Azalea Potter | d.m. ?

You are all the colours in one, at full brightness. 
— Jennifer Niven 

Pulchritude 
(n.) physical beauty 

Azrael POV 

"Darlings, are you two ready?" 

I swerve around Cove's frustrated figure at the vanity, who's trying to make her curly blonde hair look less I-just-got-attacked-by-a-pack-of-werewolves and more I'm-the-daughter-of-the-sun-and-moon-and-radiate-starlight (even though it was only a Quidditch match we were going to). 

Unlocking the door, I find Mrs Krum waiting for the two of us. 

She spots Cove's saddening dilemma, and when she whips out her wand and transforms her hair into angelic curls that set perfectly, I smile silently to myself. Cove's absentia mother and father had led to her living a pretty much rogue and occasionally teary life. Mrs Krum was a blessing, seeing as the piles of ministry work didn't spare the Persimmons a moment to live as a family. 

And when she pulled me in for a hug, my walls came down only for her. 

Parental love is hard to find when you're abandoned at the doorstep of a Muggle orphanage in a remote Serbian village. 

"Viktor and Skylar have already headed out. Their substitute Chasers have something strange going on with them, so we're on our own, girls." 

As we head downstairs to where the portkey is, I spot an unboxed box of dark chocolate at the table, mostly empty. It's dark chocolate, so of course, I sneak up to the table and am about to pop one in my mouth. About to. Mrs Krum's voice rings through the hallway as she says, "Those were addressed to Sky from one of his admirers. I don't think touching those is the best idea." 

Remembering the Cherry Sands incident, I decide, yes, it probably isn't the best idea, and drop the confection regretfully. 

●⁍●⁍● 

"Az-rae-el Potter," Viktor says in a suspiciously calm fashion. "You have ruined my hair." 

I blink, trying to gauge if he's shitting me or being serious. 

He isn't shitting me, I realize. 

"It's a buzz cut, Vik," I flat-out deadpan. For someone who's supposedly one of the top of his class, he can be awfully daft at times. "There is nothing to ruin." 

He turns to a mirror in the stand, smoothening a crease in his trousers before picking up his Firebolt. "You are clearly steering off-topic. You will not get away with this." It's the accent and the impassive expression in his features that make me burst out laughing. I simply cannot take this creature seriously. 

"Break a leg out there, Vik." I give him a quick hug before the match starts, though when I pull back to leave, he grabs my wrist, perplexed. 

"You wish for me to break my leg?" There's genuine concern and dismay on his face, and I can hear the Cove's voice in my head, rebuking me for reading Muggle novels yet again. 

"No, it's a Muggle phrase— never mind. I know you'll do amazing out there. Good luck!" 

I duck out of the tent as soon as I see the sea of reporters attempting to push past its wards. I'm not cut out for the whole fame shit. Skylar, though, has no problem taking my former place beside Krum, lips spread in a smile as he awaits his face being plastered over the Daily Prophet.