16. relapse

Talwyn stared at her reflection in the long mirror propped against the dormitory wall, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the room. The red gown clung to her like it had been made for her, fitted through the bodice, with a dramatic open back and a skirt that fell in silky, elegant waves. It was bold. Brighter than she'd intended, but she loved it.

A month had passed since the night in the Astronomy Tower. Since she'd told him to leave. Since he had. A month of avoiding hallways and keeping her head down, of trying to breathe around the weight of regret in her chest. Fred still wouldn't look at her. George hadn't written again, not that she expected him to. Not after what she'd said.

And yet... every night, she had opened that box. Re-read those letters. Touched the edges of the frame that held her, now favorite, photo that she kept hidden beneath her pillow. Sometimes, she could still hear his laugh echoing in the back of her mind, like it had carved a permanent home there.

"Wow," said Daphne, stepping into the room and freezing. "You look damn good, Tal."

Talwyn blinked and gave a small smile. "Too much?"

"Too hot, maybe," Pansy added, appearing behind Daphne with a glass of something sparkling in her hand. "You look like every boy in that ballroom is about to regret his entire life."

"So glad you went with my choice," Lorenzo said, sauntering in behind them, eyes wide with amused surprise.

Talwyn's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to laugh.

"Well, Mattheo's going to love it," Daphne said brightly, ushering her toward the door. "Come on. He's been pacing in the common room for the past ten minutes. I think he's afraid you'll bail."

Mattheo had asked her to the ball about a week ago, she thought that idea was better than dancing by herself.

She let herself be pulled into the buzz of excitement, the swirl of perfume and soft chatter as they walked toward the ballroom. Her heels clicked across the stone floors, and for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the sparkle of it all, the anticipation, the promise of a distraction.

Mattheo was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in sleek black robes with emerald accents. He looked up, and for the first time in ages, he smiled with something like awe.

"Tal," he breathed, offering his arm. "You're..."

She took it, smiling softly. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Riddle."

"Stop flirting with my sister," Theo said half jokingly, coming from behind them. "You look good, Wynie."

Theo had decided to go with Daphne. Talwyn always had assumed he had a crush on her, but he was finally starting to show it.

The Great Hall had been transformed. Golden chandeliers hovered above, glittering with floating candles, while the long tables were gone, replaced by soft velvet seating, lantern-lit corners, and a sprawling dance floor. Music floated through the air, smooth and lively, and for the first time in weeks, Talwyn almost let herself relax.

Music floated through the room, smooth and lively, drawing students into one another's arms. Talwyn allowed herself to breathe, to feel almost normal again. Her hand rested lightly in Mattheo's as they spun across the floor, his charm providing a perfect buffer between her and the thoughts clawing at the edges of her mind.

They danced, they snuck drinks from a silver flask Lorenzo had smuggled in, and they laughed.

For a little while, it worked.

But then, her heart stuttered.

Across the room, framed by the soft golden light of floating lanterns and surrounded by a cluster of Gryffindors, stood George Weasley.

She saw the familiar mess of his red hair first. Than his shoulders, a little broader now. The slight curve of his mouth as he laughed at something, but it didn't reach his eyes. That was how she knew.

Fred leaned in beside him, whispered something. And then tilted his head, subtly, too subtly, toward her.

George's smile faded.

Slowly, like the turning of a storm, he looked across the room. And their eyes met.

It was like time collapsed.

Like nothing in the world had changed. Like everything had.

Talwyn felt the breath leave her body. She could barely feel Mattheo's hand on hers anymore. Her throat closed up. Her chest was suddenly too tight.

"Talwyn," Mattheo said beside her, voice careful, sensing the shift. "We've got another dance, yeah?"

But she couldn't respond. Her limbs felt leaden.

"I'm actually going to go get some water," she said quickly, too quickly, slipping her hand out of his. "I'll be back."

She didn't wait for a response. She walked away, weaving through the crowd until she reached a quiet table in the corner, where pitchers of water and empty goblets stood untouched. She poured herself a glass with slightly shaking hands and leaned back against the stone wall, the coolness seeping into her spine. The glass pressed to her lips gave her something to focus on. Something that wasn't him.

She was staring at her shoes, trying to count her breaths.

One. Two. Three-

Then two shoes stopped right in front of her.

She didn't have to look up to know.

But she did.

George.

He was standing there in a black dress shirt rolled to the elbows and deep crimson robes that should have clashed with his hair but didn't. His expression was unreadable, caught between cool and cracking.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking down to the dress, then back to meet hers. His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, but heavy with something sharp.

"Did you wear that for me?"

She blinked, thrown. The music faded into a muffled hum, the world narrowing down to him.

"Why would you think that?" she said coolly, tightening her grip on the glass, trying to steady herself.

"It's red," he said, voice tinged with sarcasm. "And your hot date's in green." A pause, then something crueler: "Happy to see that's finally working out for you, Tal."

He said it like it was poison in his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, trying to keep her expression flat, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. She glanced behind him and spotted Draco, leaned casually against a pillar, but his eyes were fixed on her, cold and calculating. 

The same boy who had gone to her father. The same boy who had helped ruin everything.

"I'm not doing this right now," she muttered, mostly to herself.

George leaned in slightly, brushing past her to grab a goblet and fill it with water. His closeness knocked the air right out of her lungs. His voice was low, just for her.

"I'm just getting water," he said. Then, quieter: "But meet me in the bathroom. Five minutes."

His breath gave off a faint scent of fire whiskey next to her ear. Her mouth opened to protest, to argue, but before she could say anything, he was gone.

Her face flared hot. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She looked down at the untouched water in her hands.

What the hell was she doing?

Why was she considering it?

Why did it still feel like her heart had never quite stopped being his?

She closed her eyes. 

She had a choice.

Let him go. Or follow him.

And despite everything she'd said, everything she'd told herself-

She already knew what choice she was going to make.

Talwyn's heart raced in her chest, her thoughts at war with herself. She had told herself this was over. That she could move on. That she could keep walking down the path she'd started.

But as the minutes passed, the words he'd said, his tone, the bitterness in his voice, the way his eyes had pierced through her, lingered like a burning scar.

She couldn't stay in the corner any longer. The room felt too small. The air too thick. Too suffocating.

It was easier to run.

She let the glass slip from her fingers, its contents splashing across the table before it hit the ground with a sharp, startled crack. Her hands trembled as she moved, more out of instinct than any real desire to make a decision. She walked toward the door of the Great Hall, her mind repeating the same thing like a mantra: I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't go. I shouldn't-

But she couldn't stop her feet.

The hallways blurred as she moved through them, the edges of the decorations fading into nothing as the beat of her heart pounded louder with each step. The closer she got, the more her body seemed to betray her.

She reached the door of the bathroom, her hand hovering above the handle, feeling the weight of every word she had ever said to him. Every moment they'd shared, every moment she had fought to forget.

The door creaked open. She stepped inside.

And there he was.

George was leaning casually against the sink, his arms folded, his face unreadable. He was watching the door, like he'd been waiting for her the entire time.

He didn't say anything at first. Neither did she.

The air between them was thick, heavy with the things they couldn't say. With the silence of months spent apart, of things unsaid and feelings ignored.

Finally, George sighed, his breath slightly shaky, betraying the calm exterior. "I didn't think you'd actually come," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "But then again, I don't really know what I thought."

Talwyn stood still, her back to the door. Every muscle in her body screamed to leave, but her feet were rooted to the spot. He was here. He was so close. And despite everything, she still wanted him. Wanted to know if things could ever go back to the way they were.

But they couldn't. Not after everything.

Her voice came out hoarse, like she hadn't spoken in years. "I don't know why I'm here, George."

He pushed off from the sink, his movement sharp. "Because it's been months, Talwyn. Months of pretending you don't exist, of trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense. And here you are, wearing red, standing in front of me, when you know what it does to me."

She clenched her fists. "I don't know why I did it." Her voice shook. "I didn't plan for this. I didn't plan for you. You-" She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. Not sure if she could without breaking. "You're just... you're just too much."

He took a step forward, but Talwyn didn't move. She wanted to retreat. She wanted to run, but her feet betrayed her.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending that we don't have something here, Tal. I can't pretend like you don't matter to me, like you never have."

"Stop," she whispered, stepping back from him. "You don't get it, do you?" Her eyes burned with unshed tears. "You don't get how hard it is to see you and still want you. To know that I shouldn't be standing here, that we can't go back. That I can't go back to that life with you."

He was silent for a long moment. A painful, tense silence.

"Then why the hell did you wear red?" His words were soft but firm, almost too quiet for her to hear.

She bit her lip, her gaze falling to the floor. "I didn't know what else to wear. Lorenzo picked it actually, I suppose he likes to cause drama." Her words felt weak, but they were all she had. "I didn't want to see you at all. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you. About everything we were. And now I'm standing here, again, making the same mistakes."

George's gaze softened, but the hurt remained. His voice was quieter now, though tinged with a sadness that seemed to swallow every ounce of anger he had left. "You're not making mistakes. You're just scared. I get it, I do. I'm scared too."

He took another step forward, but this time she didn't back away.

"I just don't know how much longer I can keep living in this in-between, Talwyn. I don't know how much longer I can pretend I'm fine."

For a long time, neither of them moved. She watched him carefully, her heart breaking in a way she hadn't let herself feel in so long. She couldn't take this. She couldn't keep doing this to herself.

"I can't be here with you, George. Not like this," she said softly, her voice breaking.

He closed his eyes, his breath ragged. "Then why the hell are you still here?"

Talwyn didn't answer. She couldn't.

And for once, neither of them said anything else.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, but George wasn't about to let it last. The air was thick with everything that had gone unsaid, everything they'd tried to bury. He could feel her pulling away, but he was done with being distant, done with holding back.

"You know," he said, voice low and dangerously close, "you're being cruel, Talwyn. Pushing me away like this, but I know it's on purpose."

She lifted an eyebrow, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Oh? You think so?"

George took a slow step forward, his eyes dark and intense. "I know so," he said, his lips curling into a smirk. "You were a complete dick to me on the tower the night, said things I know you would never usually say. You wore that dress for a reason. Red, my color. Mattheo can't even look at you without wondering if you're thinking about me."

Talwyn's heart skipped at his words, but she bit back her reaction, trying to maintain the distance she'd carefully constructed. "You're delusional if you think I'd do anything for you."

He didn't miss a beat. "I don't think it, Talwyn. I know it." His voice dropped lower, and his gaze hardened with an intensity that made her pulse race. "I can see it in your eyes. You've been pretending, you are pretending, but you've never been good at it. You still want this."

Her chest tightened. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

He stepped closer, until they were nearly toe-to-toe. "Don't I?" His voice was low, almost a growl. He leaned in, his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you don't miss me."

She swallowed, heart pounding, but the words wouldn't come.

He saw the hesitation in her, and his grin turned wicked. 

Without another word, he dropped to his knees right in front of her, eyes never leaving hers. 

The sudden shift left her breathless, the vulnerability in the gesture almost unbearable. She looked down at him, and the way his eyes were begging for her.

"You think I'd ever walk away from you?" he whispered, his hands resting on her legs, her thighs. "You think I'd let you go without fighting for you? No chance." His gaze flickered up, meeting hers with something raw, something desperate.

She gasped, her breath caught in her throat as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them. He was so close now, so close that she could feel the heat of his body, his presence overwhelming her.

"You're the one who can't make up her mind, Talwyn," he continued, his voice now hushed, almost tender. "And you're right. I don't know how to let you go. Not when every part of me still wants you. So I've decided I'm not. I'll never let you go, Tal."

Talwyn's heart was hammering in her chest, every ounce of control slipping through her fingers. She knew she should pull away. She should tell him to get up, to stop this madness.

But she couldn't, so she raked her hands through his hair as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Her eyes flickered down to his lips, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he could hear the way her breath was shallow. "George," she whispered, her voice cracking.

He stayed there, kneeling in front of her, his hands still resting on her legs still, eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't place. "I've waited for you, Talwyn," he said, voice rough with raw need. "And I'll keep waiting, if I have to. But I need to know... do you still want me? And dont fucking lie to me, you've been doing too much of that."

The room seemed to disappear, the music fading into the background as she stared down at him. She wanted to tell him, to make the right choice, but the truth was that every part of her, every goddamn part of her, wanted to pull him back to her, to give in to the feelings she'd buried.

Instead, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"George," she whispered again, her voice thick with the weight of her emotions. She was unable to form a coherent sentence.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. He just stayed there, kneeling before her, like he was waiting for her to find her way back to him.

"Take your time," he said, voice low, barely audible. "But don't make me wait forever. I'm done with the ball. I'll be in my room. You know where to find me."

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

She didn't move right away. She stood there in the dim bathroom, her reflection in the mirror catching the flicker of doubt behind her eyes. Her dress, bold and red, felt like a scar now. Her heartbeat echoed in her chest like a drum. She braced her hands on the sink and leaned forward, trying to calm the storm inside her.

Minutes passed. She wasn't sure how many.

She thought about everything: the letters, the photograph, the way her hands had trembled when she opened that box. The way he had looked at her tonight like she was still his, even after everything.

And then, before she could talk herself out of it, before the fear could win again, she was moving.

The corridor outside the Gryffindor common room was dim and silent, lit only by a few flickering torches. Her heels clicked quietly against the stone floor, each step measured and careful, like if she walked too fast, she might change her mind.

She whispered the password to the Fat Lady, the one George had told her last year during a night filled with whispered promises and stolen glances. She hadn't forgotten it.

The portrait swung open slowly, and she paused at the threshold, peeking in. The common room was empty, a warm golden glow spilling from the fireplace. It smelled like cinnamon and old wood, and it hit her so hard it nearly knocked the breath from her chest.

She slipped inside.

Her eyes went to the boys' staircase. Her heart thudded faster as she climbed it, one slow step at a time. When she reached his door, she stopped.

She stood there, frozen, staring at the wood like it might have answers. Why was she really here? What was she doing? This couldn't be a good idea. It wasn't smart. It wasn't safe.

But it was honest.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough tonight.

She raised her hand. Knocked once. Twice.

The door opened almost immediately, like he'd been waiting right on the other side.

George stood there, shirt half-untucked, waves of his hair a little messier than before. His eyes met hers and didn't drop, didn't flinch. He didn't look surprised to see her. If anything, there was something like relief in the quiet way his shoulders fell.

Without a word, he reached for her.

His hands found her waist and pulled her in, mouth crashing into hers as he backed them into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. She barely had time to catch her breath before his lips were on hers again, desperate and warm and familiar.

It wasn't soft. It was aching.

He kissed her like he needed her, like every second apart had built up behind his ribs and was now unraveling. She matched it — pulling him closer, fists in the front of his shirt, like maybe if she held him tight enough, the world wouldn't fall apart again.

He walked her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed, then guided her down gently. She sank into the mattress, watching him as he straightened up and reached for his tie. His fingers were quick, tugging it loose, then moving to the buttons on his shirt.

And then he paused.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice low, hoarse, barely more than a breath. His eyes locked with hers, unmoving. "I need you to tell me to stop."

She didn't blink. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"I can't," she whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes, want and warning. He dropped his shirt to the floor and leaned over her again, his body close but not yet touching.

"I need to hear you say it," he murmured, his hand hovering beside her head, bracing himself above her.

"I don't want you to stop," she said, louder this time, her voice trembling but clear. "Please don't stop."

That was all he needed.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. His hand slid to her jaw, cradling her like she was something precious, even as the kiss burned between them. Her dress slipped from her shoulders, and he took his time, memorizing every inch like he hadn't dared to dream he'd ever be this close again.

They didn't speak.

Not as clothes disappeared.

Not as hands relearned the shape of each other, tracing old maps like they'd never forgotten the path.

The silence wasn't empty, it was reverent. Weighted. Like breathing too loud might shatter the moment. Like this, right here, was something sacred.

The world outside didn't exist. Not tonight.

George's fingers curled around the thin strap of her dress, and he paused. Not to hesitate, but to look. To see her. As if he needed to memorize her all over again.

Then, slowly, he slid the fabric down her shoulders. Inch by inch. His eyes never left hers until the dress pooled at her waist. When they finally did wander lower, it wasn't with lust — or not just that. It was hunger, yes, but layered with awe. With ache. With apology.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles down the side of her ribcage with a tenderness that nearly undid her.

"You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you," he whispered.

The words hit her harder than she was ready for. Her chest squeezed tight, breath caught. Her eyes burned — not from grief this time, but something else. Something heavier and lighter all at once.

She'd prepared herself for guilt, for tension, for regret. But she hadn't expected this: the overwhelming swell of love. Of adoration. Of the safety she'd tried so hard to pretend she didn't miss.

Her hands cupped his face without thinking, thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, memorizing them all over again.

"You say things like that," she murmured, voice unsteady, "and I don't know how I'm supposed to walk away again."

He leaned in, their foreheads touching. His nose grazed hers, breath warm and shallow.

"Then don't," he whispered. "Don't walk away."

It wasn't long before he was inside of her, making her gasp for air as she remembered how euphoric it felt to be this close to him. 

He remember what she had liked from the last time, the pace, the way he held her, the way he said her name. 

He kissed her neck as he fucked her, softly compared to the way his body was slamming into hers. 

"Turn around," He whispered in her ear, not asking, commanding. 

She did as he said, turning around quickly. He slammed back inside of her, holding onto her waist as he did. This feeling was stronger, deeper. 

After a moment, he reached forward, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back, but he didn't change his pace. 

"Fuck, George," She moaned out, causing him to make more noises at the sound of his name coming off of her lips. 

"I love when you say my name," He groaned out. "You're taking it so well, Talwyn." 

She was clenching the blanket on his bed in her fists, her legs shaking a bit from her falling over the edge, the feeling almost too much, but she didn't want it to stop. 

"I love how you shake under me," He said, realizing the effect he had on her. 

She moaned a series of words, his name, curses, how she loved him. 

He took his hand out of her hair and grabbed her neck instead, his thrusts were becoming more sloppy, and she smiled to herself realizing she was the one making him feel this good. 

"Shit, Talwyn," He said as he finally finished inside of her. 

He stayed inside of her for a moment, catching his breath, before he pulled out and laid down on the bed, pulling her onto him, making her lay in his arms. 

He ran his fingers through her hair, slow and gentle, like he had all the time in the world. Every so often, he dipped his head to kiss the top of hers, soft, lingering kisses like he was thanking her without needing to say a word. Like her very presence was a comfort he hadn't dared dream of for months.

The room was still. Quiet. Just the two of them and the fading warmth of the night.

"I love you, Tal," he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a truth he'd been carrying far too long. No hesitation. No fear. Just love, real and raw and aching.

Her breath caught, and she tilted her head just enough to meet his eyes through her lashes. There was no use pretending anymore. No point in pushing him away when every part of her had already come home.

"I love you, George," she whispered back.

And just like that, he smiled, really smiled, the kind she hadn't seen since before everything fell apart. Like for the first time in a long time, he could breathe without it hurting.

He stood up slowly, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before walking over to his dresser. The room glowed with the soft, flickering light of the enchanted lanterns, casting warm shadows against the old wooden walls.

He tossed her a pair of his boxers, worn in and soft, and a T-shirt that smelled like him, and pulled on a pair of sweats himself. She sat up, pulling the oversized shirt over her head, and couldn't help the way her heart clenched watching him move around the room like this was just... normal. Like this was theirs.

When he climbed back into bed, she curled into his side without thinking. His arm came around her instantly, like muscle memory. Like nothing had changed.

They fell asleep like that. Entwined. Quiet. Safe.

But just beyond the walls of the Gryffindor dorm, the world was still spinning, still waiting to catch up with them.

And morning always came.