who died

⧼   justice smith, cis male, he/him/his   /   white winter hymnal - the fleet foxes + when you inhale it hurts - when you exhale it stings. these are lungs that should not be pumping air in and out. this is a heart that should not be beating. ; the load you carry is heavy, yet you cannot put it down. you are atlas with the world upon your bowing shoulders and you cannot let yourself be fooled into letting go, no matter how close the sky is to crushing you. ; the boy who lived, they crow. the boy who died. the boy who cannot rest because the world, it seems, still needs you to wring blood and sweat and tears from. when will it end? when can you sleep?.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that HARRY JAMES POTTER? i read a daily prophet article on their life, once ; the TWENTY-FOUR year old  half blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus believed dead until recently who has gone on to be a MARTYR / SYMBOL / UNEMPLOYED. i’ve heard that they were quite STUBBORN & UNCEASINGLY LOYAL, but i don’t know… they seem very EXHAUSTED & MACABRE, don’t they? odd that they’re reappearing only now, isn’t it?     [   bee, 22, est, they/them   ]

“Have you eaten?” Harry had stepped all of five inches into the house before Molly had her hands on her hips with the question halfway out of her mouth. A fond smile that had been reserved for her family ( Harry included, always ) appeared on her lips in contrast to her stance. He looks tired. she notes. He’ll stay over, then. As if it were a given, never a question or a scoff when it came to Harry. She’d sooner meet a dementor in an alley than let anything bad happen to him. “I have food in the other room, dear. And some tea if you’re up for that, the tea was meant for Arthur but he’s tinkling with another muggle object. Something about a CD? Merlin knows where he found the cursed thing anyway.”

@herisen​​

George wasn’t quite sure when it would stop being STRANGE that HARRY POTTER was here – walking and talking and IMPOSSIBLY ALIVE. Death had always seemed like a finite end to things ( well, there were ghosts, but their existence was so other that George didn’t really know whether it counted as dead or alive ), but Harry, being HARRY, of course – had gone and proven even this to be a falsity. 

“It’s awful, this year.” They tried not to dwell on Harry’s return too often – it was met with extremely MIXED emotions – joy, of course, at someone so close to family suddenly returning after years in the grave, but it was accompanied by a note of something else they couldn’t quite place – bitterness, perhaps, that it hadn’t been FRED who’d returned, but also a frustrating hint of HOPE that maybe whatever had happened to Harry could, one day, be replicated. “We’re usually treated like celebrities, given VIP access and all that – can’t say any of it was ever very interesting, but y’had to appreciate the thought.”

harry listens, fingers curled ‘round a cup of something he’d barely touched ; merlin knows several of his friends seem to be taking advantage of the free drinks and at least someone should stay alert. JUST IN CASE, something sibilant and war-weary hisses in the back of his head. harry knows the war is over - - - knows it ended A LONG WHILE AGO for everyone else, but sometimes, some days, it’s hard to remember. it’s like waking up in a wholly different world than the one you drifted off in. but he SMILES, tight-lipped, and nods.

ᴡʜᴏ : george weasley & open ( @startertms ) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ : main atrium, ministry of magic ᴡʜᴇɴ : august 18, 2021 – seventh annual ministry gala

In all honesty, George hadn’t quite expected the annual ministry shindig to go ahead this year – what, with the ( rather rude and uncalled for ) cancellation of Harry’s holiday just a few weeks ago, he’d been quite surprised to receive his annual invitation to the event in the mail. Truthfully, while many people seemed to clamour at the opportunity to attend ‘the event of the year’, for George, it was very much a take-it-or-leave-it sort of affair, attended mostly out of obligation than authentic excitement. They’d long chafed at the rigidity of the Ministry ( and especially so with this latest regime ), and the celebration often served as a haunting reminder of all that had been lost. People tended to fawn over the survivors of battle like heroes, though, even now, seven years on – George didn’t feel much like one. 

Still, they knew it would appear odd if they didn’t make an appearance – and while they didn’t particularly love the Ministry itself, the building was exquisite, and he would never be the type to pass up an opportunity for free food and drinks. So, he had donned his nicest suit ( completing the look with smiley-face cufflinks so as to not appear boring ), and rolled up to the event with a smile on his face and one of his best friends at his side ( ‘people had better notice our colour-coordinated outfits,’ he’d said, prepared to simply grin and bear it and maybe have some incidental fun. 

“Is it just me,” He says to the nearest person in the vicinity of his table – where he has taken up residence with a pint in one hand and a cocktail in the other, “Or did these things used to be a lot more fun?” A pause, before they continue, “Weird atmosphere in here tonight. Then again, I can’t quite remember how many of these,” He holds up his drinks, “I’ve already had.”

there is APPARENTLY something different about tonight than the other ministry balls. harry has heard grumblings among his friends ; apparently they had better seats, private tours, all sorts of things. harry can’t say he’s too upset - being seated in the back means he can spot people coming and vanish into a crowd a bit easier than if he was front and center. when a familiar voice ( MISSING A PARTNER, ODD TO TURN AND JUST SEE ONE, JUST HEAR ONE LAUGH AND NO QUICK QUIP TACKED ONTO THE END OF THE SENTENCE LIKE SECOND NATURE ) harry turns to look at them with a...tentative smile.

what     kind     of     uneasy     existence     is     this          ?          harry     will     ALWAYS     occupy     a     space     that     percy     wishes     fred     would     ,     and     he     knows     it     .     there’ll     always     be     a     soft     spot     for     the     unruly     child     that     wandered     into     the     burrow     ,     another     one     of     ron’s     friends     that     percy     inevitably     finds     a     HOME     IN     HIS     HEART     for     ,     but     it     leaves     a     𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑     taste     on     the     backs     of     his     teeth     .     it’s     not     one     he     can     swallow     ,     one     that     he     can     hide     and     they     both     sit     with     it     ,     silent     in     that     knowledge     .     it     makes     him     SQUIRM     ,     just     a     little     .     the     rest     of     his     drink     burns     ,     thrown     back     with     reckless     force     /     beckons     for     𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁     ,     just     to     ease     the     itch     under     his     skin     .

“          she     was     good     like     that     ,     yeah     .     still     is     .     nearly     ripped     me     a     new     one     the     other     day     .          ”          there’s     the     ghost     of     something     MERRY     at     the     curling     corners     of     his     mouth     ,     not     yet     bitten     down     .     always     had     a     soft     spot     for     mcgonagall’s     𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬     ,     her     discipline          ;          in     younger     days     ,     it     was     something     to     be     admired     and     idolised     .     now     ,     he     just     APPRECIATES     the     fact     that     she’s     never     changed     .          “          she’s     a     good     one     .          ”          he     punctuates     his     thoughts     by     draining     what’s     left     in     his     glass     .     he     can’t     recall     exactly     how     many     he’s     had     /     does     it     matter     ?          “          𝘩𝑜𝑔𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠     ,     she’s     never     changing     .          ”          she     ,     like     the     institution     is     a     lover     he     still     craves     in     the     𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎     𝚘𝚏     𝚝𝚑𝚎     𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝     rather     than     his     own     personal     mausoleum     ,     testament     to     the     one     failure     he     can     never     forgive     .          “          the     rest     of     it     ,     though          ?          s’hardly     changed     .     not     to     me     ,     anyway     .     same     old     ,     same     old     .     six     years     ,     you’d     be     surprised     how     little     actually     shifts     ,     changes     ,     does     fuckin’          .     .     .          anything     .     tom     still     runs     the     leaky     cauldron     ,     old     gary’s     still     falling     asleep     at     last     call     .      same     shit     ,     different     eyes     ,     i     guess     .          ”

“your parents have a new rug, now.” he blurts it - a non-sequitur, seemingly, bursting from harry’s lips as he looks down at his drink rather than over at percy. “in the living room. well. i dunno how new it is, really, but i walked into the room and it was like someone had...changed something overnight, and i was the only one who noticed it.” his voice stays low and carries under the noise of the room as he downs a sip of his drink and turns his gaze to the back of the bar. “paint behind the bar at the leaky cauldron is a couple’a shades lighter than it was. same thing.” a shoulder hitches in an uneasy shrug and harry wonders if he’s making any sense now or if these words are as nonsensical as they feel coming from him. fingers leave the glass to touch the arm of his glasses. they’re new, too. a different shape. they hit the points behind his ears differently. “it’s like everything is just slightly off.”

it feels like he’s complaining and harry clams up a bit. stares at his drink. wonders what percy THINKS ; wonders what fred would FEEL were he here instead ; wonders if no one else will ever quite get this feeling of being terribly adrift, of drowning, of calling out in a room full of people who see nothing the matter at all. “it’s like everything’s changed. everyone’s got jobs now. and flats. everything everyone’s had six years t’get used to and i gotta just...get used to it all at once, i guess.” harry does not mention that percy is NOTHING like he remembers ; he doubts it would be well-received. the percy harry recalls would never have this conversation. the harry of then would never, either. the current harry, the one he is here and now, picks idly at the thread that holds the hem of his sleeve together and lets out a long and unsteady exhale. “sorry.”

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   merlin’s music hall, diagon alley   !

it only took a few hours of nonstop dancing for disaster to STRIKE, as an ambitious attempt from ginny to add a little something to their overall performance led to an almighty tearing sound, able to be heard over the upbeat you charmed the cauldron right out of me. once the horrifying realisation that the back of her dress ( flimsy as the costume fabric was ) had torn right down the back had set in, she was out of there like a shot - break card held high as she weaved through the nearest pairs, each step accompanied by a mortified fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck - 

“merlin’s briefs, this isn’t happening. -” wand already retrieved from the leg holster she’d used to avoid having to carry a bag, the real struggle came once she had made her way off of the dancefloor. it wasn’t the privacy of the bathrooms she didn’t know her way to, but she kept a tight hold on the front of her dress as she twisted this way & that, trying to get a good enough view of the damage to cast some sort of repair spell over her own shoulder, and failing miserably, “fuck me. fuck! reparo- re- reparo- come on!”

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: the three broomstricks, hogsmeade. 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: closed to @herisen.

cho walked around hogsmeade after visting her dad, wanting to steer clear of being home. a ploy that she had planned the second she heard her mother wanting to visit her. it was a way to avoid her, but also an excuse to see the one parent that she cared about. her feet grew sluggish, reluctant to get home before finding herself sitting behind the bar of the three broomsticks, already four beers in. too drowned in her own thoughts that she began to disassociate, to the point where she hadn’t realised she was sitting in a bar that was well overly populated for a thursday night. to the point where she hadn’t realised harry beside her until a shatter from the kitchen behind the bar made clamouring sounds. “ merlin, harry! ” cho yelped, hand gripping her chest as the other one abandoned the drink she was holding as it had spilled it all over her arm from her little jump scare. “ you scared the shit out of me. ”

-

“that’d be nice.” for someone who spends so much time alone & enjoying it, memorial weekend brings out an incredibly different side to her. ginny’s not sure why ( or what it means ), but the promise of fresh air and time to clear her head is made a little brighter knowing she won’t be heading down there on her own. “i could do with the fresh air.” the cooling breeze. the time to gather herself together. it’s been some time, and maybe some things had changed, but one thing that’s remained the same - miraculously, incredibly, painfully the same - is her ability to do that, in his presence. harry will always feel like safety to her, and that should hurt more on this weekend of all weekends, but if she’s being honest… walking in step with him away from the castle is the most at ease she’s ever felt at one of these things, before. “we could try make it down for a round of madam rosmerta’s pub quiz-” she starts, because it’s the farthest thing from a heavy topic as she can get, though their even pace & a moment of reflection draws a quietly hopeful, “or we could take our time,” that sounds more like an admittance of wanting than it does suggestion. 

“          trust     me     ,     you     got     the     EASY     WAY     OUT     .          ”         he     doesn’t     mean     for     the     unkind     undercurrent     to     creep     into     tones     ,     but     he     won’t     STOP     them     .     percy’s     𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓     one     to     sugarcoat     the     truth     ,     and     all     honesty     entails     that     harry     was     mourned     /     never     had     to     mourn     ,     never     had     to     attend     a     younger     brother’s     𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕     with     a     knot     so     TIGHT     in     the     throat     that     it     felt     impossible     to     breathe     around     .    guilt     doesn’t     sit     like     the     world     on     his     shoulders     ,     atlas     miserable     under     the     weight     of     it    .          “         mcgonagall     had     the     place     fixed     up     quick     .     only     took     a     couple     of     days    .     y’always     forget     just     how     much     of     a     badass     she     is     until     she’s     almost     SINGLEHANDEDLY     put     hogwarts     together    .          ”          he     shrugs     ,     drains     the     rest     of     his     drink     before     waving     another     over     .          “          six     years     .          ”          (         please     don’t     comment     on     how     hollow    ,    how     pained     the     words     come     out     .     the     hurt     is     so     much     deeper     than     his     vocables     .          )         “          𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤     𝐨𝐟     𝐚𝐧     𝐞𝐲𝐞     ,    really     .          ”

it STINGS. harry knows ; he KNOWS there are people who died, other people, people he CARED ABOUT. he sees it in the eyes of half the people who know the truth and two-thirds of the ones who don’t. MOST OF THEM WISH SOMEONE ELSE HAD COME BACK. or not - that’s too harsh and he knows it - they don’t wish harry hadn’t, maybe, but they wish someone else had too. or that harry coming back hadn’t even been an option and it had just happened to be someone else. STILL ; it hurts to hear it so directly in percy’s voice. harry gives a taut nod and watches the bartender head over, gestures for one of whatever percy’s drinking, and resolutely doesn’t look over.

“i remembered every time she reamed ron and i out,” it’s an attempt at light-heartedness that sinks in the pit of his throat even as he says it, something too tight and unsure there. fingers fiddle ; he hasn’t known what to do with his HANDS since coming back, always uncomfortable with where they are. he swallows down EASY WAY OUT and LUCKY ONE and BOY WHO LIVED and doesn’t let himself think about the way he no longer knows how to LIVE. at least he is living. how selfish to not be THANKFUL. he doesn’t say how he didn’t know TIME - there. how every second felt like a year and every year a second, waiting, waiting, not wanting to board that train alone but not wanting to GO BACK. hands fiddle with the leg of his glasses and the uncomfortable press of them behind his ears ( something he cannot remember feeling before ) is a stark reminder. his glass is taken with silent thanks and he downs half the thing in a go without a single idea WHAT TO SAY to percy.

tucked     neatly     between     familiar     frames     ,     there’s     COMFORT     in     the     way     the     𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛     of     her     head     connects     with     ron’s     shoulder     and     her     arm     brushes     against     harry’s     as     he     settles     .          “          you     skipped     the     books          ?          ”          there’s     𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚡     -     𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎     in     rising     tone     but     the     grin     carved     HIGH     says     much     to     the     contrary     .          “          merlin     ,     harry     ,     borrow     my     copies     .          ”          it’s     like     the     pair     of     them     exist     to     rile     her     up     ,     and     she’s     half     a     mind     to     snatch     𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍     out     of     ron’s     hand     .          “          fishing     guy          ??          don’t     disrespect     finnick     odair     like     that          !          ”          (          @herisen​          !          )

“god, time does slip fast,” gabrielle sighed. a blink of an eye and they were here, seven years past the war. and still its effects lingered, leaving them all stuck in a limbo where both staying and moving on seemed impossible. she rolled her eyes at harry, raising her eyebrows at his faded shirt. “that shirt is probably older than i am,” she said, always finding opportunity to pick at the other’s age, despite them being just a few years apart.

“hmm,” gabrielle pretended to be deep in thought. “deal! now let’s go, your new wardrobe is waiting for you,”

he splutters, looking down at the shirt. “how old do you think i am? fifty?” a fair enough question ; he’s been GONE for what felt, to him, like both one day and one thousand years. harry shakes his head with a laugh and holds an arm out in a vague go ahead gesture. “lead the way, then. i bet you’ve already got a dozen shops in mind.” the only one he can think of off the top of his head is madame malkins, which - if he were to admit it - sort of proves gabrielle’s point.

“          s’all     good     ,     it’s     just     you     .          ”          and     here’s     the     thing     :     harry     was     (     and     ,     really     ,     still     is     )     nothing     more     than     a     PAINFUL     AFTERTHOUGHT     in     the     patchwork     𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆     of     the     things     percy     aches     about     .     each     memorial     rolls     around     &     he     wants     to     tear     his     tongue     out     ,     a     BLEEDING     MESS     of     fredfredfred     .     the     years     pass     in     the     blink     of     an     eye     and     the     memory     has     never     faded     ,     every     bit     as     vivid     /     every     bit     as     𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎     to     bring     him     to     his     KNEES     .     as     harry     slides     into     the     barstool     beside     him     ,     percy     is     reminded     only     of     the     brother     he     lost     that     didn’t     get     the     chance     to     come     back     .     it’s     hard     not     to     feel     a     little     resentful     .          “          s’pose     this     is     all     too     WEIRD     to     you     ,     huh     ?     your     first     𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥     𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝     .          ”

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗          :          the     three     broomsticks     .     relatively     late     at     night     . 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜          :          open     . 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍          :          @startertms​     .

spine     slumped     in     uniquely     artless     fashion     ,     percy     makes     quite     the     𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗     :     curls     in     DISARRAY     ,     bleary     -     eyed     .     too     -     small     sweater     has     a     hole     near     the     hem     that     he     hasn’t     looked     twice     at     (     ONCE     UPON     A     TIME     ,     its     mere     existence     would’ve     sent     him     into     a     tailspin     )     .     the     day     wears     𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲     ,     evident     in     the     tilt     of     his     shoulders     when     they     steady     to     down     another     shot     &     to     wave     the     bartender     over     for     another     .     an     appearance     at     his     elbow     SHAKES     him     to     the     core     ,     of     course     .          “          fucking     hell     ,          ”          curse     slips     out     all     too     easily     ,     eyes     widening     as     he     adjusts     to     the     idea     of     𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛     ,          “          a     little     warning     next     time     .     can’t     just     be     SNEAKING     up     on     people     these     days     ,     y’know     ?          ”

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   hogwarts castle   !

it didn’t feel like memorial weekend, and ginny had been through enough of them to have certain expectations. it wasn’t a case of it feeling any better than usual - the combined grief was still as suffocating as it ever was, and no quidditch game or guest quarter novelty could make THAT any easier to navigate. she had signed some brooms for the deflated and victorious teams, tittered with her weekend roommates over some innane gossip they were unpacking more thoughtfully than their bags and recited her part of the remembrance speech over and over, in her mind, until she had it perfect. she had even made the trek down to the stone memorial all on her own, just to see fred’s name before the sun had set & evening feast began. she had done all the things she was meant to, and the normality of these awful, typical things should have done something, but she just couldn’t shake the unnamed feeling that had settled in her bones and promised to stay. 

there was nothing for it, really. once the friday feast concluded, ginny was one of the first to rise & head upstairs, not to sleep, but to grab her heavy coat. she didn’t shrug it on until she was heading down the carved stone steps of the entrance hall, past the students and the weekend guests who were heading the other direction. the large doors were open wide to the freedom of the expansive lawns & cool night air and ginny, for all her desperation to just get out of the castle, gave enough pause before them to draw a companion. “i was thinking of getting a drink at the three broomsticks,” her confidence wanes. it didn’t matter how long it had been since she graduated - she would always feel a student within these walls. she almost puts word to the foolish ponder of whether she’s allowed, and instead manages, with renewed hope, “would you like to come?” 

@herisen​

“i know you were dead for two years and everything.” gabrielle started, eyes looking harry up and down. “but that doesn’t give you an excuse to dress like that,” she said, picking at harry’s shirt. retail therapy was her number one go-to whenever she was feeling, well basically anything, and it was her mission to force everyone to consider it too.

“we are going shopping. if it’s a terrible experience and you hate me after i promise i’ll buy you some drinks.”

‘i think it was more like six,” harry honestly is still a little fuzzy on the details. if anything, the fact gabrielle is a fully formed adult person is a testament to the fact it was more than two, at least. he looks down at his shirt, which harry is fairly certain was his pre-death, and it shows. there’s some slogan printed across it that is faded beyond reading in some places. “what’s wrong with my shirt?” faux confusion plays across his face but it’s smeared by amusement. he knows what’s wrong with his shirt.

           𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊   𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘   𝖍𝖎𝖘   𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙   𝖙𝖔   smother   down   the   awe   thatʻs   welling   up   in   his   chest   ,   unbidden   .   itʻs   not   every   day   that   you   start   conversations   with   someone   who   was   presumed   DEAD   for   years   (   and   what   a   revelation   his   return   was   /   the   phoenix   rising   from   the   flame   once   more   )   .   how   do   you   talk   to   a   dead   men   walking   ?   the   answer   is   apparently   to   pretend   like   theyʻre   in   school   once   more   .   ❝   well   ,   you   know   me   .   i   just   canʻt   help   wanting   to   be   in   the   spotlight   ,   ❞   he   parries   .   his   mouth   quirks   up   into   a   smirk   ,   dripping   with   the   carefully   practiced   arrogance   that   he   wore   so   nicely   ,   as   he   tilts   his   head   at   potter   .   ❝   then   again   ,   you   would   know   all   about   that   ,   wouldnʻt   you   ?   ❞

           ❝   oh   ,   i   couldnʻt   miss   the   event   of   the   season   .   this   was   the   prophesied   death   ,   wasnʻt   it   ?   ❞   the   smirk   grows   into   an   outright   grin   at   the   memory   .   not   that   he   took   any   particular   joy   in   the   other   boyʻs   death   .   it   all   felt   a   little   surreal   with   the   man   standing   in   front   of   him   now   .   ❝   there   were   tears   through   the   whole   thing   .   really   plucked   on   the   heartstrings   ,   ❞   blaise   said   ,   matter-of-fact   .   the   stray   thought   of   ❛   shame   it   all   turned   out   to   be   a   waste   in   the   end   ❜   went   unspoken   .   his   eyes   rove   over   the   other   man   ,   eyebrow   arching   as   potter   takes   his   sip   .   ❝   donʻt   skip   out   on   your   heartfelt   speech   on   my   account   .   besides   -   ❞   he   reaches   out   to   wrap   his   fingers   around   harryʻs   ,   pulling   the   full   cup   of   firewhiskey   to   his   mouth   .   he   takes   a   sip   from   harryʻs   own   hand   before   letting   go   and   sparing   him   a   smile   .   ❝   i   think   i   can   manage   .   ❞

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: closed to @herisen. 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: shrieking shack hill, hogsmeade.

grief made cho uncomfortable. she experienced death a little too often for someone her age and she wasn’t sure why, but all she could think of in this right moment was cedric. it was almost amusing, that after all these years, after the war, and the deaths that came with it — cho would have found a way to move on. but funerals always made cho uncomfortable. so unbearably uncomfortable. which is why she opted for sitting alone in the fire pit, finding more company in the free alcohol this bonfire was providing than most. hazel hues remained focused on the fire pit before her as she swirled the sherry in her cup. her focus was interrupted by a shadow that she thought looked like it was withdrawing, so she turned. “ oh, harry. ” cho greeted, a little timidly at that before straightening herself up and gesturing a hand towards the empty space beside her. cho couldn’t help but feel a little guilty whenever she was in close proximity to harry, thinking she could’ve done a better job at keeping in contact with him. surely, he could use a friend these days. at least cho knew she could. “ how are you holding up tonight? can i get you something to drink? ”