the thread between us is red
the thread between us is redFrom the moment their eyes met from across the grounds of Hogwarts, Shuhua knew Soojin was special.
But it wasn’t some fairy tale romance. She was fourteen and the Champion from Liánhuā who spoke broken English. Soojin was sixteen with a boyfriend and, coincidently, a soft spot for her broken English.
When Shuhua left Hogwarts, a year later, the youngest champion in the sixth ever World Wizard Tournament, Soojin humoured her with silky lips to the crown of her head to dispel the tense furrow in her brow. And maybe it hurt more than it helped.
Never once did they send owls and it wasn’t until Shuhua was nineteen, a professional seeker for the Golden Lion Hearts, that a series of unfortunate circumstances brought the enigmatic wizard crashing back into her life.
Literally.
“Yuqi, I already told you, I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Yuqi scowled. The image of her head sputtered in the flames when a strong wind blew open the window.
Shuhua rushed over to the window. With great care she fastened the lock, fingers tracing over the old, rickety, rusted metal. Only when it glowed, hot white, did she return to packing her bag. “Can’t. Coach won’t let any of us leave until the spring.”
“Whatever.” Shuhua could hear the disappointment, not at her, but at the circumstances. “Why do you do that?” The voice felt closer when Yuqi leaned toward the fire, her head protruding out farther in Shuhua’s makeshift fireplace. “We have magic. Why do you always have to do things like a muggle?”
Folding an old sweater, thinned over time with several holes developing in the green wool, Shuhua shrugged. “It reminds me of a-ma’s.”
The silence was heavy.
A-ma’s was where Shuhua spent the first six years of her life. In the mountain side of Taoyuan, with her grandmother, Shuhua knew nothing about magic or quidditch or special schools for wizards. It was the place she loved the most before it was gone, wiped from the face of existence.
News outlets reported it as a landside, but Shuhua knew better. Landslides weren’t made of white fire or dressed in shimmering red and gold robes.
“, Shu…” The tone softened, “I… sorry. We’ll find them. One day. And when we do…” The anger sparked through the cold air, crackling like muggle electric lines submerged in water. It and snapped and burned.
But Shuhua was used to this threat. She’d heard it since they were children and she showed up on the steps of Liánhuā, the clothes on her back blacke
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