𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖜𝖎𝖟𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘
triwizard things
act i, scene v
"you're digging for gold, you're
throwing away, a fortune in feelings
but someday you'll pay!"
𝑪𝑹𝒀𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑫, when she said things were going well at school. Somewhere between the perfection of her handwriting and the quill held in her hand, she had changed the story entirely. You know, made it prettier, more suitable. Her bid to convince her mother and father that all was well, was truly going horrifically.
Mum,
I'm doing well! Draco too. He's been babbling an awful lot about the Triwizard Tournament as of late, upset he wasn't allowed to enter or something like that, as if would've ever happened! You've really got to remind Lucius to keep an eye on that boy. He seems to be getting better and better at instigating me.
Cece has invited me to vacation in Sicily this January. May I go? It's only Italy, and missing a week of school isn't as terrible as it may sound. (I may or may not be a horrid child when I come home post exams — depending on this decision.)
Oh! And you best pick me up a new pair of Louboutins whilst you're in Paris! She swears against it, but I think Pansy is beginning to wish for some of her own. So perhaps two sets then. She stares at my collection like they're glittering diamonds. Her favourite colour is black.
Regards, Crystal.
The letter is rolled up and tied around the middle with a blood red ribbon in the blink of an eye. She sighs, plucking another paper from the pile and pressing her quill to the fresh parchment.
Hyperion,
Make sure mother buys me the limited edition Louboutins before you're set to leave Paris. I simply MUST have them! Surely they will sell out soon, and we can't have that happen before I get my hands on them. You see, I cannot trust that mother will buy them for me, which is why I write to you. You owe it to me — after the . . . erm, 'incident' this summer, especially. Shoes aside, I really do miss you xx.
Love, your baby sister (who would very much like for the louboutins) Crystal.
Given that her hand is now cramping and her stomach's longing for pop tarts, the brunette stuffs her quill into her bag and rolls the second letter up.
Things have felt a bit heavy on her chest since talking to Hermione the other day, Crystal will admit. She can't seem to quit pondering over the words she had spewed out to Hermione, the words Hermione had spewed out at her. That pungent look on her face as she said it, Mcgonagall will never like you!
But she's Crystal fucking Kovalevsky for Merlin's sake! Who even cares? Why does she? Why can't this be like the millions and trillions of other times she's yelled at people mercilessly? She supposes, well, it is like the other times. The only thing that is different is this feeling dwelling deep down inside. It doesn't make sense, because she doesn't care about Granger, if she's honest. The girl is a menace! (And although a menace, she is a menace to be reckoned with . . .) There's nothing there for Crystal to care about even if she wanted to!
Her hair may be disastrous, and her face may be a tad pimply — but Granger has got one insufferable quality that Crystal can never buy, not even with all of the Kovalevsky riches: she's kind of, admittedly, smart.
Seriously though! Crystal doesn't care. She swears! She oaths! She'd rather listen to Neville Longbottom babble about plants for twenty minutes than leave you with the impression that she gives a shit about Granger.
Besides, Crystal has big plans for this week, Huge, ginormous, freakishly eventful, heaping plans that are going to stir the pot of this dreadfully boring school so much, she can't contain her excitement. Literally. She's skipping. Skipping. Crystal hasn't skipped since she was like, five.
As she makes her way down past the great hall, her shiny black louboutins produce a click clack against the the stone tiles, signalling to all inside that Slytherin's queen is opting out of dinner this evening, and heading straight for the library instead. She'd made the effort to curl her otherwise pin straight hair today, as well as worn her custom tailored, hand stitched, robes — all silky and perfect just how she's likes them to be. For once in her incredibly frustrating life, her eyeliner looks good today as well. It's a blessing! Crystal walks down the corridor like she knows she's stunning, like she knows she has the attention of anyone and everyone she passes; and she totally does.
If Draco wasn't being such an arsehat, perhaps it would be a good day.
The library emits an eerie silence when she throws open the carven oak doors to step inside. The light is sparse, her eyes have to squint to make out the shadows of a few wandering losers in between the shelves as they read whatever it is they find interesting. (Is any book interesting?) In Crystal's perception of the world, no, not a single one. Reading is something she saves her energy to do only when a professor forces her. Any person who considers the act of sitting down and flipping through papers for hours on end, fun, is clinically insane, no question about it.
Draco likes reading, it makes sense.
Crystal's had enough with the boy. She's done trying to pretend she doesn't want to push him off the bridge pathway when he's not paying attention. She's at the point where she's tempted to rip a picture of him out of her old scrapbook and throw darts at it for the sincere pleasure.
He's not spoken to her in a while now. A few days at least. Sebastian says Draco's father has been giving him a hard time. Good, Crystal smiles. That boy needs it. Lucius Malfoy is the only person on the planet with the ability to scorn that boy and have him actually listen.
She sits herself down in the regular uncomfortable armchair as per usual, pulling her bag across her lap and rummaging through it for her transfiguration work. Mcgonogall is going to love the effort shes been putting into it lately — well she has to love it, or Crystal's going to throw a splinted sharp quill at the woman and demand justice.
The Triwizard Tournament is on, of course, meaning at least the girl has something to distract her from all of the annoyance going on in her personal life.
She's already befriended Fleur Delacour, a French girl from one of the schools that's visiting Hogwarts for this term so they can participate in the tournament. She's got the prettiest hair, and lovely style — no sign of cat hair on her créme de la créme robes (unlike Granger!). Crystal likes her accent too, and the way that pronounces Hogwarts in a slur of vowels. Fleur is the closest Beauxbâtons has to royalty, anyways, it's only fitting that Crystal be friends with her.
Viktor Krum, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. She's got to be careful about that boy. He's a celebrity, after all. The Kovalevskys have associated with the wizarding family in the past . . . for unprecedented (he who must not be named related) reasons, but Crystal has never spoken to the boy herself. She's going to though! Eventually. She's already got Fleur in the palm of her hand, it's only a matter of time before the Bulgarian slips into it as well.
Cedric Diggory is the third Triwizard participant that had been pulled out of the goblet. Crystal has mixed feelings about the boy. He's Hufflepuff, for starters — which is ew, can you hear her vomiting? Despite this, people actually like the boy, for whatever peculiar reason. The Hogwart's student body seems to be in favour of petulant losers these days, it's no surprise! Anyway, he's not really of the greatest concern to her. Crystal could care less about working her way into his good graces.
And then there's Harry. Potter, dimwit, the boy who lived, or mudblood as some prefer to call him . . . That boy is a virus! Even worse of a menace than Granger! He needs a haircut, desperately. That's one thing Crystal and Draco has always been able to agree with each other on . . .
It doesn't matter though. Potter's not going to win the triwizard tournament. He doesn't even have a fighting chance! It's ridiculous, laughable even, for anyone to assume otherwise.
But it's not about Fleur, or Cedric, or Victor, or even Potter — it's about how Crystal is going to infiltrate this 'tournament' and make it her's. Hence, why she's ditching the transfiguration homework for the night and pulling out the good old fashioned Triwizard Tournament handbook from the very back of the shelf.
She knows the voice before she sees the face. Fuck. Can she not have good things?
"Jewel! What's a girl such as yourself doing in a ratty old place like this?"
"Go away, you loathsome cockroach." She stares at her manicure.
Fred — or George? Crystal can't tell, sits down in the chair across from her. He folds his hands and leans back in the chair, casting a curious glance over the book in her hands. His eyes light up at the sight of what he thinks it might be. It can't hurt to beat around the bush now, can it?
"You're here often. Like reading?" He asks, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.
"Despise it." She mumbles, gritting her teeth as her icy blue eyes glare into Fred's — she's going to assume — hazel ones.
"Hmm." He shoots her a funny look, eyes widening. "What's with the Triwizard handbook?"
"Why've you got to be such a nosy little git?"
"I'll have you know, I am not little, Gem. I measure at six feet and —"
"Stop." Crystal says with a resounding scoff. "I don't care."
Can he, like, leave her alone now?
"Oh wow." He stares at her. "As if I wasn't already aware . . ."
"Why are you still here, Fr —"
"You weren't going to call me Fred, right?" He says. "Because that would've hurt, Jewel. I'd like to have thought we were better friends than that?" He sweeps his fingers across his forehead, brushing a stray lock of ginger out of his eyes.
Does every Gryffindor lack a hairstylist?
"So you're George?" Crystal says. She's scowling now, big time. He's so pretentious she could explode into a ball of fiery frustrating at any second now. "If that's the case," she looks him up and down snootily. "Then I haven't spoken to you once in my life."
George grins. He really does adore messing with the girl. "Okay." He says.
"Okay?" Crystal scrunches her nose, brows furrowing. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"You swear, too? You're even worse than they say you are, Kovalevsky."
"I hate you, Weasle rat," she snaps. "And you'll call me Crystal." She says as she slams the book shut and shoves it into her bag. If he's not going to leave, then she will. This is absolutely ridiculous. She's got better and more productive ways to spend her time than conversing with this babble mouth in public for all to see. The last thing she wants is for people to get off thinking that they're friends . . .
Crystal shudders at the premise. Never. Why'd she even think about that? That's disgusting. Wretched. Out of the realm of possibility.
"Have a wonderful night!" George calls after her when she makes her move to escape the armchair and head toward the door.
He's not very surprised that she'd gone and walked out like that. Crystal is known to have a taste for dramatics, Fred had mentioned she was troubling to hold a conversation with. Still, having been left with unanswered questions, George wonders what Crystal was doing with the book. What interest does someone like her have with the tournament that's already commenced?
A crooked smile crawls across his face as his eyes land on the pile of transfiguration work the girl had left behind.
He's going to get his answers.
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first time i've updated this in like months. wh00ps. hope it's not a terrible chapter.