Sly slytherin, dumb gryffindor.
Born by blood, torn by fate. Slow burn between a malfoy heiress and the chosen one.
UMBRA REGNET.
Started on 08/31/2024
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
March 23d, 1995. Hogwarts quidditch pitch.
Aurora stood in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, the cold wind biting at her cheeks as she watched the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams take to the air. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was allowing herself to feel good, to actually enjoy the moment. The events of the past month-Bellatrix at the Manor, the whispers-were now temporarily locked away. As the wind whipped through her hair and the chanting of the crowd roared in her ears, all she wanted was to lose herself in the game.
Just before the match, Aurora had pulled Adrian aside near the Quidditch locker rooms, her heart hammering in her chest. She had done it. She had told him they needed to take a break, that she couldn't deal with his overbearing nature anymore, not on top of everything else. He had been furious, of course, his face contorting with rage as he tried to argue back, but she'd cut him off before he could say too much, walking away without another word. For once, she felt like she had control, and the sense of freedom that came with it had been overwhelming.
Now, standing between Astoria and Cassiopeia, Aurora felt lighter. The air smelled like damp grass and broom polish, and the noise of the crowd was almost deafening. The Slytherin supporters were already in full swing, waving their "Weasley is Our King" badges high above their heads, the chant ringing out in a chorus of mocking glee. The other houses were booing Slytherin-no surprise there-but Aurora barely heard it.
"Look at Weasley," Cassiopeia snickered beside her, her eyes gleaming with anticipation as Ron Weasley clumsily took his place as Gryffindor's Keeper.
"Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King!"
Aurora laughed along with the rest of them, clapping her hands as the song spread through the stands like wildfire. It didn't matter that every other house was cheering against Slytherin. The Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors could all go to hell for all she cared. Right now, it was all about the game, and more importantly, it was about hating on Ron Weasley.
Pansy Parkinson stood near the front of the stands, leading the chant with an exaggerated sway, her back completely turned to the match as she egged the Slytherins on. Aurora could hear her shrill voice rising above the crowd as she sang the next verse, her arms waving in the air like some sort of twisted conductor.
"Weasley was born in a bin, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!"
The Slytherin team was already playing dirty, and Aurora loved it. Adrian Pucey, despite their "break," was brutal as ever, swinging his bat like a man possessed. She watched as he sent a Bludger hurtling toward Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor captain, hitting her square in the shoulder. The crowd gasped as Angelina swerved wildly on her broom, just managing to regain her balance.
"AND THAT'S ANOTHER FOUL FROM PUCEY!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the stadium, filled with outrage. "Honestly, is this even Quidditch anymore or just a brawl? Someone needs to check that boy's head!"
