13. mean

Talwyn's POV:

Eighteen.

The number felt foreign on her tongue, too heavy to belong to someone like her. Eighteen was supposed to mean freedom, adulthood, choice. But as Talwyn stood in the narrow hallway of their father's house, suitcase in hand, it didn't feel like a beginning.

It felt like a delay.

Theo stood beside her, sharp-eyed and quiet. They had both learned to be quiet here, quiet meant safe, quiet meant survival. Even now, on the edge of escape, the silence hung between them like a third sibling, scarred and watchful.

Their father didn't speak to them as they left. He stood in the doorway of his study, arms crossed, mouth tight, staring through them like they weren't his. As if they never had been.

Talwyn held his gaze for only a second before looking away, her throat tightening. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, not on her birthday, not in front of him.

Theo's hand brushed against hers briefly as they stepped outside. It was the only acknowledgment either of them gave the moment.

The Ministry car was already waiting—courtesy of some last scrap of formality for returning Hogwarts students. Neither of them spoke during the drive. Theo stared out the window; Talwyn watched her fingers twist in her lap, heart thudding louder the closer they got to King's Cross.

She hadn't let herself think about George much during the months they'd been back home. It hurt too much. Every memory of him- his laugh, his warmth, the way he looked at her like she was something precious- had become something fragile and dangerous. She kept those thoughts in a box in her mind, hidden under locks she didn't dare open.

But now...

Now she was going back to the same halls, the same classes, the same castle where his smile used to find her across a room.

And she couldn't talk to him.

She wouldn't.

It would ruin everything.

He had a future. A family. Laughter again.

Talwyn didn't belong in that world anymore.

Not after what she and Theo had lived through.

And either way, her father wouldn't allow it.

She tried to breathe, to steady herself, as the train pulled into view. The whistle echoed through the station, shrill and final.

"Ready?" Theo asked, his voice softer than usual.

"No," she answered honestly. "But let's go anyway."

They boarded the Hogwarts Express, not as scared children this time, but as survivors. As people who had been broken and had stitched themselves back together in silence.

She pressed her forehead to the cold window, eyes scanning the platform. Somewhere, in this sea of trunks and laughter and moving bodies, she knew he was there.

George.

And she didn't know what she would do when she saw him.

The Hogwarts Express rumbled beneath her feet, the familiar sway of the train both comforting and unsettling. She and Theo had barely stepped aboard before being swept into the flow of students, voices buzzing with excitement, luggage dragged behind them like anchors.

For a moment, Talwyn thought she might walk the length of the train in silence, pretending this wasn't the most surreal return of her life.

But as she turned the corner past the fourth carriage, a familiar voice rang out.

"Well, well. If it isn't our little runaway princess."

Talwyn's heart leapt as she turned toward the compartment door. Mattheo leaned lazily in the doorway, a crooked smirk on his face, arms crossed. He hadn't changed much, still in dark clothes that barely passed the school's dress code, eyes gleaming with mischief and something a little sharper.

"Mattheo," she said, surprised at the warmth in her own voice.

Behind him, Pansy and Daphne were curled up on the seat beside Lorenzo, whose feet were thrown up on the opposite bench. The whole cabin felt like something sacred, chaotic and familiar and entirely theirs.

Daphne's eyes widened. "Talwyn?"

Pansy stood quickly, a wide grin spreading across her face. "About bloody time."

The second Talwyn stepped inside, she was pulled into hugs and jeers and jokes about "disappearing off the face of the planet."

"It's good to see you," Lorenzo said after a moment, his voice quieter than the others, but sincere. He gave her a nod, then tilted his head toward Theo as he stepped in behind her. "You too, Theo."

Theo simply nodded in return, slipping into the corner near the window like it was muscle memory.

They sat, the chatter slowly falling into something more comfortable. Pansy launched into stories about the end of the previous year, complaining about exams and gossiping about new professors. Daphne kept stealing glances at Talwyn like she didn't quite believe she was real.

Lorenzo finally leaned forward, elbow on his knee. "So, are we going to talk about the fact you just vanished without a word? Or are we pretending that never happened?"

Talwyn looked at him, not unkindly. "Let's pretend. Just for a little while."

Enzo studied her, then leaned back with a shrug. "Fine. But you owe me a very long, very dramatic explanation later."

The conversation carried on- light, teasing, sometimes piercing- but always real. For the first time in months, Talwyn felt almost like herself again. Not whole, not really, but a piece of her had been missing, and these people helped her feel like it might be recoverable.

Still, as the sky outside the window darkened and the train pushed farther north, Talwyn's thoughts drifted. Through laughter and comfort, she couldn't stop glancing toward the hallway, half expecting a shock of red hair to pass by.

But George never came.

The train slowed to a stop, the familiar screech of its brakes resonating through the station, and Talwyn felt the familiar flutter of excitement settle in her chest. She had been away for so long, but Hogwarts still felt like home in a way that nothing else ever would.

The students filed off the train, laughter and chatter filling the air as they made their way toward the carriages. Talwyn and Theo walked side by side, their heads low as they tried to avoid drawing too much attention. They had both grown over the summer, both mentally and physically, but there was a heaviness in the air between them, a silence that lingered, thick with all the things they hadn't yet discussed.

The carriages were waiting, and the ride up to the castle felt like a blur. Talwyn stared out the window, watching the darkened silhouette of the school come into view, the towers and turrets rising against the night sky.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, they filed into the Great Hall, the same warm golden light spilling out from the floating candles above. As always, the Sorting Hat ceremony was underway, first-years nervously being sorted into their houses.

Talwyn barely paid attention, her focus drifting across the room, searching for familiar faces. But George's wasn't one of them. She hadn't expected it to be. She couldn't shake the knot of uncertainty that had taken residence in her chest, though. It was hard to be back, knowing everything had changed, knowing she couldn't talk to him.

The sorting ceremony ended, and the food appeared, platters of steaming dishes, overflowing with every imaginable delicacy. The chatter among the students grew louder, but Talwyn found it hard to join in. Her thoughts kept drifting back to everything that had happened, the ache in her chest intensifying with each passing minute.

"I'll take this one," Theo said, nudging her gently. He knew she wasn't in the mood to make small talk with the others, so he made sure she was settled with her plate before he turned to converse with Pansy, who had been hounding him for the past ten minutes about a new Quidditch strategy.

As the feast progressed, Talwyn found herself distracted by her own thoughts. The conversations around her felt distant, as if they were happening on another plane. Her eyes wandered, looking across the room, hoping for a glimpse of him. But George was nowhere to be found. Not yet.

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The noise in the dungeon was almost deafening, the walls of the Slytherin common room vibrating with the heavy bass of music, the laughter and chatter of students returning to Hogwarts after the long break. It was tradition: every year, and this year was no different.

Talwyn stood in the corner with Daphne and Pansy, sipping a glass of pumpkin juice and watching the dance floor. Most of the students were still mingling and talking, but there was an energy in the air that made everything feel more intense than it should have been.

Mattheo and Lorenzo were over by the wall, talking with a few other students, their faces lit up by the neon glow of a few floating lanterns that flickered in the dark. Theo was lost in conversation with a group of first-years, probably regaling them with some story or another.

Talwyn wasn't in the mood for socializing, though. She wasn't sure what she wanted. There was a heaviness in her chest that hadn't gone away all day, and she wasn't sure how to shake it. She could feel the space between herself and the others growing. It was hard to be here, knowing she couldn't get close to anyone, least of all George.

And then she saw him.

It was like time stopped for a moment. There, in the midst of the crowd, George Weasley stood across the room with Fred, his back slightly to her, talking to some of the older students. She saw the familiar mess of his red hair first, and then the way his shoulders moved as he laughed at something Fred had said. He looked the same, but different. There was a weariness in his eyes that wasn't there before, something more burdened about his posture.

He didn't see her.

And she was glad.

Instinct took over. She turned, shoving her drink into Daphne's hands, muttering something that sounded like "I'll be back," though she didn't know if she meant it. 

She pushed her way out of the common room, the music and noise growing muffled behind her as she climbed the dungeon stairs, her legs carrying her without thought, only urgency.

By the time she reached the Astronomy Tower, her chest was aching and her hands were shaking. The night air bit at her skin, sharp and cold, but it was a relief, a reminder that she was still there, still real.

Talwyn sank down at the edge of the stone balcony, her feet dangling into the dark. She reached into her coat pocket, fishing out a crumpled cigarette and lighting it with trembling fingers. The smoke curled into the sky, disappearing among the stars like everything else she tried to hold onto.

She sat like that for what felt like an hour. Letting her thoughts settle into silence. Letting the quiet replace the noise.

It was safer this way.

Safer to stay hidden. Safer to feel numb.

But then-

Footsteps.

One pair. Slow. Unhurried. But getting closer.

Talwyn's stomach turned with unease. She didn't want anyone here. She wasn't ready for anyone. Not Mattheo, not Theo, not Daphne.

She stood quickly, brushing ash from her skirt and flicking there second cigarette into the wind. Her plan was simple: leave before they reached the top.

But fate had other plans.

Because as she turned, she was met with the one person she wasn't prepared for.

George.

His face was shadowed by moonlight, but she could see everything... everything.

The pain in his eyes. The confusion. The heartbreak. He looked like he was falling apart right in front of her, like just seeing her there was enough to break him open.

His voice cracked as he said her name.

"Talwyn-"

Her breath caught.

She hadn't heard him say her name in months. It sounded older, heavier now, like he'd been carrying it in his chest every day since she left.

She didn't move. Couldn't.

He took a hesitant step forward, as if afraid she might vanish again.

"You're really here," he whispered, not quite believing it. "I didn't think- I didn't think I'd ever..."

He trailed off, his throat working as if the words were stuck somewhere between hope and devastation.

Talwyn opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her lips trembled, her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to explain everything. But the space between them felt like an ocean.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?" he asked, voice hollow. "Fred knew. He saw you earlier. And you- what? Just ran off again?"

The words weren't cruel. They were broken. 

Desperate.

"I didn't know how," she said softly. "I was scared."

George laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "So was I."

Silence.

"You look the same," he said suddenly, voice quieter now. "But you don't. You look... tired."

She looked down. "I am."

He nodded like he understood. Like he'd been tired too.

"I wrote you," he said after a beat. "Every day."

Her head snapped up.

"I knew I couldn't send them, obviously. But I wrote anyway." He gave a sad smile. "I don't know why. Just... it made me feel closer to you."

Talwyn's eyes filled with tears. She wanted to reach for him, but her feet stayed rooted to the cold stone beneath her.

George looked at her again, really looked this time. "I missed you. Every day. Even when I hated you for leaving."

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He stepped forward, and this time, she didn't stop him.

"I know," he said.

And just like that, in the middle of the night on the Astronomy Tower, surrounded by shadows and starlight, they stood there, together again, for the first time.

The wind tugged gently at her hair as she stood inches from him, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall. She could smell him now, something warm and familiar, tinged faintly with woodsmoke and the Burrow. It made her chest ache.

But she stepped back.

Just enough.

George's brows knit in confusion, his expression faltering. "Tal...?"

"I can't," she said softly. Her voice cracked like thin ice. "We can't."

His face darkened. "What do you mean, we can't?"

Talwyn shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's too dangerous. If he finds out- if my father even hears about you- he'll do something this time. He won't care that I'm of age now. He'll find a way to hurt you. Or your family. Or Theo."

"I don't care what he-"

"But I do!" she snapped, the words laced with panic and pain. "Don't you get it, George? He owns us. Still. We may be here, we may be pretending to live freely for a few more months, but the moment I get close to anyone he doesn't approve of, he makes me pay for it."

She turned away from him, her hands trembling. "If you knew what he did when we got back-what he said-"

"I want to know," George said, stepping forward again, gentler now. "I want to know everything. Talwyn, I thought I lost you. For months I thought I'd never see you again. And now you're here, and you're telling me we have to pretend again? That I have to walk around this castle pretending like you don't exist?"

"I wake up every morning and hope I'll see you standing at my door. That I won't have to keep faking it—pretending I'm alright when I'm not. Mum cried, Talwyn. Proper cried. I've never seen her like that before. Fred couldn't sleep for days. He just... sat up and stared at the wall like he was waiting for something. And I-" his voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, like it hurt to keep speaking. "And I thought if I just held out, just waited, maybe you'd come back."

He took a shaky step forward, eyes pleading. "And then Fred says he saw you tonight, across the room. Just standing there. And I felt everything again. Everything I've spent months trying to bury."

His voice shook as he continued, lower now, as if ashamed. "Every word you ever said to me. Every kiss. Every time you looked at me like I was more than a joke or a Weasley or just someone to pass the time. It all came back like a bloody curse."

She swallowed hard. "It's better this way."

His voice dropped. "For who?"

She realized what she had to do to get him to go. To get him to safety. 

Make him believe what everyone else thought of her:

A pureblood Nott with no remorse for anyone. 

She flinched, but recovered quickly, eyes cold now. "For everyone."

George took a step toward her. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" she snapped. "Be honest?"

"No," he said, his voice trembling, "pretend like none of it meant anything."

She let out a bitter laugh, a fake bitter laugh while tears filled her eyes. "It shouldn't have meant anything. I was stupid to think it ever could."

His expression crumbled. "You don't mean that."

She met his eyes, her's growing as sharp as she could possible make them. "Don't I? You were a distraction, George. A pretty, naive fantasy I let myself indulge in when I forgot how the real world worked. But I'm not allowed to live in fantasies. I don't get that luxury."

His breath caught in his throat. "Tal-"

"My father nearly killed us. Killed us, George." Her voice rose, cracking, holding back the tears she wished she could let fall. "You think I get to play house with a Weasley and waltz off into the sunset? Grow up."

George stood frozen, silent under the weight of her words. Hurt flickered across his face, deep and raw.

"I'm scared," she added, lower now, more grounded. "But not of us. I'm scared of forgetting what it costs to feel safe. To trust people who don't understand the world I live in."

He tried again, quieter. "I'm not the enemy here."

"No," she agreed. "You're just collateral."

He took a step back like she'd struck him.

She looked away, her throat tight, eyes stinging.

"You should go, George," she said flatly, her voice barely more than a whisper, but cold enough to cut.

He stood there, frozen in place. His eyes searched her face one last time, as if hoping to find a crack in the wall she'd just put up. His lips parted, but no words came out. Whatever he might have said, whatever plea was building inside him, died on his tongue.

Finally, he gave a small, defeated nod, more to himself than to her, and turned around.

She couldn't bear to watch him leave. Her body turned instinctively, almost protectively, away from the sight of his retreating figure. She sat back down on the ledge, the cool stone pressing against her palms as her body curled in on itself.

And then it all broke.

The dam she had been holding back shattered, and the tears came pouring out of her like a storm. Not the quiet, restrained weeping she'd practiced in silence over the years, but a loud, gut-wrenching cry that scraped at her throat and rattled her bones. The kind of cry that only came from someone who had known real, cruel loss. Someone who had learned that love, for her, always came at a price.

She didn't know how long she sat there, only that when the echo of his footsteps finally faded into nothingness, she felt colder than she ever had.

Eventually, she wiped her face on her sleeve, hands trembling as she tried to steady her breathing. Her eyes were puffy, her head pounding, but she pulled herself up from the ledge. She had to move. She had to go back to the world and pretend none of this had happened.

The common room had quieted since she'd left. The Slytherin back-to-school party was winding down, the music softer now, the drinks still flowing. Her friends were still there, gathered in clusters. Pansy laughing at something Lorenzo had said. Daphne spinning slowly in place, clearly tipsy. And Theo, smiling for the first time in weeks as he chatted with someone near the fireplace.

Seeing him like that, light again, even if just for a moment, tugged at her heart. She managed a small smile through the ache in her chest. At least he had tonight. At least he was okay.

Without saying anything, she slipped away, climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

The room was dimly lit, quiet. Her roommates hadn't returned yet. But something on her bed caught her attention immediately, a plain red box, resting neatly atop her duvet. On top of it, a single piece of folded parchment.

She picked it up with hesitant fingers, unfolding it slowly.

~

These are yours.

-George

~

Her heart stuttered.

With a trembling breath, she opened the box.

Inside, parchment. Dozens. No... hundreds.

Some yellowed, others fresh. All carefully folded. Some short, some long, some smudged like they had been written in anger or desperation. Her name was scrawled on almost every one of them. Her name, over and over again.

They were letters.

Every letter he had ever written her.

Every word he hadn't been able to say.

She sank to the edge of the bed, her fingers grazing the delicate folds as if they were made of glass.

And for the second time that night, she cried.

But this time, it was quieter. A different kind of cry, one made up of guilt and longing and the cruel ache of love that refused to die.