Chapter Text
“Five Galleons they’re engaged by Christmas.”
You barely hear Fred’s words, your gaze fixed where it usually is—on your backstabbing brother.
How dumb can a person be to not even check to make sure the target of their attempted obliviation is asleep before they cast the charm? Also, you muse, just as you do nearly every day, how could he have expected to succeed at such an advanced spell, untried and untested, while in a volatile emotional state?
You see Albus laugh at something Victoire had said to him and Scorpius across the room, their goodbye party in full swing. The two of them would be beginning an advanced Potioneers program in Copenhagen in less than a week.
You know you should be happy. You wouldn’t have to pretend not to be shattered every time you saw your brother, to pretend that you didn’t know what is was like to kiss him, fuck him, soothe him—you could pretend it never happened.
Like he had been content to do since that day two years ago.
You always recognized that he had a tendency to do things out of fear, and that it might lead to him making poor decisions and doing the wrong things.
You just never expected the worst thing that he’d ever do would be to you.
You know, with every fiber of your being, that you’ll never stop loving him; you also know, in equal measure, that you’ll never trust him again.