"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙮"
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IN WHICH ~ Jupiter Cassiopeia Lestrange thought she could escape her family's dark legacy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in her second year, Tom Riddle's diar...
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"But if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did."
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
-HARRY-
Harry watched the fear melt from Jupiter's face, replaced by a wide-eyed amazement as her gaze darted around the stadium, drinking in the grandeur of it all. In that moment, she had never looked more beautiful to him, with her eyes gleaming and her excitement tugging at the corners of her lips. A smile spread across her pink cheeks, and Harry felt his heart stumble.
"What do you think?" he asked, his voice soft but eager. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hoping it would seem casual, just another layer of support as they stood in the buzzing crowd. But his intentions betrayed him—something about her anchored him, drawing him irresistibly closer, and he couldn't fight it.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, her brown eyes soaking in every flicker of color and motion around them. Harry decided, right then, that he never wanted to stop watching her, especially like this. Nothing else had ever made his heart pound or filled his stomach with such a rush of nerves and thrill—not even Quidditch itself. And it didn't matter that her smile wasn't meant for him; he was captivated, content just to be by her side.
"Yeah, it is," he muttered, the infatuation slipping into his voice without hesitation. She turned, meeting his gaze, her eyes bright yet uncertain. Her mouth opened, as though she was on the verge of saying something, but instead, her lips pressed into a flustered smile. He watched her cheeks flush deeper, felt her breathing quicken beneath his arms, which were still draped protectively over her collarbone.
Before either could speak again, a booming voice rang out, snapping them back to the present. "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" The stadium erupted into thunderous cheers, the sea of spectators screaming and clapping. Flags of every color waved high in the air, national anthems blending into the cacophony.
"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!" The right side of the stands—an ocean of scarlet—roared with anticipation.
"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward eagerly in his seat. "Aaah!" He whipped off his glasses, polishing them furiously on his robes. "Veela!"
"What are Veela?" Harry asked, glancing down at Jupiter, who let out a soft groan. He had the sudden, stubborn feeling that he didn't want to know—not if she disapproved. Nothing felt worth admiring if Jupiter didn't.
But then, as if on cue, a hundred Veela glided onto the field, and that thought scattered. Veela were women—the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. They moved with impossible grace, every line and curve of them like something out of a dream... but still, not more beautiful than Jupiter, he realized.
