little miss perfect

the colour grey

did i just write an 10,000 word chapter in a few hours after having writers block and no motivation for this story for months? yes, i did.

also, i changed the title because i hated it lol :)

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(i was supposed to insert this scene in the day before the golden ball, last chapter, but i'm an idiot and forgot.)

The Hilliker manor was a very large building, consisting of hundred of different rooms. There was more than one library, plenty of bedrooms, bathrooms, offices, lounge rooms, three ballrooms, an indoor and outdoor pool area, a basement, a quidditch pitch and that was only a fraction of the estate.

It was far too large of an area for only my father, my brother and I, but it was the Hilliker mansion. Moving out of it would be denying a sacred and unspoken tradition that had taken place for decades, maybe even centuries. I hadn't even considered the possibility of moving out of the building. Why would I ever want to? It had everything a person could ever want in a place to live...

Besides, there was something comforting about knowing that the grounds in which I lived, breathed and walked on for my entire life had previously inhabited—probably—all of my ancestors.

It made the area far less lonely than it could've been.

With just three people living in the gigantic building, it was an incredibly rare occurrence that we would ever run into each other unintentionally, without planning to do so beforehand. It would've had to of been an incredible coincidence...

And perhaps that's what it was when I'd run into my father in one of the drawing rooms in the far corner of the manor on the night before the golden ball...

Or maybe, divination wasn't actually total bullshit, and this really was fate actualising itself.

It was a dark and dingy room with distasteful furniture that I didn't visit often. But, in my holiday boredom, one Friday evening, I'd decided to take a stroll around the manor.

When I'd arrived at the room, I stopped at the doorway of it and almost had a heart attack when I saw the back of my father's usual black coat. He was seated on one of the sofas and was staring at the fireplace which had evidently been lit. The room was dark and the lights were turned off, with the blaring light from the flames acting as the only source of illuminated as they danced off the walls and onto my father.

It was incredibly hot in the room and even from where I was standing, I could feel the overwhelming warmth of the blaze consuming me.

My father simply stared into the fire as I began to feel lightheaded, unfazed by the heat.

I was about to move from the doorway and question my fathers reasoning behind utilising the fireplace in the middle of the hottest season of the year, but then my eyes trailed to his left forearm.

The sleeve of his black suit was rolled up to reveal the skin of his callused arm. It wasn't the rough skin that caused my heart to palpitate, knees to shake and eyes to widen, though.

Jet black that was extremely prominent in comparison to his light skin. Composed of a harsh skull surrounded by vicious snakes that carved their way around each other. The Mark of You Know Who's ownership.