Angel of spring ✩ HP

𝚈𝟺 ࿐ 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ - 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧

Angel sits on a bench in one of Hogwarts' long, winding hallways, her expression a mix of contemplation and boredom. The chatter of students heading to the Great Hall for dinner echoes through the stone walls. She absently runs her fingers over the spine of a book she isn't really reading.

Harry Potter, on his way to the Great Hall, notices her sitting alone and hesitates for a moment before deciding to approach her. As he nears, he sees the far-off look in her eyes, like she's lost in her own thoughts.

"Malfoy." he greets, offering a tentative smile.

Angel looks up, startled out of her reverie. "Oh, hey, Potter." she responds, her lips curving into a small smile. "What are you up to?"

"Just heading to dinner. Mind if I join you for a bit?" he asks, motioning to the empty space on the bench beside her.

"Sure, why not." she replies, scooting over to make room for him.

Harry sits down, glancing at the book in her lap. "What are you reading?"

She half-closes it, a finger still lying on the page she was on to not lose it, in a way she sees the cover to really remember which book she has in her hand. "Uh... Emma, ​​by Jane Austen." She reads.

"Had to check to know?" Harry raises an eyebrow with a smile, teasingly.

She laughs lightly, closing the book and setting it aside. "Honestly? I wasn't really reading. Just trying to distract myself."

"From?" he asks, curious.

She shrugs, not really sure about telling Harry any of her business. "Nothing in particular."

Harry frowns, clearly not convinced but deciding to let it go. "Sure, er.."

"Listen," She suddenly interrupts him. "About what my father said to you at the World Cup-"

Harry stiffens slightly, the memory of Lucius Malfoy's taunting words still fresh. "It's fine. I'm used to it."

"It's not fine," Angel says firmly. "He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. He's horrible, and I hate— Ugh." She interrupts herself, running a hand through her hair, trying to avoid talking too much.

Harry looks at her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. "You don't have to apologize for him. It's not your fault."

"I know," she sighs, lowering her hand to her lap. "But it's frustrating. He's so different from me, and sometimes it feels like no one sees that."

Harry nods slowly. "I've noticed. But you're nothing like him. You're kind and fair, and you actually care about people. It literally says your name itself, Angel."

"Well it seems like the only thing people care about is Malfoy, not Angel." She fights the urge to roll her eyes, looking away from the boy.

And so Harry promises himself he will not ever call her by her surname again.

"And they have all the right to, to be honest." She continues to speak before the black-haired has the chance to say something. "It's so annoying, he just wants me to be someone I'm not. And he keeps acting like I am all that in front of others—as if I was his. And of course other people believe that! And he's so bloody focused on appearances and status—It's fucking exhausting. It's just constant criticism and pressure to be perfect and I really can't—" She, once again, interrupts herself, surprising herself as she doesn't regret ranting too much. "Sorry." She sighs.

"Don't— apologize," Harry also seems surprised, as if he had also discovered a new side to her. "It's not fair for you to be judged by his actions. You're your own person, Angel. And for what it's worth, I see that."