4. pathetic

The knock on her door came early. Too early.

Talwyn had barely shut her eyes when it echoed through the dungeon corridor, soft but insistent.

She groaned, burying her face into her pillow, the events of last night crashing over her like a second wave. Her dress still hung over the back of her chair, stained and wrinkled, a bitter reminder. She hadn't had the energy to clean it or herself.

Another knock. This one accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Wynie," Theo said quietly, "I brought you coffee."

She sighed. That was his olive branch, and they both knew it. She pushed herself up, hair tangled and eyes still heavy, and crossed the cold stone floor to crack open the door.

Her brother stood there, eyes tired, holding out a steaming mug.

"You look like hell," he said softly, trying to be light about it.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking the mug from him. The warmth seeped into her fingers instantly, and even though she was still angry - at him, at Mattheo, at herself - she stepped back and let him in.

Theo closed the door behind him, lingering awkwardly before sitting on the edge of her bed across from her.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the occasional sip of coffee and the distant crackle of the common room fire outside since the girls had already left.

"You really gonna make me beg?" he finally asked.

Talwyn didn't look up from her mug. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want to know what's going on. With you. With Weasley. With Mattheo losing his mind over whatever the hell he saw-"

She winced at that, setting the mug down a little too hard. "He walked in on nothing. That's what it was."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "It didn't look like nothing, Wynie."

"Then maybe he should've knocked," she snapped.

Theo blinked at her tone, leaning back slightly. "I didn't come here to fight you."

She rubbed her forehead, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones. "I just... I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask for George to care. I didn't ask for Mattheo to act like he-" she cut herself off.

Theo studied her for a long moment. "Act like what?"

Before she could answer, a sharp tap-tap-tap at the window cut through the tension. They both turned, and there, just on the ledge, was a small tawny owl, tapping its beak against the glass.

Theo stood and opened the window, letting the owl flutter in and land neatly on her desk. Tied to its leg was a folded piece of parchment; familiar, messy handwriting barely visible in the low light.

Theo untied it and handed it to her silently.

Talwyn didn't move. Her chest was tight. She already knew who it was from.

"You gonna open it?" Theo asked carefully.

Her fingers hesitated on the parchment, then unfolded it slowly.

~

Talwyn,I wanted to say something last night. I don't know what stopped me. Maybe the crowd, maybe the chaos, maybe the way you looked at me when you walked away. But I shouldn't have listened to you. I shouldn't have agreed to never follow you. I don't care about the mess. Or the dress. Or Mattheo and your brothers constant glaring. I meant every word I said.And I'm still not done saying them.

If you really want me gone, fine. This will be my last time following you, asking you to let me in. If you don't respond, I'll leave you be, but this is all on you now. 

– George.

~

She read it twice. Then a third time.

Theo was watching her closely now, concern etched into his face.

"What does it say?" he asked.

Talwyn folded the letter slowly and tucked it into her pillowcase. "Nothing important," she lied.

But her face said otherwise.

Theo tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Wyn," he said, voice edged with suspicion, "you forget I've known you since you still thought double knotted shoelaces were a personality trait. That face says that letter was very important."

Talwyn scoffed, standing and brushing past him toward her wardrobe. "It's too early for this."

He followed her with his eyes as she busied herself, digging through clothes like it'd erase what just happened. "You know," he said, tone growing more cautious, "just because a boy says something sweet doesn't mean he gets to... live in your head."

She didn't respond at first. She pulled out a sweater, gripping it a little too tightly.

"It's not like that," she finally muttered.

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Right. So the letter you just stuffed under your pillow like it might burn if I saw it... totally meaningless."

She turned around sharply. "I didn't ask him to follow me last night, Theo."

"I know," he said evenly. "But he did, didn't he?"

Talwyn's shoulders dropped. "I didn't want to feel like that again, like... like someone saw me. And then he did."

Theo sighed, standing up slowly. "Look, I get it. Really, I do. It's nice, being seen. Especially when you've been hiding for years. But George Weasley? He's- he's nice, sure. But he doesn't know what we come from, Wynie. He doesn't understand what this costs us."

She hesitated. "But what if he could?"

He gave her a long look. "He never could... and the second he doesn't... it's you that breaks. Not him."

His voice wasn't angry. It was protective. Honest. That made it worse.

"I'm not fragile," she said, softer now.

"I know you're not." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But that doesn't mean you deserve to get tested."

They stood there for a moment, the room thick with things neither of them could quite say. Finally, she sat back down, the sweater still in her lap.

"I didn't mean to snap at Mattheo," she whispered. "I just felt... trapped."

Theo nodded, crouching in front of her now. "We all feel like that. You're not the only one carrying it."

They sat in silence for a moment before he stood and ruffled her hair.

"I'll be in the Great Hall if you want to join me for breakfast when you're ready," he said, pausing at the door. "And hey... just be careful, alright?S"

She smiled faintly as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

She sat there alone, heart tight, staring at the letter under her pillow.

Maybe she would write back.

But she'd take her time.

She finally got ready; sweater, boots, her hair loosely pulled back. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She just needed to breathe, to clear her head. Breakfast sounded like the first normal thing she'd done in days.

As she stepped into the Slytherin common room, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor, she came to a sudden stop.

Mattheo was there.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together tight like he was holding himself in place. The fire in the hearth crackled beside him, casting gold light across the hard lines of his face.

His eyes found her the second she entered.

"Tal," he said softly, like the word had been sitting on his tongue all morning.

She didn't answer. She stood there, studying him, trying to read whatever storm was working its way behind his eyes.

He stood, slow and tense, like he wasn't sure if she'd walk away.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low, as if it hurt to say it.

"Are you?" she asked, arms folding across her chest. "Because you can't even look at me."

He did then, he met her gaze head-on. His eyes were darker than usual, like a cloud had settled in them overnight. "Do you like him?"

"Seriously?" She asked him, slightly annoyed. 

He didnt respond, he just looked at her, waiting for her to respond. 

"No." 

She said the word finally, the word sharp and hollow.

Mattheo studied her face, as if trying to find the truth beneath it.

"Okay," he said. But his voice was stiff. Disbelieving. He stood slowly, eyes not leaving hers. "You don't have to lie to me, you know."

She looked away, jaw tightening. "And you don't get to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous," he snapped. Too quickly.

She looked back at him, one brow raised. "Right."

He shifted, like he wanted to say something more, but then his jaw clenched and he turned slightly away, running a hand through his messy curls.

"Whatever," he muttered. "I just didn't want you to get hurt."

"No," She said, pointing her finger at him. "You don't want to get hurt."

Mattheo flinched, almost imperceptibly, like her words had reached somewhere he hadn't armored.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her, lips parted slightly, the look in his eyes shifting from anger to something that looked like... defeat. Quiet, resigned, and so utterly lost.

She felt the weight of it, but she refused to carry it for him anymore.

"I'm hungry," she said, voice softening, almost like an apology, but not quite. "I'll see you later, Mattheo."

Still, he said nothing. He didn't try to stop her this time. He just stood there, frozen in the middle of the common room, as she walked away.

When Talwyn made her way down to the Great Hall, she felt the weight of eyes on her almost immediately. A few Gryffindors turned as she walked in, whispering behind cupped hands, some glaring, others just watching like she was something unexpected.

She kept her head high and didn't look back. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

She found the Slytherin table and slipped into a seat beside Theo, who glanced over at her. He didn't say a word, but gave her a small, quiet grin. It was the kind of look that said 'I know you're trying. I'm proud of you anyway.'

"Our honorary Gryffindor has arrived," Lorenzo teased, lifting his goblet. "Throw us an invite next time, why don't you?"

Talwyn gave a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Didn't know I needed to submit a formal RSVP."

"Who even invited you anyway?" Pansy chimed in, eyes sharp with curiosity. "Didn't think you were tight with any of them."

"G—" Theo started, but Talwyn quickly cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"No one," she said with a shrug, reaching for some toast. "We just found out about it and gatecrashed."

Daphne leaned forward with a grin. "I've taught you well."

Talwyn smiled, dipping her spoon into her porridge. For a moment, everything felt normal. Familiar. Comfortable.

But then, a ripple of awareness passed through her. Like a change in the current.

She looked up.

Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, George was sitting beside Fred and Lee Jordan. His laughter, loud and careless, filled the space—but it wasn't real. At least, not entirely. He was laughing for them. But when his gaze lifted and met hers across the distance, the expression on his face changed.

The room might've been full of students and clinking cutlery and the low hum of conversation—but all of that disappeared in that moment. It was just the two of them, staring across the void between green and gold.

His smile faded. Not in a bad way. More like he was seeing her again—not just looking. There was something in his expression that twisted her stomach, something soft and searching. She didn't look away.

She couldn't.

Then Fred leaned over and said something in his ear. George blinked, looking away, rubbing the back of his neck like he'd just remembered where he was. But before he turned fully back to his friends, he shot her one last glance, this one quieter, more private.

Talwyn exhaled, realizing she hadn't even noticed she was holding her breath.

After breakfast, Talwyn made her way back to the dungeons, her footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. Her stomach still churned with everything left unsaid, too many tangled thoughts and emotions crammed into the silence between her and George. Between her and Mattheo. Between her and herself.

She didn't know exactly what she wanted from a conversation with George, not yet. But she knew it was time for one. Avoiding it wouldn't make the confusion go away. It wouldn't make the way her heart beat faster when she saw him any less real.

When she reached the dorm, the others were lounging on their beds, flipping through magazines or pretending to study. She slipped in quietly and told them she needed to work on a Potions essay. They barely glanced up.

Good.

She settled onto the edge of her bed, drawing the curtains partway for some privacy. The flicker of candlelight danced over the parchment in front of her, and for a moment she just stared at it. Her quill hovered above the page like it might write something all on its own.

But it didn't.

She closed her eyes briefly, let out a breath, then began writing.

~

George,

We can talk. Meet me at the black lake at 8:00.

- T

~

Short. Simple. Enough.

She folded the note once, tucked it into an envelope, and slipped out of the dorm to find the owl that had brought her his letter that morning. As she handed it off, her fingers lingered on the parchment a second longer than necessary.

She chose that time for a reason. The sun would be setting. Students would be indoors, winding down or holed up in the library or the common rooms. No one would be watching. No one would ask questions about why a Slytherin girl and a Gryffindor boy were standing alone by the lake.

No one would see them.

And somehow, that made the thought of it a little easier.

But also... a little more dangerous.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:•✧◈✧•:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

The sky had shifted to deep purples and soft blues by the time Talwyn made her way to the Black Lake. The air was crisp, the last of the daylight fading behind the jagged silhouette of the Forbidden Forest. The surface of the water glimmered like glass, disturbed only by the occasional ripple from some unseen creature beneath.

She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her jumper, slowing as she reached the shoreline. A few stray leaves rustled around her boots, and the sharp scent of autumn clung to the breeze. Her heart thudded in her chest like it knew something she didn't.

George was already there.

He stood with his back to her, facing the lake, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders lifted slightly when he heard her footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn around immediately.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," he said quietly, still watching the water.

"I wasn't either," she admitted, stepping up beside him but keeping a little space between them.

George slowly lowered himself onto the grass, stretching his legs out in front of him before folding his arms over his knees in a loose grip. The quiet rustle of fabric and waves filled the silence. Talwyn hesitated for only a second before sitting down beside him, cross-legged, her fingers curling tightly in the hem of her sweater.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stared out across the dark water, letting the quiet fill in the spaces between the chaos of the past few days.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, her voice soft but firm, finally turning to look at him.

George glanced at her, shaking his head with quiet finality. "Don't be."

"I want you to know everything," she said, words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I want you to know why I'm like this."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Tal-"

"I do," she interrupted, her voice sharper this time. "I do."

There was a pause, and then she looked back out over the lake, arms folded across her chest as if bracing against the weight of what she was about to say.

"I had my first courtship meeting last weekend," she said. "That's why I wasn't at Hogwarts."

George didn't speak, but she could feel him shift beside her; more alert, more focused.

"According to my father, I didn't behave well," she continued, her voice tightening with the words. "Didn't present the way a daughter of a respectable pure-blood family should. Didn't speak when spoken to. Didn't bow low enough. Didn't stay quiet."

Her voice cracked on that last word like something inside her splintered, and George turned his head fully now, his gaze locking onto her face, searching for the pain she was trying so hard to keep buried.

Talwyn exhaled slowly and brushed her hair behind her ears, her fingers trembling slightly. The moonlight spilled over her skin, catching the faint outline of the bruise along her cheekbone. It wasn't dramatic, not anymore, but it was there. A soft, discolored mark that didn't belong on someone like her. Not on her.

George's expression darkened, a slow fury gathering behind his warm features. He reached out with cautious tenderness, his hand hovering for a moment before his thumb brushed gently across the mark. His touch was barely there, like a whisper, reverent and aching, as though acknowledging it made it more real.

She closed her eyes at the contact, just for a second, letting herself feel it. Letting herself breathe.

"Theo's always been protective," she said, voice quieter now. "I appreciate him for it. He can be out of line, yeah... but I can be the same way when it comes to him. We grew up like that. Twins don't really have boundaries, I know you understand that."

She paused again, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her eyes drifted away from George's.

"But Mattheo..." Her voice hitched slightly, like even saying his name tasted wrong now. "Mattheo is different. He's not my brother. But he is family. He's always been there. Since we were little. Since before I knew what it meant to protect someone."

She swallowed. "But he's been... blurring lines. Lines that probably should've stayed clearer."

George was quiet for a beat before he spoke, his voice steady. "He likes you."

It wasn't a question. It was a truth, spoken plainly.

"From what I can tell," she said with a slow, tired breath, "yeah."

He hesitated, then asked, softer this time, "Do you like him?"

"Do you like him?" George asked. 

In her mind, that was such a stupid thought. But she supposed she hadn't been clear with much of anything to him. 

"No," She said plainly. 

Her 'no' felt different from when she told Mattheo that she didnt like George. It was more powerful. More real. 

She turned toward him, her eyes finding his, and to her surprise, he was already watching her. His gaze didn't waver. It was patient, open.

"My father is a Death Eater, George," she said after a long beat, her voice barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud might summon him. The words hung heavy in the stillness, sinking deep into the cold night air. "I just... I need you to understand why I'm so scared."

She didn't look at him when she said it. She couldn't. Her eyes stayed fixed on the water, the way the moonlight danced over the black surface like it was trying to distract her from her own truth.

But she felt the warmth of his hand before she saw it; gentle, deliberate, threading his fingers through hers. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His hand in hers said it all: I'm still here. I'm listening. I don't care about any of that. I care about you.

She finally looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, she felt seen without being dissected.

"Are you more scared of me now?" she asked, trying to make her voice light, a joke to ease the weight in her chest.

"Terrified," he said dryly, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Absolutely shaking."

She laughed under her breath, the smallest sound of relief escaping her. But when she looked at him again, the humor in his eyes had softened into something else. Something quieter. Warmer. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then lifted back to her eyes. The unspoken question was there.

He wanted to finish what they'd started last night.

And she wanted to let him.

She didn't care if it was wrong, or stupid, or dangerous. For once, she wanted something that was hers. 

Just hers.

She was the one who leaned in this time. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up, reading the way his breath hitched slightly, the way his lips parted just enough. He smiled again - soft, small, a little pink in the cheeks now - but he leaned in too, the space between them shrinking with every second.

And just as their lips were about to meet-

"Get out of here, Weasel," a smug, familiar voice cut through the air behind them. "I've decided this is my spot for the night."

Talwyn flinched and pulled back quickly, like she'd been caught doing something illegal, which, in her world, this might as well have been. Her head snapped around to see Draco standing there, arms crossed, a twisted smirk on his face. 

He didn't look angry. No, he looked amused. Pleased, even. Like he'd stumbled onto the juiciest secret he'd ever been handed.

"Wow, Talwyn," he said, voice thick with mockery. "I knew you had a rebellious streak. But this? This is impressive. Even for you."

Her stomach dropped.

"And here I was thinking our date went well," he added with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

"Draco-" she started, already feeling the panic rise in her chest.

"Does your father know about this?" he asked, feigning innocence, his eyes sharp and calculating. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear the news. 'A Nott and a Weasley.' Honestly, it's romantic. Star-crossed, even. True love conquers bloodlines and all that rubbish."

"Draco, please-" she stood up quickly, her voice shaking despite her effort to stay calm. George stood too, stepping beside her without hesitation, his hand still at her back like he wasn't going anywhere.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," Draco went on, folding his arms. "I mean, I would offer you privacy, but now I'm far too entertained."

Talwyn clenched her jaw, the fire in her chest burning beneath the fear. She hated how easily Draco could turn things into weapons. How quickly he could turn something tender into something shameful.

George, to his credit, didn't say a word. But he didn't move either. He stood his ground, eyes steady on Draco. Not angry. Not flinching. Just there, unapologetically beside her.

Draco's eyes flicked between them, something unreadable passing over his face. Then he laughed—quiet, low, and far too satisfied.

"This'll be fun," he said, mostly to himself. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

Talwyn stood there frozen, the tension in her chest wound tight enough to snap. She couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't move. It was like the night had wrapped around her throat.

George turned to her slowly. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice quiet but unwavering.

"No," she whispered. "Not even close."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The wind rustled through the trees, the lake lapped softly at the shore, but Talwyn felt miles away from it all, like she was falling behind glass.

"Hey," George said, reaching out and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You're not alone in this, alright?"

"I am alone in this, George," she replied, her voice rough. "You just don't see it yet."

"Tal-"

"Leave me alone," she cut him off sharply, her eyes hard now despite the tears threatening to fall.

She turned and practically ran toward the castle, leaving him in stunned silence by the lake. Her feet pounded against the grass and stone paths, her heart racing faster than it should've been, chest tight with grief she didn't have the words for.

It always happened like this, every time she edged closer to letting George in, to allowing herself to want something real with him, the world reminded her why she couldn't. Why she shouldn't. Why it wasn't safe.

She hated that she cared. She hated that it hurt.

Tears blurred her vision as she stormed through the dim corridors, ignoring the portraits that muttered sleepily at the disruption. She didn't want to go to her room. She couldn't. She needed her other half.

She reached the Slytherin dorm entrance and banged her fist against the door with more force than necessary, not caring who she woke. Her breathing was uneven, her knuckles cold.

The door creaked open, revealing a very sleepy Lorenzo, hair a mess and pajama shirt crooked. He blinked at her in confusion.

"Tal?" he said, voice low and hoarse. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes darted behind him to the room where Mattheo was already sitting up, blinking through the shadows, and Theo was pushing his blanket off, instantly alert.

Her lips trembled. "Theo."

That was all she managed to say.

Theo didn't hesitate. He was out of bed in an instant, brushing past Enzo without a word, pulling her into his arms like it was instinct. She buried her face in his chest, clinging to his shirt as silent sobs took over.

Lorenzo stepped aside to give them some semblance of privacy. Mattheo didn't move from his bed, but his eyes didn't leave her. He was watching, unreadable, jaw tense.

Theo kept his arms wrapped around her as she cried, really cried, for the first time in a long time. There were no explanations yet. Just warmth. Just safety. And she clung to it like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

After a long few minutes, she finally pulled back, her voice raw. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Theo said, brushing her hair back. "Just... tell me what happened when you're ready."

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Not here."

Theo looked over at Mattheo and Lorenzo lingering by the dormitory door, then back at his sister, his expression tense. Without a word, he guided her gently past them and out into the common room. The fire had dimmed to a low flicker, casting golden shadows across the stone floor. It was quiet, too quiet, but at least they were alone.

He led her to the leather sofa in front of the hearth, the worn cushions creaking slightly as they sat. Talwyn tucked her knees up against her chest, pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands like she was trying to shrink into herself. Theo didn't push her. He just waited.

After a long moment, her voice came out barely above a whisper.

"I almost kissed him."

Theo blinked. "What?"

She turned her head toward the fire, her jaw trembling, but she didn't look at him. "George. It was George."

He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. She could feel the way his posture stiffened beside her. He already knew. Of course he did.

"And Draco saw," she added, her voice cracking as more tears slipped down her cheeks. "He saw everything, and he's going to tell Father."

The fear in her voice was raw, guttural. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jumper, but it didn't help. Nothing could.

Theo finally opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a voice cut in from the hallway.

"Seriously?"

Talwyn flinched and looked up as Mattheo stepped fully into the common room, arms crossed, eyes blazing. Lorenzo hovered awkwardly behind him, watching them both with a guilty expression but wisely keeping quiet.

"You almost kissed Weasley?" Mattheo spat, striding closer. "What the hell, Talwyn?"

Theo stood up immediately, stepping between them. "Not now, Mattheo."

"No, now," Mattheo snapped, his voice rising. "You knew what kind of risk this was. You knew what your father would do, what he's capable of! And you still- Merlin, Talwyn, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Oh, here we go," she muttered, standing up too. "Go ahead, Mattheo. Yell. Judge. Pretend like you actually care about me and not just about your damn pride."

His mouth opened, stunned. "You think this is about pride?"

"Yes!" she shouted. "Because everything you do is about control. About you. You want to protect me so badly, but it's never about what I want. You think you know what's best for me, but you don't. You never have."

Mattheo stepped forward, fire dancing in his eyes. "Someone has to, Talwyn. You clearly can't."

Theo held up a hand, trying to mediate, but Talwyn shook her head, her voice shaking with fury.

"Why do you always have to be here, Mattheo?" she snapped. "Why do you always have to get involved? Can't you just, for once, mind your own bloody business?"

He flinched at that, like her words had physically struck him. For a second, the firelight caught something raw in his expression, something heartbreakingly human.

"I figured it was him," Mattheo said flatly, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. "You've been spiraling all year, might as well go out with a bang, yeah?"

Talwyn's head snapped up. "Don't."

"What?" he said, raising a brow. "You want me to pretend like this isn't happening? You think this, whatever this thing with Weasley isn't going to end in disaster?"

She looked at him like she didn't recognize him anymore. "You're pathetic."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, something sharp flickering in them. "No, you are," he snapped. "Sneaking around, playing house with the Weasel, and then running to Theo when it all falls apart like he can fix it. Grow up, Tal."

The second the words left his mouth, he looked like he regretted them. His face twitched, as though he'd gone too far and knew it, but couldn't take it back.

Talwyn's heart thudded, not in fear but in rage. Cold, simmering rage. She stared at him, at the boy she had grown up with, the boy who had shadowed her and her brother for years, and realized just how much he had unraveled. And how cruel he'd become in the process.

"Fuck you," she said plainly, her voice low and lethal.

"Would both of you stop it?" Theo finally snapped, stepping between them. His voice was sharp enough to silence them both. "You two are acting like children. This isn't helping anyone."

That quieted the room. Talwyn blinked, breathing heavily, tears still clinging to her lashes. Mattheo stood rigid across from her, jaw tight, but silent for once. The fire crackled, the only sound filling the silence that followed.

Lorenzo, still standing near the doorway, let out a breath like he'd been holding it for far too long.

"I'm going to bed," Talwyn said quietly, brushing away a tear that lingered on her cheek. Her voice was low, strained. Hollow.

"Wyn-" Theo stepped forward, his hand reaching for her arm.

She flinched, pulling it away before he could touch her. "Don't."

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the common room, her boots echoing softly against the stone as she disappeared up the staircase.

When she reached her dorm, the other girls were already asleep, their curtains drawn and the room dim. The moonlight filtered in through the window, washing everything in a cold, silvery blue.

Talwyn didn't undress. She didn't brush her hair or change into pajamas. She just climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders like a shield. Her body ached—not physically, but in that deep, soul-heavy way that came from too much emotion and nowhere to put it.

She lay on her side, staring out at the sliver of night sky visible between the curtains.

She didn't know what she'd expected when she asked George to meet her. Closure, maybe. Or understanding. Or a chance at something reckless and beautiful. But it had all gone so wrong—Draco's smirk, Mattheo's shouting, Theo's disappointment, the fire between her and George extinguished in one breathless moment of panic.

She wished none of it had ever started.

And yet... she missed him.

That was the worst part. Even after everything. Even as her heart ached and her stomach twisted with regret and shame, she still missed George.

The way he looked at her like she wasn't just another Nott. Like she was someone worth seeing. Worth staying for.

Talwyn buried her face into her pillow, hot tears finally breaking loose again.