sapphire || fred weasley

prologue

The clock marked ten past three in the morning when she woke up. Squinting her eyes, she carefully sat on the edge of the bed to not wake up the man sleeping next to her. Running her hands through her tangled her, she got up from the bed that wasn't hers and quietly went in search for her clothes that had been previously scattered over the marble the floor.

Not bothering to leave a note, she left the vast cold manor that made her insides churn. Apparating just outside of the Leaky Cauldron, Beatrice walked past the empty pub and into the small back entrance, tapping the right bricks with her wand to make her way home.

Her footsteps echoed on the cobblestone as she walked the deserted streets of Diagon Alley, keeping her gaze upfront to not make eye contact with the beggers who called Knockturn Alley home. Stepping inside the renowned wand shop, she took off her shoes to not make any noise and made her way upstairs.

Her younger brother was passed out on the couch, fire whiskey bottle in hand as his loud snores filled the room. The door to her grandfather's bedroom was closed, just as she had left it before leaving for her weekly rendez-vous with the first Malfoy heir.

She covered Theo's body with a warm blanket before walking inside the bathroom, conjuring a small flame with her wand to light up the room. Beatrice looked at her reflection in the mirror, gaze settling over the dark bags under her bright blue eyes that had been there for years on end. Splashing her face with cold water and brushing her teeth, she decided best to call it a night and went into the shared room with her younger sister, the latter who was already sleeping soundly on her bed.

She got into her own bed and looked straight outside her window. The starry night and moonlit sky, seemed to have been outshined by the colorful shop that drove her mad.

"Who in their right mind throws a party on a Wednesday?" she muttered to herself and tried ignoring the loud music coming from the colorful shop's rooftop.

After turning on her bed over and over again for what felt like hours, Beatrice decided that sleeping was no longer an option and got up from her bed. Putting on a jumper that had once belonged to a friend, she went into the kitchen and started the kettle to prepare herself a cup of steaming hot tea. Already with her cup in hand, the stairs creeked as she went back down and into the workshop that had once, and in a way still did, belong to her grandfather.

Beatrice Nott-Ollivander, commonly known as Beatrice Nott, was nothing but a cryptic language. Her life could only possibly be described as the definition of complex and messy itself.

She had become accustomed to that mess and in her own mind, she couldn't actually imagine the mess not being there. That was the beauty in her. The never ending mess in every aspect of her.

She closed her eyes with a quill in hand and a piece of parchment on her desk and began sketching. That was one of the many beauties she found in wandlore.

Things didn't need to be precise. Things didn't need to be perfect. The process could be as messy and as complicated as she wanted to and still get to the same result. A carved wand that would never be the same as one already in existence.

Her grandfather had taught her otherwise, but that was something that her stubborn self chose to ignore rather than embrace.

She didn't like perfection. She didn't like precision. She did love mess. She did love that last drink of fire-whiskey that would eventually turn the evening into blank memories. That's exactly, how she ended up loving him.

He was mess. He was chaos. He was that first bursting firework that made everyone jolt from their seats. He felt like that final sip of fire-whiskey. The final sip that could make the dullest and coldest of hearts warm up entirely before the big blackout. He was the fire that lit up the fireworks. He was messy and complex and difficult, just as much as she was and she loved it.

The tricky part was, she didn't know that he was all she needed to cure her wounded soul. To her, he was no one. Nothing but a troublemaker and so called "prankster" that had made her and her friends' lives impossible while at school. Nothing but an annoyingly loud man who saw the world as a playground.

Beatrice could have simply chose to ignore him. It couldn't be that hard, could it? Simply saying, "Fuck off, I'm not interested."

Maybe even saying, "Don't come near me and stay away from me."

They would have been empty words though, and she knew it from the start. The moment his compelling hazel eyes met her sapphire ones, there was no coming back from that high. She was completely and utterly doomed.