Night of the Gala
the-dark-marks:
Two Weasleys in a pack, slow ones bumbling around and bumping into each other far from the safe zone and neither firing curses? Of course they were a shining target and while Jonathan bared no particular ill will toward Victoire or even Fred, with such a shot presented he canāt refuse it. He doesnāt go for the lethal, or not the immediately lethal at least. āSectumsempra!ā Itās a back alley spell spread by word of mouth from a margin note in an old potions book many former students had borrowed when they forgot their at one time or another. Jon had a soft spot for innovation and it was what was needed, something more guaranteed than a simple severing charm to stop one of the them in their tracks and not hit wrong and just ruin an outfit but reversible easily as far as dark spells went, so he could give Victoire one more exclusive interview to carry with her once he caught up to her and be fairly certain sheād live to spread the word.
She didnāt hear the hex being hissed in their direction. She didnāt look Jonathan Marksā way and looked him into the eyes until she found something poisonous enough for her to shield herself from. She felt it coming, as if air moved out of the way with politeness. Her wand didnāt spit a protective charm either, because it was against the first impulse to dodge. The best she could, like a thoughtless creature, impulsive to the core. She turned around forcefully, causing Fred to take her place in the way of the curse. Anything in order to survive. Moral codes were for those who wanted funerals and though she did love her cousin almost enough to take the metaphorical bullet in form of a less metaphorical hex, she didnāt realize who she was throwing under the bus. It wasnāt Fredās skin she wanted to hurt in any way, but her own she was trying to protect. The fairest thing in the world, loving herself and running away from dangers that would not only awake adrenaline, which was always fun, but harm physically.
