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◄✩༄*∗"Ole cousin Fleur seems to like it, doesn't she, Bill?"∗*༄✩►
☼
◄✩༄*∗ Oh no, oh no, it's not fair
'Cause you kiss me and it stops time
And I'm yours but you're not mine
Oh no, oh no, you're not there ∗*༄✩►
— Say Don't Go | Taylor Swift
【 ✧ ☾⋆☼⋆☽ ✧ 】
Y/N STARED AT THE BROOM in her school trunk, sighing softly.
She had taken Harry's idea about her trying out for the Quidditch team into consideration over the summer and, upon hearing the news, her father had enthusiastically went out and had bought her a brand new Nimbus two-thousand and five. It was a bit much, she thought, but she was grateful for it—well, it was only useful if she actually made the team, which she wasn't so confident about. But Harry had told her that she was good enough to . . . .
Throwing her clothes over it as Hermione and Ginny entered the room, Y/N grinned at them and continued packing the rest of her belongings, shoving the thought to the back of her head as she pretended to be organizing her books.
Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.
"Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs," she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face.
Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE—NEW PREFECTS. She looked in a better mood than Y/N had seen her all holiday.
"I thought we'd have a little party, not a sit-down dinner," she told Y/N, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. "Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron, I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled," she added, beaming.
Fred rolled his eyes.
Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly after Y/N had gotten herself a butterbeer.
"Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here," said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his traveling cloak. "We've been wanting to ask you for ages—could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it? We haven't wanted to open it just in case it's something really nasty."
