Could you maybe humour me and maybe update your Exolvo fics because I miss your updates and I miss Elsa and Anna’s Hogwarts adventures? Maybe? 👉👈 (I love you)
“What are you doing here?”
Harry could honestly ask himself the same. It should be a simple question that should be so easy to answer; a no-brainer that doesn’t need much explanation or unnecessary analyzation. But the thing is, it’s much more complicated than what it seems because it involves an Arendelle - and anything involving an Arendelle demands more than a simple answer. So Harry thinks twice. Thrice. He opens his mouth and closes it again when vapor starts to come out. He shivers a little. It’s in the middle of summer. He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m… I’m sorry it’s so cold in here. I’ve seen them, they’re everywhere. They—”
Could it really be the dementors lurking around campus that’s causing this change in weather? Is that what Elsa really thinks as she hesitates and trips on her words? Why is she apologizing? This is Hogwarts after all, and anything bizarre, unimaginable, or illogical can make sense in such a place fueled with magic and mystery. Harry knows that all too well. He is also aware of the existence of magical people with special powers, too. Could it be… ?
Dementors. He desperately wants to agree with her, but deep down, he knows better than that just as he knows it’s better to keep some secrets buried and hidden. Hidden and unacknowledged like that lonely boy under the stairs back in Privet Drive. So he goes along with it. It’s the least that he could do for all those times Elsa passed him by the hallways without snickering. Without staring at his scar. Without a word of insult. Without a word at all. Those brief moments when they met each others’ gazes during classes, there was grace in Elsa’s eyes that others would mistake for coldness and arrogance. There was empathy and deep sadness in them that Harry couldn’t quite understand.
There is sadness in them now amidst the wariness.
So Harry chooses grace. The last thing he wants is to have Elsa walk out on him. Not here. Not now. Not when Anna’s laying unconscious in one of Madame Pomfrey’s beds.
He takes a careful step forward, trying hard not to shudder, trying hard to block out the acerbic whispers spilling from the paintings on the walls.
Dark Magic. Cursed. Monster.
“Elsa,” he starts, making his voice gentle and non-threatening as possible. “Your sister needs you. Please… please go and see her.”