3. close

Talwyn had been avoiding George recently, besides class, didn't want him to pry anymore than he had. George had a way of looking at her like he saw more than she wanted anyone to see. And that terrified her.

Letting people close was already difficult. But letting him close? That was dangerous.

If her father found out she was getting friendly with a Weasley, as friendly as Talwyn was capable of being, he'd kill her. No, literally kill her.

Now it was Friday, and Talwyn was curled on one of the dark green velvet couches in the Slytherin common room, legs tucked beneath her and arms crossed as she sat beside Theo. Mattheo lounged on the opposite side, tossing a small snitch-shaped stress ball in the air, catching it with one hand every time it fell.

The three of them were waiting to head down to the first Quidditch match of the year; Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The room was already buzzing with house pride and the promise of bloodthirsty competition, especially from those who just wanted to see Gryffindor lose.

Talwyn wasn't really in the mood for sports. But being surrounded by her people helped dull the ache in her chest, the one that came from a week of pretending she was fine.

"I swear to Merlin," Mattheo said, rolling his neck against the cushion, "if Gryffindor wins, we're never gonna hear the end of it from Potter and his fan club."

Theo snorted. "Potter's insufferable, but not nearly as bad as that ginger menace who won't stop trying to flirt with Talwyn."

Talwyn's head snapped toward her brother. "What?"

Theo didn't flinch, his voice casual. "George. He came asking questions about you earlier this week. After he noticed your face."

She stiffened, eyes narrowing. "He what?"

Mattheo sat up a bit straighter, resting his elbows on his knees. "We handled it."

Talwyn stared at them both. "What do you mean, 'handled it'?"

Theo looked away, like he was trying to avoid the glare she was throwing. "Told him to back off. That he wasn't your friend. That he didn't need to get involved."

Mattheo, on the other hand, held her gaze with a smug expression. "And I made it very clear that if he didn't, he'd regret it."

Talwyn blinked, stunned. Then the anger hit her like a wall of heat. She stood abruptly, causing Theo to flinch slightly as she rounded on him.

"You what?"

Theo frowned. "Tal, we were just-"

"You had no right to do that." Her voice was low and sharp, but not loud enough to draw attention from the other students nearby. "He was just being kind, Theo. He noticed something was wrong and asked because he cares. And you treated him like he was the enemy."

Mattheo scoffed. "You act like that's not exactly what he is. You know how dangerous it is to get close to someone like that. His family, your family... they're not just rivals, Tal, they're enemies."

"I know that," she snapped, turning on him next. "I live with the consequences of that every day. But he's... different."

"Different?" Mattheo's voice sharpened, an edge of something else creeping in, something she couldn't quite name, but she saw it in the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "You barely know him."

"I know enough." Her hands were shaking slightly now, curled into fists. "Enough to know he didn't deserve that."

Theo looked uneasy, running a hand through his hair. "Wynie... we were just trying to protect you."

"By scaring off one of the only people who's been decent to me?" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away, arms wrapping tightly around herself. "You don't get to decide who I talk to. Who I trust."

She knew her father was stuck up about this shit, but them?

Mattheo stood too now, looking like he wanted to argue, but Theo put a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Leave it," he muttered.

Talwyn didn't look at either of them as she stepped away from the couch, heart pounding. "I'm going to the match early."

Neither of them followed.

She made her way to the field, one of the only people there who wasn't on the team. All the player were warming up, some stretching, some flying. She started walking to the stairs to get up to the stands, but a voice cut her off.

"You were so excited to see me play that you came early?" George's sarcastic comment caused her thoughts to stop.

"You wish that was why I was here," She told him, turning around and crossing her arms.

George stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips, broom slung casually over one shoulder. His red hair was windswept, cheeks flushed from the warm-up, and his grin—infuriating as always—was firmly in place.

"Oh yeah?" He said, stepping closer. "Why are you here then?"

Her cheeks flushed slightly. She blamed it on the breeze. It was cold.

"The common room was stuffy," she lied smoothly.

"Right, I'm sure it was." He said looking down at her, a smug look on his face.

"Came early just to see us?" The other twins voice came through loudly.

"Apparently she's here for the breeze," George told him, crossing his arms.

Talwyn rolled her eyes but she could help but crack a small smile.

"Alright, well you two have fun with the breeze," Fred said, starting to walk away. "I'm going to go warm up like I'm supposed to." He gave George an intense, but joking, glare.

Talwyn watched as he walked away, once he was far enough away, her face grew softer.

She looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry about my brother."

There was a pause, longer than she expected. Then she heard him inhale sharply, like her words had caught him off guard.

"It wasn't him that threw me off," George said, voice gentler now. More real. "It was... Mattheo."

She glanced up, and their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them.

"Mattheo's real protective of you," he added after a beat, his tone careful, probing. Not accusing, just... curious.

Talwyn didn't respond right away. She didn't need to. Her gaze said enough.

She knew Mattheo was protective. It had been that way for years, he and Theo, in their own unorthodox, sometimes suffocating ways. But that protectiveness came with strings, with decisions made on her behalf and feelings she didn't always understand.

Still, she nodded.

George watched her closely. "You're not used to people standing up for you, are you?"

Her eyes flickered, then dropped again.

"No," she admitted quietly. "Not like that."

There was a vulnerability in her voice that caught him off guard. He shifted his weight, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure if he should. Then he spoke anyway.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I didn't take it personally. Well, I did. But not in the I'm gonna sulk about it kind of way."

She raised an eyebrow. "There's a sulking George version of you?"

"Oh yeah," he grinned. "Dramatic sighs. Kicking stones. Eating entire boxes of Honeydukes' chocolate frogs in one sitting."

"Sounds tragic."

"It is. Truly." His tone shifted slightly as he added, "But you don't have to explain, y'know. Not to me."

Talwyn looked up at him again, her brows drawing together.

A whistle sounded from across the pitch, Madam Hooch calling for final warm-ups.

George looked toward the sound, then back at her. "I've gotta go be dazzling now."

Talwyn crossed her arms tighter, resisting the warmth bubbling under her skin. "Try not to fall off your broom showing off."

He stepped backward, walking in reverse, his grin never faltering. "Only if you promise to cheer for me."

She gave him a long look. Then, deadpan: "Don't hold your breath."

George turned just before he disappeared into the crowd of players and called out over his shoulder, "That wasn't a no!"

Talwyn watched him go, arms still folded but a ghost of a smile playing on her lips again, this one lingering a little longer.

Talwyn watched him go, arms still folded over her chest, the ghost of a smile still tugging at her lips. This one lingered longer than the last. Uninvited, but not unwelcome.

He made her forget, just for a second, how heavy everything else was.

Just then, a hand landed on her shoulder, firm and sudden.

She flinched, instinctively whipping around, already halfway to drawing her wand, until she met the familiar faces of Theo and Mattheo standing just behind her. It had been Mattheo who'd tapped her.

"Wanna head up to the stands?" Theo asked, his tone light but cautious, like he wasn't sure what kind of mood she was in now.

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered on them both for a second too long, searching for something, before she just nodded and started walking without a word.

They followed in silence, falling into step on either side of her as they made their way up into the spectator stands. The front row seats were still open, one of the few perks of arriving absurdly early. The chill of the wind didn't bother them. Not really.

Lorenzo and the girls hadn't bothered to show. They'd waved the whole thing off with the same dismissive attitude they always used when it didn't directly benefit them.

"Why would we come if Slytherin's not playing?"

That had been their excuse. But for Talwyn, Theo, and Mattheo, the match wasn't about house pride.

It was an escape.

An hour of noise, flying bodies, and competitive fury, something loud enough to drown out the thoughts they didn't want to think. Something to smother the shadows that followed them home every night, tucked behind locked doors and perfect manners.

Talwyn took the seat between the boys without a word. The space wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. There was tension, sure, but not the kind that begged for conflict. Just three broken pieces sitting together, not trying to fix anything, just being.

As the game began, the stands erupted with noise, cheers and jeers, screams of support and shouts of frustration. Banners waved. Scarves fluttered. Talwyn barely noticed.

Her eyes were fixed on the pitch.

More specifically, on the number five sewn into the back of a red and gold jersey.

George Weasley.

He flew like he belonged in the sky, reckless and effortless all at once. Darting between players, flipping his bat with casual ease, laughing mid-dive like gravity didn't apply to him.

He looked happy.

Free.

Untouched by obligation or fear or family expectations. Like he didn't know what it was like to be afraid of coming home.

And Talwyn was jealous. Fiercely, bitterly jealous.

She didn't want to be. But that lightness he carried, it hurt to look at sometimes. She'd never known what that felt like.

The match continued, fast and brutal. Ravenclaw's Beaters were vicious, and Gryffindor gave as good as they got. The Bludgers were practically alive with aggression, whipping across the sky in unpredictable arcs.

One of them suddenly veered toward the stands, veered towards her stand, shrieking like a cursed hornet.

Before anyone could react, a flash of red streaked across the pitch.

Number five.

He zoomed toward the projectile and cracked his bat against it with perfect timing, sending it hurtling back at a Ravenclaw Chaser. It missed the boy's head by inches, and the crowd gasped.

George hovered in place for a second after, his broom steady beneath him, his posture entirely unbothered by the chaos. And then,

He glanced up.

Right at her.

A smug, crooked grin stretched across his face. Eyes twinkling. Like he knew she was watching. Like he'd wanted her to see that.

Talwyn scoffed under her breath, unable to stop the way her lips curved slightly in response. The smile wasn't forced this time. It came unguarded, like her body forgot to filter it. She gave him a small clap, like she was praising him hesitantly.

Theo noticed.

He leaned slightly toward her, voice low enough that Mattheo wouldn't hear. "Father would hex you."

She didn't look at him, eyes still locked on the pitch. "Maybe he should."

Theo blinked. "You're serious."

"No," she said, but the word wasn't convincing. She finally looked at her brother. "But he makes me feel like I'm not... a chess piece."

Theo didn't answer. He just looked away, toward the game again.

Mattheo, on the other side of her, was unusually quiet. Jaw tight, hand clenched around his knee. He hadn't looked at her once since they sat down.

Talwyn turned back to the match. And this time, when George flew past again, he gave her a small salute.

She didn't smile.

But she didn't look away either.

Once the game ended, with Gryffindor taking the win in a dramatic final score, students poured out of the stands in a loud, chaotic wave of red and gold celebration. The air buzzed with excitement, chants echoing across the pitch, house banners trailing through the wind like victorious battle flags.

It took a while for Talwyn, Theo, and Mattheo to make their way down from the stands, forced to inch slowly behind clusters of overexcited Gryffindors and frustrated Ravenclaws. The crowd surged and shifted, but the Slytherins moved through it like shadows: silent, sharp-edged, and largely ignored.

Once their feet finally hit the grass, Talwyn caught sight of two familiar red-haired figures pushing their way toward them, their post-match energy unmistakable even from across the pitch.

George reached them first, hair wind-swept, cheeks flushed from flying, and that same infuriatingly confident grin plastered across his face.

"Pretty sure I scared off any Slytherin players who were watching," he announced smugly, brushing imaginary dust from his jersey like he hadn't just played one of the most aggressive games of the season.

"You're a little too cocky, you know that?" Talwyn replied, narrowing her eyes at him. Her tone was sharp, but her lips twitched at the edges, like part of her hated how charming it actually was.

George didn't even blink at her jab.

"Come to the afterparty," he said, cutting straight through the tension. "All three of you."

Talwyn blinked. That wasn't what she expected. Not even close.

She turned slightly, glancing back at Theo and Mattheo, both of whom wore identical expressions of disbelief.

Theo raised a brow. "You want us there?"

George shrugged, completely unbothered. "Sure. What's a Gryffindor party without a little danger?"

Fred, who'd finally caught up, snorted. "We'll just tell everyone we didn't invite you. That way if someone gets hexed, we've got plausible deniability."

Talwyn's heart was pounding. For once, it wasn't from fear.

It was from choice.

And maybe, just maybe, from the rush of rebellion curling under her skin.

She looked at George again, the noise of the pitch fading for a second as she realized how easy it would be to say no. To turn around. To do the safe, expected thing.

But she didn't want safe anymore.

"I'm in," she said, the words firm and clear as they left her mouth.

Theo let out a short, disbelieving laugh, like he hadn't heard her right. "You are?"

She didn't even turn around this time. "You don't have to come."

Mattheo spoke next, quicker than expected. "I'll come." His eyes never left George, his posture unreadable.

George just smiled: wide, genuine, maybe even a little amused by the tension that simmered between them all. "Brilliant."

Fred raised a hand like he was swearing an oath. "Again... not our idea. I'd like to live through the rest of the year."

Talwyn rolled her eyes, but she was already moving, following the boys as they led the way back toward the castle. She didn't know what tonight would hold. A party full of people who hated her house. Friends with grudges. An unspoken feeling from someone who should've been off-limits.

But for once, she didn't care.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:•✧◈✧•:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

The common room was alive.

Music pulsed through the stone walls. Someone had clearly snuck Butterbeer and Firewhisky from the kitchens. A few enchanted lanterns floated near the ceiling, glowing in soft gold and crimson hues. Gryffindors filled every inch of space; lounging on armchairs, dancing in corners, spilling snacks and secrets in every direction.

Talwyn stepped into it all like she didn't belong, and she didn't, not really. The stares came quickly. Some surprised. Some looking hostile. Others just curious. A Slytherin girl flanked by two notoriously dangerous boys? Yeah, that turned heads.

But George was beside her in seconds, his hand brushing briefly against hers as if to remind her she wasn't alone. He leaned in slightly, his voice warm against her ear.

"Don't worry. I won't let anyone hex you. Unless it's Fred. In which case, you're on your own."

She laughed, quiet and breathy, shaking her head. "Great. Can't wait."

Theo and Mattheo stayed close, Mattheo still silent, eyes flicking across the room like he was calculating every possible escape route. Theo looked a little more relaxed—probably because someone had just handed him a drink.

They'd barely settled near the fireplace when someone approached George, whispering something in his ear. He groaned dramatically.

"I've been summoned to give a victory speech," he said, already backing away. "Apparently, it's a tradition now."

Fred called from across the room, "You're welcome!"

Talwyn turned away before she could read too much into the way his gaze lingered on her. She faced her brother and Mattheo instead, both of whom wore near-matching expressions, brows furrowed, jaws tight. They didn't look angry. Not yet. But they definitely looked like they had questions. Too many of them.

Theo opened his mouth first, his arms folded like he was preparing for a lecture she didn't ask for.

Talwyn didn't give him the chance.

"I want a drink," she said loudly, voice cutting above the music and chatter, before pushing past them toward the makeshift drinks table crammed against the wall.

She didn't look back to see if they followed.

The table was cluttered with mugs and floating goblets, half-full bottles of Firewhisky, and a few enchanted Butterbeer kegs bubbling slightly at the tap. Some overenthusiastic Gryffindor had charmed the liquids to shift colors, scarlet to gold and back again. Talwyn didn't care. She grabbed the nearest cup, sniffed it (definitely Firewhisky), and took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest like armor.

"Alright?" Mattheo's voice came from behind her a moment later, quieter now.

She didn't answer right away. She was watching the way Gryffindors passed them with wary glances, like they were some rare species that might bite if approached too fast.

"I'm fine," she finally said. "Just trying to forget for one night that everything's... like it always is."

Theo appeared beside her next, hands shoved in his pockets. "This is a bad idea," he muttered.

Talwyn turned slowly to face them both, her chin lifting. "Since when do you two get to decide what's a good idea for me?"

Mattheo's jaw ticked, but he didn't respond.

"I can make my own choices," she continued, her voice lower now, but firmer. "If you two can threaten people behind my back, I can decide to have one goddamn night where I don't feel like I'm being caged by everyone's expectations."

Theo glanced away, looking almost guilty. Mattheo just frowned harder, but there was something softer underneath it now, concern, maybe. Or something close.

Before either of them could speak again, a familiar laugh rose above the noise from across the room. George, standing on top of the fireplace hearth like a Quidditch god addressing his adoring crowd, held his drink aloft.

"To the real MVP of the match," he shouted, gesturing to Fred with an exaggerated bow. "Who nearly hit me with a bludger twice today!"

Fred raised his cup, grinning. "You're welcome!"

The crowd burst into laughter and applause, and the mood lightened again, at least for most people.

Talwyn took another sip, gaze flicking back to George. He was so effortlessly alive here. Bright. Unburdened.

She envied him for that.

And she wanted, desperately, to feel even a fraction of that weightlessness.

So when the music shifted, the bass vibrating the floor beneath her feet, she made a decision.

"I'm going to dance," she said suddenly.

Theo stared. "You what?"

Mattheo blinked like she'd just announced she was going to transfer to Beauxbatons.

"I'm going to dance," she repeated, more firmly this time. "You can stand here like awkward bodyguards if you want."

And with that, she set down her empty cup and disappeared into the crowd, weaving her way through the bodies pulsing to the beat until she found herself somewhere near the center. The music swallowed her whole, loud and fast, and she let it drown out the rest; her father's voice, the warnings, the fear, the weight of being a Nott.

And then-

A hand tapped her shoulder.

She turned around, expecting maybe Theo, maybe Mattheo, ready with some kind of disapproving comment.

But it was George.

Of course it was George.

"You dancing at a Gryffindor party," he said, voice raised over the music, "is the last thing I expected tonight."

"Guess I'm full of surprises."

He stepped closer, that half-grin still there but less cocky now. More curious. Like she was a puzzle he was starting to piece together, one moment at a time.

"Can I?" he asked, gesturing to the space beside her, asking to dance.

"I..." Her voice cracked slightly, swallowed up by the music. She leaned closer so he could hear her, but didn't close the distance completely. "We can't."

George blinked. "Can't what?"

She took a shaky breath, crossing her arms, suddenly cold despite the heat of the bodies around them. "Dance."

He tilted his head, confused, his voice lowered. "Why not?"

His words weren't accusing. Just... searching. Trying to understand.

Talwyn's throat tightened. The flashing lights, the music, the pressure in her chest, it all pressed down at once. She hated this. Hated how being near him made her want things she wasn't allowed to want. Things like comfort. Or freedom.

"It's complicated."

George gave her a look. "So explain it to me."

She shook her head, eyes darting away. "I can't. You wouldn't get it."

"Try me."

The way he said it, it wasn't a challenge. It was genuine. Patient.

That made it worse.

She stepped back half a pace, the ache in her chest sharper now. "My family... they don't exactly encourage me to make friends outside of Slytherin. Especially not Weasleys."

George's brows furrowed, lips parting as if he wanted to speak, but couldn't find the words right away. He looked like someone had just pulled a rug out from under him.

"Wait, this is about your last name?" he asked quietly. "Talwyn, I know who you are. Everyone knows. But I don't care-"

"You should."

She didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but it did. She winced and looked away, rubbing a hand down her arm. "You should care, George. Because my family? They don't let things go. And if they think for one second that you matter to me, that you're more than just some harmless Gryffindor I occasionally insult for fun, they'll make it your problem."

He was silent for a long moment. The music kept playing around them, people laughing, cheering, spinning like nothing in the world was wrong.

"I'm not scared of your family," George said eventually, quietly.

Talwyn's heart twisted. "That's because you don't know what they're capable of."

"I know enough. And I know what you are."

She looked up sharply, not sure what he meant.

But his expression was soft. Not pitying, but... steady. Like he saw her standing on the edge of something and wasn't going to push, just stand beside her if she stepped back, or forward.

"You're brave, Talwyn. Even if you don't see it."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

She wanted to tell him he was wrong.

She wanted to tell him he was right.

She wanted to dance with him.

Instead, she said, "I need air."

And before he could say anything else, she turned and slipped through the crowd, her heart pounding, her head spinning, not from the drink, but from him.

From everything he made her feel.

Talwyn stood just outside on a balcony that was connected to the common room, her back against the stone wall, arms wrapped around herself. She wasn't cold. Not really. Just... bracing.

The door creaked behind her.

She didn't need to turn around.

"I said I needed air," she muttered, not looking.

"You didn't say I couldn't breathe it too," George answered, his voice softer now, stripped of the usual mischief.

She rolled her eyes but didn't fight him when he came to stand beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth off his jacket. He didn't speak right away. Just looked out over the quiet grounds with her, letting the silence stretch between them like a bridge made of frayed string.

"You know," he said finally, "I'm not entirely unfamiliar with difficult families."

She let out a humorless laugh. "Your mum knits sweaters and bakes pies, George."

"True. But she also yells with the volume of a warhorn and can make grown men cry with one look. I'm not saying it's the same, I just... know what it's like to live your life in reaction to someone else's expectations."

Talwyn turned her head toward him, studying the profile of his face in the dim light. "And what do they expect of you?"

"To behave," he said, with a grin. "And we all know that's never happening."

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

"You're good at that," she said.

"What, being a disappointment?"

"No. Making everything feel... easier."

He glanced at her. "You want it to be harder?"

"No," she admitted, rubbing at her arm again. "I just don't know what to do when it's not."

George was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on her face like he was trying to memorize all the things she didn't say out loud.

"You don't have to explain anything," he said at last. "Not to me. I get it."

"No, you don't," she said, looking back out at the stars. Her voice was a whisper now. "They watch everything I do. Who I talk to. What I say. It's like... like I'm not even my own person, just some weird little piece in their game."

"Then let's ruin the game."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "You don't have to do anything. I'll just keep showing up. Being around. Breathing your air, apparently. And if that bothers them, good. They deserve to be bothered."

Talwyn shook her head, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet you came to my party."

"I must've hit my head."

George bumped her shoulder lightly. "If you ever want to hit it again, I'm free most Tuesdays and Thursdays."

She laughed, soft and real this time. Her guard dropped for just a moment.

Then she looked away again, the smile fading a little. "They'll notice if I spend too much time with you."

"Then I'll be discreet."

"You? Discreet?" she scoffed, turning to face him.

"Okay, fair. Maybe Fred can go in disguise. I'll distract them with a flashbang."

"Wizards don't have flashbangs."

"Well, now we know what I'll be inventing next." He turned to face her as well.

Talwyn looked at him, something unreadable in her expression. "You're not scared at all, are you?"

George didn't look away. "Of them? No. Of you, a little. You're kind of terrifying."

That pulled another laugh from her. Then silence again.

She leaned her head backl, eyes closing for a second. "You can stay. Just... don't talk for a bit."

He nodded. "Sure. I'll just stand here, being quiet and charming."

She opened one eye, gave him a look. "One out of two."

"Rude."

But he stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, so did she.

After a few moments of letting herself sit in the quiet, Talwyn closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the wind rustling through the trees beyond the castle walls. The air smelled like old stone and autumn. Peaceful. Honest.

When she finally opened her eyes again, George was already looking at her.

"You're pretty," he said softly, almost like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. "You know that?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly, but thankfully, the dark cloaked most of it. "I do," she retorted with a smirk, lifting her chin slightly.

His lips curved into a grin, slow and sure. "Good," he said, as if that settled something in him. He didn't look away, though. His gaze lingered, studying her like she was something rare, something worth pausing for.

Talwyn blinked slowly and let herself study him in return. She took in every detail; the way his freckles dusted across his nose and cheekbones, how the corners of his eyes crinkled faintly from all his grinning, and the way his coppery hair waved over his forehead, brushing just above his brows like it had a mind of its own.

It was ridiculous. He looked like a boy who had never had a bad day. Like someone who had never known the kind of darkness that lived behind her family's doors. But he did. She could see it in the cracks, he just carried it differently.

A rush of boldness fluttered through her chest. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was him.

"I suppose," she murmured, "you're not too bad either."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before a slow, pleased grin stretched over his lips. For the first time since they'd stepped outside, she saw him blush, just faintly, the pink rising to the tips of his ears.

"You confuse the hell out of me, Tal," George said, voice low now.

For the first time she didn't correct him on her name.

There was something different in his tone. Not teasing. Not joking. Just... honest. "You show up and pull me in, then push me back like I've crossed some invisible line I can't even see."

He took a step closer, not big enough to startle her, but enough that she felt it.

Talwyn looked up at him through her lashes, eyes dark and searching. Her voice was barely a whisper. "That's my best skill."

He huffed a quiet laugh but didn't look away. "I don't know whether I'm supposed to back off or lean in."

She swallowed. Her throat was dry, her heart unsteady. The part of her that had been trained to run, to hide, to never want anything, it screamed to shut this down. Now.

But another part of her, the quiet, aching part, just wanted to let herself have this moment.

"I don't know either," she admitted. "But I don't want to stop talking to you."

George studied her, eyes soft now, voice gentle. "Then don't."

Her breath caught.

The moment hovered there, electric and fragile.

He slowly started closing the gap, leaning down so slowly it was almost impossible to notice.

Until the castle doors creaked open behind them.

Mattheo's voice rang out, distant but familiar. "Tal?"

She froze.

George looked toward the other boy, then back at her.

She stepped back quickly, putting distance between them again like it was muscle memory.

Mattheo gave both of them an unpleasant look, a look of annoyance.

George just offered her a lopsided smile. "Guess that's my cue."

Before she could respond, he leaned in just slightly, not close enough to touch her, but enough to let her feel the warmth of his breath near her ear.

"Next time, I'm getting a dance." He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Then he turned, hands in his pockets, and disappeared into the noise and light of the common room, like he hadn't just lit her entire nervous system on fire.

Talwyn stood frozen in place, her heart thudding in her chest, lips parted in stunned silence. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until—

"What the hell was that?" Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet like a blade, his tone sharp with something he couldn't quite name.

Her eyes flicked to him, voice flat. "It was nothing."

She started to move toward the door, desperate to get back inside before she said something she couldn't take back. But Mattheo stepped in front of her, brows drawn tight, blocking her path.

"Nothing?" he repeated, incredulous. "You were making goo-goo eyes at Weasley. 'Next time, I'm getting a dance.'" He mocked George's voice, his face twisting with disdain. "That doesn't sound like nothing."

Her blood boiled instantly. "Why the fuck is it any of your business?" she snapped, eyes blazing. "Why are you so angry?"

"I- I just- You can't-" he stammered, hands flailing slightly as if trying to grasp the right words.

"You don't get to be angry if you don't even know why," she spat, shoving past him and back toward the door, heat rising up her neck.

"Tal, just- wait, can we please talk-"

But she didn't stop. She threw open the door and stepped into the roaring noise of the Gryffindor party. The warmth, the flashing lights, the bodies packed too tight, it all hit her at once like a wave.

The music pounded in her chest, but it didn't drown out the chaos in her head. She pushed through people, barely noticing the way they turned to look at her, barely registering the surprised glances, the curious stares.

Mattheo was still behind her. She could feel him closing in.

"Talwyn-"

"Don't-" she spun around sharply to face him.

And that was when it happened.

Someone beside her, a tall boy in Gryffindor red, stumbled back at the exact wrong moment, his drink sloshing out of the cup and splashing across the front of her cream-colored dress. It soaked the fabric instantly, darkening it in sticky patches and clinging to her skin.

She froze.

The room didn't go silent, not really, but it felt like it did. Conversations dulled. Heads turned. People stared.

Her chest tightened as cold embarrassment crashed over her like ice water. For the first time in her life, she felt seen, and not in the way she wanted. Not powerful. Not in control. Just humiliated.

Mattheo reached for her. "Here, let me help-"

"Back the fuck off," she hissed, voice low and shaking with fury, eyes wet. The tears were threatening now. She blinked fast, refusing to let them fall here, not in front of everyone.

She turned her head and saw George nearby. His brows were knit, concern etched into every line of his face. He looked like he was about to step forward, like he wanted to come to her.

Then she saw Theo. His face was tight with confusion, and anger. Like he didn't know what the hell had just happened but knew it was bad.

And it was too much.

Talwyn didn't say another word. She just turned and shoved through the crowd again, ignoring the murmurs, ignoring the stares, ignoring everything.

She left the Gryffindor common room behind her and disappeared into the castle corridors, heart in her throat and dress clinging to her skin like a weight.

She didn't know where she was going, just that it wasn't here.

She didn't know how far she'd gone, only that her legs kept moving until the noise of the party was nothing more than a faint hum swallowed by stone walls. She found herself in a dim corridor near the base of one of the towers, her breath hitching as she finally stopped and leaned against the cold wall.

Her dress clung to her uncomfortably, sticky and damp. Her cheeks burned. Her eyes were glassy.

She ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the strands, trying to steady her breathing.

But she wasn't alone for long.

"Talwyn."

She turned sharply at the sound of his voice, low and careful. George was standing a few feet behind her, his hands slightly raised like he was approaching a wild animal, unsure if she'd run or bite.

And she snapped.

"What are you doing here?" she barked, louder than she meant to.

He blinked. "I wanted to make sure you were okay-"

"I don't need you to check on me, George," she hissed, pushing away from the wall. "I didn't ask you to follow me!"

"You didn't have to ask," he said simply, but the softness in his voice only seemed to fuel her fire.

"No," she shot back, voice shaking. "No, you just followed me anyway, like everyone else in my life. Like I'm this... this problem to manage. Something to fix. Something that needs watching."

George's expression twisted slightly, like she'd landed a punch without meaning to. "That's not- Tal, that's not what I'm doing."

She ignored him, her voice rising. "It's Talwyn." She said coldly. "You don't get it. You don't know what it's like. I can't just dance with you in front of everyone. I can't just be someone else for a night, George."

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable.

"Then tell me," he said, quieter now. "Tell me why."

"Because I can't!" she burst out, hands clenched at her sides. "Because my father would kill me. Genuinely kill me. My family doesn't do messy. They don't do complicated feelings and forbidden crushes and Gryffindor boys who smell like fireworks and summer."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded. She turned away from him, hiding her face, wiping at her eyes roughly with the back of her hand.

There was a beat of silence. Two. Three.

Then, gently:

"I don't want to be something you regret, Talwyn."

That stopped her cold.

She turned, eyes narrowed, her voice raw. "Then don't follow me again."

George nodded once. Slowly. His jaw tensed, but he didn't argue. Didn't say another word.

And when he left this time, he didn't look back.