This is a rewrite of Frozen Hearts and Burning Love. It is most definitely not needed to read this.
"My name is Hazel Potter."
The brown-haired boy looked at her for a moment before he spoke.
"Tom Riddle."
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
That seemed to be the only thing that Hazel could think as she strolled slowly through the Forbidden Forest.
They say hindsight is 20/20, but what is it called when you do something in the moment, and in that exact moment, you know it's a horrible idea?
She had known that sneaking out of Gryffindor tower to go explore the Forest was a bad idea. She had known that fact from the second it hatched in her brain. But, in her defense, she wasn't thinking clearly.
She hadn't been thinking clearly since she and Tom had gotten into a fight the week prior.
She didn't even remember what it was about. She only remembered that it had happened, and he now refused to look at her, talk to her, or even be in the same room as her.
Winter break sucked.
"What are you doing here, Hazel?"
Hazel smiled, pleased that he finally used her given name. "I'm spending winter break at Hogwarts. I figured since there are so few students staying at school, it doesn't matter where I sit to eat," she explained as she began to fill her plate.
"What?"
She looked at him. "I'm eating breakfast with you, Tom. It's hard to do that if you're not eating too."
He flushed slightly, and filled his plate. It wasn't as full as hers was—not that hers was full (she didn't eat a whole lot in the morning, due to not being too fond of sweet things)—but it was more than he had eaten at the beginning of the year, which pleased her.
"What I meant," he started after he had had a few bites, "was what are you doing at Hogwarts? I thought you would have gone back home to your family. I thought you missed them."
"I do miss them, but I'd rather spend the break with you. I was able to convince them to let me stay for Christmas as long as I went home for Easter."
"Why would you do that?"
She looked at him, genuinely confused. "No one should spend Christmas alone, Tom." He looked genuinely confused. "You're my friend. You're the only Slytherin staying over break. We're spending Christmas together, and that's that."
His lips tugged into a small smile. "Okay."
She wrapped her cloak tighter around her body, breathed deeply, and held it.
The cool winter air scorched her throat, and set her lungs on fire, but it felt good. Any pain was better than the pain that currently thudded in her heart with a sound in her ears that sounded almost like a death-sentencing gong.
She held her breath until she got lightheaded, and then she slowly let it out. She watched the steam that formed in front of her, as the heated breath met with the below-freezing air that held her in a tight embrace.
She heard the snow crunch behind her, and turned to look, but saw nothing.
16-year old Hazel pressed her hands against her mouth as she tried desperately to not giggle. It was difficult to do with the other Slytherins laughing at their antics, however.
She hid behind the emerald green curtains in the Slytherin Common Room, and leaned against the cool glass that overlooked the depths of the Black Lake. There were charms on the window to make the dark, murky waters clear, and the view was awe inspiring.
The curtain in front of her was flung back, and Tom wrapped his arms around her waist before he pulled her out from her hiding spot, and spun her around. She laughed and shrieked, and held onto him until he stopped spinning, while their classmates cheered, whooped, and whistled.
"May I have this dance?"
"There's no music, dork."
Pressure built in the air, and the gramophone started to play soothing jazz. He lifted a brow. "May I have this dance?"
"You'll have to put me down."
He hummed, before he started swaying side to side. "I think this is working well enough."
She laughed, and hit his shoulder, and squirmed in his arms until he settled her with a soft kiss to her forehead. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and the two swayed to the soft French Horn, singing a mournful song, as they ignored the other students in the common room—some of which got up to dance alongside them.
The two danced together until long after curfew.
She stared at the trees, the path, and the bushes, searching for something . . . perhaps someone, but was assured after three minutes of staring, she was alone.
A violent shiver wracked her body. She turned and continued to walk further into the forest. Perhaps Buckbeak would be willing to have some company for a while. Maybe he'd be willing to share some of his body heat with her as well.
This was a really bad idea.
A twig snapped behind her, and she turned with her wand in her hand, but saw nothing once more. Her heart started to pound rapidly in her chest, while she broke out into a light sweat. "Who's there?" she demanded in a hoarse, shaky voice.
No answer.
She scanned the area behind her, looking for something—anything—that would indicate that she wasn't alone, and again found nothing.
She bit her lip, and despite everything in her being telling her to go back to the castle, she refused. She couldn't go back to the place where her best friend was. Where the stupid boy who currently avoided her like she was the bubonic plague was.
"Best friends for ever and ever, right?" Hazel asked as they sat in front of the enchanted windows in the Slytherin Common Room.
The newly 12-year-old Tom Riddle smiled at her. "For ever and ever."
"Until we die?" she demanded as she scooted closer to him.
He draped an arm around her shoulders. "Until the end of eternity."
"Eternity is forever, dork."
"Exactly."
Thinking about Tom just brought the heartache back, and a tear that burned like fire, and ate at her skin like corrosive death streaked down her cheek.
She swiped her hand across her face, internally berated herself, and continued on in her foolish—endless—quest.
As she walked, she didn't pay attention to what was in front of her, or around her. She focused on what was behind her. It took a while, maybe five minutes, but then she heard it.
Heavier footsteps.
The rustling of long robes.
The occasional cracking of sticks.
Breathing that wasn't her own.
Fear sent her heart into overdrive, and she could no longer hear anything. She couldn't see anything, except for the distant end of the trail. Fear filled every one of her sense, and how it burned to have it devour her alive.
She tried to turn her head, tried to look without tipping whoever—whatever—it was off that she was aware of their—its—near-invisible presence.
All she saw was a tall, dark-cloaked figure.
That was all she needed to see before she ran as fast, and as hard as she could.
"Hazel! Slow down!"
12-year-old Hazel Potter cackled manically, and only sped up. "You'll have to catch me, Tom."
She leaned closer to the handle of her broom to make herself as aerodynamic as possible, and giggled softly when she heard her best friend curse not so quietly.
It was winter break, and she had once more managed to convince her parents to let her spend it with Tom.
She glanced over her shoulder, and saw that he was significantly behind her, and decided to play around a little. She pulled up on her handle, and she immediately shot into the air, and continued to pull on it, until she was upside down. Once she was vertical again, she pushed down, and soon she was back at where she started, her heart thundering from the adrenaline.
She saw a black blob out of the corner of her eyes before she was tackled, and she, her broom, Tom, and his broom fell to the snow-covered ground four feet below them. "How could you be so stupid?" he hissed as he began to check her over. "You could have gotten seriously hurt."
She sat up, pushed Tom's hands away from her, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It got you to speed up, didn't it?"
He groaned and pulled her closer. "You're going to be the death of me one day, Hazel James Potter."
"As long as you're with me."
"Forever."
She jumped over roots, ducked under branches, and dodged around trees in the winding path. Her cloak got stuck on something, and instead of pausing—they were right behind her—she undid the clasp at her neck, and continued to run, only clad in a pair of her mother's old muggle sweatpants—that had to be altered to fit her long legs (she took after her father in the height department, as her mother was 5'4, and she was 5'10, two inches shorter than her father)—one of Tom's muggle t-shirts, and a pair of old sneakers.
Branches tore at her skin and clothes. She got caught on one when she ducked under a branch, and tugged at the fabric until it tore, and she was free. A sob tore out of her throat.
She missed Tom.
Was the tearing of her shirt and indication of what was to become of their relationship?
". . . I don't want to talk about this again . . ."
"Hazel! Stop!" Apparently, she missed him so much, that she was hallucinating his voice. "Hazel! Please, stop!"
She slowed, glanced over her shoulder, and saw that Tom was indeed the one chasing her. But, looking over her shoulder, while still running—no matter the fact that she had slowed down—was quite possibly and even worse decision than going outside in the middle of the night, to a very dangerous forbidden place.
She tripped over something large, and landed hard on the snow-covered ground with the air knocked painfully out of her lungs. The only warning that she had that she hadn't tripped over a log, was a long, loud hiss, before large fangs tore harshly into her stomach.
Her body immediately started to convulse, and her stomach started to burn. Hissing filled her ears, and the snake released her, before warm arms wrapped around her.
"Are you talking to the snake?" Hazel asked as she knelt down next to Tom.
They were in their third year, and she had just returned from spending Easter with her parents, as per their agreement to her spending Christmas with Tom. One day, she would convince Headmaster Dumbledore to allow Tom to come spend Christmas with her family.
"Yes," he said softly. The snake hissed, and he hissed back.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your smell."
Heat flushed Hazel's face. "My what?" she demanded in a hoarse voice.
Did he—
"The snake, she likes the way you smell. She says it's very sweet." He leaned over and sniffed her neck, and she fell back onto her butt as the heat spread down her neck. "I have to agree with her. You smell very sweet."
"I don't like sweet things."
"Not sugary-sweet," he amended, "more like fresh-fruit-sweet."
She leaned over and sniffed him, and ignored the way her face throbbed with heat. "You smell like lightning, fire, and mint. I like it."
He smiled at her. "I like the way you smell, too." As if to solidify his statement, he pulled her close and sniffed her once more. "Very much."
"You foolish girl," Tom admonished as he pulled her into his lap.
"I know," she gasped as she continued to twitch.
"I'm going to petrify you. It'll slow the poison down, and it will give me time to get you to Madam Pomfrey."
She nodded her head, and she lost complete feeling in her body, but she also stopped moving. "What was that?" she demanded in a hoarse voice when he somehow removed the spell from just around her head.
He stood and started to quickly walk back to the castle. "A Frozen Snake. They're highly poisonous, thrive in the winter, and hibernates in the warm months. They're also extremely territorial."
"You saw it," she said softly.
"I did. Why didn't you listen to me?" he demanded. It was only because she knew him so well that she heard the concern and hurt in his voice.
"I thought I was imagining you," she said softly. She groaned as her stomach began to burn through the spell, and she couldn't help the tears that fell when it spread down to her pelvis. "You've been ignoring me."
"After our fight . . . I thought you'd want me to stay away."
"I don't even remember what it was about anymore. All I remember is that we fought, and suddenly we're not speaking anymore." The burn spread to just below her breasts. "It burns, Tom."
He paused for a moment and looked at her, and she tried to ignore the fear in his eyes. "How bad?" He continued to walk, only it was faster than before.
"Pretty bad. My torso is on fire."
"That's the poison. It's . . . I'm not surprised you feel like you're on fire. The last place it will get to will be your heart."
So, it would be a painful death.
"Please, Tom. It hurts."
He began to run, and while he tried to keep from jostling her too much, she still moved—despite his efforts—which meant the poison spread. By the time they made it to the castle, the fire had reached her toes, and she was starting to feel the burn in her arms.
By the time they made it to the hospital wing, she was a burning husk with a soul begging for sweet freedom.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Tom shouted as they entered.
"What's going on? What happened?"
"She was . . . Forbidden Forest . . . bitten . . . Hazel . . . awake . . . eyes . . . please."
The world went dark.
A fourth-year Hazel Potter sat in one of the abandoned Common Areas that were sprinkled around the castle. They had all eventually been forgotten about as house prejudices began to take over, and had eventually been converted into classrooms.
The once-Common Area that she was in had old, dusty desks shoved against one wall, and old, rickety chairs shoved against the other. The only reason that she knew that it had once been a Common Area at some point in time, was the large fireplace that was lit, and spit flames as she continually shot little balls of fire into it.
She was alone, as she waited for Tom, and she relished in the quiet. Not that she wouldn't get any quiet when Tom was there. She was just rarely alone.
While she loved Ron, Hermione, her siblings—James, Lili, Rose, and Charlus—and her Housemates, she could only handle so much activity at any given time. It almost felt like the older she got, the more she began to dislike noise, and rapid activity.
Even thinking about it made her heart speed up and her hands sweat.
She almost wondered if she should have allowed the hat to put her into Slytherin—well . . . she spent enough time there that she practically was a Slytherin.
Honestly, now that she was older, she thought that it would have been an amazing idea, just so she could have seen her parents—the epitome of brash Gryffindor—reactions to their eldest daughter getting Sorted into the House of the Snakes.
Really, now that she thought about it, she was kind of shocked that her mother hadn't been put there with Uncle Severus. She had more cunning and spite in her pinky finger than Uncle Severus, the Head of Slytherin, had in his entire body.
The door opened behind her, and she turned her head and grinned at Tom. "Hey! What are you doing here so soon? I thought you had class?"
He was silent as he stepped into the room, dropped his bag onto the floor next to hers, and sat on the floor behind her, and pulled her to his chest. He breathed in deeply, and relaxed. "We were released early due to a student getting injured." He rested his head against hers, and began to play with her fingers.
She nearly groaned and rolled her eyes as she hummed softly. "Did you have something to do with that unfortunate injury?"
He smirked against her hair, and squeezed her fingers. "Perhaps."
"Tom!" she wailed.
"What?" he laughed, "I missed you, and that oaf Hagrid is a failure of a teacher."
She pinched his thigh, and he hissed. She had no doubt in her mind that he just swore. "Hagrid is my friend, Tom. Don't insult him in front of me, because if you do, I'm not to be held accountable for my actions."
He laughed and held her closer. "What are you going to do?"
"Hex you."
He hummed. "Do you even know any hexes to hex me with? Other than the Bat-Boogey Hex?"
"I know the Twitchy-Ears Hex," she commented instantly.
He laughed once more. "Fine, fine. I won't insult your friends in front of you."
"Thank you."
He was silent for a moment. "He's still a bad teacher."
"I never said he wasn't. We still do not speak such truths where walls have ears."
"You're a pest."
"I'm your pest."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
"She needs . . . moved . . . Mungo's."
"Why?"
"I can't . . . poison . . . save . . . only . . ."
"Save my daughter, please."
"Hazel?"
She flinched slightly at the sudden noise in the silence of the Common Area. "Hm?" She was on the verge of sleep, held tightly in Tom's arms. They were fifth years, and both hid in the Common Area to either study for their OWLs, or get away from studying.
That day happened to be a no study day.
"You know I'd do absolutely anything for you, right?"
She nodded sleepily against him. "I know. I'd do anything for you as well."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she fell into a land of dreams.
"Please, Hazel. Wake up . . . need you. Come . . . to me . . . love."
The music grated in her ears.
The laughing couples who bumped into her made her heart pound, and her hands sweat.
The smells of luscious food ate at her stomach, and made her want to puke up what little she had been able to eat.
Why had she agreed to attend the Slug Club Halloween party again? She couldn't remember as her vision started to sway.
"May I have this dance."
Right. That's why.
Everything snapped back into focus as she turned and smiled softly at Tom. She saw the concern in his eyes, and knew she had been much closer to another 'episode' than she had thought.
"Hmm . . . I think I'm free to dance with you."
He laughed, and pulled her into his arms, and to an abandoned part of the dance floor. He held her close, and dipped his head towards her, and whispered softly in her ear, "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I just—I'm sorry."
He pulled back and stared into her eyes. "Don't you dare apologize for that. It's my fault for allowing myself to get pulled away by Professor Slughorn."
She breathed deeply, and nodded stiffly. "I see mother's dance lessons are paying off," she commented in a faux-calm tone.
His eyes narrowed, but allowed the topic change. "I should hope so. She spent two hours, every day randomly manhandling me into dancing with her this last summer."
They had finally gotten custody of Tom, and he was the Potter's ward—which, she was extremely happy about.
Hazel laughed, the sound choked, as her heart continued to rapidly pound in her chest. "It's what dad did for me and my sisters, and what mom did for my brothers."
"Oh good," he deadpanned, "it's always nice to know I'm nothing special." His eyes scanned her face, and he adjusted his grip on her right hand, and pressed his thumb against her wrist.
She bit her lip, and tried to smile, but there were so many people, and talking and—
She couldn't breathe.
Suddenly, it was silent. It was dark. It was warm, even though frigid air danced across the exposed skin of her shoulders.
Tom hummed softly, as he rocked her trembling form side to side. She felt his magic in the air around them, and while she wasn't entirely sure where they were, she knew that they would stay alone. He continued to lightly sing, and sway, until long after the tremors stopped.
Until the iron clad grip that she had on his robes loosened.
Until her breathing evened out.
Until her arms wrapped around his waist, and pulled him close.
Until she started to sway with him.
"Better?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "Yeah. Thank you."
"Of course," he answered softly.
"You're special, Tom," she said equally as soft, "if not to anyone else, your precious to me."
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and for that moment, everything in the world was right. It didn't matter that it was long past curfew, or that her face was streaked with makeup, and his expensive robes ruined with her tears. All that mattered was that they were together, and that they were safe.
"You're mine, Hazel. I'm not letting you go."
"Hazel. I know you're not the fondest of me right now, even if you can't remember why. Merlin, I hope you remember why. Just know that I love you, I always have, and I always will. If you wake up, I'll keep you safe, and I'll do everything in my power to make you happy again. Just . . . come back to me, Hazel."
Tom's fear-filled voice broke, and she fell back into the suffocating darkness.
The heavy door to the Common Area slammed open, and the Head Boy, Tom Riddle, marched into the room with an admittedly adorable pout on his handsome face.
Hazel looked up from her Ancient Runes essay, and frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Weasley was all over you today."
She scoffed. "Which one? I swear, they get more and more touchy-feely the older we get."
"Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"Yes. I spent an hour in the shower scrubbing myself bloody to erase their touch." Over the years, her anxiety had increased to the point that large groups of people were bad, and touching was an absolute no-no. It felt like she was being eaten alive if anyone other than her family, Hermione, or Tom touched her. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're mine. I'm the only one allowed to touch you."
She frowned. "Alright, that's not really fair, Tom. You know that you're one of the few people who can touch me, and that I like being able to touch the people who can touch me."
He crouched next to her, and tightly grabbed her face in his hand. "You are mine, Hazel James Potter. Do you understand? I don't share what belongs to me," he snarled viciously.
She tore her face out of his grip and stood. "I'm not an object, Tom. You can't just own me."
He stood and held her neck loosely in his hands and titled her face up to meet his eyes. "I do not share, Hazel. I have made that clear from the beginning. I made it clear on the train in our first year. You are mine."
She pushed him away, even though it hurt to do so. "Am I not allowed to have friends other than you?"
"You're allowed Hermione."
She threw her hands into the air and spun in a circle as she resisted the urge to hex him. "Why? Why just Hermione?" she demanded once her frustrations had cooled somewhat.
"Because you're mine, and she understands that. There's also that delicious little perk of her being one of the few people who can touch you as well."
Hazel laughed incredulously. "Why am I yours, Tom?"
"You're mine because I said so."
"Why? I know you, Tom. You don't do things without thought or reason. Why am I yours?"
He swallowed. "Because I love you." She paused in everything—even breathing—and blinked. "I've loved you since you convinced your parents to let you stay at Hogwarts during Christmas, because I would have been here alone. Everything about you, is . . . amazing, Hazel," he said after a moment of thought. "I need you to stay with me."
"Because I'm yours," she said softly. Tears began to pool in her eyes, and she looked away from him.
"Exactly."
She shook her head. "That's not love, Tom. That's possession, and lust, and infatuation. It's not love."
"You know that it's the closest thing that I can feel for love."
She closed her eyes. "Just because your mother dosed your father with a love potion, doesn't mean that you are incapable of love. You can feel, Tom. You have one of the biggest hearts that I've ever met. But ever since we learned that you were conceived under a love potion, you've stopped yourself from feeling. You've stopped giving the snakes a home during the winter. You've stopped yourself from being with me. Until you can stop limiting yourself, until you can stop seeing me as an object, I don't want to talk about this again."
"Hazel, wait—" How it hurt to have his voice crack like that as he reached for her while she stepped back.
She flicked her wand, and her things piled neatly into her bag, and her bag landed on her shoulder. She turned towards the door, and walked towards it.
Tom grabbed her wrist, and turned her around. Before she could protest, he pressed his lips softly against hers. The kiss was slow, and desperate, and heavy with the weight of the words spoken, and drowning with the words not yet said.
Everything felt right, as his tongue slowly tangled with hers. Everything was right, as his hand smoothed down her back, and pressed her closer to him. Everything was right as he undid the tie of her hip length braid and buried his fingers in her wild mane of black curls. The person she loved, and had been in love with since she was thirteen, was kissing her.
Everything was perfect, until she remembered she was just an object to him.
She tore her lips away from his, and pushed out of his arms. He grappled for her hand, and she stepped back, and tripped over the pesky raised stone in front of the door—that had tripped her many times prior—and fell back and hit her head hard against the ground.
Everything went dark, and the last thing she saw was Tom's face, worried, and heartbroken.
Hazel's eyes flickered open.
Her head hurt, and she was so cold, she felt like she was either about to die, or had died, and had gone to Hell—she certainly deserved it after the fight with Tom. Or purgatory—also deserved for the same reason. Or something in between—once more, also deserved.
Either way, whatever—wherever—she was, she was cold, and regretting everything she had said.
Her eyes closed, and she fought to open them once more. She succeeded, and swallowed harshly, and groaned inaudibly when the heated saliva burned her frozen throat. A shiver wracked her body, and she breathed deeply as she tried to stop herself from shaking.
It didn't work.
She opened her mouth, and exhaled, and whimpered when small particles of ice filled the air.
Movement shuffled in the chair beside her. "Hazel?"
She turned her head just enough, so she'd be able to see out of the corner of her eyes. "Tom," she stuttered out. More shivers shook her thin, frozen, frame, and more ice filled the air as she spoke.
He nodded, and sat on the edge of her bed. The torn, blood-covered, t-shirt he had been wearing was held tightly in his hands. "It's me, Hazel."
"Where am I?" She was kind of fascinated with the sparkling air.
"You're in St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey didn't have the training, or the hands to be able to remove the poison from you, and keep you alive at the same time."
"Poison?"
"You were bitten by a Frozen Snake."
More frost filled the air as she exhaled once more. "Why am I so cold?"
He made an aborted move to stroke her cheek. "The poison freezes you from the inside out, and . . . it reached your heart before they were able to get it out. It's going to take a while for your body to heat back up."
She licked her lips, and flinched when her tongue brushed over small crystals of ice. "How long?"
"A few weeks. They think that you'll be able to leave at the end of the week. You won't be completely defrosted, but you'll be close enough that they won't need to monitor you anymore, and you'll just have to sleep in the hospital wing until your core temperature is normalized once more."
She licked her lips once more, and flinched when blood flooded her mouth. "How long since?" It was getting hard to hold her eyes open.
"A couple of days. You woke up a few times, but you didn't stay awake for long. James and Lily are at the manor, trying to keep Jamie, Lili, Rose, and Charlus from breaking out, or blowing the place up so they can come see you. They'll be back in the morning. You were touch and go for a while, and they decided that only your parents and I could be here. They didn't want your siblings to see you like this," he answered her unasked question.
"Time?"
"It's two in the morning."
She nodded and shivered once more. "Can you hold me, Tom?"
He immediately nodded, and laid down next to her. He shifted under the covers, and pulled her frozen body into his inferno. "Of course. I'd do anything for you, my love."
Another shiver wracked her body, and he pulled her just a bit closer. "I love you, Tom. I have since third year," she whispered.
"I love you, Hazel."
"Do you still see me as an object?"
"Thank Merlin," he muttered softly. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "No, I don't."
She snuggled closer to him, and closed her eyes.
"Good."
11-year-old Tom Riddle stumbled down the train. His trunk already stowed away, and the only thing on him was a book bag that was stuffed to near bursting with his schoolbooks, and his wand was tucked safely into the sleeve of his robes.
He had already read all of the assigned books multiple times, but he was intent on reading them several more times. He couldn't risk failing his classes and getting kicked out of this wonderful world he had just discovered barely a month prior.
He eventually found an empty compartment near the back, and claimed it for his own. He pulled a book out of his bag, and began to read. He was pulled out of his reading a few minutes after the train departed when the door to his cabin opened.
He stared into beautiful green eyes that almost seemed to glow.
"Can I join you? The rest of the train is full."
He was tongue tied.
Who was this angel?
"You may?" he managed after a few seconds of remembering how to speak. He nearly groaned when he realized he had voiced it as a question.
A smiled tugged at her lips, before she stepped into the cart, and sat across from him. "My name is Hazel Potter."
"Tom Riddle," he offered.
She smiled at him, and opened her mouth, but the words that filled the air were not her own, as a boy stood in the doorway. "So, you're a filthy little mudblood, are you? Hazel, you shouldn't sit with such filth."
Hazel rolled her eyes, and waved her hand dismissively at the boy. "Go away, Ensis. You're not wanted here. Like you said, I don't want to sit with filth."
The boy who seemed to be older than both him and Hazel raised his wand. "Why you little brat."
She lifted a brow. "I dare you. If you hex me or Tom, I'm going to write to my father." The boy paled. Who was her father that gathered such a reaction? "And, to make it interesting, I'll write to my mother as well, and we both know that she'll write to your mother, and we both know what will happen when Auntie Adara finds out." The boy left with his tail tucked between his legs. "Sorry about him."
"How do you know him?"
She seemed far too pleasant and angelic too be associated with someone like that boy.
"He's Sirius'—my godfather—sister's eldest son. They still believe in the Olde Ways."
"What are those?"
She grinned, and in that moment, he knew that she was his, and would always be his.
Until the day they died.
guyys. I love this so much.