Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
────── 〔❦〕──────
THE EVENTS AFTER the first task had brought together the friendship of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. The latter had come to his senses after witnessing his best mate battle a dragon — the feeling of jealousy had long vanished. Hermione Granger, the third that completed their trio, had burst into tears when the boys made up. All occurred whilst another trio, in the next door cubicle — consisting of grey moonstones and blue topaz for eyes — remained latched to one another. Those three had finally pulled away once Madam Pomfrey voiced she had to check over Cedric.
Upon leaving the first-aid tent and congratulating Potter for staying alive, Elara found herself side by side by the fourth Champion — once again. Walking in sync with brushing fingertips was growing more and more familiar as the days went on. Their conversation, however, wasn't of a usual topic of their sort — not even close to their ordinary banter or teasing.
It veered to the side of Fleur Delacour, the blonde-haired, deep-blue eyed Veela from Beauxbatons. A girl Elara had shared only a few small conversations with, courtesy of Chelsea Chang. The blonde had a stronger French accent than Ella — though that'd be the fault of the former coming from a full French family and attending a school in France.
The conversation between the duo of fourth years was mainly Elara gushing over the older girl, without realizing. To the point the cage of freed, fluttering hummingbirds in Potter's stomach was outweighed by a glass of irritation; water risen up to the rim and prepared to splash over. He did not mind speaking of Fleur as it would end up being something he'd endure with Weasley, but it was mainly for another reason — possibly one of Potter wanting Ella's attention for himself.
The moving tides in the glass would die down, decreasing at fault of a drift in conversation. A minor change, but still slightly better (to Potter, that was). With eyes of admiration and curiosity, the boy watched Ella speak about one of her passions. And for the moment, that was clothing and fashion.
Or rather how one could prepare themselves for death, in a fashionable sense.
"You never know when you might die Potter, but you've got to go fashionably — I certainly would."
Snickering from beside her, Potter's eyes glinted in amusement. He could almost recall a vaguely similar conversation he shared with his godfather. "Sometimes I question if you are related to Sirius."
