for editing

things about the francke family

i keep forgetting that i'm actually supposed to have a plot oops

Sirius kicked a rock. "Stupid git took all the fit girls away when he came back to school. They're only after him because he's famous," said Sirius bitterly.

"And he's every professor's favourite since he's got that stupid bloodline thing," added Genevieve.

"That guy?" James shot up with a bewildered expression. "Francke's our Golden boy?"

Lily nodded, looking confused but affronted at his increase in volume. "Yeah, that's what I said."

"No way! He just tried to put a Confundus charm on a professor for getting a bad grade. You're trying to tell me he's our inspiration?"

Lily opened her mouth to snap at him, but paused to stare at James, struck silent somehow. Her eyes, so identical to Harry's, took part of James's face into account as if trying to memorise it, trailing over ruffled, jet-black hair and hazel eyes.

James watched her and grinned with obvious excitement as Lily wrenched her focus away from him.

Atlas and his friends seemed to notice the group of students watching them. One of them shoved Atlas on the shoulder, causing his long, well-groomed hair to bounce oddly on his head. James scoffed at the sight, rolling his eyes as Sirius said something very crude under his breath.

"Fitzgerald's looking at you again," said his friend: an equally attractive, dark-skinned boy. "You want to go say something to her?"

Genevieve stiffened beside Lily, who whipped around to face her, mouth open and eyes shining.

Harry moved his gaze away from Lily and Genevieve back to Atlas, staring at Genevieve while his friend poked him harder. He could see Frank Longbottom clenching his fists, looking at Genevieve just as intensely as Atlas.

"S'ok," replied Atlas. His voice was gravelly and deep, so low Harry had to strain his ears to hear him properly.

"Why not? She totally fancies you, and I know you, mate, you could —"

"She's a Slytherin," Atlas said punctually, his voice definite and hardened. But his eyes told a different story. They were wistful far beyond his young years, seaweed green, but a deeper colour as they travelled longingly over Genevieve's raven-black hair.

"So?" said his friend.

"So it's never gonna happen," said Atlas. "Can you imagine the betrayal to my family? We've married strictly Gryffindors for centuries, you know all the history. Slytherin girls are great for short flings and the occasional snog, but an actual relationship? Nah, mate, not going to happen."

The other boy was looking very agitated. "Who says anything about marriage? It wouldn't be a crime to just go out with her."

"It would," murmured Atlas. "I wouldn't want to marry her anyway. You know how Slytherins are."

With that last remark, Atlas sank into the tree, his gaze quiet on Genevieve until his eyes fluttered to a close, taking a deep breath before reopening them and fixating on her.

Genevieve pretended not to notice him, but her face was crestfallen, meaning she heard him.

"You would think," Genevieve's tone was sharp, but her gaze soft as she glared at the boy sprawled out under the tree, "being the Heir of Gryffindor would make Francke a little less immature."