quietly, watching his face contort into an expression of anguish as Bulgaria, to his immense dismay, scores another point.

Your soft sound of amusement does not go unnoticed, because despite the raucous noise all around you, the taller Weasley’s eyes flit over to yours, before a cheeky grin takes over his face. Without warning, he’s pulling you to your feet, eliciting a laugh of pleasant surprise from you.

“Enjoying the game, eh?” He yells, straining to be heard over the cacophony of noise. He grins, positively glowing under the floodlights that illuminate every inch of the large stadium.

You laugh, cupping your hands to shout back, “Moreso enjoying watching you! You’re a sight!”

The tone of your voice is joking, but as you say it, your heart beats a little quicker. Because you do mean it. You would never tell George, or anyone for that matter, but over the 4 years you’ve known the Weasleys, you’ve developed a sort of… little crush on a particular troublemaker. That being him. George Weasley.

So it’s to your surprise that your words have what looks like a soft blush settling on George’s cheeks. He coughs, abruptly turning away from you. He seems to hesitate for a moment, a look of uncertainty and perhaps even nervousness flickering across his face before he musters a brazen smirk, saying proudly, “I know I’m good looking, but really, the most exciting game of the century is happening right in front of you! And you’re staring at me!”

As you break out into laughter, George’s heart swells. The brilliant look of joy on your face is enough to have him smiling as well, unable to stop his heart rate from accelerating tenfold. As if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, you turn to look at him, a small smile on your lips.

His breath hitches, and against his own will, his eyes drop to your lips - And when he looks back up, you’re still smiling, eyes locked on his face, watching him. And it’s then that George notices how you’re close, ever so close, so close that he could almost lean over and just-

“BLOODY HELL!”

An arm jerks him away from you, and George stumbles, eyes wide as Fred shakes him firmly by the shoulders. The grin on his twin’s face is unmistakable, and he can hardly hear him over the explosion of noise from the crowd.

He casts a look to the scoreboard, staring numbly at the green confetti that rains down. The game is over.

Before he can move or even attempt to get back to you, he’s being pulled into an engulfing group hug with Harry, Fred and his father, the three of them jumping up and down, almost drunk on the high of Ireland’s win, while all George can think about is the soft smile on your lips.

He casts a desperate glance over his shoulder, eyes searching the crowd for you, but when you meet his gaze, you duck away.

His heart sinks.

ii.

The second time you almost kiss George Weasley is… tense, to say the least.

George Weasley has never been one to fawn over someone. He’s always hidden his feelings behind joking and teasing, choosing to show his affection through harmless pranks rather than passionate gestures.

But you. You make it so difficult for him not to burst out into song and dance like in one of those cheesy Muggle romantic comedies.

“Never reckoned you much for a history person.”

The sudden voice has you jumping, your History of Magic textbook slipping from your hand as you try to catch your breath, glaring at the tall redhead that you somehow hadn’t noticed. He merely sends you a dopey grin, reaching down and handing you your book, bowing as if he had just done you a great service.

“You’d be surprised at how much you don’t know about me, Weasley,” you tease, walking away from him. His footsteps echo through the empty corridors as he rushes to catch up with you (“Rush” being a bit of a stretch - It merely takes him three long strides to reach you).

Deftly placing himself in your path, you sigh in mock exasperation as he takes the books from your arms and sets them aside. With a charming smile on his face, one you cannot help but mirror, George takes your arm and bows, again.

“Well, would you perhaps afford me the great opportunity to learn more? About you?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he almost appeared nervous. But you do know George Weasley, and you know him well enough that the only people he gets even a semblance of anxious around are his mother and Katie Bell, whom you know for a fact that George has a thing for.

Which is why you’d brushed off that little… incident at the World Cup as nothing more than a blip. A one-time moment that meant nothing. At least, to him, no doubt. To you, that moment where your eyes met his and he leant in is one you’ll never forget. The nights you’ve spent imagining what could have happened had the game interrupted are proof of that.

“What do you say?” George grins, stretching out his hand. “Will you allow me a chance to get to know you better?”

You open your mouth to answer, a smile beginning to form on your lips, but before you can even get a word out, a shout of your name cuts through the silence.

Surprised, you turn, only to find yourself face to face with an unknown student from Durmstrang, who has in his hands a box of chocolates and a small bouquet of flowers.

You cast a wild look of askance to George, thinking, that this is just another one of the Weasley’s absurd little pranks. But to your immense surprise, and secret glee, he merely shakes his head, a sour look of what you might indulge in imagining is jealousy passing across his face.

The Durmstrang boy smiles, a large boyish grin as he kneels and offers you the bouquet and chocolates, asking in a thick accent for your company to the Yule Ball.

The show of brazen pursuing has you sending a shocked look of excitement to George, who merely gives you a thin-lipped smile. Mind still reeling, you choose to ignore the burning gaze of the Weasley standing beside you, and graciously accept the Durmstrang boy’s proposal.

His name is Nikola, he tells you, a pleased smile and a soft blush crossing his face as you repeat it slowly back to him. He bids you goodbye with a gentlemanly bow, one much deeper and much more sincere than the mocking one George had given you just moments earlier. You watch him retreat, giggling softly as you watch him silently pump a fist in the air.

“Quite the catch, aren’t you?”

You can’t muster the strength to jab back at him, only able to mutter a quick goodbye as you scamper off to tell Hermione of the news, unaware of George’s wistful gaze on you.

---

Godric, you look stunning.

As if his feet have a mind of his own, George is moving towards you, noting how you’re quietly watching the couples whirl about on the dancefloor, your own date gone from your side. He’s grateful for that, really, he is - Otherwise he wouldn’t have the courage to face you. Not when you look so beautiful tonight.

“Having fun?”

Recognising the voice in an instant, you don’t move to look at him, merely nodding and humming in confirmation.

Frankly, you don’t know what you’ll do if you meet his eyes. You can only hope that he hasn’t noticed how your eyes have been searching for him the whole night, regardless of your constant efforts to recentre your attention to your extremely charming date. Thankfully, he’s off getting more punch.

“Where’s your little Durmstrang friend?” George asks, fiddling with the lapel on his coat, trying to get his corsage back in place.

You click your tongue, frustrated by his fidgeting. “He’s at the drink table. Getting more punch,” you mutter, brow furrowed in concentration as you fix his misplaced corsage, then reaching up to straighten his collar. “Merlin, who helped you with your robes? It’s all skewed to one side.”

Satisfied, you proclaim proudly, “All done!” only to have the words die in your throat as you tilt your head up.

Close. Again.

The few centimetres between you have you suddenly feeling dizzy, becoming increasingly aware of the compromising position you’ve found yourself in - You, practically pressed up against his chest as his hand brushes against your hip. The scent of his cologne is overpowering, and you feel your heart flutter desperately.

“Are you… Are we…” you trail off, looking up uncertainly at him.

His expression is unreadable as he replies, sounding equally conflicted. “I don’t know. Are we…?”

“Ahem.”

You jerk back and away from George, reeling back so fast that your back nearly slams into Nikola in the process. He places a steady hand on the small of your back, handing you your cup of punch as you murmur quiet thanks, hurriedly downing the drink to conceal the warmth blooming on your face.

George stands there, his arms now hanging limply at his side. He sends you a tentative smile, nodding to Nikola is polite acknowledgement. “I’ll be going now, then,” he says plainly, his face contorting into a grimaced smile. “I’ll see you around.”

You wave goodbye, as does Nikola, who, upon George’s departure, raises an eyebrow with a sly smile.

“Oh, don’t tease,” you groan, as he laughs.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he responds, “I know you like him. And I am sorry for interrupting.”

Bemused, you shake your head in laughter. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, I don’t… like him. Besides, he… He fancies someone else.” At that, you nod towards Katie Bell, who has her arm interlinked with George, laughing happily away. Your heart aches at the sight.

Nikola only snorts. “Please. The way you two look at each other… I assure you, the one he loves is not her.”

It’s shameful, really, how your heart stutters at the word “love”.

iii.

The third time you almost kiss George Weasley is perhaps one of the most exhilarating “almost”s in your life.

“Nice one, George, real gentlemanly of you!”

The lake rocks with the force of George’s cannonball, and you shriek as he begins to swim towards you, like a hungry shark on the hunt for his prey.

It’s the summer break, and you’ve managed to find escape from the panic-stricken world outside in these moments at the Burrow with the Weasleys. The lake that sits a mere five-minute walk away from the Burrow proved especially useful on a sweltering day - And so the Weasley’s - Fred, George, Ron, Ginny - and you made the quick trip down for a swim.

“George, George, don’t you dare…!”

A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up a fraction above the water’s surface before letting you slip underwater again. You sputter as you resurface, nevertheless laughing as you chase him around the lake.

“Oi! You two lovebirds! Keep it down, some of us are working on some excellent craftsmanship here!” Fred yells from the shore, currently in the process of building an unnecessarily complicated sandcastle.

George only snorts derisively, shouting back, “Excellent craftsmanship my arse! That looks like shit!”

At that, Fred leaps up, causing you and George to both yelp in laughter, creating a ruckus in the water as you attempt to splash away from the approaching redhead.

As you attempt to run away, giddy with laughter, George wraps his wrist around yours, tugging you forward by the arm. Your breath hitches, and for a split second, you freeze, causing you to slip underwater with a surprised shriek of laughter, pulling George down with you.

There are bubbles all around you, and in the frenzy of moving water, you feel a hand slip around your waist, pulling you towards the boy in front of you. Even in the water, he’s a sight - You can’t help but admire the way his orange locks dance in the water. The way his eyes blink rapidly, squinting to focus on you.

Then he’s moving towards you, and you are him, and it all feels so right, and your foreheads meet, and you move to just kiss him for Christ’s sake-!

All of a sudden your world is spinning, and you’re being forcefully yanked upwards from the water. You sputter, your head pounding as Fred hunches over you, worriedly asking you question after question. You only catch bits of it - something about accidentally kicking you in the head?

You aren’t sure, too focused on George leaping out of the water and rushing over to you - like your own knight in shining armour.

iv.

The fourth time you almost kiss George Weasley, you do so in earnest impulse.

You’ve been trying, desperately, to produce your Patronus for the past ten minutes. Nearly everyone else has done it, and despite Hermione’s attempts to comfort you at your struggle, you’re getting increasingly frustrated with yourself.

Which is why when George sidles up to you, eyebrow raised and mouth poised open to no doubt tease you, you merely hold up a hand, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Don’t start, Weasley,” you warn, recentring your attention to the task at hand. “I have to get it right. I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything, okay?” He tilts your head up, and you can’t fight the smile that slips onto your face. “Just... C’mon, I’ll help you.”

He places his hands on your hips, guiding you into a firm stance as you raise your wand. His breath, warm and so close a shiver runs up your spine, fans against your neck as you close your eyes.

“Okay, think of your happiest memory.”

“I did,” you groan, “That time at the lake.”

From behind you, he snorts. “That’s your favouirte memory?”

“I don’t know, I just…” you open your eyes, turning to him with a look of exasperation on your face. “I don’t have one specific memory… It’s more of… a collection of them, I suppose.”

He raises an eyebrow, nodding understandingly, suddenly serious. “Okay. Why don’t you focus on that feeling, alright? Think about what makes that collection of memories so treasured, alright? Now, go on. I believe in you.”

The praise has your heart swelling, and you squeeze your eyes shut once more. Slowly, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist still there and firm, you inhale and imagine all the times you spent laughing with him. The euphoria that floods your system each time he cracks up at your jokes, each time you are the cause for his happiness.

And you whisper those two words, and open your eyes.

“Merlin’s beard, you did it!” George exclaims.

And you did.

A stunningly majestic eagle soars through the room, swooping and doing tricks as people laugh and watch. All the while, you’re distracted, being twirled around in George’s arms as he lauds you in praises and gushes of admiration.

“Knew you could do it, I knew you could!” He says with a dazzling grin, placing you down as you laugh, giddy with excitement and pure glee.

Tentatively, almost hesitantly, he reaches an arm up and brushes your cheek gingerly with his thumb. You force back a shudder, instead looking up into his eyes, a familiar feeling of deja vu rushing back to you.

A smile tugs at his lips, and you swear to yourself that this is the one, this is the moment where you kiss George Weasley, but just as your lips are about to meet, a body collides with yours, sending you tumbling to the ground.

“Blimey, Neville!” George practically groans in frustration, helping you to your feet. Your face burns in humiliation, and you quickly murmur a quiet apology to Neville, who is apologising profusely to both you and George, before slipping quietly and hastily out of the room.

Leaving George, once again.

You haven’t spoken a word to George since then.

After that… incident, you did your best to avoid him - Which should have proved to be considerably difficult given that you share a House and a bloody common room with him. And that you’re best friends with his brother.

But strangely enough, you’ve hardly caught sight of the lanky Weasley this past week. Though, you have been busy. The arrival of Umbridge, that cursed pink nightmare, has brought with it seemingly twice the amount of workloads per class and almost triple the amount of stress.

Evidently, this new shift in school atmosphere has affected the twins as well - the number and frequency of their “attacks” around the school have only increased since Umbridge’s crackdown on the place. Each time she introduces yet another variably unreasonable “rule” of hers, a prank of heightened explosivity erupts and shakes the school.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the look of horror on Umbridge’s face each time she discovers yet another one of their mischievous acts of rebellion.

“C’mon, just talk to him, will you?” Ron complains. “He’s been talking my ear off about how much he misses you and whatnot, and I can’t stand another minute of it!”

To your surprise, Hermione turns to you, a knowing glint in her eye. “You know, and I hate to say this, but I agree with Ron.”

You balk, mouth ajar. “Hermione! I thought you were on my side!”

“I don’t take sides, you know that,” she says, nudging you with a growing smile on her face as she sings teasingly, “Besides, I think someone’s watching you!”

You whip around, following her gaze to none other than George Weasley.

As your eyes meet his, he straightens up almost immediately. You quirk an eyebrow as he fumbles to place his cutlery down, before sending you a beaming smile and an eager wave. The clumsiness has you foolishly giggling, despite yourself. That only serves to make the grin on his face wider.

And so, for the first time in months, you smile back at him.

The look of surprise and glee on his face is priceless.

When you turn back to your friends, they’re all staring at you expectantly, causing you to gasp in mock affrontment. “Alright, now all three of you are ganging up against me! I have done nothing wrong!”

“Sure, but it is driving all of us crazy,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow. “You have no idea how long George can go on and on about you. He’s mad for you!”

“Alright, well, what do you expect me to do about it?” You splutter. While you try not to show it, the knowledge that George talks about you, and does so incessantly at that, makes your heart race to no end.

Ron looks up, waving his fork about. “For one, you could talk to him.”

“Goodness, Ron, please do not ever speak whilst chewing again,” Hermione makes a face, reaching up to dab at his face with a napkin, fussing over him. You send a look to Harry, who merely chuckles into his pumpkin juice.

“You should talk to him, you know,” Hermione says, pulling away from Ron, who stares after her in askance. “Goodness knows it’d help clear all that tension between you two.”

You cross your arms, frowning. “There isn’t any tension. And you know what? I will. I will talk to him.”

“Thank Godric for that,” Ron mumbles, already continuing to shovel food into his mouth, much to Hermione’s exasperation.

You slyly cast a look at the redhead in question, watching with your heart in your throat as he throws his head back and roars with laughter.

---

When you said you’d talk to George, this was not at all what you’d meant.

Hunched over and sobbing quietly into his shoulder as he cradles your arm, silently patching your freshly-carved wound up, is not what you intended to happen.

You were on your way back from a DADA meeting, having felt rather ill suddenly. Admittedly, it was foolish of you to be wandering around the castle, alone, when Umbridge was practically hunting down DADA members. But that had totally slipped your mind, consumed by the rising wave of nausea that had overcome you.

So when none other than Pansy Parkinson found you roaming the corridors, almost keening in pain, Umbridge had no problem pinning you as a DADA member. She was right, of course, but you weren’t about to let her have the satisfaction.

Ultimately, she had no real proof that you were apart of the Association, so she had no choice but to let you go - though not unharmed.

The horrible raw inking on your right arm, spelling out in your jagged, hesitant scrawl the words “I will behave”, still burns, an hour later.

Thankfully, George had caught you as you were stumbling, vision blurred with tears and arm rendered practically useless thanks to the pain, through the corridors. And he had done his best - he was doing his best - to heal the wound with magic, but either the damage was too extensive or that blasted Umbridge had placed some sort of magic-resistant charm on it.

Either way, you refused to visit Madam Pomfrey, so George resorted to his limited but sufficient knowledge of non-magical first aid skills to help.

“I’d kill her if I could” he growls, moving to kneel before you. His is voice low and gruff as he angrily rips off a strip of fabric from his shirt, much to your protest. “Don’t worry about my shirt, just worry about yourself and what I’m going to do to that detestable pink monstrosity.”

Unable to do anything but sit there, your eyes roam the expanse of George’s face with a soft smile. At your silence, his gaze returns to you, and his lips quirk up, a soft pink hue dusting across his cheeks once he finds that you’ve been staring.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Just admiring, that’s all,” you murmur back.

An equally tender look slips over his face, and his calloused palm, worn from years of Quidditch and endless scraps with his brother, cups your cheek. Your face heats up as his thumb brushes away stray tears forming, and you laugh breathlessly.

He tilts his head, a curious smile on his face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just… this happens to us a lot, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” he chuckles, “Maybe this’ll be it, hmm?”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “Maybe.”

But alas, fate has other plans.

A distant meow has George leaping up and away, hurriedly helping you to your feet. “C’mon, it’s Filch. We gotta get out of here,” he curses, wrapping an arm around you protectively as the two of you run down the corridor back to the Gryffindor common room, both your hearts beating a thrilling rhythm.

And so the fifth time you almost kiss George Weasley comes and goes.

vi.

The castle is exploding.

No, really, it is. Inside the classrooms, within its century-old walls, fireworks are going off in a dazzling display of colours. Students and teachers alike are streaming out of their classes and into the halls, flooding the courtyard as above you, Fred and George Weasley soar.

They’ve done it. The grinning bastards, they’ve done it.

In perhaps the greatest feat they’ve ever managed in the course of their time at Hogwarts, they’ve managed to not only put on the most amazing and breathtaking prank of all time, really, but they’ve also sparked a certain emotion that has been quelled at Hogwarts for so long - Excitement.

You laugh in pure, unbridled delight at the dumbfounded look on Umbridge’s face, heart tugging at the radiant grin on George’s face. From beside you, Ron whoops, pumping his fist in the air.

That gets George’s attention.

In an instant, the crowd is parting and he’s swooping down on his broomstick, stopping right in front of you. The beaming grin on his face is a sight to behold, and he takes your hand in his.

“Here we are again,” he says softly, a faint smile on his face. “Not going to run away from me now, are you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Faintly from behind you, you can hear Umbridge shrilly screaming something along the lines of, “Come back here!”

But who cares. You’re a girl in love with a boy. And it’s the best thing that could ever happen to you.

“Shall we?” He asks, a gallant grin on his face.

You take his hand, and he helps you onto the broom, just as Umbridge catches up to you. She shrieks in frustration, but you’re long gone, the explosion of colour behind you painting the sky and George in a breathtaking myriad of colours.

“George,” you whisper, and he turns, looking at you with so much love and admiration in his eyes that you can’t help but tear up.

And you don’t even have to say anything for his lips to be on yours.

And that is how you finally kissed George Weasley.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #tom riddle #˖⁺‧₊˚ 📂 ── my writing #꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🧳] harry potter

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