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[khalilahshafiq-blog]

Send me an ✘ and I'll put my music on shuffle, get the song, and post my favorite line as a starter.

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

ravencalla:

The question was Calla’s own, stretched out by the fire in the common room drawing diagrams with ‘x’s and ‘o’s, ‘x’ for a person, ‘o’ for the goals, in the notebook she passed to her captain now, strategic plans made to be ignored. They both did what they wanted, only coming together to win, Churchill and Roosevelt stood on opposite sides of the pitch. And what of the Slytherins? Carrow has perfect aim; the best chance at blocking her advances is to cut her off with a bludger-assault by our beaters — or to catch the Snitch before she has any chance to score. Dolohov couldn’t outfly me if he summoned a storm to chase me. I am unconcerned. Lestrange and Mulciber can try, but the best players of their positions know that the most vital reflex for a beater is not rage but patience. Nott and Avery have size as an advantage, but larger targets are easier to hit. Cygnus Black is a boy. Keep that in mind.

“Kitten, we’re the cat’s meow. Eyes ahead.” 

—

Jealousy was sharp teeth biting her tongue, and they said envy turned you green but on Calla jealousy was painted in shades of emerald and gold that matched the banners fluttering in the stands. She was sat demurely next to her captain, legs delicately crossed at the ankle, hair tied back with a raven-blue ribbon into a ponytail she didn’t tug. She did not hold a hasty, ancient, made-two-seasons-ago-parchement-is-scarce sign with soot at the edges, the silver and black and blue of the Ravenclaw crest on her robes not tainted by ugly, moss-coloured badges pinned under it. Calla never sought to speak during their rivals’ matches, observing silently, taking notes at the forefront of her head, but she turned to Kitty and lowered her voice and said it quickly.

“Dolohov is making me cross.” She said it as though she was the reigning monarch — not Khalilah, not Evadne, though surely if any of the students surrounding her was wealthy enough to rule, and feared enough, to rule on these grounds it was one of those two, and she was encroaching on their territory — dismissing someone who had found her in a miserable mood. “that little flick, right there, with his hand. His wrist. Killer-dinner control. Sublime.” 

Calla liked Antonin Dolohov’s flying practice far more as a subject for dissection and imitation without credit than something she would face in due time. His control. Glorious.

Kitty’s eyes surveyed the pitch from the position she was sat in, which was deliberately placed in the middle, a vantage point in which she would be able to see all the players. She, in contrast with the rest, was not waving a flag with the Slytherin emblem, cheers for both teams roared to heights unimaginable, but Kitty had not cheered, she did not clap. 

She watched intently, the game had unfold and the two teams were battling it out, the rivals such distinct opposites of the spectrum called for disaster. Her focus switched from Declan Prewett to Mars Avery then to Evadne Carrow, watching the movements of each of the chasers. Silent notes stored in her memory on file for when she would be flying opposite them on the pitch within given weeks. 

Her gaze was broken the moment Calla spoke, the regal girl sitting next to her, ankles crossed, the navy ribbon weaved into her hair as it always had been. Beauty was in her eyes, such intensity as she, too, watched and took notes. Of course they both were rooting for the Slytherins, Calla for Evadne, and Kitty because she disliked Leo. “He’s surprisingly adaptable.” 

Antonin Dolohov, the newest and mysterious member of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He was the wild card, the unknown variable in how the Gryffindors would pull out a win when faced against the Slytherin’s newest ( and deadliest ) weapon. And to not have faced the Slytherins first was a blessing. “Take notes Calla; we cannot lose to them.” Her voice was stern, solid in tone, but quiet enough for not even prying ears could hear. This was her Captain role shining through, like gold under the sunlight. “His movements are not like ours. There should be ways to maneuver this.”

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

reginaserpentes:

“Awh, Kitty baby! I’m flattered,” Evadne coos, sickly sweet. She subtly assesses the other girl’s uniform as she speaks; always critical, always criticizing. Creases are nonexistent, pressed and ironed by expert hands – but the way that blue looked in the sun? The quality of those…lukewarm opinions? Intrinsically inferior. In no way respectable. “I mean, we are the cat’s meow – but to hear it from a quidditch captain; well. It puts it all into perspective.” It was a whole slew of shit, but anyone who knew anything knew that there was nothing Kitty Shafiq liked more than a chance to preen her own feathers. The deeper the shit, the better the outcome. Still, just because the peacock preens, doesn’t mean it should escape the hunting knife. 

A shame if they were to be hexed to defame your precious name, and the rest.

Eva’s brow wrinkles at the very thought of defamation. For a girl who had fought and clawed and bit her way to the top of a precarious social hierarchy, the dirtiest words that could be said to her were dethrone and defame and perhaps most of all, deny. “Who would dare?” she retorts – but then, before she can say more, Kitty has moved onto a subject that must not be spoken of, and in the span of milliseconds, all the blood drains from Evadne’s face. And there it is, an ice-cold chill shivering up her spine, the darkening of her gaze, her posture suddenly stiff, straight, full of terror. 

Terror – and fury. 

“What did you say?” she snaps, and like a whip, her free hand darts out and grabs hold of Kitty’s wrist, so tight that her knuckles immediately grow white with the effort of it. The hand with the pin in it closes into a fist; and though the clasp has come loose and digs, bloody, into her flesh, she doesn’t flinch. No – something dark and primal has taken her; the tendons of her neck grow taut as she raises her chin, as her eyes grow narrow. The playful smile is gone, and in its place is a stare of intense distrust and imminent survival. “What the fuck did you just say, Shafiq?” 

Besides her, her boys have fallen silent. They too wear solemn masks; the masks of soldiers who sense a threat against their kingdom, their king. But to Evadne; her king is her god. With a sharp tug, she pulls the Ravenclaw into the alcove, out of the sun and into the cool shadow. She would not like any heathen deface her god. 

“Who,” and she’s seething, voice lowering into a growl. Her nails dig in, they dig deep; but if you knew her, if you really knew her, you would see that she is afraid – “the fuck told you about that?” Even on her tongue, to speak of the Knights in broad daylight was to blasphemize against the unholy. She leans in close, so close that she can see the black of Shafiq’s pupils. She’s hissing. “Answer me now, or I swear to Circe I’ll pin you to the fucking wall.” 

“Anyone who despise you.” Kitty retorted, a sneer on her lips. Her memory lingered on Evadne’s face on the enamel pin, her green robes matching the vicious smirk, her eyes shining with a promise of destruction – a promise of victory. Kitty shrugged, she would never waste a perfect afternoon defaming the face of her dueling partner, no matter how much it would please her to see the pin bewitched to show her face with ridiculous gimmicks. 

When her hand gripped Kitty’s wrist, her eyes widened with shock. It was not often she had been handled in such a savage way, and it seemed this was the affect of Evadne’s subtle outrage. Kitty had struck one of the possibly few strings that ticked the Carrow girl – a string that she had lazily plucked like a cat playing with a ball of yarn on a Sunday under the bold sun. She tried to pull her hand free but the devil’s grip was much more stronger, like claws of her own digging into the soft skin of a sultan’s daughter. The blasphemy of this action, Kitty was sure to repay the favor. “Let go of me you savage!” She hissed, as she was tugged into the shadows, out of earshot from the group of boys helplessly following the coattails of the Slytherin girl. 

Another smile tugged at her lips, she couldn’t help it. It seemed the Knights were an exclusive club, one that not many knew and the fact that Kitty Shafiq did, was spectacular. “Oh Eva,” she purred, the grip of her wrist hadn’t hurt as much if she stayed calm. “Does it hurt you that I know?” 

Poison dipped words fell from the lips of the Carrow, her eyes narrowing in on Kitty as if she was a rattlesnake ready to attack. Kitty reached out with her other hand, fingers gripping onto the very wrist that held onto her own and she pried herself free. “Well if you must know who of your brave group cannot keep their mouth shut–” she paused, but the rubbing of her wrist had not. Perhaps the stir of paranoia would be an interesting show to watch. If Kitty did not tell Evadne it was none other than Cygnus Black, would the entire gang self destruct? Afterall, lies and deceit were the easiest ways to implode, a lack of trust was the crack, and with only a blow it would shatter – if weak enough. 

“You do realize your actions only prove for this to be true,” Kitty surmised, eyes glaring back into Evadne’s, she was not afraid to face the devil’s bitch herself, and as her arms crossed over her chest, she sighed. Low and dramatic. Her ponytail sweeping as she cocked her head slightly. “Don’t worry, Carrow, a Shafiq always keeps their secrets.” But the cheshire grin that plastered her face was enough to cause suspicion in her words. Had it been true?

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

..... ➳♥ oh honey...

SEND ‘➳♥’ AND I’LL GENERATE A NUMBER 1-34 FOR WHERE MY MUSE WILL KISS YOURS

5: LIPS

The purgatory of the locker rooms seemed all the more ethereally untouchable tonight, for the cool air had trapped the ever-present steam of the showers within the stones with no hope of escape. It was difficult to breathe here, amidst the thick smog of scalding water and bodily heat; it muddled the mind, mingled with adrenaline and the spirit of competition to create a strange sort of opium through which they all floated like ghosts. The heat of competition burned red amidst the smoke, and inside it faces blurred and grudges melted away as easily as sweat-soaked clothes peeled from skin. 

Peeled from skin, pulled from tensed muscle and cast aside; Antonin stripped to his bare nothing as soon as the strange opium touched his face. He’d been so cold, just moments before - sweat frozen upon his muscles in the cold air of night, robes flung open with the heat and adrenaline of victory; the sound of swooning from the stands as he’d made a victory lap with chest bared to the icy air had been enough to fill his lungs with ichor. And now here he stood, emerald and raven-winged blue milling about him with indiscriminate fervor, volk’s eyes upon the moving bodies, searching for a rather specific one. A one bright spot - though such brightness born from flame and vitriol was of a different breed, though it shone with the same intensity all the same - admist the burn of steam and thrum of manic energy; victory and defeat caged within the stone walls of the locker rooms made her hard to find. But not for long - she never seemed to stay hidden for more than a fleeting blink of a moment, as was her nature. 

He spotted her through a plume of steam, raven hair pressed wet to her brow and dripping the length of proudly arched back. Heat swelled between his ribs, the dark companion upon his shoulder giving a great cackle before falling to the side, propped against tilted neck to watch the wolf prowl. The wolf and the great, prideful cat, with claws aplenty, and lovely venom enough to poison an entire pack - let alone a lone wolf. Lovely, then, if only in the dim light of the misty prison in which they found themselves - lovely, because hatred, it would seem, was entirely too lovely to resist. He could smell the revelry upon her, and her teammates, from across the room, though he himself drowned in a sea of emerald. Indiscriminate hands reached, touched, pulled, but his attention was suddenly quite firm upon his rival, who plagued him so, but so suddenly seemed all that was necessary to reach. 

But it was all in good fun, all in the name of the game. The wolf did so love to play. 

He started forward with eyes like blazing flames and teeth bared like viper’s fangs; a stalwart boat through the sea of emerald and navy blue about him, gaze upon quick-moving lips, expressive tongue, pulse just below sloped jaw. Prey, and the best sort. Antonin could nearly taste her; he’d be like to devour, if exposed for too terribly long. Fingers at his sides clenched, unclenched, tongue running hungrily upon his lips; he could hear her voice now, that voice which plagued him so, but seemed at once to be the one thing driving him forward. Perhaps to devour, perhaps to taste adrenaline upon another’s lips - would hatred taste of honey on her lips as it tasted of acid on his?

Antonin gave her little time to react as he appeared before her, shouldering his way past the Keeper to which she was speaking with great abandon. Strong hands rose to grab hold of her face, cheeks between palms - with horrible, gleeful grin, he pulled her face upward as his fell forth, lips finding hers with ferocity and command. As a hand fell to knot in the damp hair at the nape of her neck, he pressed forth, shoulders hunched and teeth nipping at plump bottom lip. Were she not so insufferable, Antonin figured, she might have been quite pleasurable to kiss. And perhaps she was - in all the aggressive, fevered pitch, in the small yelp that escaped her as his teeth found her lip, he found a certain breed of heat building between his ribs that he’d not felt many a time before. Were passion and hatred so very different? Could the acute annoyance he felt at her presence give way to such passionate displays as this, no matter how momentary? 

All at once, he pulled his lips from hers, leaving the both of them matched in plumped lips and flushed cheeks - hands dropped to his sides, and smirk returned. With the heel of his palm, he wiped at swollen bottom lip, giving dear Kitty a curt nod, and then a cynical bow. 

“Shafiq,” he purred, “Until the next match, yes?” And then he turned, gave his half-bare shoulders a roll, and disappeared into the steam. 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

camillabbott:

DATE : 10 september 1944 LOCATION : the corridors TIME : 9:00 am STATUS : open

Normalcy, how quickly it found them, sweeping away their long-dried tears and dusting fear, remembrance of carnage from their shoulders where it had become burden. Abandoning terror as one did so drop a cloak from one’s back — with ease, they adopted excitement instead, preoccupied themselves with those insignificant things which had once been marvel to them. First and foremost, in its season, this was Quidditch. Competition nurtured their ignorance, allowed them worriment over simple things: clever pin designs and banners, strategy and freshly marketed broomsticks as opposed to propaganda spilt from their bedside radios.

Fittingly, an Abbott occupied herself just the same, fastening Gryffindor pins to her chest and tying Hufflepuff gold at her neck, allowing talk of the upcoming match to occupy her time — of the inevitable Gryffindor victory, naturally. Of course she’d never wave a green and silvered banner, wouldn’t mar her robes with a serpent’s sigil; not for so little as some people trusted in her alliances, for all the torment which had been had from the Slytherin house. 

As such, it could surely not have been an Avery or Mulciber pinned at her chest, but radiant Yaxley — holding fast to her robes as he waved broomstick confidently through the air, a grin sat lop-sided at his lips. The Gryffindor emblem flashed as well when sight of its team captain faded, infamous lion roaring at the crest’s center before the images looped once again.

“Nifty, huh? Thought I’d show my support for the upcoming match and all,” she remarked when she caught someone taking notice of her pin, pulling at the badge so as to better display it, as though it were mark of honor. Perhaps, in her case, it was.

Khalilah set her quill down the moment the person that occupied the space next to her decided to speak. Had she not seen Kitty deep in her studies? It was rare for someone to interupt the Ravenclaw prefect when she was sitting on a window’s ledge, quill and parchment pressed against her knees - homework in process. There were times where she had enjoyed the rustle of noise throughout the corridor as she studied, much better than the library, even the sun beaming down on her was enough to make her perch on the ledge. 

“It’s ugly.” Her words drawn out, leaning forward chest pressed against her knees to inspect the pin closer. The pin wasn’t bad, but with the proud smitten face of Leonard Laxley flashed before the Gryffindor emblem was enough to make Kitty want to puke. She had never rooted for the lions when it came to quidditch, had they always taken the Quidditch cup in years past was enough to initiate a one-sided rivalry, complementary to Kitty’s preferences of course. “I’ve seen better.” 

Kitty recalled the other day, Evadne Carrow flashing her own badges. The image of Cygnus not left her mind since she seen his devilish smirk on the enamel. Though she never would admit that the Slytherin girl had much better wandwork when it came to the production of these pins, symbols of support. And where exactly were the pins with Kitty’s face on them? She noted to inform Olive on the matter the moment class was over. 

“Tell me again, Abbott,” Kitty picked up her quill once more, offering nothing but a single glance up from her potions homework to the Hufflepuff girl. “Why are you rooting for the Gryffindors when the snakes are clearly winning?”

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

kharmalibhatia:

She easily noted the hints of bitterness lining the other girl’s features. Having something others wanted was a sensation Kharmali had never quite experienced before. She had earned the position of Prefect and gained a certain distaste from her peers and thus found no shock in the mixed reception she had received upon being chosen for Head Girl, but she had been incredibly surprised that the jealousy of others had accompanied the position.

Kharmali never believed herself to warrant envy- she was far from popular, had few, if any friends, and when it came to matters of wealth, the nicest thing she owned was a new chessboard (a purchase she had only been able to make after years of saving up). Yet for the first time in her life, she had something others wanted.

“That’s good to hear,” she responded, cordially, “I rather did enjoy my sixth year classes- especially charms and potions.”

Though Kitty’s next words were congratulatory and Kharmali could detect no hints of sarcasm in Kitty’s tone, she doubted the genuine nature of her compliment and in turn, she was unsure how to respond, deciding on a simple ‘thanks’ as the best response.

The “thank you” fell from her lips in a single breath before she added a quick, “I’m sure you will be in great consideration for the position next year. It’s truly been very rewarding and eye-opening, thus far.”

She genuinely wondered who would take the positions of head boy and girl in the following year, though by then such matters would no longer be important to her. By then she would be taking the path of a healer- perhaps not a glamorous job like the one Kitty sought- but stable and reliable one (with good benefits, Kharmali might add).

Kitty knew she would be the best suitable candidate for the title next school year, it was all the professors talked about when they praised her for being such a star student. She had become a prefect merely for her school efforts, praised for her top marks in all her classes and the rising quidditch star. She was the golden girl, bronzed skin, flecks of gold lining her hazel eyes. Summers bathing in the sun’s kisses, no doubt she was the star the school had shaped her to be.

Her robes might have been navy, a Ravenclaw sigil ironed onto the front, but the envy she wore was always a deep green, much similar to the green that adorns the Slytherins. And envy had always a way of shining in her eyes, as as her sharp nails clicked silently against the strap of her bag, Kitty could feel the envy growing bigger, like a beast waiting to be unleashed. “Charms and Potions are rather easy classes, Kharmali, I always pass with flying colors.” 

“Now tell me,” Kitty started, stepping close to the older Hufflepuff, her gaze wandering to the ochre that lined her robe, the Head Girl pinned safely to her lapel. “What classes are you taking at NEWT level?” Now her gaze shifted upwards, her long brunette hair lazily settled over her shoulder, it was no doubt many whispered of her beauty. But had Kharmali ever embraced it or much rather hid among the stacks of books she demanded need reading. 

“I am sure to be Head Girl next year,” Kitty purred, almost a sigh in her voice as if there was no competition for the title. “It’s all the buzz now. The news of you is old, and now they whisper of me. ‘Oh Kitty, you are for sure going to be Head Girl next year!’” She mocked, a laugh following suit. Her hands rested on her hips now, white teeth exposed during her laugh, but now the smile, forever fake, creeped back. 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

marsavery:

DATE: September 7th, 1944. TIME: 15:00. LOCALE: Grounds (near the destroyed lake). OPEN TO: Any/All.

     There was little to give him any sort of pleasure, but on this day in particular, Mars was willing to try. The sun was out and the clouds were near-gone, the day reminding him of summer but his mind more able to bear the heat of the sun. Dueling Club had not yet started up again for the new term, but he was feeling restless, that ever present itch beneath his skin desperate to be unleashed.

     ( sometimes it felt like the magic worked him, not the other way around. sometimes he wondered what it would have been like to be powerless, to be nothing more than bones and skin and his own damn intuition ) 

     His robe was stuffed haphazardly into his bag in a haste to avoid the sweat that came from wearing black school robes outside into the sun. Mars rolled his shoulders, hopping on his toes for a moment before carefully rolling up the crisp white sleeves of his shirt until they reached his elbows. The routine of it was familiar enough that it brought a rare smile to his face – something he hadn’t thought he’d see again for a long while yet, especially not while alone.

     Mars gathered his wand in hand with the ease and familiarity of greeting a very old friend. Magic was where he found a home – dueling, being good at something, it kept him going. People never expected quiet, solemn Avery to pack as much of a punch as he did, but he used that to his advantage. Tom Riddle wouldn’t have chosen him if he didn’t see his worth, his value. Despite his unwillingness to shed blood without provocation, he was a powerful enough duelist that it was worthwhile to keep him on your side.

     He took a stance, bereft of a partner and instead aiming at a tree, hurling a quick succession of three hexes toward the center of the trunk. They hit with quiet perfection, sizzling and burning against the wood before the magic faded it into an ashy black. He heard the sound of someone coming near and fired off a jinx this time, not turning to look at them as he addressed them nonetheless. It didn’t matter to him who they were of if he knew them – Mars was merely eager for a chance to test his dueling arm once more, and far too impatient to wait on the club to organize itself. ❝ Dueling is only useful with someone to practice against, ❞ he said, his tone even and almost flat in its very apathy. It contradicted the invitation in his words. ❝ If you’re up for it. ❞

They say your wand is an extension of your hand, Kitty thought of this the moment she pulled her wand from her robe’s interior, raising it to view the detailed carvings. She remembered the ceremony in which her wand was presented, the wand choose the witch so it was no doubt the most beautifulest caught her attention. Kitty had always an affection for beautiful things, it was the gravitational pull of wealth, like a bee to the sweet nectar of flowers. 

Khalilah exited the castle with her wand in hand, she did have intentions of visiting the greenhouses before Herbology started for the semester, it was her absolute goal to find the perfect spot to begin planting the necessary items for her potions class. Oh how everything came full circle. As the sun beamed down onto her black cloak, the heat began to remind her of home, and this had been nothing compared to that. Khalilah was quite accustomed to warmer weather, which is where the true issue of Scotland came from. She hated the weather, it was almost always as gloomy as it was in Britain, the clouds had always strung together, creating a divide between them and the sun. She missed the weather in Oman. 

Once her feet touched soiled grounds, she glanced to the Black Lake, it had only been recently bombs fell from the sky, an attack on the school, but perhaps just mere coincidence. A terrible coincidence. The water that once was so still created waves that night, the land that surrounded the lake had been damp, large puddles formed. The lake was now in its normal state, calm, like black ice. But near the perimeter of the lake had been a wizard, abandoned cloak and wand outstretched as magic began to whizz towards nearby trees. 

Kitty glanced at the wand inside her hand, then back at the wizard as she continued her walk, but something inside her began to tug, maybe it was the wanting of dueling, she did hear that she would be paired with Evadne Carrow. It had been a whole summer of no dueling, a whole summer of not flexing her quick reflexes that aided in her nickname. Khalilah walked closer, a smile on her lips that had not offered any kindness, but most knew that by now. It was not in her nature, and as the prefect pin on her cloak suggested, she was not nice. Once Kitty was close enough, she called out. “Dueling is much like dancing, Mars, a partner is almost always needed.” 

She pulled onto her ponytail, strands of brown hair slipping off her lithe fingers. She wondered if dueling against Mars Avery was a wise choice, she wondered if the itch under his skin was much similar to her’s or if it had ran deeper, colder. Why hadn’t he been alone? Khalilah witnessed him closer to Adrian Nott more often that the rest of the Knights, but where was he now? Khalilah slipped the robe off her shoulders, and with a simple spell the robe folded into a neat pile and slid into her school bag. “Face me, Avery.” 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

reginaserpentes:

And here comes Kitty Shafiq, head held high and dark-rimmed eyes flashing. Evadne immediately feels a tight little spring coiling in the pit of her stomach. Really, the two weren’t so different – until they were. Beyond their beauty and their love for dramatic entrances, Evadne and Khalilah could very rarely be lumped in one basket, let alone compared in terms of anything but vapid impression; and of this Evadne is proud. There was ambition, and there was ambition. It was a dirty word to some; but everyone who truly scorned it was inevitably doomed to fail. Much like Kitty, who is always clipping about in her delicate heels, yet pitifully empty of true prowess. Would she have the propensity for ruthless sabotage? Would she ever be able to step down from her false heights and use a shoe as a murder weapon? Resoundingly, no. Not like a Carrow would. 

So they stand here, two pureblood girls with two false smiles. A Slytherin wouldn’t be caught dead making nice with a member of the Resistance: but then again, Kitty wasn’t really a member of it, was she? Like a stray butterfly, she had seen the others gathered about the crown of a bloom, and eagerly gone to lap up the nectar too. Shame. Venus flytraps were always so ugly. “Kitty,” Evadne coos in response, sharp mouth curving upwards, though it only serves to make her look more sinister. She almost hopes that Cygnus will appear any moment and come sweep her away to class, if only to see the look of outrage on poor Shafiq’s face. The other girl may have been an eagle, but envy was always tinged green. “Painful? And here I was, thinking you always wanted to be on the winning side. You don’t want people to associate you with the losers, do you?”

“Anyways,” she continues with a toss of her head. Right on time, the pin on her own robes flashes Grand-stand champions!!! in a striking shade of silver. An illustrated snake hisses, slithering casually about the circular frame, before giving way to a one-by-one list of the roster. Lestrange. Mulciber. Nott. Dolohov. Carrow. “I think that you’ll like the ones we have this year.” Opening her palm, Evadne smugly holds her hand out to reveal its contents. A pin, completely dark. But after a brief moment, it morphs into a familiar and beloved sight. Cygnus Black, dressed for quidditch, looking handsomely out into the world. He winks conspiratorially as the image lingers for a prolonged moment; before #7 replaces his portrait, followed by the Slytherin crest of arms.

“The cat’s meow, aren’t they?” She’s smirking. To reiterate, right about now would be a perfect moment for the boy himself to appear in all his casual glory. Ah well. Some things were strictly for the girls to handle. “I have one of me, too. If you wanted that one instead.” 

Kitty had not cared much for allegiance, her role in the Resistance had not been parallel to how the Knights lapped at the feet of Tom Riddle. She was not friends with Declan or any of the others when they go to meetings, with her arms crossed, she insisted her ideas were always better than the leader’s. ‘When he leaves I’ll become the leader.’ Her eyes shining under the moonlight, dazzling with greed because she wanted full control. Declan was not her friend and it was only fair of her to steal the thing he loved most. Graduate lion boy, I’ll take control. It was what she did best. Head Girl, leader of the Resistance, Quidditch Captain. The titles she would have, pinned to her cloak for all to see. 

“Do you expect me to cheer for the lions when we know Prewett and Chambers are no match for any of the other chasers?” Kitty tilted her head slightly, arms crossed over her chest, mockingly. The sunlight caught the pin, glaring like jewels embedded in rock. Cygnus Black. His cocky smile, hooded eyes dazzled with glory, a wink was all it took to have the crowd swooning. She could hear the announcer now, “Cygnus Black, #7, scores a goal and the crowd erupts!!” How pretentious he would be, walking up to Kitty sometime after a glorious win, boasting about the plays he made. 

The irony if he were to walk up now, two pureblood women draped on his arms, a perfect vision in a perfect world in a perfect dream. But Khalilah did not like him nor did she play with his heartstrings the way Evadne had, and it was not a lie when she would tell the prince of darkness how much she hated him. 

“I would ruin my robes if I were to pin your face to them, Eva.” Kitty sighed, batting her eyelashes. “I must say, your craftsmanship is much better than any performance by far. A shame if they were to be hexed to defame your precious name, and the rest.” As she spoke, Kittu reached out, a sharp nail tapping the pin inside of Evadne’s open palm, pressing the back into her skin while her eyes glared into her’s. “I’m surprised you haven’t made any of Riddle for you to wear, the Knights of Walpurgis, isn’t it? Don’t let your enthusiasm stop with just quidditch babydoll.” Kitty winked, the gold eyeliner catching the light. 

There had been a time she considered joining the Knights, a late night talk with Cyngus Black as he told her all about it. The whisper of an infamous group, prestigious club for only the strong-minded, ambitious. Kitty was just that, wasn’t she? It wasn’t until she found out the selected few, pureblood members of the society she grew up in, were only strung together under the name of Tom Riddle because of their blood-prejudice views. It was a title she would bare her teeth and claws for, a title that begged for her to obtain, but her father taught her to never exclude the other’s, muggleborns and half-bloods were just as strong as the purebloods. 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

ariadnegreengrass:

     She should have anticipated her rejection of the idea to be ignored, and when the lights went out, Ariadne stood there staring up at the stars, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Kitty could be seen lingering at the door, eager and hungry, while Ariadne took her sweet time grabbing her cup with a light clink and taking slow steps to where the other stood. 

        A shiver wracked Ariadne, who pulled her thin rope closer around her body, nuzzling into the depths of the luxurious fabric and peeking out over the golden hem. The sun earlier that day had been so warm, yet now she was greeted with something much similar to the weather of winter. A warm cuppa was sounding better and better, so much so that even Ariadne hastened her steps as they waited for the moving staircase to align. 

        “We spent it in China,” Ariadne replied quietly, voice hardly above a whisper. In the end, it hadn’t been the best decision, seeing as Japanese troops chose that summer to invade. Fortunately, away from the muggle drama, the Greengrass family had managed to get by without getting touched much by the stress of the fighting, located far from Changsha. 

     It wouldn’t seem likely that Khalilah knew much of what the muggle world in China had faired during the months prior, so Ariadne spent no time wasting with words on the matter. Instead, as she always did when direct questions were asked of her, Ariadne changed the subject elegantly. “How was the palace?”

How was the palace? 

Kitty could only dream of returning to summer at the Oasis, though she did enjoy traveling to the other homes her family owned across the world, she loved her home more than all. The Oasis was paradise, white stone accented with gold, the water was cool and the sun kissed the sultan’s daughter as if she was a goddess being praised. “Oh Ariadne,” Kitty glanced over, eyes meeting the other’s. “You know more than anyone how beautiful life is at my palace in Oman.” 

They had shared playdates, their fathers in allegiance, and in return when the Greengrass would visit, Khalilah had a friend, someone other than maids to boss around with her toys. Of course Kitty had been selfish, there never was a moment when she had not been, it was always about her. But now Ariadne was thrown into the pit, a little girl not much taller than Kitty at the time, and the Shafiq always stomped her feet, flecks of gold eyeliner catching the light as her hands rested on her hips, two cub tigers at her feet. “Do you miss our playdates?” She inquired, as her left hand ran through her brown locks and wrapped around her finger as she reached the bottom, it was rare for her hair to be down. 

“Well my summer was all the buzz,” Her eyes almost shined, golden flecks even in her hazel iris’ like honey milked from the sun. “The sun was hot, the waters were cool, we traveled and visited plays, theatres of grand opulence.” Kitty purred, boasting about the rich life she led was so easy, it fell from her lips like a sigh would from the ones that loitered to the streets, dirty beggars. “And you must know, my birthday extravaganza was the most talked about event in the pureblood circle. Don’t you agree?”

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

olcves:

One leg pressed against the other, folding together as she lifted one over the other, adjusting her posture to pay more attention. A beacon of light radiated from Kitty, a warm glow that she’d come to associate with the fellow Ravenclaw, decadence dripping from her friend, a honey which Olive longed to swim within the pools of. Each word that left Kitty’s mouth was taken as gospel within the girl’s mind, a desperation to latch herself onto the glamour that she hoped would swathe her, needing the light to shine upon her, as it did her friend. 

Noticing the way a napkin was pressed to a small pin-prick wound, her brow creased marginally, although no words of concern left her mouth. On her list of things she cared for, it was herself that always came first, but her friend had also been etched there. Olive didn’t mind the orders, since she’d often pass the menial tasks onto younger student, too scared of her to draw any form of argument. 

“Some would disagree, I’m sure. But you’re right, it is really dull around here. You’d think a bomb would incite further chaos, or at least a few students doing unnecessarily rebellious things - but they cling to doorways and hide behind tables, as though that will keep them safe.” Primary classes when she was in single digits, were flooded with practice after practice, everyone in fear that one day the roof of stone would fall upon them when an attack hit - she knew the drill.

“I never need much convincing to turn the attention to me,” Olive proclaimed, a smile glistening on her features as she twirled a long sable lock round the perimeter of her index finger. With a deliberate glance down at the fabric she wore, and the fine robes which she’d been gifted, Olive gave a nod of agreement. “Do you have anything particular in mind?”

The Great Hall had been full of autumnal air, the enchanted sky above merely mimicking the true beauty that was outside, waiting for them to run out onto the grounds, hand-holding as if the first day of the school year had not been a disaster. Anger fumed inside of Kitty when she witnessed the aftermath to be nothing but rejoice and happiness. Where had been the chaos? Everything as much as the Giant Squid that slammed into the dungeons has died down to nothing of even a feeble whisper. 

“Pathetic.” Kitty purred out, eyes glancing around at the other students that sat around the Great Hall long after food had been served, they could not even request more with rationing in full swing. There had been whispers of it last year when the final days approached, but Khalilah never expected to be caught in the crosshairs. It was unjust to limit the means to any pureblood heiress, and here she would say, let me eat cake. 

“This castle roams with pathetic minds, cattle together in worry and fear. Where are the outbreaks, the chaos? You would expect a bang to leave more of a shockwave, instead we are left with nothing but silence.” She scoffed, her hazel eyes rolling on instinct. 

She sighed, lips parting only slightly to reveal her white teeth then her lips pressed together, a frown mimicked. Olive had always been her loyal subject, a minion to do her biding and it was easily obtained. She was the muggleborn witch who wished to be in the pureblood society, and Kitty was the window of opportunity. A looking glass into the life of the opulent, where jewels and money have no real value, not when the princess is after so much more. The Shafiq pockets ran deeper than the oil reserves her father inherited, and none of it was precious to her, so she would hand out trinkets of bribery, and Olive so desperately reached for them. If she was ready to cause chaos, what would Kitty do if only to add kindle to the flame. “I do love scheming with you, but I’m sure there is something up your sleeves ready to be exposed.” 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

reginaserpentes:

DATE: 11 September 1944

LOCATION: Courtyards

STATUS: Open 

She’s been on the team for four years now; but it never fades, the buzz of anticipation that precedes the first match of the year. Red ties and verdant cloaks, broomsticks engraved in gold and new leather gloves, all those jealous, cutting stares and not-so-empty threats – see you on the pitch, bitch. But then again, the Gryffindors, with their nobility and soft leadership, couldn’t carry through with their talk if they tried. Lions with big maws but tight muzzles, large paws but no claws. Roar all you want. This year’s Slytherin roster was a crowd favourite – and they were playing for keeps. Victory is an intoxicating thing, and if her father was out chasing it with black cloaks and whipping winds, then she would too. 

Potions is about to start, but the courtyards are still packed, little groups congregating about one another, already donning their colours and support. She has her own legion of admirers, and they proudly wear the brand of the snake as they flutter about her, all Chaser again, Eva? and I heard Gryffindor doesn’t have a Seeker yet, the fools. But her gaze is fixated upon an approaching figure as they ascend the steps towards the stone parapet where she’s perched. She hops off the ledge, and with one hand closed in a fist near her side, blocks their path. “Hey baby,” she says in greeting. Whether it’s mocking or genuine remains indecisive. Then, her own flashing boldly in the morning sunlight – “Do you want a pin?”

Khalilah felt the excitement of the first quidditch match bubble inside her, joy brimming to the top and a true smile wavered on her features, a fine staple as she walked through crowded halls. There had been many whispers and bets made against who would win, the showdown that would set the course for the rest of the season, and this showed if the Slytherins were truly the team to beat. Of course they could hiss all they want, Kitty would tell Olive, they would be no match for the wits and plays the convocation of eagles would rain down on the pitch. 

It was not known that she despised the Gryffindor team, made up of mainly the Aviators and a select few of others that seemed too unimportant. She would be rooting for the Slytherins come the day of the match, Cygnus Black always made her - a secret shared between the two. She would cheer for the snakes that coiled around freshly waxed brooms, devilish grins and a fight that ruffled the likes of others - they would play dirty, Kitty assumed as they have in the past. Their ambitions flew as high as Icarus, but it was no question that Kitty’s was soaring just as much, ambitions to feed the nations, and greed that left a taste in her mouth for only wanting more. 

Kitty entered the courtyard, heels clicking against the stone steps as her chin kept alleviated, as she walked she held an air of wealth, a pureblood heiress would let it be known. But with the body of someone else blocks her path, Khalilah pauses her stride, and it takes merely a split second for her to see the smile of Evadne Carrow. Had it been fake or genuine? Well in the face of Khalilah Shafiq there was no doubt it held an aura of deceit, the answer was in her eyes. And the smile that Kitty once had, vanished on sighting the girl opposite her. 

“Evadne,” Kitty coos, offering a smile as forced, something she learned from the many pureblood society events, her mother always whispering to play nice, but did Kitty always play nice? “How painful it would be to outwardly show my support, don’t you think?” 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

druella-rosier:

DATE: September 6th // 1994. TIME: 1700 hours. LOCATION: Grounds (near Quidditch pitch). OPEN TO: @khalilahshafiq 

              Druella had never fancied herself particularly fond of Quidditch. It was exciting, to put on her vibrant Slytherin scarf and steal snacks from the hands of friends while they screamed with anger or delight, depending on the circumstance. It was also a treat to see the shiny trophy presented to her friends and fellow housemates at the end if they won, but beyond that, it was a sport with far too much rough handling for Druella’s constitution. She’d never tried out for the team, and often found herself daydreaming through most matches.

              But she had a friend who wanted to perhaps try out for Ravenclaw’s team, and Druella was the only one they knew with a free night when Kitty was practicing, so thus, a plan was born. Druella would do her very best to note the general style of play – admitting fully to her limited ability to judge it – and her friend would then try to make sense of the notes. Personally, she thought that seemed a bit of a disaster, but she was bored and there’s nothing better for a reputation than doing someone a favor.

              She tried not to give off an air of consideration when it came to that sort of thing, but it was always on her mind. Particularly after the start of term, and the bombs she’d seen in London – pretty, pretty, pretty, but an empty head. She knew pretty kept her safe, but it wouldn’t keep her alive. Corvus would. Cygnus was meant to. But at the end of the day, what if they were gone? Declan swooping in had been a shock to her senses, and at first she’d been relieved. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered: was the kindness of strangers inevitable? How much help could she buy with the soft shadow of her eyelashes as they brushed against her high cheekbones? 

              Even if she got nothing from the exercise, she would have the time to think. Maybe to even practice a spell or two. She wasn’t a witch for nothing, but she couldn’t truly tell herself she’d mastered any spells that would protect her if she happened to be alone. The blind terror of losing Corvus to the crowd weighed heavy on her heart, and as she tried to watch Kitty Shafiq fly drills high in the air, she was far more concerned with her own vain mortality.

              The sky darkened to a twilight blue without her notice, and she had only just begun packing her things when a figure approached in the distance. Not knowing who it was from such a ways away, Druella smiled and gave half a wave, shoving her haphazard notes into her bag and tucking away her quill. When she had a chance to look up again, she was more than confused – she knew Kitty Shafiq was unlikely to bother with her on most days. Why was she walking directly toward her? And with some semblance of a smile, as ill-fit as it was directed at Druella, on her regal features?

Quidditch season was just around the corner, players from each house littered the field at odd hours to practice before the first big game. The Gryffindors against the Slytherins. Khalilah always hated they were the first two to always preform, the first to under the spotlight on opening day, basked in glory and cheers rattling their ears, filled to the brim with admiration. The next game would persumably be the Hufflepuffs against the Ravenclaws, and it was one thing to play nice with the house of fairness, but Kitty loved to win so the claws always came out. 

Being chaser caused for mayhem, Hogwarts owned a hospital wing for a reason. Before each match, Kitty would sharpen her claws and tighten her safety guards. Winning was the only option and losing was never something Kitty wanted for this school year. Her first year as captain, it would be unjust to not win the quidditch cup at the end of the year along with the house cup. Khalilah Shafiq was a winner, the eternal glory itched at her golden skin, and her greed for more only clawed deeper, she had it all but she wanted so much more. 

Kitty gripped onto her broom as she dipped to the floor after a quick session of practicing with her quidditch members, but from the corner of her eye she caught the glimpse of silvery blonde locks, the princess rose of the slytherin chambers. As her feet touched the floor, Kitty could feel the smile on her lips grow wider, it had been her goal of the year to grow closer to Druella Rosier. Her brother was her competition and to get into the mind of the feeble, Kitty would be able to manipulate. Twist and turn, single claw clicking on skin, tell me more about Corvus, she would purr. Oh the fun she would have with the rose stripped of thorns, ready to be plucked from the garden behind tall hedges.

After she changed back into her robes, Kitty quickly ran to find Druella, hoping she was still alone, still vulnerable. Kitty closed the gap between the two of them, a cheshire grin still on her lips. “Druella,” Khalilah purred. “Why are you out here this late, you don’t play quidditch do you?” 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

kharmalibhatia:

DATE : September 5th 1944 LOCATION : Hallway TIME : whatever time? morningish? STATUS : Closed to @khalilahshafiq

“Freedom lies in being bold.”

Kharmali blinked in front of the mirror as she brushed her ever-growing hair. She tutted at the splitting strands - she was due for a trim. Over the years, her fellow Hufflepuffs always cooed over her hair in slight envy - Kharmali had noticed that short hair was much more common in Britain but they claimed her long hair gave her a more ‘exotic’ beauty. Kharmali had scoffed at their words and wondered what they would think should she chop it off completely (her mother would surely have a heart attack).

It was her seventh year and still at times Kharmali felt like a foreigner. Save for the few others like her, most of the Hogwarts students were England natives. Her longings for home were always interrupted by the memories of rioting and protests.

She wondered if the others ever felt the same way. She was rather positive that homesickness was inescapable even for the likes of students who called England their home.

So as she walked the halls a noticed a familiar face- a Ravenclaw prefect- rather than walking by as she typically would, she stopped and smiled.

“Good morning, Khalilah,” she offered, the soft smile still pulling at her lips, “I hope the first few classes of the year have been treating you well.”

Khalilah stared out the glass panes in the library, the weather looking bright but the threads of clouds obscured the sunlight. A sigh fell gracefully from her lips as she shut her books and shoved them into her school bag. She missed the everlasting sun in Oman, the rays kissing her skin as she lay near the pool that stretched far, waterlilies scattered across the glass surface. 

Kitty walked out the library, school bag swinging from her shoulder in rhythmic motion with her ponytail. Her eyes glared as she walked through the corridors, set on returning to the Ravenclaw tower to get ready for her class later today. It was her first potions class, and she was just in the library preparing for what was to come. Slughorn always praised the best, lathered them in kisses of admiration. Kitty enjoyed the spotlight but it was not until recent that Tom Riddle had shined and became his pupil, the star of the Slug Club. 

As she weaved through the main hall, crowded than ever, not wanting to have bodies pressed against her, hot breath and sticky fingers from sugar quills. Once Kitty turned the corner, shoes clicking against the stone and echoing off the knights’ armor allowed her a moment to breathe and signal to her that she was alone - or so she thought. 

It was Kharmali’s voice that carried over the noise, poised with a smile. Her voice soft and kind, a Hufflepuff commodity. Good morning, Khalilah. The Head Girl, Kitty’s desired position for her last year of Hogwarts, if only she could take the title in her sixth year. “Hello Bhatia.” Kitty stopped metres ahead of the older Hufflepuff, a smile much less kind on her lips. “Classes have been - decent.” 

It was an understatement, perhaps. The two classes of yesterday had been as dull as the days that followed the disasters of opening night. “Congratulations on being Head Girl, what an accomplishment.” Her hazel eyes were fierce, dazzling with a hint of jealousy, a taste of greed. 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

🍹

khalilah + camilla

Maybe, if she had contented herself with fanciful things — crystal tumblers, silk ribbons; perhaps in the instance that her character had a more shallow foundation ( more so than already existent ), Kitty would’ve been a fast friend. Yes, if greatness, aspiration for it, still held her by her neck, gripping tightly at the root of her hair as her heart, Kitty would’ve been a fast friend, indeed. Though, that was just it, wasn’t it? Camilla didn’t, she wasn’t consumed by want for glory as a Shafiq. Rather, those desires had been washed from her, as though at her sorting, that night which had stripped her of so much indeed, a priest had dipped her in baptismal fount and rid her of its sin, its burden. 

And it was in Kitty’s possession thereof that Camilla pitied her, even feared her a little.

Daughter of Ahmed, she reminded a soft-hearted Hufflepuff so much of what had been of her once, what might have still been if she had not been subject to an abrupt act of fate, but never will as people so often confused it. She did not regret her alliances, of course, nor her adoption of sympathy, her undertaking of courage and goodness, but it had never been precipitated consciously. Khalilah, though, never bothered herself with such things; a sultan’s daughter is of a level separate from people like Camilla, she does not need for kindness as an Abbott does, or so Camilla is meant to understand at their first meeting.

“Abbott, hm?” 

From any other tongue, it might have been a question, but from a girl such as Kitty, it is a challenge, at best, and an unimpressed observation at worst. In fact, if she had a favorable opinion of anyone at all, though it seemed unlikely, when lost — it was certainly lost forever. Although, Camilla supposed, thinking of those slit eyes and the leisure, the disinterest of a young Shafiq’s speech, she had never even been threatened by the Ravenclaw’s favor. 

“If you’re no good for those snakes, you’re definitely not good enough for me.”

She recalls once being told that words should not have hurt her, that they never could, but Camilla felt their cut as she did a knife. Kitty may have been shallow, and her words may have been so empty behind their sharpness that they should not have mattered, but Camilla had always possessed a delicacy in heart that made her victim to comments such as those. No, she’d thought, if I am no good for them, I am certainly no good at all. 

How strange, that even the simplest of remarks might bring about a storm. That was the butterfly effect, wasn’t it? Tell a girl that her worth is not much, and she will believe it. Especially when it is a message hailed from a silver tongue such as Kitty’s.

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

ariadnegreengrass:

        Perhaps it was foolish for Ariadne to continue to see herself as superior to the Shafiq witch. Perhaps it was hubris, or cruelty, or just the years of attempted torment that Kitty had put her through, but Ariadne never quiet treated the fellow Ravenclaw as a prefect. She cared not what punishment would be given, either, though it had yet to really happen. Maybe she was just lucky. 

     Clearly, her luck had run out now. Though it wasn’t in the form of punishment. Not the traditional kind, at least, as Ariadne felt her lips press together in an unhappy smile. This was a punishment all of its own, the punishment of the faux-friendship that the two tried to manage. Glassy words and silken smiles hiding bared teeth and sharpened claws for Khalilah, and a roll of eyes and an upturned nose for Ariadne. No, despite what everyone thought, the Greengrass witch was not perfect, and those imperfections seemed to emerge the most around Khalilah. 

    At the first noise of the horrid nickname, Aria, the night was deemed as a disaster in her mind. Giving a forlorn look to her book, Ariadne stood, doing her best to keep her expression clear of anything other than a stoic look of dreaded acceptance. “As much as I crave it, I think we should not break the rules, especially in the shoes you fill,” She stated, but her words were slow, navigating the situation carefully. 

    Who would really fall to blame if they were caught? Ariadne, the older of the two? Of Kitty, the prefect, the one meant to enforce the rules, not enable them to be broken. Or would the other turn on her in a pinch, claiming she was trying to stop Ariadne from raiding the tea supply? Any outcome seemed unsatisfactory, and the Greengrass sighed. Tea, once again, had evaded her. 

There was no way she would deny, Ariadne of course did love her tea and Kitty did feel her stomach slightly turn, wishing for something more than what she had from dinner that was hours prior. The rationing was foolish, something she did complain about to the likes of Headmaster Dippet. “I am royalty!” She fussed, eyebrows furrowing together as arms dramatically crossed over her chest. A classic fit. It proved unfruitful because Dippet only reassured her that someone of her strength would be able to endure anything, “Now go my child. Classes start soon.” 

Kitty pulled her wand from underneath the laps of cloth of her cloak. The simple flick of her wrist towards the fireplace that was then put out. The flames vanished and the pair were casted in darkness. The only light was from above, the bewitched ceiling above illuminated the silver stars above, casting a soft glow on the features of her friend, Ariadne. “Hush now let’s go.”

Khalilah walked to the wooden door and pushed it open, the warmth that once was in the room seemingly vanished as the stark breeze from inside the spiral staircase seeped in, her fingertips feeling the pressures of ice. She casted a glance over her shoulder, waiting for Ariadne to get off her arse and walk over to her, tea cup in hand perhaps. That was the reason they were going, after all. 

“How was your summer,” Kitty purred, questioning the older Ravenclaw as she descended the steps, imagining herself to be back in her Oasis, her palace she called home. White silk draped over her body, bronzed legs poking out with each step. “Tell me all about it Ariadne.”  

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

Fight Me ;)

FIGHT ME: KITTY FIGHTING WITH CYGNUS 

“You insufferable arse.” Kitty spat, eyes narrowing on Cygnus. He had just mocked her latest losing. A bet made a fortnight prior to the Quidditch match that took place this afternoon: Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. “I am not kissing you,” She said hesitantly, a groan of disgust escaping her lips. 

Khalilah rolled her eyes, her nails tapping against the wooden table in the Great Hall in a series of rhythmic taps. Had Cygnus really came to the Ravenclaw table to gloat with a smirk and a suggestion? Her eyes lingered on his, it was her competitive nature that had forced her to betting, and betting with the prince Black of all was the worse mistake she had made, Kitty knew this now. And unfortunately there was a price to be made, the kiss of death. 

“A bet is a bet after all.” His voice cooed, the smug expression only pushed her over the edge. His hooded eyelids darkened the area around his brown eyes, a look on the devil could pull off. His strong jaw matching the striking boldness his eyebrows allowed. Cygnus Black was a sight, Kitty had never outwardly agreed to the statement, her pride too strong to find anyone attractive beside herself. Khalilah only agreed to his terms in the library because she expected to win, it was all the talk around the quidditch circle. The Gryffindors had it in the bag, but why did they suck as bad as the Slytherins did when faced against Kitty’s team? Something she pondered over her latest treacle tart before she found Cygnus Black striding over to her table with his arms crossed over his chest and his head slightly cocked. A gloater. 

No doubt she would have done the same if the tables have been turned. Kitty would have pranced towards the Slytherin table, unfazed by the death glares that seemingly always protruded from some of the snakes, Evadne Carrow included. It was only in her nature that she would have sat next to Cygnus, draped her arms over his shoulders, and laughed. “I win.” Head upturned to face the bewitched ceiling, white teeth blinding. 

“I am not kissing you,” She warned, hissing through gritted teeth, her jaw looking stronger than ever when her teeth clenched. She turned away, hair sweeping over her shoulder as her eyesight focused on something more pleasant. It was not until she felt the spot next to her become vacant that she knew this would not be the last time she heard of this bet. From the corner of her eye she watched him join the other snakes, an amount of hate bubbling in her heart in the very spot where Cygnus claimed, a dagger pressed against his moving photograph in her memory. 

[khalilahshafiq-blog]

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