❛ THE DARKEST HOUR OF THE DARKEST DAY
COMES RIGHT BEFORE THE DAWN. ❜
in which a certain weasley twin enlists
the help of a hufflepuff prefect.
𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙊𝙄𝙉𝙂
― george weasley x oc
― goblet...
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"WE DID IT! WE BLOODY WELL DID IT!"
Oliver Wood's cheers reverberate all over the nooks and crannies of the the Grand Hall. An eruption of noise radiates from the Gryffindor table, the fire of screams and whooping bellowing with each breath, and, quite frankly, it's easy to sense the bubbling irritation of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws on the opposite crowds around the red and gold decorations eagerly, prying for permission to encase themselves in the collective buzz. Joining in with the festivities, groups of students line the length of the table, laughing and crying along side-by-side their friends.
A girl leans forward to the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain with a light smile planting itself across the paleness of her face. Her beaming expression catches on, infectious, and he begins to smile back in earnest too. She smells the rich honeycomb of his jumper as they embrace, pull back, and watch as their grins grow larger with every passing moment. She gleams at him, proud, in a gaze of soft aquamarine; her heart beats inside her chest warmer than the embers that flicker out of the fireplace behind them. Nothing brought a smile to a face like Wren Dunlin did.
Oliver is quick to press a strong kiss to the forehead of his cousin, the grasping touch of his hands on her temples shaking in the excitement. Despite screaming into her ear like a dying banshee, she laughs, pleased simply from second-hand pride that surges through her body. It is not long after that they recoil, returning to their respective corners of the celebration with equally bright smiles.
Moments before she settles back beside her friends at the Hufflepuff table, a blinding streak of orange passes the girl's attention. Whether it is the blurred emblem of Gryffindor or a lighted candle flickering into her vision — she can't quite tell. She double-takes, watching the colours — bright red and fuelled by the. memories of mischief and laughter — grow nearer to her.
The sight of them only draws her nearer. Heads bobbing over the array of excited Gryffindors, she swiftly follows the brave streak of light.
"Well done, Dunlin. You've managed to convince us that you're an adequate Keeper —" One of the Weasley twins compliments, watching the other as if the two are communicating without the expression of words. "— not as good as your cousin, but Wood better watch it!"
Wren studies the first twin with a slow, raising brow, unsure as to which name belongs to this face. She has known them all her life, played with them, took the first train to Hogwarts with them. Why has she never bothered to learn which one is which?
"Why has she never come to our attention before, George?" Definitely Fred asks.
"Ah — you see, Fred, Hufflepuffs as talented as her are quite hard to find," Certainly George replies, a smile creeping it's way onto his lips. He leans against his brother with a little sway in his stance. Wren pauses to think, only finding reason that his elated, tipsy sway is due to the feast. But Wren's assumption have reason to be doubted. It could be the cause of some smuggled in firewhiskey.
