"Here lies the essence of my heart. Oh, how the windows to the soul shatter with the barest whisper of your love," Dinah reads softly, tapping what she had explained to be a pen against her cheek. "You are the flames of passion reborn in dark waters, trembling between the... uh, line?"

Iola hums, tracing a drop along the chilled glass. "Trembling between the space of my rib cage threatening all logical thought?"

The other girl taps her pen against her journal, nodding quickly. "Oh, that's good."

She scribbles it down and she continues to face outward.

They were hiding without hiding in a barely used corridor window seat with their legs curled together. Sofie and Fleur has been trying to corner her after she had spoken to Madame Maxime, and the twins had made it clear they wished for a moment as well. Harry has taken his friends as well, which was perfectly fine since she didn't know Ron and didn't care much for making friends with Hermione anymore. Viktor was, of course, not one to mention these things or make her feel uneasy, but she imagined that he would not want to come around when she was still beaten and bruised.

It was a good thing that Iola hadn't made many friends in her life seeing as she was having trouble avoiding the few she had manage to make and then lose.

At least Dinah hadn't made any mention of it, taking it in stride, ready to do whatever she wanted to ignore the fact.

Apparently, writing her own poetry was something she always wanted to try. She had a friend that she wanted to prove wrong, or something.

Her palm comes to rest flat against the window, the cold spreading to the tips of her fingers and she moves so her shoulder pressed more firmly against it.

Dinah doesn't look up as she shifts as well, accommodating the small change.

"Would it be tacky if I mention the sunset?"

"Perhaps. You were just taking about love through the body."

"Making it about nature might be a little off," Dinah agrees, crossing something out on her page. "Wotcher Helene!"

Iola turns slowly, smiling tightly at the approaching blonde. "Hello."

"Good afternoon, Dinah, Iola."

"Is it afternoon already? Think we missed lunch."

"We did not go for lunch so we must have," Iola says, biting back a grin.

Dinah pokes her thigh with her foot. "Cheeky."

She grins, turning away to face Helene. "What is that?" She asked pointing to the rolled paper in her hands.

Helene shifts uncomfortably, fiddling with the papers. "It's the Daily Prophet. I found it in the common room and thought you might want to see it."

"Me?"

"I imagine it'll be easier to see what it says on your own instead of from someone else."

Taking the newspaper, she unrolls it slowly, biting down on the inside of her cheek harshly at the headline that greets her.

'Young Super Star Nothing More Than A Fraud?'

Her fingers curl into the paper, careful not to top it as it crumbles in her holds.

She reads through it quickly, racing over the pages filled with nothing but speculation and accusations. Over and over, it mentioned her mother's influence and whether or not that had anything to do with her success. Starting quite clearly that they believed her to be cheating this entire time.

It wasn't the first time they had suggested something along those lines, but it was the first time someone bought into any of it.

Apparently, they were going to be looking into it, into her memories.

To validate her existence or prove her innocence, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

This article destroyed her. It ruined her reputation, ruined her image, ruined her life.

No one was going to love her ever again. Iola knew that she had achieved her success all on her own, but no one was ever going to let her get by without questioning her again.

And she wasn't sure who to blame about any of it.

Standing abruptly, she hands back the paper without a word, smoothing out her dress. "If you will excuse me," she says, clearing the lump from her throat.

"Iola, wait, it's not that bad," Dinah says, grabbing her wrist.

She pulls away. "I'm sorry. I just need a moment to myself."

Leaving with quick, hurried steps, Iola runs off, letting herself get lost in the castle as she fights to hold back tears and the mourning of the career that was her life.

Mourning. Grief. Rage. Unmistakable hurry at the direct stack of her pride. What was she to do with all of this when no one she knew would ever understand?

Fire sears through her stomach and she growls, clutching at the material of her dress as she feels energy build though her. With a shriek, she hits the stone wall with an open hand, palm stinging at the repeated motion.

How could this have happened to her? She was at the top of the world. How was she going to fix everything?

A boom sounded from the end of the hall, colours exploding everywhere, paints spattering to the floor a few feet before her. Iola can't help but gape at the mess.

At the centre, staggering away from the paint bomb with a glazed expression in his eyes, was George Weasley. His hair was blown back, a rainbow of colours hiding his clothes, and she couldn't help her laughter as it broke free in hysterics.

"What are you doing?" She gasps, not bothering to hide the joy she got from the situation.

George grins lopsidedly. "I just wanted to get your attention. You've been running from me."

"I never run."

"But you've been avoiding me. Why?"

She purses her lips, suddenly not finding herself amused.

"I have done nothing that you have not done."

George steps forward, and she takes an automatic step back. "I'm sorry, Iola. I was acting like a complete prat. You didn't deserve any of that. I should have trusted you."

"Yes, you should have, but it is over with now. I know what people think of me," she says dismissively. "I will make better choices when it comes to my... friends in the future."

He reaches out to her and she lets him, watches as he leaves a yellow handprint on her sleeves. "You have to understand what it was like. You can't blame me for being angry about some of the things too were saying, Iola."

"I can. I thought that you might know me a little better to think there was something wrong."

His face contorts. "How was I to know the difference when the words were coming out of your bloody mouth?"

"Because they were not my words! You should have noticed."

"How? Tell me how, Iola, because I wasn't the only one."

"No, you were all very ready to believe the worst in me that it did not occur to you that I was the— that I was the one being hurt, not you."

"I'm sorry, alright? I'm rubbish at apologies, I never know what to say, but I am sorry, Iola. I never should have treated to like that. You didn't deserve it."

Her jaw clenches angrily and she tried to beat back her reaction to his sympathy (or perhaps it was the pity she could not tell).

"I do not want your apology, George. It is no good to me."

"Then what can I do? How can I fix this?" He asks, desperately reaching as she steps back and bats his hands away.

"There is nothing to fix. Just leave it alone."

He shakes his head. "I can't. I was a bloody idiot and I won't let the best thing that has ever happened to me get away."

Iola scoffs, shaking her head. "I am not the best thing to ever happen to you."

"You are, I swear, you are. Letting Whatever this was, whatever I meant to you, slip away, will be the biggest mistake I ever make," George says, eyes impossibly bright.

"It's too late. I won't let such a thing happen to me again. I have to make sure of this."

"It won't happen again. I won't make the same mistake twice, not when it comes to you," he swears.

"You cannot be positive."

"I can, Iola. I promise that I won't hurt you ever again," George emphasized, hands hanging at his sides. "I never want to see that hate in your eyes directed at me again, Iola. I love you."

Blinking, she struggles to swallow, struggles to breathe, to get the words to form.

It was impossible for that to be true, it couldn't be, but that made sense though, didn't it, the way he looked at her.

"How do you know?"

It's George's turn to look stupefied. "What?"

"How do you know you love me?"

She couldn't place the expression he makes when he looks at her. "It's the way everything just lights up when I see you, really, and how I can't get you off my mind. Forcing myself to stay away was torture and when I saw what your—" he stops, breathing heavily— "when I saw what Aveline did to you, I wanted to," George grins the last few words out, shaking his head. "There isn't one set thing, Iola. I just know how I feel and know that I want to be with you, that I love you."

She sobs restlessly. "You barely even know me."

"Does it matter? It doesn't change how I feel. I just know that I love you, Iola."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything to you. Isn't this a good thing?"

"How can it be a good thing? Do you not understand what it is you are doing? I do not need distraction when I am trying to rebuild everything that was taken from me," she argues, pushing him away angrily.

George gapes. "Rebuild? What are you on about?"

"How can you not see? People are saying that I am nothing but a lie. I do not have the time to pretend that you are telling the truth."

George shakes his head, wiping paint from his cheeks distractedly, mouth working soundlessly. He looks so foolish covered in all that paint, but so wonderfully beautiful all the same. He would be the death of her, she was certain.

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," he tells her.

"I do! I have made my career my life and without it I have nothing. Without it I am nothing! It is all I have ever known, it is all that I have ever strived to achieve!" Iola finds herself shouting. "I have no family and once I leave this school I will have no friends. I will be alone with only my success and now it is being stolen from me. I can't have distractions when they are what put me in this situation."

"What? No, your mother, that woman, did that to you. This wasn't your fault."

She bites the inside of her cheek. "She would not have needed to do anything if I could only stay focused. She attacked you because she knew how important you were becoming to me."

"She did it because she's a bad person, Iola."

"But she had point, no? I do not do what I am told once in my life, the first being here, when I came to Hogwarts, and look at what has happened to me?" She gestures to herself, pointing downward her entire figure, paying special attention to her face. "I am a mess. I have nothing. I am no one."

"Don't you say that! Don't you say you're no one."

"I am! I am nothing, George! Look at me. Look at me!" She screams, hitting his chest. "I am nothing without my titles and fame. I have nothing else. It is my entire person. My whole world."

"That isn't true," he breathes, holding her hands tightly. "You are so much more than a duelling champion, Iola."

"How can you lie? How can you say such things when the only reason you are interested to begin with was because of who I was?" She argues, trying to pull away from him.

He refuses to let go. "You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for. You will go down in history if that's what you want. I'll help you get there. Just please, stop talking about yourself like that."

Iola freezes, gazing up at him imploringly, hypnotizing brown eyes drawing her in. "How are you so ready to help me all the time?"

"Because I love you," he readily replies.

Blinking, she pulls her head back to look at him confounded. "How can you say that so easily?"

"It's true."

"But to tell the world your emotions... how can you do this?"

George frowns adorably. "You don't have to hide what you're feeling. There's nothing wrong with being open."

"It is weakness and vulnerability," she points out, letting her distaste be known.

He shakes his head, thumbs brushing against her skin in distracting circles. "It's strength and self-assurance in yourself."

"You say that with such certainty and confidence."

"Well, someone has to explain things to you," he teases, shrugging in faux nonchalance.

"And you believe that is to be you?"

George grins. "Who better?"

"Someone who will not let me stray from my goals. My ambitions are not dreams or hopes. They are something that is already mine that I only need to reclaim."

He sighs, letting go of one hand to brush his fingers along her cheek. She watches the movement in the reflection of his eyes, following the trail of yellow against the unblemished skin of her cheek. She watches as his gaze flickers briefly to the other side, gaze lingering on the cut that was sure to scar.

George Weasley was a baffling being that she wasn't able to quite understand like he made it his purpose to be unreadable to her.

"I would never stop you from reaching your goals. I just want to reach those goals with you."

She swallows thickly. "I do not know how to accept help."

"I'll teach you."

"You do not seem like a good teacher."

"We can figure it out together. You're smart enough for both of us."

She snickers, loving the way he didn't falter as he continued to gaze down at her. "What of your goals? You wanted a joke shop..."

He shrugs. "Freddie won't mind if I split my time a little bit. He's been a bit busy himself lately."

Laughing stupidly, she can only shake her head up at him, unable to make sense of the conversation they were having. It was like things were shifted again, as if they were fine and she realized that she had already forgiven him somehow — that she was ready to give up everything if it meant she got to keep him as her prize instead.

Iola wasn't sure if anyone had ever loved her quite like this, quite in this way. It felt dangerous to her, unnatural, and she wanted to greedily have it all.

"You would set time aside just for me?"

"You'd be surprise by how much I'm willing to do for you."

"You do not even know if I have forgiven you, yet! What if I want nothing to do with you?"

He blinks as if it was only just occurring to him. "I'd just keep trying if. I'm a stubborn bloke," he says. "Do you forgive me, though?"

Iola speaks before she could stop herself. "Yes."

George's brilliant smile was worth it. "Brilliant! I knew I loved you for a reason."

Blushing, she's surprised when he pulls her into a hug, wrapping himself around her, and it's enough o take the weight of her world from her shoulders for now, giving her room to breathe as she lets him hold everything back.

Her eyes sting, cheek throbbing from the emotions that had overworked the muscles, cut itching where it had scabbed over.

"I am not sure I know what it is to love someone," she admits.

George holds her tighter. "S'alright, I'll teach you."

She sniffles. "You seem to think you will be a very good teacher."

"Best one to ever live, for sure," he remarks, squeezing her once more before he pulls away, keeping one arm firmly around her shoulders. "What do you say we get ourselves cleaned up?"

Looking over herself, she denies his request with a silly smile. "Let's stay like this a little more. It is fun."

"Wicked! Let's get a move on, then. Don't know how long Freddie can keep Filch from coming around."

With a small smile, Iola lets George lead her away, lighter than she had been in such a long time.

°°°
Vote,
Comment,
& follow me on wattpad

Hello! I'm not sure how good this is so let me know, y'all!! Comments. Comments. Comments.

Unedited

2020-01-17