𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 {𝙘𝙝𝙤 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜/𝙤𝙘} ⚢

viii.

“we’re going to meet up around eleven or twelve?” i asked, emphasis on the first word, but i already knew what lian’s answer was going to be. we were going to meet with other people, which meant, whether i wanted to keep this charade up or not, i was going to have to pretend to be okay (and normal) for longer than i’d first intended. gods, great.

“yeah,” lian said, “us and some of my old friends from the academy.”

“do they have their magic?” i regretted the words the instant they left my mouth, not because i’d asked them, but because i’d said them with such nonchalance.

“some yes, some no.” lian didn’t seem bothered by my sudden lapse of empathy. i was glad. “steven and yan will be there.”

i’d met them before. they were very kind. steven had lost his magic first (that i was almost sure of), and yan, i’m pretty sure, had lost hers trying to get his back a few months after.

they’d been dating ever since. i just hoped it wasn’t out of pity. they’d been friends for years-- steven and yan --, and yan had coveted for that man more and more with every season that had passed before their eyes.

however, steven had never seen her that way.

he said it took losing everything (his magic, mostly) to know what was and what wasn’t truly important to him. i’m not sure i believed that, but in the same breath, bao had skewed my whole conception of love. i wasn’t necessarily one to be trusted when it came to optimism in romance.

most people saw through rose-tinted glasses when they were in love, but with bao, i saw through tar-coloured ones. my husband wasn’t strawberries and cream. he was an entire sea of propane; black and potent and deadly.

lian seemed to believe steven, though, and i trusted her. she was a good judge of character.

“i like them,” i said after a couple of moments.

“he loves her, you know?” lian declared. my mouth poured open (i swear, it was almost as wide as yalong bay). once again, lian had read me with such ease; a talent bao could never, ever cultivate.

“he--” i paused and tried again. “maybe he does, but for how long?” that’s the real question you should be asking yourself. it’s the real question yan should be asking herself, too.

“does it matter?” she queried as if the answer was obvious. i knew my answer. of course, it mattered for how long. why would lian suggest otherwise? but the words died on my tongue every time i tried to speak. “if he loves her now, does it really matter if it doesn’t last forever?”

“of course! of course, it matters,” i spat, finally saying something. my feelings had gotten the best of me. “yan will be heartbroken when the time comes, and i don’t want that for her.”

“will be?” lian furrowed her eyebrows in thought. “how can you be so sure things will end?” usually, i adored her calm, sly demeanour (until you pissed her off of course, then describing lian as tranquil was sinful!), but at that moment, i was only angrier. the serene lavender hue of her flowy, balletic-like dress had made the red in me scream.

“it will end, lian! men like steven are bound to catch up to the milkman!”

“the milkman?” lian looked at me. she really, really looked at me, and i felt naked even though i was wearing nothing but clothes.

“i’m sorry.” i had to confess to something. my behaviour was just too anomalous for my standard self, and lian was far from an idiot. “steven reminds me of a guy i dated back at hogwarts. i reckon that’s why i’m bitter. i shouldn’t blame him. it’s wrong of me.”

“oh,” lian whispered. “i didn’t know. i thought you’d only ever been with cedric and fancied harry for some time.” she was right (cedric and harry had been the only ones), but i couldn’t tell her that. charade, cho.

“it was short-lived.” i wanted nothing more than for this conversation to come to its natural draw, but i couldn’t push it there. charade.

“was he before or after cedric?”

“after.” my heart panged in my chest. these were all lies. i hated lying to lian, and equally, to myself. i was in love with cedric (and i mourned him every day) until the day i met bao. if i was speaking with absolute candour, i still grieved him all of these years later.

i couldn’t date someone else after cedric, at least not at hogwarts. it would have been nearly impossible (even if things had been different with harry). maybe i would have been able to post-war, but i never let myself get there.

“his name was arwen.” more lies, fuck. lian’s eyes lit up like christmas lights strung across my childhood home, and for an elapse, i was blinded. my mum and pa’s face flashed before me. it felt like i was looking through one of bao’s muggle scrapbooks, one that was filled and filled with memories.

“arwen?” lian seemed panicked (for what reason? i had no idea!).

“yes?”

“arwen lovelace?”

“n- no,” i stuttered as my mind spun in an almost maniacal frenzy. i recognised that name. there had been an arwen at hogwarts. he must have been at least three years older than me, and he’d been a seeker on the gryffindor team. i was sure of it. i remember watching him from the stands in my first year. he was the one who made me want to play quidditch in the first place. “it isn’t him, but how do you--”

“i was going to tell you about him,” lian blushed. she never blushed. this had to be serious. “he’s one of a couple of exchange students that are supposed to be coming tonight.”

“he’s studying here?”

“yes,” lian smiled, and before she even bothered to say another word, i knew this wasn’t just some passing fling she’d throw away in a week or two when she got bored and found someone more interesting to latch onto.

lian didn’t blush, not from embarrassment or attraction or shyness (even if she was way timider than she’d ever dare say to anybody!).

but just maybe, arwen lovelace, the reason i became ravenclaw seeker in the first place, would be the exception to that rule.

i hoped so. i really, really did.