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❝𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 ❞
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖧𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇
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There was nothing worse than wanting something but knowing you can't ever have it in Rabastan Lestrange's opinion.
It was even worse if it was about matters of heart.
It was mortifying. Loving somebody silently so much that a mere glance makes your heart flutter. A simple smile that made every problem in the world disappear.
It was mortifying that you fall in love with somebody so deeply that they made a place in the corner of your heart where every little sight of them felt like heaven-a heaven that crumbles when that sinister voice in your head whispers vicious words that you already knew were true. It can never happen.
It was mortifying when you fell in love with someone and they did not reciprocate the same sentiments.
His hand stopped fiddling with his bronze dragon ring as his thoughts once again drifted off to the Ravenclaw girl, who was also his arithmancy partner. The girl who would put everybody in the class to shame with her wit and intelligence, and also the girl who lived rent-free in his head, the girl who never left a chance to answer fire with fire to anybody who doubted her intelligence just because of her bloodstatus.
Rabastan Lestrange resisted the urge to sigh as he looked around the great hall, not wanting to think about Kiara Leclair, who somehow always made her way into his thoughts.
He turned his head to look at Regulus, who was looking at his elder brother like he was an annoying pest, yet his expression changed once the raven-haired boy caught his eye. A small smile pulled on Regulus's lips as he looked at Rabastan and suppressed a chuckle when he saw his friend gesturing towards Lord and Heir Lestrange and the deadpan expression that graced the Lestrange scion's face.
The sound of the typewriter echoed once again in the great hall, and the two Slytherins turned their attention back to the screen.
Poppy's Lodging, London, 8.30 am
A brown brick lodge came into view as the camera zoomed in towards one white-framed window where a brown owl was perched on the window sill, hooting. Inside was a small room filled with loud snores. The camera turned towards a sleeping Harry James Potter, whose eyebrows furrowed in his sleep as he pulled the blanket over his head to get rid of the incessant hooting and snores, which weren't a great combination.
