Wicked Games - George Weasley

by Itsmimimora

Summary:

Nova Rowen and George Weasley engage in the bet that could end in victory-or disaster. Every prank and clever move drags them closer, blurring the line between rival and temptation. In the game of mischief, Hogwarts is the playground...and neither of them is playing fair.

Chapter 1

The cauldron bottom was so crusted with mixtures of long-forgotten potions it seemed placed here since the first Triwizard Tournament, hundreds of years ago.

Nova Rowen could swear a rat had made a disgusted face just passing by in between her feet, now dusting with dirt at every pace.

However, George Weasley was taking detention quite calmly since it wasn't the first time he was enclosed inside Filch's rusty storage room.

He swept the floor with a broom not able to reach his height, lazily whistling the Hogwarts, Hogwarts theme song, making it more annoying by the second.

"What are you in for this time?" she murmured, resting the lid on top of the cauldron, gagging loudly.

"Fireworks show inside the prefect bathroom," he shrugged, guiding the dust under the rug. "What about you, new girl?"

"Didn't show up for Divination class," she sighed, opening the nearby box. "No one told me this school took attendance that seriously."

A cloud of dust burst in Nova's face the second she placed books on top of a shelf. It caught her throat to the point of almost choking—this was a ridiculous way to punish students.

George balanced his hands on top of the broom, taking her in with utter intrigue. This girl had transferred here only this year, and in one month her disciplinary record was reaching the same level as him and his twin Fred—remarkable.

"You didn't have detention in Ilvermorny?" He raised an eyebrow, studying her movements—delicate one second, clumsy the other.

"Yeah, but my friends often took the blame for everything I did." She smiled faintly at the memory while tracing an empty portrait on the wall—no moving character dared to stay in this room too.

George couldn't help but notice she had the same mischievous expression as Fred—probably as him too. A whimsical energy followed her around, acknowledging the surroundings for what they were—claustrophobic, dirty, and extremely smelly.

"Sorry to inform you, blondie, no white knight in this castle." He shrugged mockingly, sitting up on the nearby dusty desk with the broom still supporting his hands.

Nova noticed, with the corner of her eye, the state of contemplation he had fallen into. Even in this dimness, his ginger hair brightened with its own light. There was something uncanny, almost demonic, in his way of teasing everything, even the thin air.

"What the fuck are you doing? They won't let us out until it's all clean," she snapped, raising her hands to mark the mess still lingering between their bodies.

"Oh, don't worry, we still have a few minutes before Filch falls asleep on the chair and we'll be free to go." He smirked, gazing at the watch adorning his right wrist.

Since arriving here, Nova hadn't paid enough attention to the other students. She had learned a few names, could recognize some faces, exchanged smiles of recognition in the hallway, but still never took a second to study someone this up close.

She was too absorbed in the reason that had forced her to transfer, forgetting her surroundings for a while longer than expected.

George and Fred Weasley were famous, and she had been informed immediately not to accept candies from them, to look up at the classroom doors for any bowl of paint about to be released—no one had warned her to stay away from them though, even if everyone was scared to be caught in their pranks.

She scanned his second-hand robe, getting dirtier with every puff of dust rising in the air from their mere presence moving the atmosphere. His lips seemed unable to lose the smile—wide or soft, it always lingered there.

And what a surprise—he couldn't take his own eyes off her either. Blame the small space or the suffocating silence, but he was building the image of her deeply in his mind.

The new girl, straight out of America. Platinum-blond hair too precise to be natural, and eyes like blue steel—sharp, cold, impossible to ignore. She was tall—taller than most of the boys in her year, nearly eye-to-eye with George—and carried herself like she had nothing to prove.

There were whispers, naturally. The kind that slither through corridors and stick to closed doors. No one knew the full story—only that something had happened. Something big. And everyone was dying to know what it was.

"Let's go, blondie, it's showtime." He nudged, jumping off the desk, raising even more dust from the force of movement.

"My name is Nova, by the way, and I'm quite fond of it," she snapped, following him to peek from the wooden door, but he simply chuckled, ignoring the words completely.

A slight crack guided it ajar until Filch's body was visible. He was indeed sleeping, snoring loudly in the wide hallways with his cat purring on his lap—half-eaten cookie in one hand swinging from the side of the chair.

Sharing a quick amused look, Nova and George proceeded to exit with feather-like steps, making sure the old floor wouldn't betray them at every step.

In that split second she felt the adrenaline crawling up her spine the same way as when bickering with a man and breaking his ego, or when lighting something on fire in anger with the world—the adrenaline of feeling alive.

They reached the floor below Filch's storage room and immediately started breathing more loudly, faintly smiling while still looking back in fear he was following and detention wasn't due to end.

"I take it back. There is a white knight in this school after all." He wiped mockingly at the dust from his robe, proud as ever to have shown himself off.

"Well, when you find him, don't hesitate to bring him to me," she teased, leaning back on the wall, still too overwhelmed.

"Ah, funny blondie. You really are a little ray of pitch black, indeed." He chirped, leaning on the opposite wall, taking her in one last time.

"Huh, dickhead," she murmured, crossing her arms in desperate need to shield herself.

"Brat," he hissed, looking in the opposite direction while still eyeing her subtly.

Both forced themselves to maintain control, to not be the first breaking this tension between them, but it was impossible.

The second their eyes met again, a new sense of amusement grew exponentially, and their faint laughs invaded the empty hallways, bouncing off the walls, recreating an eerie yet pleasant echo.

But apparently they weren't the only ones hearing that. Filch's cat appeared from the left corner, meowing loudly in order to warn her owner—the smiles faltered immediately, and they jumped towards one another.

"Okay, let's split up so we won't both get caught," he murmured, shifting dangerously serious as he towered over her.

"Great plan. I go left, you go fuck yourself," she snapped, starting to run away—in the wrong direction of what she said.

"What? Blondie, wait!" He followed, forgetting about his own plan already.

Hogwarts had seen pranksters before, but the way Nova and George grinned at each other in the dark promised a different kind of trouble—the sort of chaos that could rattle the castle itself.

Chapter 2: A Good Shot

November 2, 1994

Face of an angel. Mind of a devil.

That's how many Hogwarts students had learned to define Nova. Since arriving here, no sweet word had escaped her glossy lips—only insults, cussing, out-of-context academic facts, and teasing, a lot of this one.

She carried more anger than a thousand armies could ever bear. When she walked, all the demons stopped to admire hell's work. Her smiles suffocated an ocean of agonies and still, there she stood, never allowing this anger to overflow—she would channel it towards everyone instead of dealing with what made her this angry.

Why does she act this way? Hold on a little longer. It will all make sense sooner rather than later.

''Ten sickles I can make the shot from here.'' She drifted the knife in her fingers, confidence as very few times before—a bet was the perfect breakfast.

''Ten sickles you'll kill someone this time,'' Padma scoffed faintly, sipping the cup of steaming tea with utter contempt—it was way too early to think about the consequences of agreeing to this.

''Please let it be Percy Weasley so I can sneak out tonight,'' Parvati murmured, locking her palms together in a real dramatic prayer—not to a god surely, rather the devil sitting beside her.

What a charismatic trio, being loud in the Great Hall when most found it difficult to keep their eyes open. It was remarkable the way Nova had bonded with them immediately after arriving at the castle.

The Sorting Hat placed Nova in Ravenclaw, where she shared a dormitory with Padma Patil, though they were in different years. Nova was in her seventh year which— having lost a year while studying at Ilvermorny—made her the oldest in her class.

She shared that distinction with the Weasley twins, who were also eighteen and repeating a year, yet still managed to be considered the most childish students in the entire school.

Parvati Patil was included in the package. Even if she was a Gryffindor, since the first day she had taken most of her stuff and placed it in their room. Needless to say, it wasn't that easy every night with all those prefects invading the common dorms, but nothing that could keep these sisters from spending too much time apart.

The Patil sisters were reassuring to look at. Long black hair always tied in clean ponytails. Very little makeup on their delicate features; it was their colorful and sparkling jewelry that drew attention.

When they passed by, the sound of bracelets and necklaces hitting one another made heads turn immediately—their scent was Yasmin, incense, and caramel, invading their dorm already.

Something she had learned the hard way was that people were bound to leave at some point. The beauty of it was to appreciate the moments with them as much as possible, and if one day fate decided it was time to suffer from loss, Nova swore to embrace it in the most unhealthy way possible—exactly as she was doing now.

''Ready?'' she snapped, gripping the handle of the knife, closing one eye and targeting the wall nearby the entrance.

Padma and Parvati almost cracked their necks trying to see better without risking being hit. A few students along the table caught her intentions and lazily grabbed their plates before stepping aside—this wasn't her first try and it showed.

To get the perfect shot, Nova propped up the table, kicking away the dirty dishes just to get enough space. She took a deep breath, narrowing the open eye to focus on that little crack in the wall that could help the knife stick. She swung her right arm backward slowly, following her own breath.

The Great Hall fell silent, noticing the utter noise she kept making with every movement. All eyes were on her and the usual morning performance that was becoming more impressive by the day. Smiles already wide, bets made in between the counting seconds of it starting—most had gambled on her winning this time due to the determination in her eyes.

One deep breath, and Nova's arm swung one last time before letting the knife slip from her sweaty fingers midair, following the direction of it that seemed to move in agonizing slowness, as though time had stopped in that exact moment to witness this too—she did it! It stuck in the wall, trembling from the fierce force.

''What the fuck, blondie? Are you trying to kill me before I can eat my pancakes?'' George blinked in shock at how close the knife was to his face—he had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong moment.

Embracing the admiring claps and murmurs, Nova approached him, bowing slightly along the way while the students returned to their seats. Others couldn't look away from the impressive shot, which was dangerous—knowing she was now capable of doing something like that.

''I wasn't aiming for you,'' she smirked, gripping the handle of the sharp knife until snatching it out of the wall, ''but if I can kill two birds with one stone, it's a double win, right?''

She leaned forward for a split second to proudly show the amusement growing exponentially on her pale face. George did the same with narrowed eyes, the comeback already drooling from the tip of his tongue—but he didn't. To engage in a conversation with her, food was needed first.

Chuckling softly, he walked to their table, greeting Padma and Parvati before diving into breakfast, observing as Nova approached again, earning the well-earned sickles for her incredible new unlocked skill—he caught immediately the fire fueling her blue eyes in claiming victory and showing she was better than anyone else.

''Where's your brother?'' Padma whispered, stiffening in her seat from the tension she was, all alone, building around herself.

"Detention," George simply shrugged, filling his mouth with pancakes—so earned after almost dying.

"What a surprise," Nova teased with a loud roll of her eyes, sitting back down right in front of him—their knees brushing from how long they were under the table.

"Want to join him, blondie? I could always tell Dumbledore who stole the Quidditch uniforms before the game started." He smirked pretentiously, cutting the food eagerly to fulfill his stomach.

"Do that so I can tell him who put Polyjuice Potion with Snape's hair in everyone's tea during Divination class." She leaned forward, hoping to be heard by a professor at this point.

They stared into each other's souls for more time than necessary, both smiling faintly and maintaining control. That was all they ever did since meeting in detention—teasing, snapping, shouting and, a few times, she even hit him roughly.

Call it hate at first sight if you must, but it wasn't even remotely close to that. They had met, sneaked out of detention, and the next morning, somehow, they were sitting at the same table.

The day after again, and again, and again. Needless to say, there was never a good morning greeting nor a serious conversation with them around—it was always fire burning fire, unable to extinguish one another.

George couldn't bury the fact that someone could match his level of mischief. He had always had his twin Fred to do that and, for some divine joke, there were mere moments when she outshined them—brilliant. But also, irritating.

And Nova had found the perfect way of channeling her anger. While the rest of the school couldn't handle more than one comeback, snapping at the twins had given her a sense of relief that very few things before had—with them there was no drawing line.

Yes. Hate at first sight might be appropriate if it wasn't for the fact they didn't actually want each other dead. Let's just say that if one of them was on fire and the other had a glass of water, the probability of drinking it was higher than using it for more morally correct reasons.

"WEASLEY! ROWEN!"

A loud, pinched shout burst into the room followed by the sound of short heels tapping on the marble floor, echoing in the silence all students fell into—a girl was boiling in rage, rushing towards them, wrapped in despair and... purple glitter?

"Which one of you did it this time? Huh?" The girl smacked her palm firmly on the table, making a few glitters sparkle in the air from the fierce force.

"Not me," both said in sync, growing more amused by the second.

They looked at each other. Weird. They weren't ones to not take credit for a prank, no matter how silly or extremely dangerous. One of them was clearly lying, but the reason behind doing so was still a mystery for now.

Even Padma and Parvati stopped laughing for that moment, wondering if they were simply messing with the girl but would indeed admit to having done it shortly—they didn't. And they seemed utterly honest about it for the first time.

"Then why are you smiling?" the girl sneered, real poison escaping her Cupid's bow lips—glitter caught up there too.

"Because whoever did is a fucking genius," George scoffed, scanning her slowly, leaning slightly back to not stain his robe.

Nova couldn't enjoy the happiness of the moment as much as she wanted. She frowned exponentially, picking up puzzle pieces inside her mind with the firm conviction that he must have done it—she hadn't, no one else was able to do something like that.

But lying? She didn't know George that well, but he had never held back from claiming a prank. He and his twin were famous for it—they made it their whole personality to be clapped for their mischief.

Something was wrong, and discovering what would've been the perfect distraction to add to the mix—still no intention to book a therapy session apparently.

However, it seemed the universe had other plans for the girl that had burst into this castle, created more problems than anticipated, engaged in pranks and bickering like it was a serious school subject, and claimed the title of Devil Nova—something big was happening, and everyone felt it in the air.

A cracking sound coming from the Great Hall entrance turned necks immediately, dragon-skin boots clicking against the floor, an agonizing sound of leather growing exponentially closer with every step—the second she locked eyes with these men the world seemed to stop spinning.

She could feel her own heart pumping out of her chest. Sweaty palms and a cold, almost icy, deadly wave invaded her spine, understanding they were here for her—it became all too fuzzy, too heavy, too much to hide the discomfort.

"Miss Rowen? We have to talk," one American Auror said as they stopped firmly in front of the table.

"If you're detaining her, can I watch?" George teased, turning on the bench to face them—a serious situation and still, it was always the right moment to joke.

They didn't flinch in the slightest. Narrowed shoulders, wrists locked behind their backs. Three of them. Only three, and she felt as if she had an army surrounding her, ready to attack. The silence was louder than any warning they could give with words.

The glitter-covered girl stepped back, sensing this was way beyond a mere prank, that these men weren't here for simple detention. Their dragon-skin uniform was made for combat, they probably hid weapons under their robes—the girl stepped back, leaving a trace of glitter until reaching the furthest point of the room.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Padma murmured, eyeing the men, extremely worried by the shift in the atmosphere.

Shivering slightly, Nova simply shook her head and rose from her seat. She took several deep breaths, ignoring all the curious gazes landing on her while starting to walk in the direction of the exit—the Aurors did the same, careless about lowering their threatening presence.

Every step felt like a dagger being pressed into her heart. Every breath a stinging pain catching in her throat. Every second toward Dumbledore's office resembled the path to hell after death—something was happening and, surprisingly, she didn't want to know for once.

She followed them effortlessly, like a corpse being guided without seeing the direction or choosing where to go. They entered the office, and the Headmaster was already sitting at his wooden desk, delicately tracing the quill on top of a parchment.

Professor McGonagall was there too, pacing around the room while murmuring something. She stopped the second Nova appeared, framed by the American Aurors who seemed ready to take her away rather than explain the situation.

Dumbledore gestured delicately to claim the velvet seat in front of him. She did it without questioning it. She was moving, obeying, adjusting—but she was there only physically. Mentally, she was somewhere else entirely already.

"Miss Rowen, these gentlemen are here because there's been a development in the case," his signature whimsical tone never leaving, along with the reassurance his mere gaze could transmit.

An Auror leaned on the desk, inches from her, and rested a black folder on top of the thousands of parchments the Headmaster had been working on previously—this was no school matter, apparently.

She recognized it immediately, and something in her chest broke so violently she wondered if it was possible for no one to hear it—she braced herself for the impact this conversation would have.

"We have reason to believe the men that killed your parents assaulted your two best friends last Friday," the Auror said, slipping a picture on top of the folder.

Tim and Matt. It was clear they had chosen what portrait to give authorities for the file. It was a picture Nova had taken at her sixteenth birthday party—told them to pose for an endless time and clicked the camera button only when they made an irritated face at her teasing. It wasn't enchanted. It was taken by a Muggle camera.

"How they survived is still unclear. Your friends aren't good collaborators," the Auror said next, stiffening while crossing his arms, clearly reminiscing on what a bad time he'd spent with them.

No words escaped her lips. Only a faint smile at memories of her friends, and a wave of reassurance in knowing they were safe. Not like her parents. They hadn't had the same luck.

Let's clear the air from this mystery. Last summer Nova had come back home from a date with a Muggle boy living in her neighborhood to find the estate surrounded by police, tracing yellow tape around her fence—two protective bags were being guided inside an ambulance.

Someone had killed them. At first, it seemed a Muggle killer due to the ridiculous amount of blood staining the walls. A machete the weapon used. Nothing magical about it.

However, the trace of Unforgivable Curses was still fresh, and the Aurors searched Celeste and Louis Rowen's wands endlessly until realizing the killer had taken them away or, more likely, hadn't even given them a chance to defend themselves.

The American Wizard Ministry immediately escorted Nova to Hogwarts for her safety, trusting very few in the department with her location and making sure Headmaster Dumbledore knew how important it was to keep her safe.

But they hadn't considered that, in order to find her, those left behind at Ilvermorny would've been the perfect target—she trusted very few people, and that only gave the killer less work. Nothing to her advantage at this point.

"Miss Rowen, I know we already talked about this, but we need to be sure. Do you have any idea why someone would want you dead?" Another Auror approached. He was softer, less rigid and cold—he was the one who had taken her away from the crime scene.

"I gave you a list last time. Wasn't that enough?" she snapped, leaning back on her chair, gazing quickly at the professors, deeply intrigued but still not getting in the middle.

"That was just a bunch of kids' names that hate you for your personality. Nothing that concerning to become serial killers," the other Auror scoffed, growing irritated to still have this case assigned to him.

"Says who? You don't know what teenagers are capable of," she sneered, crossing her arms—this looked more like an interrogation than a collaboration.

Hate to admit it, but Nova was right. At Ilvermorny it was an unwritten rule to despise her and her friends, something that drew in all the other students—they weren't just pranking people, they were real bullies with more than one restraining order.

Since that institute was way less strict than Hogwarts, freedom floated like water in the ocean, endless and with no repercussions—here she was limited to silly little pranks, up there she had brushed more than once against the limits of illegal.

So yes, the list was long and fair. Each one of them had shared their plans of revenge, described in very precise detail how they would end her life someday; she had even heard rumors of a secret club spending time talking bad about her—popular, but in the worst way possible.

"This is not a game, Miss Rowen. You are in real danger, and this fantasy castle can't protect you if—"

"Is that what the American Ministry believes?" Dumbledore's voice trembled in the air, claiming the attention of those around. Even the non-living objects seemed to stiffen on the spot.

"That's not what my colleague meant," the soft Auror approached more, now facing the old wizard in order to not let the situation escalate more than necessary.

"This fantasy castle, as you call it, is more than capable of protecting her," Professor McGonagall stepped forward, speaking faintly from the weight of the moment. "She's safer here than anywhere else. Even if that man manages to find her, he has no chance against all of us. Without even counting the students."

And with that, a flame was lightened. The conversation shifted entirely between the four adults whose job seemed to be deciding everything instead of turning their necks and gazing at the girl who was suffering in the process—she stayed there, blocking the voices from bursting in her ears.

Someone wanted her death. That wasn't entirely a surprise. But knowing that it hadn't stopped with taking her parents' lives, even trying to take Matt and Tim's, managed to shake something in Nova.

If until now she had ignored grief, falling victim to the first stages—shock and denial—she was now feeling torn in anger, more than her usual one at least. She could feel it crawling up her spine by the second, with no way to escape.

Traumatized brains don't act according to logic, or else she would've pleaded for an appointment with a mind healer to process in a healthy way—she would've hidden here, grieved properly, and lived the life she was destined to now.

No. Traumatized brains act according to survival, and Nova could only let her mind wrap around the fact that she needed to push every sad thought away and prepare herself in anticipation of being found.

Let the man that killed her parents come. She would be waiting for him, whether it was with a weapon in her hand or a very precise plan to trap him in a bathtub filled with glitter until covering his lungs with it.

Most days grief is quiet. So quiet, like a low-level feeling where you're aware of it even if it doesn't stop you from getting things done.

Other days it's like a concrete slab lying across your chest, channeling an otherworldly anger.

Today was a slab day, and she would make sure to let it be for as long as possible.

Chapter 3: Deal

November 3, 1994

If you stir in a cauldron two spoons of rebellion, a cup of mischief, a pinch of boldness, and an absurd amount of intelligence, you would obtain the liquid form of Fred and George Weasley.

A duo acknowledged only when together. Alone, people usually ask, "When's the other?"—not out of curiosity but because it was the first question that popped to mind. No one ever saw one without the other if not strictly necessary.

They had made a big reputation for themselves, trapped in their own web of being the jokesters and nothing more than that—let it be, people want to smile? Have them hurt from laughing.

That's why they had skipped lunch in the Great Hall in preparation for a prank. They were crouched at the table in potion class, loosening the screws of each one with extreme precision in order to let it fall only when putting enough pressure on it. Not a second early. Not a second late.

"I heard it took Lavender Brown a whole day to wipe away the glitter you put in her room," Fred chuckled, keeping the wand between them high to make light.

"It wasn't me. It was that crazy bitch Nova," George murmured, narrowing his eyes to find the perfect length of the screw—for a second he believed the table was about to fall on them.

"No, it wasn't. She was with the Patils, ranking Durmstrang boys before breakfast."

That was odd. George was ready to bet his very little fortune of ten Sickles that she did that prank. The precision with which the glitter had fallen, the mixture to let it stain more than anticipated, the target which didn't matter—still, Nova had always found Lavender annoying—that's a motive, right?

She was obviously lying, but the reason remained a mystery. Not a big one compared to why American Aurors had taken her away the other morning. He had tried to sneak close enough to hear, but Dumbledore had wardened his office more than usual.

When Nova came to class that day, she was in some sort of trance. She didn't tease him. Didn't snap at anyone. Didn't humiliate Professor Trelawney with a full speech on how Divination is a waste of her time due to how incredibly smart she is—a little pretentious thing she was, if you asked him.

"It's driving you crazy, huh?" Fred smirked, turning slightly to gaze at his brother's puzzled expression. "Not knowing why she's here. What happened the other day. Why she's always this angry."

"Oh, shut it. You're curious too," George snapped, moving the screwdriver on the other corner—the last one before moving with the rest of the room.

"Bets your balls I am. That girl has jinxed my book to eat me in class. She's going to pay for it," Fred teased, unwillingly kicking his knee into the left part of the desk, making everything tremble.

For that split second, both truly thought the table was about to fall over their ginger heads and time wouldn't be taking their side—it wasn't deadly, but still, with no one around they would've been found maybe too late.

That's why they kept working in silence. Fred waved his wand firmly to steady the light, even if a slight shake caught him from the fear of moving more than necessary. George's forehead tickled with sweat while finishing the last screw on the corner.

Crawling slowly at an agonizing pace, the twins managed to prop themselves to their feet, trying to move around with feather-light gestures. Once free from danger, for now, they took a quick, relieved breath and looked around.

This table alone had taken them almost twenty minutes due to their lack of keeping their mouths shut. They had talked endlessly and realized this prank wasn't meant to include the whole potion room—too bad for whoever would get assigned the only rotten desk.

"Padma told me they will come to the Gryffindor party tomorrow night," Fred murmured as they stepped into the empty hallways—hunger catching up to them, but too late to join lunch.

"Great! Can't wait for her to burst my fun. Again," George scoffed faintly, nudging him to follow to the Clock Tower backyard—quiet and well-deserved peace.

In the lingering moment, they started playing with a flick of fireworks, tossing it around one another as if it were a ball rather than an enchanted object able to burn through your skin if gripped for too long.

George was unfocused. He couldn't keep up with the amusement of his brother. His mind was wrapped in curiosity about Nova like a tornado shaking a library to the point books were trapped in between each other.

It wasn't usual for him not knowing something. The twins were always the first ones people would run to in order to spread a rumor. If you wanted to discover something about someone, just ask them—and even the most deep, hidden secrets would be revealed.

Not with her, apparently.

Fred and George had sneaked inside Dumbledore's office already to find Nova's school record—a folder Hogwarts would keep about each student, and the details in those were the secret ingredients for the twins' pranks.

Other than academic stuff, those records would keep track of personal traits of students: what they liked, what they feared, their family, an essay that had to be written at the start of every term, filled with dreams, goals, and stories about the summer spent—extremely detailed and dangerous if found by the wrong hands.

However, when they found Nova's, it was rather boring. In her old school, she was first in all classes, which was no surprise since Ilvermorny wasn't famous for bright wizards attending—most would say that institution was an insult to the world.

They never cared about grades or Quidditch. Their headmaster was a Muggle-born who would rather have students plan balls, form clubs, and engage in outdoor activities—it didn't take a genius to outshine in there.

But when they saw Nova's admission test, their eyebrows hurt from how much they frowned at words they had never heard before. She had otherworldly knowledge, remarkable passion for potion, and—surprise, surprise—her essay was just a request to delete Divination class because it was too silly for a bright witch like her.

She belonged to Ravenclaw without question. She was annoying and pretentious like a Slytherin, brave and bold like a Gryffindor, probably something of Hufflepuff too. But her intellect? They hated to admit it was admirable.

Other than that? Nothing. Her school record had nothing. No fears. No hobbies. No extracurricular activities. Only the name of her parents—Celeste and Louis Rowen—with nothing else. Fuck it! Not even her birthday was written there.

"Can you ask Padma if she knows something about the American Aurors?" George said, breaking the relaxing silence, almost burning his hand, forgetting about the fireworks.

"Yeah, well, I could, but we are in a sort of break right now," Fred murmured, tensing immediately on the spot—not his favorite topic, apparently.

"You always are. That's no news," George teased, throwing the firework higher to make it more difficult to catch. "Why did you fight this time?"

Silence. A wave of guilt washed over Fred while he processed the right words. They stopped playing with the fireworks after tossing it too high in the air and never returned.

As they sat down on the nearby bench, George smiled, lingering wide, observing how tense his brother was. There were no secrets between them, so it was only a matter of time before knowing, but still, just the fear in his hazel eyes managed to make him wipe away all the worries about Nova—oh, this will be good.

"I might... um... forgot our six-month anniversary," he whispered, almost inaudible under the pressure of the words.

"No, you didn't. Oh god, mate—" George burst out laughing, wondering how he was still alive after this.

While he enjoyed this little moment, let's clear the air a bit, shall we?

Padma and Fred had always been friends. Even if she was a year younger and in different houses, somehow they had found each other sitting at the same table more than once—at parties, their friends in common had pushed them closer.

Only last year, at her and Parvati's seventeenth birthday party, Fred saw something more in her. Blame it on the beautiful, detailed Indian dress she was wearing or the fact it was the first time he saw her long hair loose, but he almost choked on his butterbeer when she made the entrance.

It didn't take long after that to start dating, but it was becoming more difficult than anticipated. There were lots of fights due to the fact that both still looked at each other as friends somehow and couldn't wrap their heads around the idea of being a couple for too long.

Padma had her ups and downs, often making scenes because he was too childish, only to then do something equally immature a second later—if he had another girl around, then she would make sure to have ten boys around.

Fred wasn't perfect either, as we saw. Never having been in a relationship had brought him to not immediately understand a few boyfriend duties. Flowers, gifts, and amusement were his specialty. Talking about feelings? Too much work. Better ignore everyone when having a bad day.

Aren't they the perfect representation of love? In their hearts, they believed they were. Because in the end, no matter how many breaks they took, how loudly they shouted at each other—before going to sleep they were always making sure to make peace and end it all with a goodnight kiss.

"Don't worry, mate, we'll come up with a plan," George cooed, resting a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder, now lowering the laughs. "Want to go buy something from Hongmate for her?"

"Huh, I wish. Snape put the blame for Lavender Brown's prank on me," Fred scoffed faintly as he rose from the bench, clearly irritated by having to spend detention for something he didn't do.

"Better you than me, my dear brother," George teased, sprawling on the bench to enjoy the cold breeze hitting his skin, covered only by the uniform—winter was coming, but this weather was still enjoyable.

Waving goodbye felt weirdly sad. In these few weeks, they were being forced to stay apart for too long. Professors decided it was better for everyone to have the twins attend classes at different times. If Fred was in Potions, George was in Divination. If Fred was in Transfiguration, George was in Herbology, and so on, until they finally had some peace.

Even detention wasn't fun anymore. Instead of punishing them together, they understood it was better to put them in two different corners of the castle to pay the consequences of their pranks—one in the Forbidden Forest, the other in Filch's storage room.

At this rate, they were able to see each other only during meals and in their room, where they were alone, since no other students trusted sleeping too close to them—it's impossible to relax, fearing a night prank nearby.

Who could the blame fall to? George's mind clicked the last piece of the puzzle when a blinding platinum blonde head appeared in the nearby hallway, bright as the sun now covered with grey clouds—Nova!

She was obviously the one pulling these pranks without taking credit for them. The reason? To get them into detention. This was beyond mere fun. She was ruining their brotherhood, their strong bond, and the school year—showtime, apparently.

Growing mischievous, George rushed towards her until finally reaching her pace. It was remarkable how tall she was, only mere inches from his own eyes—except his brother and Hagrid, very few could reach his height.

"Are you already out of prison, Blondie? Or were the Aurors landing you an invite to court?" he teased, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, making sure the weight sank on her.

"Not exactly. They were looking for your nose. Told them they could always find it in my business," she spat venomously, but still didn't oppose the touch somehow.

"You're just a little bundle of a bitch today, aren't you?" he scoffed, mesmerized more than anticipated, "but I do expect some apologies. My brother is in detention paying for your prank on Lavender Brown."

She stopped abruptly mid-hallway, turning to him until breaking the touch. He lowered his arm slowly, noticing how tense her expression had shifted—she wasn't teasing, smiling, just completely blank.

The same expression she had after coming back from Dumbledore's office the other day. The numbness she fell into from time to time in class, or during meals, or even when hanging out in the backyard.

For a while, George had found it part of her annoying beauty. This quality of being not quite there. Dreamlike and whimsical. Now it felt terrifying—eyes sharp as knives, jaw clenched to the point of breaking from irritation.

"I've told you already. It wasn't me. I used to do those types of pranks when I was maybe five. Whoever did it's not on my level," she crossed her arms, boiling in deep rage already—it never took this little to light the fire in her.

"Oh please, don't embarrass yourself right now, blondie," he scoffed pretentiously while raising a hand to his chest dramatically. "Your pranks are an insult to the prank world. Exactly like the one I know you did on Lavanda Brown."

A sparkled. That was what grew exponentially in Nova's blue eyes. From a deep space-colored void and endless emotions, it shifted into a full-swing snowstorm—excitement, thrill, a glimpse of fear maybe, but vivid. He had never seen eyes that vivid before. Not hers, at least.

"Wanna bet?" She leaned closer with a confident smile. "I know for a fact that I can pull off better pranks than you."

"Huh, you wish," he rolled his eyes, trying to hide his own amusement. "But it's only fair to let you try anyway."

This was taking an odd turn. George had engaged in this conversation only to let her confess to being the only one responsible for these pranks, which no one was taking blame for—they weren't from a professional, so he was sure it was her.

And still, he wasn't exactly disappointed in knowing there was a challenge to make. Maybe she wasn't a fair opponent, and he would have won with minimum effort. But someone daring to pull a prank on him? That was new. That was thrilling. That was making him almost shiver in anticipation already.

Some had tried before. Especially his brothers. But no one had ever managed to prank the king of mischief. He always caught the traps or the possibilities from far away—only on Ron's fourteenth birthday the twins faked being pranked by him. That was his present. He didn't receive anything else from them.

"You can get Fred's help for that matter. It'll make it easier for you," she sneered, annoyingly pushing a stray of blonde hair behind her ear—so many silver earrings adorning it.

"Fine by me. But when I win, I'll choose your date for the Yule Ball."

Her smile dropped, and witnessing this was the most satisfying thing ever happened to George. A little pathetic, but still utterly remarkable.

It wasn't clear if the regret was washing over her more for the embarrassment of who he might choose or the fear of losing, just to let his ego grow to the point of exploding. Either way, her confidence lowered for a split second, and he enjoyed the moment of uncertainty.

"And let me guess. You already have someone in mind, I presume?" She tilted her head, considering—she was taking time to elaborate. It was clear she wasn't sure about agreeing.

"Well, maybe, if you behave..." he stepped closer, embracing this thrilling magnetic pull between them, "...I might grant you the chance to my company for the ball."

His eyes sparkled with their own predatory light. She was already uncomfortable because of this possible bet. But adding this glimpse of tension—oh, he leaned again and tucked that annoying stray of hair back from behind her ear—it was electrifying to test her limits.

She looked, considering again. Now more deeply, probably overthinking all the possibilities of engaging with this. Not only the dangerous pranks, the newly scheduled appointments in detention that would follow, but risking the only beautiful night of the whole year, maybe with him, or with someone more annoying, someone she hated more...

For that split second her lips parted to speak, George felt faint from the overwhelm of the moment. Agree, please agree. He pleaded in his mind, knowing how much it could shift everything he had ever known.

"Uh-huh, funny. The idea is already a nightmare itself," she scoffed, pushing his chest far enough to break this suffocating closeness, "but when I win, I'll choose your date too—only that you have to be the perfect gentleman to her. I'm talking flowers, compliments, dancing, and showing her off."

Now it was his smile that dropped. George hadn't considered the possibility of losing. He was sure that winning would've been as easy as drinking a glass of water. Then why was his mind roaming over all the girls inside the castle, trying to find the worst-case scenario?

Angelina Johnson? Too friendly with her, they would have fun.
Luna Lovegood? She wasn't totally right in the head, but she was good company.
Cho Chang maybe? Yes, that would've been boring due to how shy she is, but not that terrible.

Lavanda Brown! She was the most obvious and annoying choice—except Nova herself, maybe.

It wasn't just the girl and acting as a gentleman was natural for him. But doing it as a statement of having lost against this pretentious, arrogant, foreign new girl that was already causing enough trouble? He would dig to the earth's core with a fork rather than give her the satisfaction.

"Deal?" she raised her right hand, adorned with only a silver thin bracelet on the wrist.

He looked down at it. Then back up at her icy eyes. Back again at the hand. This is dangerous, thrilling, and comes with an endless list of wrong possibilities.

"Deal!" he shook it, wiping all the worries away.

He would win. He would find out why her school record was empty. He would expose her for being the one behind these unclaimed pranks. He would humiliate her in front of the whole school and keep the crown high on his ginger head.

Game on, blondie.

Chapter 4: Cassiopeia

November 4, 1994

Some people survive chaos, and that's how they grow. Others thrive in chaos and find a refuge in it—this last one was the category into which Nova fell.

Most might think that being an only child brings some sense of peace. That the house is always quiet. That with only three people, silence invaded the air more than noise—to be clear, the total opposite of what the Weasley family had experienced.

However, Celeste and Louis Rowen weren't exactly the calmest people on earth, and they transmitted that internal chaos to their only daughter—yes, their house was as chaotic as The Burrow.

When it wasn't Nova blasting music along with her friends, it was her father making something blow up in his potion lab in the basement. Sometimes it was her mother, experimenting with Muggle cuisine and burning more pots than were being produced—she was adapted to chaos. It was all she knew.

That's why when Padma and Parvati invited a few friends over to get ready for the Gryffindor party, she didn't hesitate to lock herself inside the bathroom.

Yes, she knew chaos; that didn't necessarily mean she wanted it around when caused by anyone who wasn't her or her parents.

She took her time. Taking a long shower until her fingers turned pruney. Enchanting her blonde hair to stay straight, a little trick Celeste had taught her from a very young age. Spending more time than anticipated doing a full face of makeup, failing the first try and doing it again.

A smokey eye seemed appropriate, but after gazing at herself in the mirror, tracing her own figure and almost not recognizing who was standing in front of her, Nova washed her face again. This was becoming frustrating.

She opted for light makeup, something more focused on her soft cheeks and just a sharp eyeliner to frame her blue eyes. Strawberry lip gloss, which she popped on her lips and made a very weird face after applying it.

One last gaze at the mirror, and she felt ready enough for something not that important, like the Gryffindor party. All houses threw them once a month, taking turns—she had been in each one of them and still convinced herself they were no fun before her arrival.

"What took you so long?" Padma snapped as soon as Nova opened the bathroom door. "You're not even dressed yet?"

She scanned the room, growing slightly annoyed that they seemed to be waiting for her only. She might have taken more time than necessary, but there was no need to slap it right in her face.

From what she caught, the attire wasn't exactly like the last party thrown by the Slytherin house. It was in a club called the Enchanted Ember in Diagon Alley, and she had to dress more elegantly than any businesswoman she had ever met.

Not now. The Patil sisters were wearing Muggle low-rise jeans and long-sleeve tank tops, casual and not made to stand out. Their gold belly-ring piercings swung at the slightest movement.

Hermione Granger, the only fair academic opponent in this school, sparkled in Muggle clothes that Nova was pushing aside the need to suggest burning for her eyes' sake—blue jeans and a pink washed shirt.

The only one dressed slightly acceptably was, surprisingly, the youngest. Ginny Weasley had a pair of denim shorts and, to protect from the cold breeze of November, black stockings, almost transparent. A side-cut black shirt loose around the waist. A little edgy but at least different.

"Where is this party? A bad taste exhibition?" She teased, starting to search in her wardrobe for something that could match—there wasn't.

"It's in the Forbidden Forest, so don't wear anything expensive. There's a lot of dirt there," Parvati sighed, rolling over her sister's bed until her head hung loose on the edge of it.

"And the reason we're still going is...?" She frowned, gripping a pair of denim shorts that could've been mistaken for rotten due to the sharp cuts on the front.

"Because it's fun, and I heard Durmstrang students will attend too," Padma cooed, smirking mischievously—she gazed outside the window where people were already walking out.

That didn't help its appeal, but Nova recognized she had already wasted makeup products, and not attending would mean a waste of money. Something she lacked now, surviving on her parents' fortune—it was moderate, but with no other entrance, it would end one day.

So she embraced the night for what it would be. Dirt, owls roaming in the dim sky, probably even bats, lots of teenagers drinking alcohol and make out around the trees—typical Friday hangout rather than a real party.

In the end, she opted for a black straight-cut sweater, heavy enough to compensate for the lack of clothes around her long legs. To not exaggerate with the height, only a pair of black boots—very low heel, almost nonexistent.

The girls had tried to raise her spirit the whole way outside the dorm, beside the common room fireplace, towards the outside, and still cheering until reaching the entrance of the Forbidden Forest.

It was an allowed party, so not too deep into that scary place. Just behind Hagrid's hut, which was empty apparently. The custodian of keys was surely somewhere else, maybe a pub in Diagon Alley on his night off from duty.

Enchanted lights floated mid-sky, a series of little campfires where students were sitting around burning marshmallows. Neville Longbottom even brought a guitar, but it was useless under the blasting music from two speakers in opposite corners.

Pop music and laughs invaded Nova's ears at every step. The cold breeze disappeared when reaching near the crate of butterbeer. Maybe a spell to prevent people from freezing to death, but she wasn't sure.

"Tell me there's something else to drink," she snapped, feeling nauseous at the mere smell of the only alcoholic beverage she couldn't bury.

"Is Firewhiskey good enough, Rowen?" Fred appeared out of nowhere, making them jump in place from the surprise, swinging the bottle in his hands proudly.

"Yes, half-Weasley. Thank you."

She gripped it with fierce force and walked away under their confused gazes. Alcohol might not be the solution to all her problems, but it would surely help more than everything she had done until now.

Finding the perfect tree to lean on, able to observe the whole "party" with utter superiority, Nova unscrewed the bottle cup and tossed it on the ground carelessly—first sip, and her throat caught the burning sensation immediately.

Would this be a substitute for the stinging pain constantly pressing down her stomach? Only another sip would say. And then another. Another. Again. And again. A third of the whiskey was already easing it a little, but not enough.

She took in the surroundings with a new vivid light. Hermione, Ginny, and Parvati had joined Neville in his concert, more teasing than listening. At least they were having fun in their own way.

A few Durmstrang students struggled with burning marshmallows, not understanding at what point they were supposed to eat them. Pretty faces and no brains, she thought immediately.

However, something interesting caught her eyes. Padma and Fred were talking, not fighting for once, even if not close—Nova smiled faintly at the scene more than anticipated.

If someone dared to ask her, Nova would say Fred and George were at the same level of annoyance. That she had the same thoughts and very low respect for them as a prank duo. That they were childish, pretentious, arrogant, and surely never able to reach her level.

But deep down, Fred had shown himself to be open-minded in the possibility of bonding with her. Not only because of their mutual affection toward Padma, but rather for a future vision of pranking others together, of his own respect in being able to keep him and his brother in place.

In some way, she was a reminder that there will always be someone better than you. And that didn't keep him defeated. Only made him more eager to do more, to be invincible—a weird way of seeing friendship, but always better than the spite she felt toward George.

Thinking about it. Where is that motherfucker? She frowned exponentially while gazing around again, taking another sip in the process and realizing this place was actually quiet. Too quiet.

Taken by a wave of curiosity, she lingered in the area, scanning the people sitting by the campfires, gagging loudly when passing by Padma and Fred kissing behind a tree already, and closing her ears when she reached Neville and his annoying guitar.

But no George yet.

She didn't understand her own curiosity too. For some reason, she was so used to having that irritating voice always echoing in the air at any time of the day that it felt like a void not having it now.

Was she going mental? That was the first assumption she made, due to another sip of whiskey. Was she blacking out and not seeing him? Another sip landed that question. Why was a Durmstrang student smiling and coming her way? She swallowed another sip and cleared her wet lips.

Buzz cut. Narrowing emerald green eyes. Black shirt framing firm muscles. Black jeans and dragon-skin boots. As soon as he stopped in front of her, the height was impressive—he wasn't taller, but at least they were able to gaze at the same level.

"Are you okay? This is your fourth time walking in circles," his Bulgarian accent strong, deep voice, lingering smile—cold as his classmates but less threatening.

"I was about to make another one. Want to join me?" She smirked before taking another sip—the bottle was becoming light by the second.

The boy didn't question her and simply exposed his elbow for her to lock under. She did it and felt faint at how easy that was—fascinating creatures, men, she thought.

When Nova tried to offer him a sip, he kindly refused. When she almost tripped over a stick on the ground, he almost didn't catch her in time. When she eyed the stars above, he guided the way, fearing she would hit the gravel before the night ended.

However, after finishing the first circle walk, she rested her back against a tree, arching slightly and observing the boy with utter contempt—she didn't recall seeing him before, but other Hogwarts students passing by were greeting him as if he were some old friend.

"I didn't catch your name," he said, leaning right beside her—locking eyes felt exhilarating in some fuzzy way.

"Because I didn't throw it yet," she winked while raising the bottle to meet her lips. "Oh, fuck."

The whiskey was finished. Nova gazed at the empty bottle in her hand, flipping it over to make sure it was empty. It was made of glass, no need for double checks.

Odd how quickly that happened. She was feeling so safe with it that the world seemed beautiful, not able to cruelty. A sense of freedom she wished would last forever—she knew it would not, but still, living in a dream was better than her reality.

It was there. Rushing through her veins, filling her stomach, making her mind fuzzy and eyes heavy. But there was no more of it, and the effect would vanish—she peeked inside the bottle again. No, it was empty. She was sure of it now.

"Hold on. I'll bring you another one," the boy said calmly, gripping the bottle from her hands with the carefulness of an animal keeper with a predator.

As he walked away, she took him in for a second. Odd how someone just met could understand such a basic need. Even if not knowing his name, the alcohol formed a warmth in her heart, not entirely for him but for the moment itself.

This party sucks. The people suck. This school sucks. Everything before that traumatizing night sucks. She melted, trying to remember what type of drunk she was.

Ugly crier? Not before, but who knows after everything she had been through. Life of the party? Not a chance she would dance among these people. Seeking physical contact? Noticing the slightest touch with that boy felt intoxicating—she wiped off the idea.

However, a light bulb turned on the second a ginger head was in sight, far away from the gathering, leaning on a tree with no enchanted lamps around. This was it. She was a teasing, arrogant, bold, fight-seeker drunk person.

Basically her daily self, but wrapped in the smell of whiskey.

Without hesitation, she walked toward George with fierce determination, almost tripping over that same stick from before. At every step, though, she slowed, taking him in, now becoming clearer and clearer.

A black wrinkled shirt adorning his chest, first two buttons undone. Black jeans framing his long legs. The watch from that day at detention still on his wrist. A red cup of what seemed butterbeer in his hand.

Remarkable what alcohol has managed to do. She stopped just enough to admire him more, as his eyes were too high in the sky to notice her presence now lingering close to him.

He was there. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. Not being irritating, annoying, not joking, teasing, laughing. That! The smile usually on his face was faded. He was calm, quiet, almost scary to see him defeated in some way.

"How long are you going to stare at me like a creep?" he murmured, never taking his eyes off the stars—well, that calm didn't last long.

"Huh, I'm not staring," she scoffed, looking away, faintly offended and oddly tense.

"If you're not, then you're just admiring me. Either way, you're here," he smirked, sipping his cup until finally meeting her eyes.

Blame it on the whiskey, but Nova didn't turn away. She didn't snap back. She didn't rush into a bickering nor ignore him and return to the party.

She joined him. She pressed her back on the same tree, letting their shoulders brush slightly while looking down at his cup, then his eyes, then back again at the cup—it was brownish and crystal clear, surely not butterbeer.

"Want some?" He raised it between their bodies, dead serious as never before.

"What type of poison did you put in it?" She raised an eyebrow but still gripped it—smelled it first. Better safe than sorry.

"That's offensive, blondie. The death I planned for you is way more cinematic than a plastic cup," he hid his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He was weirdly calm, and she didn't want to question it yet. There was a warmth spreading in her body from this closeness. Remarkable how a person could resemble a thousand campfires—even if fuzzy from the whiskey, she could smell caramel, fireworks, and spruce tree coming from him.

She took the sip. It immediately caught her throat. It wasn't whiskey. It wasn't butterbeer. It was slightly sweeter but still with that burning aftertaste. Rum. A strong one too, at that.

Making a disgusted expression managed to steal a laugh from George, apparently, and she snapped immediately at him. The laughter splashed her, the fuzziness amplified, and everything sparkled in an instant.

But of course, she couldn't enjoy the moment. She needed to fight for control over whatever magnetic pull she was feeling toward him. Nova elbowed him so hard she could swear a rib broke—it didn't, but the mere thought made her faintly smile.

"What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?" She blinked quickly as he regained composure. "You're calm. Amused. Not extremely annoying as always. Are you on drugs or something?"

"Oh, I wish I could afford those, blondie," he chuckled, tensing on the spot, gazing down while kicking a few rocks beneath his foot. "It's just alcohol. It does that to me sometimes."

"Does what? Makes you normal?" She teased, tilting her head until forcing their eyes to meet. "Makes you a not completely irritating person to be around?"

He has dimples. That was the first time Nova noticed that his smile followed those little curves around his eyes, just under the long ginger hair that hid them. He has dimples, and she was seeing them for the first time.

A bittersweet taste invaded her throat the second he turned, clinking his shoulder to the tree and scanning her with utter contempt—for a second, she stiffened just to melt again with another sip of rum.

"And what does alcohol do to you? I have seen you trip over, be rude, roll your eyes, gag, and make fun of the whole surrounding already," he listed on his fingers, subtly brushing against her arm. "You seem your usual self anyway."

She parted her lips. A comeback drooled at the tip of her tongue. But nothing came out. She turned to face him. Their knees clicked in the closeness of the moment.

You can do it. You're the queen of putting others in their place. You always have the last words. Then why did she look down and embrace the idea of blaming the rum for what she was about to say?

"It stops the thoughts."

Relief. That was surprisingly good to say out loud. The alcohol does that to her, apparently, but it did more. She was using it as an excuse to say everything she was scared to say. To feel all the emotions she was avoiding. She was cracking a little bit more into her old self.

And he didn't tease. For that split second of silence, she could swear his smile dropped even without watching him. She took a deep breath knowing that it wouldn't last long.

It didn't, in fact. George turned again, clicking his back on the tree, gazing up at the stars with hands hidden in his jeans pockets. He wasn't looking, so she allowed herself to do it.

"Since you seem in the mood to be serious for once, I'll benefit from it as much as possible," he murmured, never breaking the touch of their knees. "Why did you moved here?"

Oh...

That was eating him alive, apparently. Everyone had either made their own assumptions or gave up on discovering it. Not him. Curiosity took over George to the point of asking instead of finding it out himself.

Not many could be brave like this. No one had, actually. Nova replayed every moment since arriving in this castle and realized that she wasn't hiding the real reason. It was just that no one had asked yet.

It hit like a stroke. For that split second, she was about to shout her parents' murder to everyone able to hear. They were all curious, but not enough, apparently. Better to decide for themselves, whisper behind her back, building an idea of her that wasn't true.

And still, even if he asked, she wasn't ready to say it. She wished to be this strong and talk about it, especially with this annoyingly calm version of George that seemed extremely reassuring—if the alcohol did this to him, she would make sure to let him drink it at every meal at this point.

"If I tell you, then I might have to kill you," she whispered, dangerously close to his ear.

"That serious?" He scoffed faintly, and she could swear goosebumps formed on his skin.

"Not really. I just don't like you and I am looking for an excuse," she shrugged, taking the very last sip of rum from the plastic cup before tracing the edge softly.

He wasn't looking at her. He simply smirked and let out an amused puff of breath visible due to the cold air.

She was growing irritated by the second. There was nothing beautiful in the sky to admire when she was just right in front of him. Not that she sought his attention, but still, it was a little rude not to look someone in the eyes when having a conversation.

Whatever it was in this cup of rum was stronger than any potion ever invented. These two were surely not meant to be this calm, and it showed. Even Fred and Padma, from far away, were watching with wide eyes, jaws practically hitting the gravel and a sense of sickness, not knowing what they were about to do next.

Jink each other. Prank one another or someone else at the party. Engage in a fiery bickering until their throats cracked from the effort of being louder. Drink more and fight with bare hands. Everything was a possibility with them.

And still, they did nothing. Nova turned her back to the tree, gazing up to understand what was to admire. A multitude of sparkling stars, the Cassiopeia constellation raised bright over the castle. Her eyes caught a freaking bat on the nearby branch and almost fainted from how eerie it was.

But he flew away in the opposite direction. He didn't mean any harm, and she was dangerously scared of it anyway. If it wasn't for the rum, she would've overthought this until forcing a headache on herself—the bat simply flew away. Nothing to see beyond that.

Then she turned back to look at him, and he was already staring. The lingering smile adorned his lips. The length of the ginger hair slowly slipped in front of his features. She was sure she would cut that hair at some point to not allow him to hide behind it.

Blame the alcohol. She was firm on doing that next morning. But about what? She wasn't doing anything. He was the one leaning forward. He was the one jumping his eyes between her lips and then back to her gaze. He was the one making breathing difficult.

And still, she wasn't snapping away. She wasn't fighting this magnetic pull. She wasn't raising a hand to slap his face as she always warned to do. She stayed there, firm as stone with no help to move. She parted her lips, probably to spat venomously, but no words escaped when they were mere inches apart.

"Oi, nameless girl," a voice forced them apart effortlessly, as it was the only thing they were waiting for. "I've looked for you everywhere."

The Durmstrang boy from before approached, stopping way too far to have a conversation without shouting. In that split second, Nova scanned him, framed by the sound of George sighing in some sort of defeat, or maybe the rum made her mistake it as just a simple let-out of relief—it was all fuzzy and difficult to understand.

"Did you find the whiskey?" She swung the empty cup still in her hands, growing softly mischievous, ignoring the orchestra of drums in her heart.

"No. But I found tequila, and even a lot of it," he smiled faintly, showing the bottle—half full—giving away he was the one that drank it.

It was remarkable how he changed from his cold, authoritarian, serious self. She recalled having seen him acting so aristocratic before when walking, and now he seemed a teenager enjoying his first booze.

He was barely balancing on his dragon-skin shoes. A fly passed by his defined, handsome face, and in the attempt to wave it away, he almost tripped over. But he didn't. He laugh when he didn't. He was so clumsy, childish, and full of life compared to how Durmstrang boys usually are in the hallways.

"Seriously, blondie? This guy?" George whispered, dangerously close to her ear, unwillingly sending shivers all down her spine.

"I think he's rather cute," she tilted her head, exposing a glimpse of neck, which she could feel his eyes landing on.

"He looks like an idiot," he scoffed, landing the warm breath to hit the exposed skin.

Annoying to admit, but George was right. This was the type of guy you'd spend a night with, or more, but in complete silence after the act itself. He didn't seem someone to have conversations with, neither silly nor profound. He was hot, amusing to look at, and makes you able to forget the world while in his arms.

The perfect distraction for someone who didn't want to think about the reality of this cruel life—Nova was just adding him to the list of things to do in order to get over grief in the quickest and most unhealthy way.

"You do know I can hear you two, right?" The boy frowned, not offended, but still, he grew a little bit confused.

She laughed in his face carelessly. Nova rose from the tree and turned just enough to scan the irritation growing on George's face. She pressed the empty cup to his chest, sensing it rising up and down at an exponential speed—was he having a heart attack, or was he just drunk? She wasn't sure, but neither stopped to think too much about it.

"Keep it. I don't have anything to fill it with anyway," he gripped her wrist, guiding the cup back toward her—he looked... defeated.

Nova nodded while swallowing an ocean of comebacks. Way to tease him. To ruin his fun as in every other party. But she didn't. This calm and quiet was too fragile, too beautiful, to let go to waste.

Smiling faintly, she approached the Durmstrang boy, accepting the Tequila bottle as if finding light in falling into more alcohol to forget everything—even her own name if necessary—just until the next morning, when the reality of this life would hurt once again.

However, what she could never forget was that, once sitting near a campfire with this boy's classmates and a few Beauxbatons girls, Nova's eyes landed more than once on the group mere meters from them.

Padma, Parvati, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, Harry, and Ron being the loudest in the Forbidden Forest, laughing uncontrollably and in full harmony—blame the alcohol again—but she felt faint for how fond she was of these people.

And, especially, she would not forget George sitting with them. He was there physically, but mentally? He looked long gone, like she usually fell into her own mind from time to time.

They had locked eyes more than once. Then looked back. Then smiled at each other. He even made a very disgusted face when the Durmstrang boy rested an arm around her shoulder. And she mimicked the motion of throwing up when Katie Bell sat beside him.

No, she would not forget that alcohol made him slightly tolerable and not extremely the perfect victim for a murder. Knowing this now, she would come prepared to the next party to use this version of him to her advantage for the bet.

That was the only thing important now. Break his ego and claim the crown. A little pathetic and sad for a young witch of eighteen years old, but you do you, Nova.

Chapter 5: Student Record

October 7, 1994

"Dear Tim and Matt,

I will try to use the simplest words known to mankind, but please grab a vocabulary while reading this (it's the thick red book I left in your dorm).

When the Aurors told me you'd been assaulted, I had no doubts you survived that. You two crockroads will outlive the entire world population somehow.

I'm glad you're okay. I always imagined your deaths caused by one of your pranks going wrong—not because of me, and I'm sorry to have put you in danger (more than I ever did at least).

Until I'm back, please don't get in any trouble. Don't have fun without me. If you have a bicker, make sure to send me a full report of what you said.

And most importantly: stop throwing parties at my house! I read the article about the fire last week. STOP. IT.

Talk to you soon.

The most hot witch in the universe,
Nova"

A sense of relief washed over her the second the ink was dry, and she could fold the parchment with impressive precision, almost pressed by a machine rather than human hands like hers.

She placed the stamp of Illvermony Institute in the middle, knowing she couldn't leave a trace of where this letter was from, and gazed at it with a sense of remorse.

Maybe writing about the multitude of emotions wrapping around her daily would've been a fair solution. Maybe letting it out for them to read would've eased the pain a little. But at what cost?

It would still be there. It was like emptying a cup before it overflowed just to fill it up again, and again, and again on an endless loop. It wouldn't make it easier. It would only delay the inevitable.

However, in contradiction to the ridiculous number of times Nova had said she wasn't sentimental, that she was against getting too attached—knowing people could leave at any moment—she had someone she truly cared for, someone worth risking being found just to express the joy in knowing they were still alive.

But who were these people she wrote to? Me, you, and the handsome half-naked boy from the Gryffindor party laying beside her in bed were all wondering the same thing.

"Are Tim and Matt friends of yours?" he murmured, tracing her bare back with a feather-like touch.

"Mind your business. We're not that close," she snapped, crawling out of the sheets to search for her clothes on the floor.

"What? But we had sex the whole weekend," he frowned, observing carefully the clumsiness of her movements.

She simply shrugged, even though her mind had built a thousand very questionable comebacks that could've made this boy—which is called Igor, by the way—cry until filling a report to get back to Durmstrang before the Triwizard Tournament was done.

For a split second, while dressing in front of the wall mirror of his room, Nova gazed at him through it and wondered what had shaken this appeal toward her that had lasted since the Gryffindor party.

Of course, her beauty was the most rational answer. She wasn't one to deny being extremely attractive. But she always thought that when speaking, most boys would immediately run away without thinking twice.

She had been rude, bold, slapped him even a few times after sex, rushed back to her dorm or to the Great Hall making a big fuss about not being seen together, returned to the wing designed for hosting students from other schools, and again, again, again—the whole weekend.

It was true. At this point, they were to be considered close since he had no intention of kicking her out for this behavior. But she couldn't help herself pushing him away.

There was no reason to get him involved in her personal life; he would go away at the end of term, to his country—getting attached wasn't something to consider.

But damn it, he was good to look at. Clothes should really be optional for people like him. Muscles firm as brick walls, jaw sharp like a knife, captivating green eyes, and that dangerous energy of someone who would burn the world down just for you.

She would let him burn too, to save herself anyway—but that's another story.

"Me and Krum are training near the lake this afternoon. Want to come watch?" he murmured, resting an arm behind his head, unwillingly flexing the muscle under the morning sunlight.

"I'd rather be pecked to death by a flock of hummingbirds," she said dryly, rolling her eyes lazily while doing her blue tie.

"Woah, okay, you could've just said no," he scoffed, propping himself to his feet and stretching all the way toward the bathroom.

Now alone, Nova took a deep breath, gazing at the spot where he had disappeared behind the door, and wondered how the conversation would've gone if it had been George.

Irritating that he was constantly in her mind, but she couldn't help it. No one was able to match the bickering, either wrapped in real rage or lingering bittersweet, like the party—he always knew what to say to fuel her fire.

And still, she noticed that no matter if he was the one starting the bickering, his tone followed hers. If Nova was, let's say, calm in her own way, he wouldn't spat venomously but rather with the same docile yet annoying energy.

If she needed to channel the rage somewhere and test someone's limits, he would do the same, wiping off the filter between the brain and the mouth in order to use the drawing line as a jumping rope.

Frustration took over the split second she gazed at herself in the mirror, smiling faintly just at the thought of meeting him for breakfast and having a fulfilling fight in front of everyone—she felt pathetic that this was the only enjoyable moment of her days.

Without saying goodbye to Igor, she exited the room with an unexplainable rush, closing the door behind her as hard as possible, stepping down the stairs almost tripping over her own shadow, and then passed by the Durmstrang students chatting in the common room.

They didn't flinch at her presence. Not a word was said. They gazed at her with utter contempt for their friend, who had managed to win a girl like her—she hadn't spared them with her rudeness too, but somehow they all found it fascinating.

She reached the Great Hall, feeling a sense of relief in the morning air. It seemed clearer, ready to be stained with her venom as soon as possible. She showed the middle finger to Ron Weasley when he joked about the already spreading rumors of her nights with Igor.

People were whispering, but nothing new here. Since arriving at the castle, Nova had adjusted to this constant murmur invading her ears when passing by—first the mystery of why she moved here, then the bet with George, now the possible relationship with the enemies of the tournament.

"Oi Rowen, what's your sign?" Fred snapped up from the Daily Prophet as soon as she approached them.

"All attitude, ascendant headache," George teased, sipping his tea in a quiet, aristocratic way, sitting beside her.

"What's yours? Certified bitch, ascendant dumbass?" She turned to him—head resting on a hand, legs crossed, letting the skirt raise an inch.

She wasn't sure why, but when he was around, her body had an automatic response—she needed to look in control, more than ever, teasing him without words, showing skin if necessary, but doing anything in her power to make him feel weak.

And it worked, because George perched on the bench, legs spread wide on each side, scanning her figure like a predator studying his next victim—apparently, he had the same desperate need to establish power.

"Enjoyed your weekend, blondie?" He leaned forward, dangerously close, making the place feel suffocating.

"Very much, thanks for the interest," she cooed, pushing her hair back, willingly slapping his face. "What did you do? Jerk off alone in your dorm?"

"Yes, I did, actually," he shrugged proudly. "I was picturing you in the library with me, fucking that attitude out of your—"

"GEORGE!" Everyone shouted, truly not wanting him to finish the sentence.

That was beyond mere teasing. Nova looked away to hide the slightest blush on her cheeks while pretending to listen to Fred read the long horoscope, after wiping off their disgusted expressions—rudeness was acceptable. Flirting just to get under her skin? War declaration.

She stiffened in her seat, feeling his eyes roaming over her body. Down the exposed leg, up to the bit of neck she teasingly showed while pushing her hair aside, the glimmering of the earring almost blinding—she wondered when this vast room had become this claustrophobic.

"Where did you go? Watching the stars by the lake? Picking strawberries in a field?" he murmured in her ear, a mix of teasing and jealousy clear in his voice—or maybe she was just hallucinating.

However, since the table seemed too focused on their own chattering, and no one was paying attention to them anymore, Nova shifted confidence again, leaning just enough without leaving her gaze from their friends—game on.

"We had a drink and then we got back into his dorm," she leaned forward, voice almost inaudible, careless of how close their faces were. "And I did let him fuck the attitude out of my body. All. Night. Long."

That was a lie. Not the sex itself—that happened. But it wasn't that good to be so proud of it. Ranking it on a scale from one to ten, she would give Igor and his performance a seven when still drunk after the party, and a mere four when sober—but George didn't need to know all this.

The way his jaw clenched to the point of breaking. His hazel eyes losing that glimpse of sparkle while absorbing the words. For a second, she frowned, not surely expecting this intense reaction.

His lips remained firm into a thin line—no comeback, no teasing, no more fuel to grow the fire forest of their usual bickering. He snapped to his feet and walked away, making sure the thump of his steps turned heads—he looked dangerously angry and... hot? No, this can't be, she was just hungry and seeing things.

"What happened?" Fred furrowed his brows, worried for his brother—it was rare to see him this rage-filled.

"Mind your business," she snapped before exhaling an exasperated breath and letting her forehead gently hit the table.

As Nova started looking more mental than her usual nonsense, her friends gazed at each other with utter concern, not able to pick up the pieces of this confusing puzzle between the two—whatever was happening, it would influence the whole group, and they were unsure what their roles were for now.

Why was nothing easy? She should've just engaged in a silly little innocent prank war, distracted herself in any way possible, without feeling emotions—not happy or sad.

And instead, she was now wondering what was going through George's mind—why get so angry about it? Surely he wasn't thinking Nova would spend the whole year waiting for him to crawl under her sheets? Or did he?

The other night at the Gryffindor party, there had been a... moment. Something shifted, and even if not completely sober, she remembered. He was leaning forward for a kiss, but he didn't. Why didn't he? Had she seen things that weren't there? Maybe he was only teasing. But then why act this way knowing she had sex with someone else?

While still swinging on the bench, unknowingly murmuring a few of these thoughts out loud, she considered how helpful all this overthinking was. Not in the healthy sense of the phrase.

But the fact that if she managed to keep her mind busy discovering more and more about George, using things for her pranks, winning the bet, and understanding who could be the worst date for him to have, she would never acknowledge the sadness of this life.

The pain would still be there. Every day, waking up, realizing her parents were gone. Every night, falling asleep without their goodbye kisses. In all future achievements, which they would never witness beside her.

However, when possible, she could always channel this absurd way of coping and make this prank war her first priority. If possible, this could ease the thoughts, in addition to more alcohol and more studying.

What a plan, huh? And she came up with it all by herself. Debatable, but impressive.

Thinking this was the perfect solution solved the problem but didn't ease this visceral pain in her stomach forming slowly until hitting roughly. She started breathing heavily, embracing this pain as normal—it felt like little animals finding paths of their own in her skin, stinging along the way.

But after a minute, it all became too real, too painful. Something was actually under her clothes and crawling up and down her body—tiny legs puncturing and hurting.

Nova snapped from her seat and quickly removed her robe—there was nothing, but she could still feel it. She gripped the collar of her shirt to scan the inside, and something in her heart broke the second she realized what was indeed wrapping around her body.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Resembling a bunny on drugs, she started jumping all over the place, shaking her head to the point the fear washing over her face wasn't visible to others. Her hands ran up and down her body without actually touching it, hoping that was enough.

Spiders. Little. Disgusting. Creepy. Deadly. Spiders crawling outside the robe to fall on every inch of exposed skin, gripping tightly on her blonde hair, never-ending like a nest had grown somewhere between her shirt and skirt—she looked maniacal, completely out of her mind, and the Great Hall had never laughed more loudly.

However, no one could've imagined what was happening inside her body. A heart is unable to handle such shock as it resembled how it sank the moment she realized her parents were dead—not beating for a second and then pouring hardly, almost out of the chest.

Breathing became difficult, lungs heavy. Her soul seemed torn between that overwhelming feeling of fainting and that rush of adrenaline no words could escape—a panic attack maybe, or worse.

"Calm down, they're not real," Fred shouted, noticing the spiders vanishing as soon as they hit the floor—his voice echoed like in a fever dream.

"Nova, stop and they'll go away," Padma snapped, even as she crawled up the table just in case a few weren't part of the spell.

The amusement seemed to lower when she became paler than ever before; her friends didn't know what else to do to make her realize she was jinxed—how can you deal with someone in such a mental state?

Fortunately, Ginny Weasley stood up loudly, gripped Nova's wrist until facing her, and landed a hard slap on her face that silenced the whole room—even the poltergeist floating in the air stopped at the thump sound.

It worked. No more spiders. They all vanished the second the pain burned into her skin and she escaped the visceral shock of the moment—she blinked quickly, sensing the same orchestra of drums playing fast in her chest.

"Ouch, that hurt," Nova raised a hand to her red cheek, catching her breath slowly and gazing around.

They were expecting some sort of reaction—Devil Nova in action, a jinx, or a catfight. Something bad was about to happen; it was thick in the air. Such actions couldn't go unpunished.

All eyes on her once again. Curious, tense, mesmerized. They wanted a show as always, and after letting George win a point in the bet, it would've been fair to humiliate him in front of everyone, right? Apparently, her twisted mind had other plans.

"Thank you, Ginny," she whispered, actually relieved that the spell was broken. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?" The ginger furrowed her brows, not in the slightest concerned—she was sure Nova wouldn't do anything to her.

"Because I'm going to kill your brother. My condolences."

Wrapped in a rage not normal for a single human to channel, Nova gazed around until she found her target. George fucking Weasley. He was walking away from the Great Hall just after his big prank that almost killed her.

She rushed with an electric pace, tapping the short heels of her boots firmly on the floor, making a loud sound that resembled an army stepping on a combat field—her eyes twitched from the irritation. She felt faint from how angry she was. And it felt dangerously brilliant.

"Fucking cunt," she shouted mid-hallway, but he was in no rush to stop anytime soon. "I'm talking to you."

"And I'm listening, blondie," he spat calmly, even as his pace quickened at every step.

"George Weasley, stop walking right now," she ordered, and surprisingly, he obeyed just at the Clock Tower Backyard. "You fucking little goblin—"

Nova started hitting him like with a punching bag made of feathers. Chest, arms, shoulders, chest again, waist—everywhere except the face he was shielding impressively. This wasn't his first fight, but she was eager to make it the last one of his life.

It was remarkable how strong she was. Shocked at herself for how hard she managed to hit him. Where was this strength before? She had no idea, but surely wanted to explore it in this exact moment.

"Stop, or I'll file a restraining order," he was laughing like a child—that vision of her was too amusing to hide, even if he wanted to look angry at her just as much.

"Do that, I have plenty already," she kept hitting his shoulders while he bent over slightly—not from pain, unfortunately.

"Yeah, I know you have," he was tearing up almost. "I know everything about you, Novalynn Astrid Rowen."

Oh...

She froze on the spot. Hands mid-air for a second and then landing by her sides. Her lips parted slightly, and all the adrenaline washed away as she took in the name.

That name. Her full name. No one had called her that. Only her parents when she was very little, until she understood she didn't like how aristocratic and long it sounded—she ordered them to call her just Nova. And they did.

Why did it hurt that much? Because she would never hear them saying it again. She pleaded for something in the past that she regretted now. She would pay an amount of money she didn't have just to hear them saying it one more time.

For a second, her full name echoed in her mind, not with George's voice, but with her mother's—soft and delicate like a melody—then her father's—deep, rough, firm—almost fading from her mind; she would forget it soon before she realized.

"Oh, don't tell me this was all it took to finally shut your mouth," he scoffed, pushing her back to reality. "Or I would've called you this a long time ago."

"Fucking dickhead. What? How—" she was indeed speechless for the first time in front of him.

George took a step back and then summoned a thick, dark blue folder to study its contents with a puzzled face—he was mocking, all full of himself, in control of the situation as ever before.

"Born in Chicago on the fourteenth of March in the year 1978..." he started reading with an arrogant smirk, "...guess I was wrong about your sign. Apparently, you're a Pisces."

A student record. Her student record. Not the one Headmaster Dumbledore promised to keep in his office to prevent anyone from finding out about her past. The one in George's hands had an Ilvermony stamp on the cover—it was from her old school. The most detailed one existing in the world.

Since the first year of kindergarten, professors at all magical institutions in America keep track of students, passing down the information as they grow, adding their personal records to it, just to give it back after graduation—a way of reliving a lifetime of memories all at once.

But now it wasn't a trip through nostalgia. It was in the hands of the only person who would use everything written there to win the bet.

Fuck the bet. She was killing him on the spot.

"That's mine! Give it back!" she shouted before jumping on him, almost tripping—damn, he had reflexes.

"Oh, really impressive grades, blondie. You're a real nerd," he said, raising the folder in the air for only him to read and for her to not reach. "Too bad for all these detention slips. Didn't you say your friends took the blame? Never thought of you as a liar."

"Stop! You can't read it!" She got on her tiptoes, but it was useless—somehow he was too tall for her. "I'm serious, it's not funny."

For a moment they both stopped slipping around and stood firmly, the folder still high in George's hand, but his free hand was right behind Nova's lower back, ready to catch her in case she fell—but not touching her yet.

She gripped his shoulder, lowering a hand on his chest, finally defeated by the idea of being able to hurt him with her bare hands—but she noticed the fast pounding of his heart through the robe.

It was beating way too fast—if it wasn't humanly possible, she could swear it was tearing through his skin for her to catch immediately. An orchestra of only drums, exactly like hers.

"Give. It. Back." She leaned forward, steadying herself slightly.

"Say the magic word," he murmured against her lips.

Beg? That was all it would take for George to hand over the dossier and let all those secrets return to her—it would take just a word, and everything would go back to normal.

It was well known that Nova would do anything to get what she wanted.

She would dig to the Earth's core with a plastic spoon, teach a stone to speak, empty the ocean with a straw, count every single grain of the desert and every single star in the universe if necessary.

But beg was not one of them.

"Fuck you," she said instead.

"Right now? Usually, people buy me a drink first," he cooed, leaning forward, dangerously too close, almost making both of them trip.

Noses brushing against each other, breathing onto one another's lips, the breeze gently landing on their bodies, helping goosebumps grow on their skin.

He smelled like caramel, fireworks, and spruce tree—so warm and pleasant, it felt like all the good things she missed about life.

The heat of the moment was roughly interrupted by Nova's knee rising up and landing harshly on George's middle parts, as hard and deep as possible until he bent over from pain.

"Bitch," he groaned, almost on his knees.

"Oh, stop, you're making me blush," she smiled bitterly before throwing the dossier on the gravel and burning it with a flick of her wand.

It was a bigger relief than Nova had imagined—and probably illegal—to see flames consuming pieces of her life that didn't belong to her anymore, or at least, she wished they didn't.

That was in the past. All the grades. The records. The recommendations. Detention cards. Class portraits. Extracurricular activities and whatever was written about her family. Everything burned and vanished in the sky along with the souls of her parents.

She was the same girl. But that didn't mean she had no right to change it. This grief journal was just at the beginning, and, for once, a rational thought stoked in her mind like a vision—she had the chance to be another person, to be reborn from the ashes of that same folder.

Will she do it? Become kinder, less evil, more empathetic, take things seriously, and book an appointment with a therapist? Probably not now, but Rome wasn't built in a day.

"You're offending me again, blondie," he recomposed himself, almost painless now, unfortunately. "I already made more copies; they're in my dorm. Want to come looking for them?"

"Listen very carefully, carrot head," she snapped, walking slowly toward him, "I engaged in the bet to crush your ego once and for all, but if anything about my student record becomes public, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to Hagrid's dog."

Nova thought she had already reached the maximum level of rage—more than once in her life—but apparently, the satisfaction on George's face managed to grow more irritation in her body, almost making her shiver.

What was wrong with this boy became a mystery she couldn't pull herself away from. She channeled a long-lost detective obsessed with a blank case to solve. If he wanted to play dirty, he better get ready—she would drown him in his own mud.

"Sorry, blondie, I stopped listening after imagining you with a knife between my legs," he chuckled, eyes roaming and studying her face. "What were you saying?"

There was no comeback on the tip of her tongue, no teasing, no words—except cussing—nothing that could manage to wipe that pretentious smirk off him. Killing might become the top priority on her to-do list.

Her eyes twitched. Her palms sweated. Her knees felt like they were supporting the weight of the whole world. Her mind burned red with rage. For a second, she wondered if this was how the man responsible for her parents' death felt just before ending their lives.

Had he done something very cruel? Yes. Would she ever forgive him for that? Absolutely not. But damn, she was understanding the feeling of seeing blood escaping someone's body. That was it. She couldn't handle this anymore.

"Go to hell," she shouted, rushing away, twitching from the nerves.

"Is that a date? I'm free Saturday," he mocked before she was out of sight.

Stopping in an empty hallway, Nova started kicking the brick wall faintly, hurting herself in the process of releasing that anger, jumping on one foot while massaging the other from the pain, and almost landing on the floor.

This was too much. Such a fragile body couldn't handle all these emotions at once. All this adrenaline. All this rage. An overwhelming sense that felt intoxicating—she didn't even know how to react to it.

The bet was a stupid excuse for teasing her; it was clear—there was more behind his intentions. He truly wanted to embarrass her to death or have some sort of leverage to blackmail her, maybe.

She wasn't sure, but she wouldn't kneel. She wouldn't let him think there was something in that folder that could be used against her—even if there was plenty.

But a light at the end of the tunnel appeared to her—there were things about her past that she surely didn't want revealed, but George was no saint and probably had some secrets too.

And Nova would find each one of them and make him regret not being eaten by his own twin in the womb and daring to challenge the most competitive, stubborn, violent witch America is grateful to be rid of.

Chapter 6: Broken Clock

October 9, 1994

Curiosity is the spark that ignites discovery, innovation, and personal growth. It drives us to question, explore, and seek understanding of the world around us.

It also cultivates a thirst for knowledge and drives continuous learning, leading to greater fulfillment, success, and a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world we inhabit.

By nurturing curiosity, we open ourselves to new ideas, perspectives, and possibilities.

By using it in seeking revenge, we open a door to possible dangerous situations that can never be closed again. George had done it. He had burst that door open, careless of what to do with it.

"Don't you think reading her student record is a little too much?" Fred said dryly, adjusting his hair in the mirror. "And how did you get it anyway?"

"Charlie was at Ilvermorny last weekend for business, and he owed me a favour," George murmured, ignoring the guilty grip while lying on the bed. "Want to know what I found out so far?"

"Of course I do," Fred scoffed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, curious just as much as his brother.

Framed by a hundred pages of parchment, George explained everything with an amusing dramatic tone, almost like he was narrating a story instead of discovering Nova in her entirety since birth.

She was annoyingly the smartest witch her old school had ever had since the institute was built. And Hogwarts too now, except Hermione Granger, obviously.

High grades in every subject that didn't include physical activity. Her essays had words very difficult to comprehend without a vocabulary nearby. An irritating knowledge in almost everything.

However, that didn't save her from the professor reports at the end of every school year. They respected her intellect, but as a person? She was described as the reincarnation of the devil.

During classes, she felt superior to any authority, talking when not asked to, making noise, distracting everyone, often insulting the subject itself, saying it was a waste of wizard talent—it was better when she didn't show up, and no one reported it to make it happen more often.

Although, Nova never acted like this at Hogwarts. She had a strong opinion on Divination and wasn't scared to share it in front of Trelawney. But you could barely hear her in class.

That was a big mystery for George. How can someone be famous for something and then it just vanish from their personality? What happened that made her turn off that fire she had in her previous school?

"I bet she's been kicked out from Ilvermorny," Fred scoffed faintly, reading a very detailed report on how Potion class was destroyed by her.

"No, it's not that. She passed last year, and there's the admission letter for this September term," George swung the institute letter, which he had read three times already.

"But if she was about to start seventh year there, why come here?" Fred frowned, trying to find the answer in the parchment—nothing. No clue about it.

A loud silence fell. Mere curiosity shifted into their desperate need to know something. It was visceral for them to stay in the shadows, having only one part of the story, the start—they felt like reading a book whose author had died before writing the ending.

George gathered the parchment slowly, without caring about putting them in the same chronological order as before, while Fred's leg kept tipping nervously—an habit when his mind began to wander too much.

The possibilities were endless and nonexistent all at once. What could bring someone to move to the other side of the world out of nowhere and not have a record of why?

All these doubts lingered in their minds all the way toward classes. Fred and George were forced to separate once again due to this unreasonable choice from all the professors—their time together was becoming always less.

They nudged each other mid-hallway, hiding how much the absence of the other meant, and then George entered Potions, where the smell of the ingredients on shelves busted into his nostrils in one rough way, almost making him feel fuzzy, like on drugs.

Deep down, he knew that the shift was provoked by the distance from his brother. They were used to always being side by side, always listening to each other's voices at all times. Not having him felt like something was always missing. He didn't feel complete.

In the dimness, George found a corner to lean on, right next to Angelina Johnson. He crossed his arms, and in the lingering murmurs waiting for Professor Snape to start class, his eyes shimmered while catching an irritating light—Nova and her freakish blonde hair.

She was there, silent as always, smelling a vial and making a disgusted expression. Since she wasn't tense, he supposed his entrance went unnoticed, and he was ready to benefit from it as much as possible.

Observing the enemy is the first step toward victory. To beat her, it was necessary to know everything about her. This school record was just the foundation for a bigger picture—the one able to break through her rude walls and force her to admit he was the only one worth the crowd.

Blaming it always on the bet seemed the best solution. At least he didn't have to admit that somehow this girl had gotten under his skin to the point of becoming obsessed—this was the intimacy of his mind. No one would know about it anyway.

"Your last essays made me regret having been gifted with a sight," Snape hissed, stepping dramatically into the room, catching attention effortlessly. "Today's assignment is to prepare Wit-Sharpening Potion; maybe this will help your peanut-sized brain size up."

Rather rude and not legal to say to a student, but George's eyes were fixated on Nova, and everything else became worth ignoring. He claimed a station, revealing himself from the shadows, and she noticed immediately—that shift in her body at his mere presence sent him shivers, feeling faint. She was always this tense around him.

Taking a deep breath, he got to work, or rather stirred ingredients lazily by memory since he had made this potion already with Fred inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—for mere fun and a sense of achievement, not surely for academic purposes.

But he couldn't look away. She was there, eyeing him too. Was she planning something, maybe? Killing him in her mind? Probably both. For that split second, he debated what the best move would have been, and just the ridiculous amount of ideas formed a headache.

He had already asked why she moved here, and even if the answer was sarcastic and avoidant, it was clear she had no intention of telling anytime soon. There were records about her two best friends, tho—Tam and Mitt. No, it was something else. Tim and Matt, maybe. Yes! That was it.

They were the only people mentioned, besides the ones that had failed restraining orders against Nova. They surely knew what happened to bring her to Hogwarts all of a sudden. But how to contact them? He could write to Ilvermorny and simply delegate to have them receive a letter.

How many kids in America could have the same name and attend a magical school hidden in the mountains? For some reason, the answer looked like at least ten, if not twenty. Too much risk it would land in the wrong hands.

She surely had sent them a letter by now, right? If they were that close—to set classes on fire, bully schoolmates, throw parties in the Headmaster's office, and blow up a dorm—they would surely have talked already.

Perfect idea! He was impressed he came up with something like this while dosing the ingredients of the potion perfectly, all while still eyeing her. What he didn't notice immediately was Cedric Diggory working slightly too close to her.

All this overthinking had brought his sight to unfocused for that split second, and now those two seemed so in harmony. She peeked into his cauldron. He caught her and smiled. She rolled her eyes pretentiously, as always—nothing unusual there.

But Cedric moved an inch and handed Nova a vial of peppermint, needed to refresh and awaken the mind. She actually needed a truck size of that to calm herself, George first thought.

And for some reason, she accepted kindly. She didn't make any face, even though she had the same vial just to the left of the cauldron. The way she eased was heartbreaking. Why couldn't she be this way with him too? Was it really because of the prank war? Before this, it wasn't different anyway.

They always bickered, fought, and were loud. They had always found a way to ruin each other's day without the need for a reason. Oh, god, his head was burning from all this thinking. A well-deserved break was in order.

"Where are you going?" Angelina snapped as soon as he walked around the table—fortunately, not the one he had unscrewed with his brother. That had already ruined another class.

"Keep watch. I'm off to the loo," George said louder than anyone wanted to hear before stepping out the door without looking back.

Apparently, not asking permission to use the bathroom wasn't only part of Nova's personality. However, Professor Snape didn't take that as an offense. In fact, the more students stayed away, the better at this point.

Making sure not to encounter Flinch's freakish cat in the hallway, George passed by Divination class, sneaked under the stairs near the Clock Tower backyard, took a turn in the secret passage, and managed to guide the black raven portraits out of the way until stepping inside the Ravenclaw common room—nothing exciting in that yet.

But as soon as he stood in front of Padma and Nova's room, for some unknown reason to him, the pounding sound of his own heart was audible.

Fortunately, no one was around, or it would've been difficult to explain—then he chuckled softly, noticing the ridiculous amount of "stay out" signs covering the wooden door.

A rush of adrenaline crawled up his spine the second he stepped in, just to shift into utter confusion at the mess around. Clothes covered the floor to the point of not knowing what it was made of.

Only one bed was perfectly made, which he deduced was Padma's, since the other one seemed to have been taken over by a full tornado.

He stepped forward, not even knowing where to start snooping, but sure that he didn't have to pay attention to not leave a trace. At this point, moving something would only make the room feel cleaner.

Nothing under the bed besides more useless clutter. The wardrobe was remarkably full, considering how many clothes were on the floor—why did she need all this anyway? They were wearing uniforms most of the time.

Sitting on the edge of her bed felt extremely comfortable, more than anticipated. His mattress wasn't this fluffy, almost on top of a cloud. He lay down, one hand behind his head, the other on his chest—he would surely swipe them at some point. It was remarkable.

Then he tried to think like Nova, for as much as humanly possible. If he was a psychopath, rude, selfish, and mentally questionable girl, where would he hide something important? Something that could give all the answers at once?

He turned slightly, thinking how stupid it was to even consider that, but he did anyway. He opened the first drawer of the nightstand, and it felt a light blinding him from how precious the inside was.

Only a journal. Nothing else around. A blue leather journal with a big N tracing the middle with silver sparkling lining. Minus points for not being that clever.

"This will be fun," he murmured to himself, clicking his back to the headboard—how the fuck was even that wood so comfortable?

First page, just a sketch of a messy heart. Second page, a picture of a little Nova, maybe six years old, at an amusement park eating cotton candy—not an enchanting one. This was taken with a Muggle camera.

The next pages were all other sketches and random insults to no one in particular. No diary lookalike. A few pictures with her parents on the first day at Ilvermony, it appeared.

He turned it and read in blue ink their names: Celeste and Louis Rowen. Nothing else. He gazed at it again and couldn't help but smile faintly at the resemblance in them both.

Same appearance as her mother—hair, eyes, body language. Same energy as her father—expression, pose, fire in the gaze.

Thinking about it and glancing at more pictures of the three of them together, George tried to remember at least one time she had talked about her family.

Not that she was very talkative in general, but still, she never shared something that was before her arrival at Hogwarts. Almost like her life started here somehow.

What were their careers? Did they have Muggle jobs or follow the wizarding world? Did they write to her? He never recalled seeing her in the Owlery to send something or at least receive something.

That was odd, and a warm wave invaded his lower stomach, a thigh grip followed with a nauseous sensation. Not guilt for snooping around, surely, but a feeling of still missing a piece of the puzzle even if this was all the box offered.

Just when George was about to give up and think of another way to discover the reason why Nova moved here, a weight slipped from the journal—two envelopes.

One already opened from Tim and Matt, designed for Hogwarts. The other still sealed, designed for what seemed her house back in Chicago—no sender name at first sight.

George gazed at the clock in the mirror (broken. What a surprise) and then his watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and by the time he would be back, the potions should need only a few more minutes of stirring to be done—there was time to read only one envelope.

Which one? The safest answer would be the one written by her best friends, the only people who could know her better than anyone else. But damn it, the one sealed and that Nova didn't even know what was written inside felt captivating, as very few things before.

Careful to not reduce it into a thousand pieces from curiosity, George opened the letter, chuckling softly at how trembly his own hands were—whatever those thrilling yet morally wrong feelings were, he wished for them to never stop.

"My dear Nova,

Words can't describe how unfair it is for a person to go through something so cruel like you did. No one deserves to suffer this much.

I heard you're moving away for your own safety, and I dare to say the Aurors had taken the right decision this time.

Promise to write me wherever you are? I would like to pay my respect and maybe send you a tulip bouquet—the only flower you tolerate if I remember correctly.

Goodbye for now, and again, I'm sorry the universe has reserved this fate for you."

No sender and no one signed it. Not a name or a clue from who this could be from. Except for where it was sent—Ilvermony, left wing, dorm 104. Nothing else.

George gazed up at the clock again and smiled faintly at how silly it was to hope it started working out of nowhere. He debated with the strength in his body, but then the need to know more grew and rested the letter in his robe pocket.

Whatever Tim and Matt had written didn't matter. He couldn't ask them since they were this close to Nova. They would have told her immediately, and all this would have been useless.

But while sneaking back beyond the Raven portrait in the Ravenclaw common room, wiping away a few cobwebs in the shrink secret passage, and passing by Trelawney making students read teapots, his mind came up with the perfect plan.

Writing back to this letter. Whoever this was seemed to know what happened in order to force Nova to move here. He would ask them to explain it. Maybe even faking being her. Either way, this was his only lead until finding something more quickly.

And for how risky it was to get close after just being in her dorm, George couldn't help himself when stepping inside class in full swing, smoke from the brewing, gazing briefly at his potion, which Angelina was still keeping watch—even if it was clear she wasn't that excited about it.

She was there. Nova. Behind the biggest of all ingredient cabinets, able to cover her body from everyone else—he hadn't heard her irritating voice the whole day and hadn't witnessed the pumping vein on her forehead when growing nervous because of him.

Let's chance that, shall we? He didn't waste any time. Immediately approaching without making a big fuss out of it, but fortunately all students were too busy with the assignment and Professor Snape had retreated into his office—these two together and no supervision? This would end badly.

"Good morning," he whispered, grabbing the first vial in sight to not make it obvious he was there for her.

"Only morning. It ain't good if you're around," she snapped, tensing on the spot while reorganizing the shelf.

"I found a salon in Diagon Alley that could do your hair for the ball," he teased, smelling a vial—it was disgusting—and took another. "What do you think? Pink or green hair?"

"What are you talking about?" She frowned, taking a big breath—only a few words, and the vein subtly appeared.

"Well, you know, we will choose each other's dates. I think it's fair to have a say even in what to wear with them," he shrugged, reading labels faintly, cleaning the dust from a shelf—everything but don't make it obvious.

It was clear this new addition to the bet was risky but necessary. After the humiliation they would go through with the pranks, just having someone to escort you at the ball wasn't worth all this. Risking being ridiculous even before stepping inside the Great Hall that night? Not knowing what you'd wear until the very last second?

Now that's the higher the risk, the higher the reward. His mind was already roaming over thousands of outfit ideas for her. Maybe a clown costume—that should blend perfectly with her personality. Or something so ridiculous that even the mirror would break at the sight—a headache forming in that split second.

"It doesn't matter, I'm hot either way," she said dryly, but an involuntary smile marked her lips. "And remember, I don't fuck with roses. Tell my date I want a tulip bouquet."

"Bet they'll wither around you," he murmured, letting out a dramatic sigh.

As usual, her only response was to slap his arm, and the slightest touch made George understand that she meant it. She loved tulips, like the letter said. So it was possible everything else was true, and whoever wrote it had now earned first place in the top wanted people inside his mind.

"Ouch! That was even the nicest thing I could come up with," he laughed proudly, finally getting a reaction from her—this plan would have to wait. It was time for business now.

"Don't you have something else to do than bother me?" she snapped, reorganizing the whole first shelf. "Like get fucked, for example."

"Is that an invitation, blondie?" His chin lowered, but he studied her reaction from the corner of his eyes.

"No thanks, I'll do it tonight already," she murmured, also watching him carefully from the corner of her eyes.

Both remained silent, messing with all sorts of ingredients, passing them to each other subtly, smelling herbs and reading labels. Their cauldrons were being taken care of by Angelina and Cedric. The assignment long forgotten for that little moment of utter awkwardness.

Bringing up another boy was a low blow. George felt as tense as she did and wondered what irritated him more: the fact that a boy could discover her big secret due to a mere dinner, or the fact she was wasting time with a Durmstrang student who didn't care about her.

Well, he didn't either, okay? He was just considering that maybe, just maybe, when she wasn't teasing, talking too loud, breathing too loud, kicking him under the table at every meal, and pushing people in the hallways, she was still a girl. And girls deserve better than those skanks.

Anyone. Not Nova in particular. Those were fake gentlemen, if you asked George—the type of boys who bring you flowers, yes. But they don't do it with their hearts. Only because they know it's what girls like.

Does it make sense? Probably not.
Does it make him feel better to be slightly jealous about it? Absolutely!

"Well, have fun then," he said, clearing his throat. "I have a date too, anyway."

Oh, okay, now we're lying. George blinked rapidly at his own words. But the shift in her expression made it the best improvised act ever.

She wasn't exactly angry. She just looked blank for a second. She tilted her head and melted ever so slightly. In that moment, he wished there were a potion or a spell able to read her mind—he almost felt intoxicated by the need to know if she was jealous. Mentally killing him. Sad about it, maybe? Difficult but not impossible.

Carefully gazing around, making sure the cabinet could hide their bodies from the rest of the class, Nova rested a vial in front of him and let her finger playfully tease the hem of his trousers. The room had never felt this heated.

"Sure you'll be able to not think about me?" she whispered, leaning forward—seductive, captivating, bolder than he imagined.

"Only if you promise to do the same," he murmured on her lips, gripping the edge of the shelf to steady himself.

"Oh, Georgie, don't make promises you know you won't keep," her fingers tracing his V-line under the shirt—a stinging, pleasant touch.

"Careful, blondie," he chuckled, pressing his hips to deepen the pressure on his own skin. "I don't have a problem fucking you in front of everyone."

"You're all talk," she snapped before retreating her hand and letting it caress his back while she walked away.

He chuckled softly, noticing how tense Nova was once she stopped at her own table. Even in the dimness of the room, it was clear her soft cheeks were bright red—remarkable how she could maintain this control even if overwhelmed inside. He could too, but witnessing it was otherworldly brilliant.

Taking a second for himself, George gazed at the clock on the wall, fully functioning, noticing it was already time to prove how perfect the potion was. Getting a high grade, only to do something that would earn him a ticket to detention—at least Snape couldn't say anything about his talent in this subject.

One by one, the students let the professor observe their assignments, allowing them to drop a single bay leaf to make sure the potion was done correctly. Less to say, only Angelina, Cedric, and Nova passed with the highest score for now.

"Weasley. Your turn," Snape whispered, never leaving the drama off his face, stepping to the middle of the room—always far away from everyone.

George gripped the bay leaf wrapped in confidence, gazing at Nova for a split second, growing anticipation over his utter talent. Needless to say, she was standing with crossed arms, annoyed and still slightly blushing—she might say he was irritating, but now she would have to admit he was at her same academic level.

He lowered the leaf until it floated inside the cauldron like a feather landing on gravel. It got absorbed by the mixture effortlessly, and nothing changed. Perfectly executed, like all the potions he and Fred stirred to use for pranks.

Snape raised an eyebrow, scanning the pretentiousness in George's face, growing instantly, and simply made a small "hm" sound before starting to walk toward his desk—no insult from him meant a good grade. No one ever expected more from him.

However, the utter amusement shifted immediately to full concern the second his station started trembling slowly. The students around began pacing backward in fear, but George leaned forward—this wasn't supposed to happen.

He leaned until facing the mixture. It was still, with only little bubbles forming from the tremor of the table. Crystal clear, reflecting his confused expression in the liquid. But something glittered inside while resurfacing. Maybe the bay leaf, or an ingredient not melted completely, or it was...

"OH FUCK!"

Without having time to react, the mixture took solid form and snatched his face. It was warm but not burning, wrapping around his head, making breathing difficult while he jumped in place to get it off.

Muffled screams escaped his lips as he turned in all directions, hearing the laughs around him growing exponentially and stuffing themselves into his ears until his composure covered those too. It felt like being trapped inside a bubble, perceiving the outside world suffocated.

The only thing he could hear at that point was the pouring of his own heart, almost escaping his chest in utter fear of being attacked too by the mixture. It wasn't tight. It wasn't deadly. But it surely didn't want to jump off him anytime soon.

It lasted longer than imagined before Snape pointed his wand and cast a spell—the mixture vanishing into the air, revealing the shock and fear on George's face.

"May I know who's responsible for this?" The professor scanned the room, not worried, not angry. Not even such a dangerous situation shook him.

The laughs stopped immediately, and only George catching his breath was audible. Breath in. Breath out. For a second he thought he was having a heart attack, judging by how his chest rose and how sweaty his body was—he had felt like this very few times before, and it didn't feel good in the slightest.

Hogwarts houses have very different traits and a desperate need to make the others lose points in order to win the cup at the end of the year, but one thing was sure—they weren't snitches.

In the tense silence, only one laugh was still bursting in the air. An irritating, pitched, unsteady, and loud laugh. Not just anyone's, but Nova's laugh. Almost bent over from the pain in her stomach at the scene.

"Miss Rowen? Do you know anything about this?" Snape approached her slowly with a feather-light pace—wrist locked behind his back.

"No, sir," she bit her lips, but she was clearly lying, and George's eyes twitched at how innocent she was acting.

"I heard about your little bet," he hissed with a calculated gaze. "I suppose this was your... prank?"

"No, sir, I wasn't even around him when—"

"I'm very impressed," he cut her off, gaining shocked expressions from the whole room. "Not many students are able to transform a perfectly executed potion into a living form. Good job."

"What!" George shouted, approaching them wrapped in an unusual rage. "She tried to kill me!"

"Oh, don't be a baby now," she crossed her arms, shifting frustrated, like she was the victim in this situation.

Apparently, they didn't care about the professor's presence. Both had too many behavioral issues to worry about detention—this silent war of power was too high on their priority list.

Almost shivering from the whole situation, George gripped the edge of the table. Nova, on the other side, did the same. The students gazed at each other, knowing how interesting this class would be now. Always a show with these two around, and sometimes they didn't mind it.

"If something happened to me, I would've hunted you for eternity," he snapped, shouting louder than intended, ignoring the sourness in his throat.

"You still do that even if you're alive," she grinned, leaning forward with not a glimpse of guilt for her actions.

"Professor, I would like to file a restraining order against this psycho," he never left his gaze on her—killing, predatory, fueling a forest fire inside him.

The stare-off grew intense. She didn't say anything, but for once it was clear she was considering the consequences of her own actions. George couldn't believe how dangerous this prank was. At least now he understood there were truly no rules in order to win, and he would make sure to make her pay for this discovery.

"Mr. Weasley, I think you could learn great things from Miss Rowen," Snape circled them until standing at the end of the workstation. "Perhaps she could tutor you."

"What!" they both snapped, looking at him in disbelief.

This was shifting unexpectedly. Detention was acceptable—even a whole month of it if necessary. Being forced to stay together, if it wasn't for the bet or their common friends, was dangerous.

They were fully into a war, and collaborating wasn't an option. How could they? George shook his head in disbelief, knowing it would be torture—maybe they could do it drunk. At least the other night, they had tolerated each other.

Better order an ocean-sized Rum at this point, because without it, studying or even being in the same room together would've ended with one of them dead, and George surely wasn't ready to leave Earth.

"Sorry, sir, but I don't think we're a good fit," she batted her eyes innocently, looking angelic and docile—huh, disgusting for both to witness.

"Yeah, she might try to kill me again," he narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the whole show she was putting on.

"You have no choice. From now on, I'll grade you as one singular student," he said, starting to walk back to his desk—the decision was irreversible. "Class dismissed."

Feeling overflowed with rage, George rushed toward the door, kicking the doorframe, imagining it to be Nova, under everyone's amusement, growing at every one of his movements.

He did it again. And again. And again. Until taking one step outside, and in a split second, he couldn't see anything anymore. A weight landed all over his body, and the laughs stopped.

Wiping away whatever that was from his eyes, he turned and all eyes were on him. He blinked quickly, gazed down, and noticed a sparkling composure now staining every inch of his body—he was covered in pink glitter head to toe.

Victim of the nameless prankster who wasn't claiming the pranks. He parted his lips to say something, blaming Nova, but in the shimmering from his lashes he could see she was amused, yes, but shocked just as much as him—it wasn't her fault. No need to make himself more ridiculous than he already was.

"Don't. Say. Anything." He hissed, marching away, leaving the glitter trace all over the hallway.

The day couldn't go worse than this. He had made a useless discovery about Nova. Being pranked by her. Making her win a point for the bet. And now being pranked with no one to get revenge on. At this point, death itself could be standing in front of him, and it would've been the best part of the day anyway.

Whoever wrote that anonymous letter better have all the answers he needed, because now this war had shifted into something more.

He would discover why she moved here. He would prank her with the same level of danger. He would burst her fun with whatever boy. He would use the drawing line of this bet to strangle her if necessary. And he was sure the motives would hold in court. That was all he needed as an excuse for now.

Chapter 7: Game On

October 11, 1994

The worst part about anything that's self-destructive is that it's so intimate. You become so close with your addictions and illnesses that leaving them behind is like killing the part of yourself that taught you how to survive.

And that same desperate need to kill the sadness makes you wonder if you're a bad person for the way you handle it. That's how normal people would feel, at least.

Not Nova. She was embracing this unhealthy way of coping with grief till the very last drop of it consumed her.

Studying like a maniac. Hanging out with friends. Dates with Durmstrang boys. The prank war with George and everything else happening between them that has no words to be described.

A chilling lack of ethics if seen from another point of view. But at least the stages of grief haven't taken over in one rough way for now. Let's look at the bright—as her blonde hair—side here.

However, this fake numbness Nova had fallen into while getting dressed for a date couldn't be enjoyed as wanted due to Padma sighing dramatically, wrapped in one of the fluffiest pajamas she owned.

Stomach pressed on the mattress, hands supporting her thought-heavy head, defeated expression, and becoming louder and louder and louder in the sadness she wanted to talk about. Now that's a healthy way to handle feelings.

"Your misery is giving me a headache," Nova snapped, applying a lingered layer of blush on her cheeks.

"Sorry. I'll try to have an existential crisis in silence," Padma murmured, sinking her head into the pillow, for a second pressing maybe too hard.

"What? No, I—ugh." Nova rolled her eyes, frustrated, before sitting on the edge of the bed. "It was a way of saying to tell me what's wrong."

"Oh... that didn't sound like it." Padma turned just enough to lock their gazes. "Do you really want to listen to me?"

Debating about it, the most rational answer was yes. They were friends, maybe even best friends if Parvati wouldn't be in the picture. Nova had friends that were girls before, but—annoying to admit—no one had tried this hard like Padma.

However, there was a pinching voice pushing to get free and warning how bad this idea was. Open up and talk about feelings. Be an anchor for one another. Recognize each other's weaknesses. This would hurt the day everything was taken away from her.

Nova couldn't remember the last moment she enjoyed something without the looming thought of it ending, but she surely didn't feel like shattering that glimpse of hope in Padma's eyes.

"Of course I want to. But please don't share any sexual details about that fucking ginger. I don't feel like throwing up right now," she managed to say without sounding too venomous.

That was all Padma needed to crawl up until sinking her knees into the mattress and explain quickly, almost in a rush of irritation only usual for Nova, what happened with Fred lately.

Another fight. No surprise there. This time, though, they both realized what the real problem in their relationship was. She was always finding an excuse to be the one breaking up with him before he could.

But Fred was no saint. In order to protect his own heart, he would walk away from every single discussion and corner himself willingly from everything and everyone until it was Padma who went to him and put an end to their "break."

They simply didn't know how to communicate what they felt. They would use very self-destructive methods and were very childish about it. Nova chuckled softly while listening with utter superiority—she wasn't in a relationship and still felt like she knew how to solve this.

"You, my dear friend, need a night out of drama," she said, walking towards her wardrobe to scan the only clothes not covering the floor.

"How is that supposed to help?" Padma frowned, hoping all this monologue didn't go wasted in the air.

"It's simple psychology. I'll introduce you to some guys and you'll rush back to half-George the second you realize no one is like him." She shrugged, then got confused herself by her own words but didn't show it.

"You really mean it? Is Fred a good boy?" Padma's eyes widened in hope, like a divine vision blinding her.

"If you dare mention this to someone, I'll set your bed on fire with you in between the sheets," she snapped, turning extremely serious and slightly uncomfortable. "But yeah. He sucks sometimes. But he'd do anything for you."

Taken by an odd amusement due to the weight of the moment, Padma traced her own lips, mimicking sealing this secret forever with an invisible key, and then started to get ready to follow this oddly genius plan.

A night out was exactly what they needed. Of course, Nova had a date waiting for her already. Not Igor anymore—he snored too loudly in his sleep and lost a lot of charm points. But another Durmstrang student named Nico.

They had met each other in the most romantic, whimsical, platonic way possible. She was in the library studying. He was there reading peacefully. She had a mental breakdown over a Divination essay and threw the book with all the strength in her body. He gazed up and the book landed on his face.

She wasn't sorry about it, but still escorted him to the infirmary, pleading for him not to file a restraining order since this school was too little to stay five feet apart from him. Nico had no intention of doing that. He asked her on a date instead.

And they say romance is dead, huh?

However, Padma had no one expecting her, so Nova reassured her that at the McGroover, a pub nearby Hogsmeade Village, lots of other Durmstrang students were spending their free time from training and the tournament—someone could easily be added into the mix.

They were ready. Nova's black low-rise jeans were fighting for their life at every movement to not reveal too much of what was beneath them. A dark blue tank top that resembled more a scarf, covering only her breasts. The usual black boots to not tower over the entire world population with her height.

While Padma, for once, slipped slightly from her comfort zone. She kindly borrowed from Nova a denim skirt (which she added a few inches of length to with magic).

A transparent black lace long-sleeve shirt (which she added another tank top under to not let her nipples free) and a pair of black leather boots (which she added heels to with a flick of her wand).

"This lip gloss will do," Nova murmured, finishing the last touches on her friend's face—it wasn't a complete makeover. There was nothing to change in her usual appearance.

"You know, you're not as evil as you want to be perceived," Padma smiled faintly before popping her oval lips and adjusting to the strawberry taste.

"No. I'm much worse," she teased, turning to gather all the makeup products into the beauty bag—a gesture only for hiding the overflow of emotions.

Those few words shook something. Cracked open the armor. Fazed the air. She knew it wasn't true and hated it. She hated being angry because that little wicked maniac came out and she wasn't able to control it.

And still, somehow, Padma had seen beyond all that without even needing the full story. She locked their arms together and passed by the Ravenclaw common room. Waved at Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley in the outside hallway, showing their friendship proudly.

All the way towards The Groover, Padma shared more and more about her relationship, never letting out the spicy details, fearing one of Nova's big gags of disgust would ruin the atmosphere. But it was clear that she needed to lift this weight off her chest.

Blame it on the starry night or the fact Nova's mind kept replaying her prank on George on an endless loop until finding comfort in it, but she didn't say anything. Nova listened to every word of her friend, carefully even, absorbing this moment with utter contempt.

For a second both wished to not enter the pub and sit on a forgotten bench just to talk and talk and talk about nothing and everything at once. They didn't. It was still too early and they had already made very impressive progress.

Instead, they embraced the smell of butterbeer and cologne. The bursting sound of clinking glasses and pool table tournaments. Took in the dim surroundings, fuzzy with a lingering smoke high in the ceiling. At every step their shoes became sticky and the excitement remained there, under Nova's boots.

"This place makes Filch's storage room look like a sterile hospital wing," she gagged loudly, even for the times she hadn't until arriving here.

"What? It's the best we've got near the castle." Padma frowned, never leaving her lingering smile, now used to every sense the pub brought.

"Well, can't imagine how the smell is inside the worst one," she hissed, making herself little when a sweaty boy passed by, daring even to let their shoulders meet.

They walked around for a little, not immediately looking for Nico but rather scanning all the opportunities of tonight. This pub was crowded with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, a few from Hogwarts too, but it was clear due to this tournament not everyone felt like fraternizing with the enemies.

Eventually, though, Nova understood it was useless to hunt when the already-caught prey was waving at her from a table in the left corner by the bar counter—Nico with a friend. What a coincidence! She was with a friend too.

"Finally. You made it!" Nico smiled widely as they sat down—one arm gripping the whiskey glass, the other already lingering behind Nova's seat.

"I wish I didn't at this point," she said dryly, not even touching the table—her eyes were getting sticky just by looking at it. "This is my friend Padma, and you are?"

"Nikolai, but you can call me just Niko," the other boy said, already getting too comfortable around Padma.

"So you're both Nico? They ran out of names when you were born?" Nova snapped, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair, careless of the fingers subtly brushing her hair.

The boys looked at each other with a lingering confusion, then shifted amused again and shrugged, silently agreeing not to get offended—some people would call that a degrading kink.

However, Padma and Nova didn't mind. They were fairly handsome to look at. Buzz cut, muscles shimmering even under the only bulb light on top of their table. Satin shirts that struggled at every movement not to reveal more.

Nico with a C had those types of soft blue eyes that almost made you uncomfortable if you looked for too long. Niko with a K had it brown, but the gaze was remarkable, staring right into your soul—beautiful, fascinating, and extremely sexy.

They had only a tiny, little, totally able-to-be-overlooked flaw: they couldn't hold conversations.

When Padma tried to ask them about their own institute, subjects they preferred, how the Bulgarian culture was, they would simply give dry monosyllabic answers without giving out too many details. And when they tried a few times, whatever escaped their lips didn't make any sense.

Then Nova had the brilliant idea to insult their institution in order to light a fire in them, start a fight, a bickering. It only made them chuckle and drink more, without defending their school—even if she was sure they had said something in their language for her not to understand, probably only cuss words.

It was useless. These two boys were mere trophies to be looked at, for others to be jealous of. Nothing more than pretty faces. Not that the girls were searching for a fairytale prince, but it wasn't fun if they were dry as just-brought sponges.

The only good thing they did was buy endless glasses of the most inexpensive white wine known to man. It was bitter, stinging in the throat, and smelled of rotten grapes. But at least it managed to wipe away the irritation to give space for the fuzzy amusement.

"Nova? Shouldn't we go touch up our makeup?" Padma murmured faintly, smiling.

"Why? My face is still perfect," she scoffed, sipping the very last drop remaining in the glass under Nico with a C's admiring eyes.

However, Padma gently (not so gently) kicked her under the table to warn that remaining here wasn't an option and nudged subtly (the boys saw it) towards another direction.

Rolling her eyes, Nova rose from her seat, and together they walked away, careless of giving more explanation. They reached the bar counter, which she still refused to touch, and looked around, defeated by how the night was going.

"You were right about Fred. No one can make me feel like he does," Padma whispered, almost inaudible under the weight of this revelation.

"Ew, disgusting," she gagged, adjusting the tank top, feeling overdressed for this place. "Wait! Did you just agree with me?"

"Oh, trust me, I wish I could take—"

"Nope! You said it! No take-backs," she snapped, growing mischievous—this felt good. Not helping a friend but being right about something.

They looked at each other for one second with narrowed eyes and then crashed out in laughs at how ridiculous they seemed in that moment. Thinking about boys. Conspiring plans. Insulting their dates. For a second they saw this night from another point of view—the wine-rushing-in-their-bodies point of view.

Abandoning the idea of coming back to that annoyingly dry table, they ordered two shots of tequila at the counter. Padma started swinging her feet from the barstool, falling victim to the alcohol that was easing the worries about her relationship.

While Nova did the impossible not to touch anything and, most importantly, not be touched. People were crowding around them to get drinks, and in the motion her shoulder brushed against someone. Then she pushed them away, always dangerously close to starting a fight but never close enough, unfortunately.

Except for that little lingering rage of the moment, the wine did exactly what it needed to. Stop the thoughts.

In the fuzziness, she had found a fragile sense of peace to take refuge in. There were no adults in here to compare to the parents she had lost. Being the first time in this place, there was nothing that could make a vision of the past appear. Only blasting music, people having fun, and...

"Oh god, Fred's here," Padma gasped, gripping Nova's arms to shake her out of the calm trance.

Fucking great! Not only was he there, but his other annoying, irritating half, George. They were playing pool against two other boys that she recalled being Gryffindor. From the way they moved around the table, it didn't seem they had noticed them—for now.

The most rational reaction would have been to rush away from the pub immediately, without being seen, without even warning Nico and Niko about their improvised absence, and crawl under the sheets to let this night remain calm and peaceful.

However, the hope filling Padma's eyes while looking at the ginger was difficult to ignore. It was written all over her face that she had missed him, even if they had fought for only one day. Who was Nova to get in the middle of real love?

"Let's go before they see us," she snapped, gripping her friend's wrist—questionable reaction, but you do you, Nova.

"Wait, no. I'm slightly drunk, dressed well, and I need to solve things with him," Padma murmured, almost pleading but understanding that it still wasn't working. "And if I don't, I might cry instead of falling asleep. All night long."

What a manipulating bitch this girl was. Using the excuse to be loud and ruining the buzz for Nova, knowing how precious it was to sleep for her. Someone handling all this emotion during the day needed to fuel her body at least at night.

However, that was remarkable. The way Padma was outgrowing her shy, controlled, dry self into a bolder, more confident, and clever version managed to make Nova smile faintly, always hiding the proudness washing over her face—this friendship was good. This is what she wanted to feel on a daily basis.

She took one last look at the gingers. Fred, as always, had perfectly ironed second-hand clothes, trying to hide a few holes in the black t-shirt. Light-washed jeans, oversized even if it seemed they were just not his size, and that wasn't his choice. White sneakers, the only thing that looked just bought.

While George didn't care in the slightest. Dark jeans holding on by what seemed like a belt under the white t-shirt and grey flannel jacket. Everything wrinkled, like just taken out of the washing machine. His white sneakers worn, a few stains on the sides.

A rough look, not dirty like the few boys Nova had pushed away in order not to be wrapped in their patheticness. George had this expression of unbothered, like a shield protecting him from judges. He didn't want to impress anyone—or at least he didn't have anyone to impress yet.

This could go totally wrong. There's a long list of things that could escalate very quickly. A prank. A fight. A bickering. Nova sticking the pool stick into George's stomach. Padma and Fred shouting at each other in front of everyone. A jinx, and then boom—the pub is on fire.

And the wine was supposed to ease the thought, huh? Wonder what she would think without it.

"Ugh! Fine, let's go, but you owe me big this time," Nova snapped as she rose from her seat like a con forced to its last meal.

Padma almost shivered from the excitement while following her. The second both were close enough, Fred and George elbowed each other at the vision, smirking widely at every step.

In that lingering moment, the two boys who were previously playing pool propped to leave. They were clearly defeated to have lost probably more than once against the twins—at this point, it was less humiliating to walk away instead of having them claim victory one more time.

"Look what the wind brought," Fred teased, one hand on his hip, the other supporting the pool stick clicking to the floor.

"Wind? Rather, who the devil kicked out from hell" George sneered, preparing the plastic triangle for a new game, looking irritated but with that usual smirk unable to wipe off.

Nova rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, looking down at Padma. Only one second had passed, and the night seemed already ruined. But her friend knew better. She did exactly what Nova couldn't ignore—she melted like a puppy asking for a treat. Glimmering and silently pleading to give her the long-awaited chance to solve things.

Sometimes you should just stay silent. No words are able to explain how Nova felt in that exact moment, understanding she was an anchor for Padma, that this whole situation depended on how she would behave—a responsibility she never asked for.

But even if words were enough, that doesn't necessarily mean she would not try to use them.

"George, come here," she ordered, waving him as if he were a reckless dog.

"Why?" He frowned, tensing on the spot at the authority in her voice.

"Just come here," she spat again, pushing Padma roughly more towards the pool table.

"No. You're going to hit me," George crossed his arms, trying to maintain ground—he looked like a kid, and it was impossible not to smile at it.

Pushing once again her friend until she stumbled into Fred, Nova walked determinedly towards George and gripped his wrist with unexpected force—which he didn't oppose to—and felt extremely good to have a glimpse of power over him.

They didn't get far before she touched too many sweating people in the process, but just enough to not let Padma and Fred read her lips—not that they were interested anyway. Just by being within each other's range, they were already talking furiously about their own situation.

"Ouch, blondie, I told you to use this grip on me only in bed," he shouted, gaining attention from whoever was willing to hear—apparently a lot.

"Listen to me, carrot crown," she snapped, more serious than ever before. "Padma and Fred need us to be the mature ones for once. We have to collaborate and help them make out."

"You mean make up?" He frowned, leaning slightly forward.

"Yeah, whatever couples do after a big fight," she waved him off with a loud roll of her eyes. "So? Do you think you can behave for one night?"

Nova was surprised by her own words. They came out clean, determined, extremely responsible. No aftertaste of venom nor teasing. Somehow, the alcohol had managed to shake this long-forgotten side of her—in the best timing possible.

However, George didn't seem so sold on this calm version. He crossed his arms, shifting puzzled, probably listing all the ways this could go wrong. He scanned her head to toe, then gazed at his brother and Padma, lowering their spirits and starting to ignore one another, then back again at Nova.

She took him in deeply in that split second of consideration. The wine bubbled up in her head, and she couldn't help but melt softly at the scene. It wasn't a hard question. She just asked him to be normal for a few hours, and still it appeared he took this weird, teasing kind of relationship between them seriously.

Was he like this even when not together? Wrapping his mind around idea after idea about her? About them? She wasn't sure why the mere thought warmed something in her. A wave of pleasant discomfort. A clinical satisfaction in seeing she had an effect on him.

"Ugh! Fine. But don't expect me to buy you drinks and dance. Are we clear?" He sighed, defeated like a baby forced to do something against his will—and that was exactly what was happening.

"Don't worry, I have no desire to see your body moving more than necessary," she teased, patting his chest before walking away—electric touch ignored.

Needing to adjust to lower their usual routine of spatting at one another, George and Nova approached the pool table again, now being the ones having to hold the situation without letting it escalate—what a curious turnaround of events.

George returned to place the pool balls in the triangle, not sure what his role would be in all this but confident enough she knew what she was doing, or at least how to lead this, or at least something more than him—either way, he was waiting for instructions.

"Who's up for a challenge?" Nova smirked, handling Padma's pool stick. "Me and George against you two. Whoever loses has to pay for the drinks."

"Sure you have time for this? Aren't your dates waiting for you at the table?" Fred hissed, not hiding the jealousy—apparently, they had noticed them the whole night.

"Don't look for excuses now. Scared to be humiliated?" She teased, leaning dangerously close. Knowing he was George's brother—he couldn't walk away from a challenge.

"Huh, hope you brought enough money then. You're going down," Fred chuckled, gripping the pool stick tightly. "Let's go, darling, we need a strategy."

Well, that was easier than imagined. They stepped slightly back and started conspiring for the game. It was mostly Fred talking with determination, and Padma smiling faintly for being close to him—but at least they weren't fighting.

George took the opportunity to slide closer—more than necessary. She turned and almost jumped at the realization that their chests were only mere inches apart.

"Can I help you?" She frowned, landing a hand on the edge of the pool table, the other sinking into her defined hip.

"Should we come up with a strategy to win too?" He mimicked her posture, towering over her slightly, unable to wipe the contempt off his face.

"Of course not. We'll let them win so they will hug, have sex, or whatever," she shrugged, confident enough about the plan her mind had managed to make in mere seconds.

"And you're willing to lose? To let them slap their victory in our faces all night long?" He murmured, shifting extremely mischievous, in some desperate need for something she couldn't quite place yet.

In a perverse way, Nova felt relieved that George wasn't asking for less than she was. Even if the plan was to let Fred and Padma get close tonight, he still couldn't abandon her craziness—she wondered why, and in a second, the supposition of overthinking wiped away the fuzziness of the alcohol.

Was it a desire for revenge, maybe? Wanting to push all her buttons until she would be the one ruining this night for everyone? Or a sickening, twisted little game he was playing alone in his mind? A challenge between himself to show he had control over her?

She tilted her head, scanning his features, falling into his eyes. The dimples. Oh, they were still there, and it wasn't a vision from the other night. They were clenching from need, and she indulged in the fantasy that it could be to see her usual fire take over this fake quiet.

The madness of anger. The madness of grief. Or just plain madness—he somehow, undeniably liked that. He wasn't hiding, and it felt annoyingly beautiful to know.

"All right, here's the plan," she snapped, leaning forward, shifting extremely predatory.

Both couples—if we can call them that—conspired eagerly, almost like someone's life was at stake instead of just a few drinks. Once they thought they had victory in their hands, they all approached, gazing at one another.

The first shot was on Padma and extremely impressive. She managed to push a half-colour ball into the middle-left hole, a full one into the top-right corner. That didn't mean a lot for now, but it surely started harder than anticipated.

George's turn: he claimed the full balls for them. A shot Nova would tease him about if they weren't on the same team. He shrugged as if it was nothing, as if it were like drinking a glass of water. And surprisingly, he didn't even say anything. That was creepy, Nova thought immediately.

Then Fred pushed two balls simultaneously, only that one wasn't his to touch. That was the moment Padma grew irritated, and a fight felt near—ready to explode in the smelly pub.

It didn't. When Nova bent over to shoot, all eyes fell on her immediately. Not for the position or the satin blonde hair falling aside, but for how ridiculous she looked—it was almost embarrassing to be seen near her.

She closed one eye, the other slightly narrowed. Lips firm into a thin line. Hands trembling and letting the pool stick slide, unable to keep it on top of her knuckles, swinging slightly—she couldn't even balance herself, let alone hit something in the process.

"Oh god, I could fucking cry right now. Like, seriously cry." George's hands slapped gently on his own face while sliding down, shaking his head in full disbelief.

Nova tried to ignore it and hit the white ball, or at least brush it a little. Nothing moved. She even almost tripped over the table from the weak force she used. It was the lowest point she had ever touched, and trust me, she had done a lot in her young life.

"See, darling? Told you we had victory in our pockets," Fred smirked pretentiously, resting a hand on Padma's lower back.

"Don't you feel sorry for her? Just a little bit?" Padma murmured, tilting her head while Nova rose from the position completely defeated.

"Not in the slightest. Now go show her how it's done," Fred nudged, as they both approached the best angle now allowed to move the ball where they wanted.

Nova, making very weird and questionable expressions, slid beside George, not sure how to explain what he had just witnessed. Not that she cared about his opinion anyway, but it was just a tiny, little, useless detail she might have left out while planning their strategy.

"Best pool player in Ilvermorny, huh?" He said dryly, crossing his arms, not even looking down at her.

"In my defense, no one else played. So, in technical terms, I am the best player up there," she cooed, balancing unsteadily on her feet, hoping not spatting venomously was enough for this embarrassing show.

George peeked at her from the corner of his eyes, and Nova had to blame it on the alcohol for the warm wave invading her spine in only that split second—he wasn't judging her. Wasn't teasing. Wasn't being spiteful.

He was just... there. Maybe for the agreement of behaving, but she hoped deep down it wasn't that. She didn't even know what she wanted it to be. But it was something that felt irritatingly good. For once, she didn't want to not feel.

"Are we playing, or are we dancing, mate?" Fred snapped, forcing them out of that little trance.

Now shifting serious for his turn, George bent over the table, fixated on where he wanted to hit, and managed another great shot. He looked professional, in control, careless as always, but with that glimpse of satisfaction for only himself to brag about—he shrugged mockingly again and returned to lean on the wall.

Of course, Fred felt the need to act the exact opposite. Once throwing and being touched by luck, two balls slid into the holes, and from the excitement, he and Padma kissed while he swung her in place. They parted slightly and fell into each other's eyes, embracing whatever emotions came to them.

However, due to unresolved tension, they recomposed themselves almost immediately, understanding they were pulling off a show bigger than they could handle. Still, Fred wrapped his arm around Padma's shoulder while giving enough space for the next round.

Nova tried again and failed, becoming more embarrassing with every shot. Every time she tried to hit, it was her chin clicking against the table, and no ball moved an inch.

In between rounds, she did the impossible to win in other ways: teased Padma to distract her, insulted Fred to irritate him. Both didn't lift their eyes from the victory. At one point, Nova even shouted that there was a fight somewhere in order to push a ball into a hole with her bare hands.

All this while George wore a shocked expression, a few disgusted; one time, he didn't even look at it, growing extremely uncomfortable with the scene itself. No amount of teasing could express how embarrassing it was to watch.

Well, jokes were on Nova for having cheated, because her calculations brought them exactly to the worst-case scenario: only the black ball remained—and it was her turn. If she wasn't the one taking the shot, it would be Padma, just after.

She bent over the table, taking a deep breath, hoping that could actually help. She tightened her grip on the end of the pool stick, resting the other end on top of her knuckles. One eye closed to focus on the white ball, and still, she was swinging without realizing it.

"Mate, I can't watch this no more," Fred elbowed his brother. "Go save her from this embarrassment."

"What? Don't you want to win?" George frowned, stopping the unhealthy habit of biting his nails when under too much stress.

Fred gazed at Padma, just a meter from them, watching her friend with utter contempt and a little bit of remorse for pulling all this on her.

"Nah, I already have my winning prize," he smirked before reaching for his girlfriend, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek in the amusement of the moment.

Nova noticed the shift around her and almost tripped again while trying to maintain position for her hit, bending over and trying to mimic the twins' expression to look as serious as possible—how did they make it look so easy?

It was impossible not to laugh at the sight. She couldn't even keep the cue stick straight; it kept slipping from her fingers, and she was growing irritated—not only because of how ridiculous she looked, but because she couldn't bury the fact that she didn't know how to do something.

"Need help, blondie?" George teased, starting to approach her—mostly to shield her body from wandering eyes.

"Can you just shut up for five minutes?" she snapped, slowly returning to her rude self. Focus, you can do this.

No, she actually couldn't. It was all fuzzy and hard to follow, almost like before fainting but never quite hitting the floor. Everything was blurry, and the blasting music wasn't helping. Fuck! This was going terribly, and winning seemed impossible.

However, when George's hands traced along hers, leaving a warm wave across her skin, Nova took a deep breath, trying not to let anyone notice how tense she was. Not even alcohol could shake her need to appear strong.

"Don't worry, blondie. I've got you," he whispered in her ear.

Their fingers twirled around the cue stick, his other hand on the end of it, right over hers. She turned slightly, finally meeting his hazel eyes—so full of an odd sense of reassurance that very few things can bring.

In a soft motion, he guided her to hit the pool ball. He did it with the corner of his eyes, letting their noses brush from the force. And most importantly, they scored the very last point.

He's got the look. That warm, intoxicating, fragile look of someone seeing beyond what you show. It was uncannily demonic how a simple gaze could shift a lifetime of firm belief that a body can't hold power over another.

"I could've done it myself," she narrowed her eyes—not angry, just intrigued, still not breaking contact.

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to be so close to you," he smirked, wrapped in his usual confidence and a hint of something deeper she couldn't quite place.

They slowly recomposed themselves, trying to wipe off the weight of the moment. Nova felt faint, drawn, completely surrounded by the situation, and embraced it for what it was, even if she didn't understand it in its totality.

"You two are incapable of keeping it in your pants," Fred teased, catching their attention—in his face, no judgment, only utter contempt.

"Have a drink, guys. You won it even if not fairly," Padma cooed before guiding her boyfriend to the dance floor.

Clearing her throat, Nova broke contact and stood up fully, even if it was clear she didn't want to. It wasn't the right time for that kind of intimacy—she was drunk, he was almost also, she thought, they were in public, and there were still too many risks.

However, some divine intervention made that glimpse of worry vanish along with the smoky air of the pub. She laced their fingers and seductively led him to the dance floor—she needed to prove a point to herself. She needed to understand what sort of power he seemed to have over her.

"Are you sure about this, blondie?" he mocked, gripping her waist, surrounded by people. "I've seen you dance—it's not a good show."

"You know it's a hobby of mine, proving you wrong," she teased, resting her arms on his shoulders.

The comeback was on the tip of his tongue but apparently died when Nova started moving her hips in sync with the music—not completely professional, nor even balanced. But it felt different. This was for him and no one else.

She wasn't putting on a show to make him jealous or catch others' attention. Her eyes locked with his—no silent power struggle, no need to make the other beg—just enjoying the moment while it lasted.

In that second, George seemed to be making the exact same decision—not to overthink or store it away for teasing later—just dance with her like life outside this pub didn't exist, like the entire world didn't matter.

With a swift motion, he spun her quickly an arm's length away, never separating their interlocked fingers, before guiding her back, their chests pressed together, their lips inches apart, close enough to sense his unforgettable scent—caramel, fireworks, and spruce tree.

"Don't do that again, or I'll throw up," she blinked rapidly, trying not to trip, but his hand on her lower back made sure she wouldn't.

"Please, not on my shoes. I just cleaned them," he scoffed at her lips, bringing their hips to click while swinging.

"Oh please, if a track of dirt stepped on them they would look better than this," she teased, scanning him up and down, steadying the tremble of her heart.

George simply chuckled, gripping her waist more firmly. Nova tilted her head while raising her hands to linger on his lower neck, right there to caress his hair but not quite ready yet. The closeness was intoxicating, more than the smoke still rising in the air.

She looked past him briefly to see Fred and Padma in full swing on the dance floor of their own, clearly with no intention of talking about unresolved feelings and letting this moment be a safe space for them to take refuge when things got bad—a reminder they were stronger than any other problem.

Then, Nova locked eyes with George again to notice he had never looked away. She wondered if this peace was forced by the alcohol or a possibility for the future. She couldn't bury these thoughts to add to the others when sober.

"Don't get used to this, one dance doesn't mean I'll spare you the humiliation of losing the bet," she whispered, shaking off the heat crawling up her neck, and forced a laugh sharp enough to slice through the music.

"I wouldn't ask anything less from you, blondie," he smirked, tugging a stray hair behind her ear, stopping just there on her slowly blushing cheek.

Whatever that agonizing feeling pushing to get free in her lower stomach was, Nova wasn't sure wiping it away was the right choice. In the fuzziness of the moment, she embraced everything fate wanted to lend her.

In this case, it was George swallowing a glimpse of pride and moving just a mere inch, so close yet so distant, warm and forcing her to willingly part her lips—not to spat venomously this time but to... this. Whatever it was. Whatever he wanted. Him.

"FIGHT!"

A scream tore through them like a bullet, snapping them to reality. Bodies started to crowd in a big mess of motion, and without hesitation George locked their fingers and guided her towards Fred and Padma.

All together, they rushed outside the pub, which was in full swing of punching and kicking due to unsupervised drunkenness, marking the end of this starry night above them.

And that "whatever" between them remained there with the crowd. Nova and George didn't say anything all the way towards the castle, while Padma and Fred couldn't keep their mouths shut about everything they had missed saying to one another this only day spent apart.

If this self-destruction due to grief meant exploring this odd and agonizing feeling towards George, then Nova would make sure to copy it in any other way possible.

Because she had already opened up with Padma, she had already surrendered to the idea of losing her at one point. Having more people to care about meant only having more funerals to attend.

Cynical thought, but the only thing that felt real since burying her parents in the ground, knowing she would never have a chance to make them proud now.

Chapter 8: Side Hustle

November 14, 1994

Five sickles. That was all that remained in George's almost third-hand leather wallet. Only five sickles for emergencies—and in the worst-case scenario, even that wouldn't be enough.

The Weasley siblings had never struggled to find original ways of earning money—whether through a challenge, a bet, or selling something illegal, they always managed to keep a little weight in their pockets.

However, Fred was spending his share on Padma, trying not to show the struggle behind gifting her even a single rose (or stealing one from the Hogwarts garden). Taking her out on dates (and sneaking out of the restaurant without paying).

But last time in Hogsmeade Village, while trying to pocket a mere steel bracelet, an off-duty Auror caught him. Thanks to an unknown friendship with Arthur Weasley, the man decided to let Fred go.

It hadn't been entirely scary. What stung most was the shame that could have fallen on his family if he had been arrested for something so silly as a trinket—that's when everything stopped.

George took matters into his own hands. He lent his twin the money to buy the forgotten gift for Padma and Fred's six-month anniversary—though, by now, it was late enough to count as the seventh.

But what to do with the five sickles remaining? That wasn't even enough to buy a medium-sized butterbeer. Not even a functional quill. The real question was: how to double this little fortune?

"I have an idea," George snapped more loudly than intended, making heads turn in the library at the sudden break in silence.

"Oh no, this won't be good," Fred sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. His face already showed defeat.

"I swear it's a good one this time," George grinned, lowering his voice just a notch. "We could sell our prank products to students."

"What? You mean the sickness candies and jumping fireworks?" Fred frowned, trying to follow his brother's train of thought. "Why would people buy them?"

"To skip classes. To have fun. Maybe even to prank others like we do," George chirped, growing more excited by the second.

Like magic, their eyes sparkled in sync, sharing the same vision through that strange twin connection.

They already had products. Made with very limited (and mostly stolen) castle resources. George had the starting sketches. Fred had the talent to draw the whole picture. Together they could build, stir, and create things beyond mere imagination.

Selling at Hogwarts would probably earn them a first-class ticket to Azkaban. And since they were already eighteen, the Ministry wouldn't go easy on them. But really, where was the fun without the thrill of danger?

Of course, dreams don't become reality with words alone. They needed a plan—a real, structured strategy. They had to consider where, how, and when. Make sure students wouldn't snitch. Always watch who they sold to.

Where to work? Their dorm was enough for prank supplies or party gear. But potions and candies? That would take a lab to produce a decent quantity. They couldn't just keep brewing inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom anymore.

"I've got it," Fred snapped after thinking for what felt like ages. "That empty room in the dungeons we found in fourth year—it's big enough."

"Yeah, but we lack supplies. Snape had the classroom on lockdown after the desk we unscrewed broke," George muttered, biting his nails from the rush of thoughts.

Without hesitation, both twins emptied their pockets onto the table. A total of seven sickles, a pin, a red button from an old shirt, and a three-inch piece of black string. If a robber appeared out of nowhere, he might have felt pity enough to add his own money to their pile.

They couldn't afford even a glass of water at this point. The dream faded from their eyes as they leaned back in their chairs, more defeated than ever.

Sometimes ideas aren't enough, and they were just learning that. No matter how clever, it would take too much to gather the money they needed to start this business.

They could bet with every student in the school, but making them lose money would mean losing them as customers. A snake eating its own tail.

Yet a glimpse of light shone at the end of the tunnel for George—the very moment Angelina Johnson walked into the library. She stood at a shelf, searching for a book, not lingering long.

She was one of their dearest friends, but something had shifted over the summer, forcing them apart. Angelina had a perfect life inside the castle—the type of girl who chased academic achievement and was eerily good at Quidditch. She and Ginny were better than most boys.

But her family? That was the only shadow in her life. The type of wizards who valued reputation above all else, even at their daughter's expense.

They had money. And Angelina had a problem. That made her the perfect investor for this business that hadn't even started.

"Go check the dungeon room, make sure it's still empty," George ordered as he rose from his seat with a dangerously serious expression.

"What are you going to do meanwhile?" Fred frowned, though he stood to follow his lead.

"The thing I should've done a long time ago," George smirked proudly, adjusting his robe with full confidence. "Sell my handsome, beautiful, sexy body for money."

That certainly didn't answer anything. In fact, it only deepened the confusion on Fred's face as George walked away from the table. Fred would be informed later. For now, George had something more important to take care of.

He appeared beside Angelina, channeling as much pretentiousness as possible—which, for him, was a lot. She gave him a slow once-over, her puzzled expression unchanged since the start of term, before she returned to scanning the shelf.

"Hello, my dear friend. How are you?" he chirped, wrists clasped behind his back as he followed her with feather-light steps.

"Spill the beans, Weasley. What do you want?" she snapped, not even glancing at him, her irritation growing with every step.

"Me? The real question is, what do you need from me, Johnson?" he smirked, pressing his palm firmly against the shelf to block her path. "I've been informed you're looking for a fake boyfriend. Is it true?"

Informed might not have been the right word. He had pieced this together through a long chain of rumors. First from Parvati, then Cho Chang, Katie Bell, and—surprisingly—finally from Draco Malfoy.

That one Slytherin might hate the whole school and act superior with the Weasleys, but press the right buttons and he'd sing like a bird, even about his own house.

And what had the lemon-head said? That while getting his clothes tailored in Diagon Alley before term, Angelina had been in the next room with Katie Bell, plotting how to make her father believe she was straight.

That hadn't shocked anyone. The whole school had suspected about Angelina and Katie for years. They'd always been friends, but as they grew older, they grew closer... maybe too close. No one was certain.

But Angelina's father was no man of modern values. She knew he wouldn't accept the relationship, would cut off her funds, and, if possible, strip her of her family name.

She needed a boyfriend.
She had money to pay for one.
George was a boy who needed money.
The math couldn't be clearer.

"What do you say? Me, you, dinner at your big-ass mansion, snuggling in front of your parents?" he chirped, wiping away a trail of dust from the shelf, trying to look unbothered.

"I imagine you won't do it for free." She crossed her arms, scanning his figure, probably debating whether to agree.

"Well, I'm surely not famous for my generous heart," he shrugged pretentiously before leaning slightly forward. "Let's say twenty-five galleons for boyfriend service, and fifty for big family events."

That was high. George knew showing up in front of her father wasn't worth that much, but in this economy—and considering how quickly he needed the money—it was worth a shot.

Not that it was the hardest job in the world anyway. In another situation, he probably would've done it for a laugh and a chocolate frog. Boyfriend service? That only meant acting like a couple to tone down the rumors about her and Katie Bell.

Family events? Dressing fancy, eating for free with a beautiful girl at his side. Honestly, he might have agreed to that without asking for anything in return.

However, Fred couldn't do it. Fred needed the money for Padma. George was single and free to sell himself. Was this morally wrong? Probably in every way possible. But considering all the things he'd done for free in his life, he might as well get paid this time.

And somehow, luck seemed to be on his side today. Angelina scanned him once more, probably imagining the possible scenarios—then chuckled softly, relaxing even at the idea of this happening.

"Fine. I'll spread the news around," she said, gripping the book that had apparently been there the whole time. "We'll make an appearance at the Ravenclaw party this weekend as a couple."

"That's perfect! Which one of my second-hand T-shirts do you want me to wear?" he smirked, adding more and more to this agreement with no trace of guilt washing over him.

"You're a leech, you know that?" She narrowed her eyes, already growing irritated. "We'll go shopping tomorrow after classes, but don't expect anything fancy or tailored."

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Johnson."

She left, visibly annoyed at being forced into this. Of course, no one else would've been a perfect fit except one of the twins. No one else could have pulled off a show better than them—ironic how things turned out.

Now that one source of income was sealed, George could almost breathe more easily than when talking with Fred. But that wasn't enough. A few gatherings and dates couldn't possibly support the start of this business.

Knowing more opportunities would come naturally, as they always did, he simply walked out of the library, debating who else he could blackmail into benefiting from his skills.

There were first-years who'd need tutoring and, since Granger seemed extremely busy helping Potter with the tournament, maybe he could take a few off her hands.

That was the first thing he did upon running into her with Ginny in the hallway. Hermione didn't flinch in the slightest at his request, knowing that the twins—despite their behavior—were remarkably bright.

Two students. Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor whose father was willing to pay twenty galleons per hour for Herbology, just so his son could follow the family business. And Rose Zeller, a Hufflepuff, wealthy enough to pay the same amount for Divination.

Easy. George only needed to tutor them together and earn forty galleons in just one hour of work. He quickly added that to his growing mental list of incomes.

Excitement grew exponentially with every step toward the dungeons, eager to share with Fred how efficient he had been in just these last few moments. Then an idea struck him so sharply it almost sparked a headache.

The tournament. An event of this importance deserved to reward not only the champions but also the spectators. Only three challenges, but dozens of students willing to place bets on the outcomes. Genius! He added that to his to-do list.

He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. As said before, the Weasley siblings knew how to scrape money together so as not to be a burden on their parents, who already sacrificed so much.

But this much? This was beyond anything the twins had ever earned in their lives combined. At this pace, they could start their business within two or three months. By New Year's, they might even dare to gift something to the whole family.

The day couldn't have gone better. And just as he thought that, his eyes caught the familiar platinum-blonde hair of someone he hadn't seen in class that morning—or even at lunch a few hours earlier.

This seemed like the perfect moment to test the luck he'd been blessed with so far.

Nova was perched on a tree in the clock tower courtyard, one leg swinging lazily from the branch, the other propped up, supporting her arm as she tore bright green leaves into shreds, letting them drift to the gravel below.

For some reason even he couldn't explain, George didn't rush to bicker with her straight away. Instead, he leaned against the brick archway of the hall, making sure he wasn't visible, and observed his enemy carefully.

Whatever she was hiding, she was incredibly skilled at it. Sometimes he thought of her as a liar for all her secrets, but last night, while letting his curiosity wander before sleep, he realized she had never directly lied.

She was evasive. Never saying too much. If asked about her past, she would dodge with sarcasm. Answer a question with another question. Create a distraction, or simply walk away with an excuse—never lying. Maybe she wasn't that good at it.

And she had a dangerous, violent, uncontrollable temper, which sent her spiraling into madness under pressure. But he couldn't deny she was faintly pleasant to look at.

Now, relaxed—defeated, almost—convinced no one was watching, Nova was calm. In that calmness, George noticed particularities in her features that felt heartbreaking. She wasn't hiding something. She was hiding herself.

What a paradox. A girl so sociable, yet craving loneliness. Chaotic, yet always in control. Faithful, yet detached. Passionate, yet bored. In short, the human form of predictable unpredictability.

Then a raven floated around the tree, circling while croaking its own melody. She lifted her gaze toward the sound. Blank, lovely, empty eyes. Mad eyes, for the mad girl she was.

George crawled out of the little spot he had grown maybe too comfortable in and grew confident with every step, cracking sticks and fallen leaves on the gravel. He wanted her to notice his presence—and Nova immediately stiffened.

A gentle breeze hit him, sending goosebumps along his arms. He ignored it, whether from adrenaline at the thought of a new bickering session—or maybe even a friendly moment like the one they'd shared Friday night at the pub. However she wanted this to unfold, he would follow her lead, as always.

"Oh, great! My day can't get worse than this," she muttered when he stopped in front of the tree—her guard rising instantly at his mere presence.

"What are you doing up there? Sacrificing a squirrel?" he teased, hands on his hips, looking up with full contempt.

"Yes, but he got away. Want to volunteer?" she snapped, glancing down, a trace of sadness in her voice. She wasn't completely herself in that moment.

He chuckled, a thin puff of breath escaping into the freezing November air. Tilting his head, he debated the best way to handle this—she didn't seem desperate for a fight, not as usual at least.

It felt odd. The little pulsing vein on her forehead didn't appear. Her lips weren't curled to spit venomously. Her eyes didn't narrow while speaking. Something was wrong—she looked... human.

"How long have you been up there?" he frowned, trying to find the real reason for this strange behavior.

"Since after breakfast. It's peaceful, you know, without your irritating voice bursting in my ears," she said all in one breath, not even glancing around—her gaze fixed on him.

Those words meant nothing if not delivered with a venomous, arrogant tone. She didn't mean it. She was hiding her reason for climbing up there. Her hands were gripping the branch tightly, a slight tremor running through them—she hadn't moved an inch since he'd arrived.

George looked around, realizing this was one of the emptiest places in the castle. Most students were in class, the Great Hall, or the library. This courtyard probably hadn't hosted anyone for hours, except her. She looked down briefly, then shifted her eyes uncomfortably.

"Oh God, I can't believe this," he burst into laughter at the realization. "You can't get down, can you?"

"What? Of course I can!" she snapped, raising her voice more than intended—but still, she didn't move.

"Then prove it. Climb down." He crossed his arms, deciding to take advantage of however she wanted this to unfold—apparently, luck hadn't abandoned him.

"I have nothing to prove to you." She stared straight ahead, tightening her grip on the branch beneath her.

It wasn't a deadly jump. Maybe two and a half meters. Considering she was at least one meter eighty, if not taller, the worst-case scenario would've been a broken ankle—easily fixed with a simple spell.

The tree itself didn't have any rotten wood to use as footholds on the way down. He wondered how she had climbed up in the first place. Maybe to challenge someone. That was the most rational answer.

But doing so knowing she'd be scared to climb down eventually? That was beyond the pride she fed herself daily—it was irresponsible and dangerously funny.

George did the only rational and mature thing to help her escape this situation in the least embarrassing way possible—he started mimicking a chicken. Cackling, tucking his hands under his armpits, flapping them as though he might fly away.

Challenging her pride. Now she was forced to choose how to be humiliated. Climb down and risk injury—or ask for help, maybe even plead.

In the middle of his amusement, George's eyes fell just an arm's length away, where a shimmering glint caught his attention. He reached into the leaves and pulled out an object—a wand. Her wand.

"Well, for someone like you, I would've pictured blackthorn wood. Something darker than... this," he teased, studying it with genuine surprise.

A slender wand of polished cherry wood with a core of veela or unicorn hair. Its handle carved in elegant spirals, gleaming softly as though dusted with starlight—it had to be stolen. It was far too delicate and pretty for her.

It's a most distressing affliction: to have a sentimental heart that sees beyond what is shown to complete the puzzle of Nova, and a skeptical mind that refuses to trust the contradictions revealed.

He looked up at her. Still unmoving. Still staring ahead. Almost shivering, though he was certain she'd claim it was from the cold breeze, not the fear of heights. She didn't snap back. She looked as though she were debating whether she could live out the rest of her days on that branch.

Ironic that she didn't have her wand, or else with a simple spell she could have leapt and conjured a mattress—or anything to ease her fear of falling. Ironic that he was the one to find her like this—luck wrapped all around him, giving him the chance to squeeze the situation for all it was worth.

"I'll make you an offer, blondie," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, the wand interlocked between his fingers. "I'll help you down if you answer three questions."

"And what makes you so sure I won't lie?" she scoffed faintly, her voice nearly inaudible for fear she might fall just by speaking.

"Because I know you're not very good at it," he shrugged, pacing back and forth, unwilling to waste this opportunity.

She smiled. And oh... it wasn't teasing. A soft, delicate, sweet smile slipped from her lips. It resembled the one in the picture he'd found in her diary. Childish and full of life. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like the first time in a very, very long time she had smiled like this again.

"Fine. But make it quick. I have things to do," she snapped, trying to stay firm, not let too much slip.

Okay, this was it. George needed to play his cards right. The first question had to be something silly—make her believe this was just a game, not a shift in their dynamic that could finally bring peace to her secrets. Only three questions weren't enough to truly know someone, but it was better than nothing.

"What's the first thing you notice in a man approaching you?" he murmured, sneaking a glance upward. This will be fun.

"The audacity," she chirped, trying to hold back her laughter. The slightest tremor wouldn't shake a tree, but she wasn't willing to gamble on that.

George scoffed, shaking his head. Predictable. Of course she'd use sarcasm instead of lying. He raised an eyebrow, silently telling her this game had rules—and it wouldn't be that easy this time.

"Ugh! Fine!" She rolled her eyes before glancing down at her hands. "I think I would notice a man who makes me laugh. Someone who brings happiness everywhere he goes."

Oh... that was easier than expected. George knew she'd eventually surrender to honesty, but not this quickly. He'd imagined banter, maybe faking that he was leaving until she called him back. Something more thrilling.

He stopped mid-pace, absorbing her words. He was funny. He was always surrounded by laughter. He was the human form of happiness. This revelation—he wasn't sure where it fit in Nova's big picture, in her endless mysteries.

"Well, it doesn't take much with you," he teased, resuming his predatory walk. "I mean, I saw you laughing alone in the hallways like a psycho."

"Yeah, the voices in my head cracked a joke. Can we move on to the next question now?" she hissed, waving him off—then immediately gripped the branch again, as if she'd almost forgotten to be afraid for a split second.

Okay, now the best part. This couldn't be wasted. Nova needed to trust this wicked little game, to think it was nothing, before he landed the harder question that might ruin the amusing atmosphere completely.

He paced again, debating, searching for the best one. So many came to mind, more and more with every step. This girl was a vault of secrets, and once opened, all it revealed were more vaults inside.

Taking a deep breath, he looked around. His shoes crunched dead leaves on the gravel, nudging a stone aside, before he finally gazed up at her. It was intoxicating—how much she needed help, and how little she was willing to ask for it.

"How did you end up on top of the tree?" He frowned, letting his mind control the situation—what a waste of a question.

"Your brother Ron bet he was a faster climber than me. I had to prove him wrong," she chirped, looking away—maybe ashamed for some reason, or simply pleased about something.

That wasn't a waste, apparently. The fact Ron had dared to challenge her, and that she hadn't paid attention to the consequences of accepting, said a lot. She was reckless—that was no surprise—but she was also shielded in her own way.

Agreeing to a bet seemed to be her daily dose of adrenaline. She searched for it like a drug, something that allowed her to get through the day. In some ways, she resembled the twins—always wanting to prove themselves, always eager to be acknowledged as fearless, untouchable.

"Hope you earned enough galleons for this little stunt of yours," he teased, pointing faintly at the tree as if to conjure the scene itself.

"What? I would never bet money with your siblings. I might be petty, but I'm not a leech." She frowned, looking down at him, utter confusion washing over her face.

"Why did you do it then?" He mimicked the same confused expression, planting his hands on his hips.

"Pride and glory?"

Childish, smiling again. He tilted his head, contemplating this unusual state she had fallen into. There was something moon-soaked in Nova—not only now, but probably always, when she wasn't wrapped in rage.

A wildness very few could claim to have witnessed. He tried to recall a resemblance in someone else. He tried to remember if another girl had ever looked kissed by the stars the way she did. No one ever had. And the fact he couldn't associate her with anyone else felt extremely dangerous.

Nova looked like no one else. She had her own personality, her flaws—plenty of those. A little too bold with words, impetuous, daring. Yet sweet in her own ways. She now seemed like a blooming flower in the middle of a snowfield.

For a second George pushed aside the idea of asking the last question. He debated offering kindness and simply helping her climb down the tree—this vision would be ruined if he pushed too far.

But he couldn't help himself. This bushel of curiosity had taken over his days and nights. He was going mental with the thirst of knowing. It was a risky gamble, and he took several deep breaths before speaking again.

"Okay, last one. Why did you move here?" he whispered, regretting it immediately—this would go bad. He could feel it crawling down his spine.

She didn't answer. She looked down at her hands gripping the branch again. She didn't flinch. She wasn't surprised by the question, probably expecting it already. She remained there, becoming one with the tree.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanished before George's eyes as he realized the quiet and peace had fallen with the autumn leaves beneath his feet. He took a deep breath and nodded, feeling faint under the weight of the moment.

He could still help her, even without receiving the answer he wished for. He could still lower his pride and—with a flick of his wand—land her gently on the gravel. He could have, but he didn't. He sighed and started to walk away.

Step by step, the hope of this relationship—made of love and hate, respect and disdain—lingered between their bodies, threatening to shatter until they became two ghosts living in the same castle, refusing to acknowledge each other.

"Wait!"

Oh... okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little. George smiled faintly, stopping mid-step. He took another breath, careful not to show too much amusement at the thought she might finally be ready to share this big secret.

He turned around and locked eyes with Nova. She looked defeated, still as stone. Her gaze was wrapped in remorse, her expression melting under the weight of the moment. He stepped forward, once more under the branch.

"Trust me, you don't want to know what brought me here." She sighed a thousand agonies in one smoky breath that framed her lips.

"Why's that?" He frowned, crossing his arms, almost unable to contain himself anymore.

"Because if you do, everything will change. You'll treat me differently. And right now this... thing between us is the only thing that feels real." She whispered, struggling to find the right words. "I can't afford to lose this. You, of all people, especially."

Ethereal, almost ghostly, Nova's lips rested into a thin line, warning this was the only answer her heart could handle for now. He sighed, debated, considered—and still couldn't push too far.

This felt more refreshing than any confession he could have received. George felt a tight grip in his lower stomach, a pleasant, nauseous sensation that resembled gasping for air after being underwater too long—had he been holding his breath this whole time without realizing?

She wasn't lying, and he knew that. He had already wrapped his mind around the fact she wasn't good at it. Was this real? Was this obsession toward her mutual? This stinging pain, this desperate need for attention? He didn't dare ask—but it was written all over her face anyway.

"All right, blondie, you win," he smiled faintly, positioning himself right under the branch. "Go on, jump."

"What? No, use magic! You won't catch me," she snapped, widening her blue eyes in full worry.

"Do you trust me?" he murmured, realizing how foolish that sounded.

"Of course not," she snapped again, growing more and more scared by the second. "There's a reason you were kicked out of the Quidditch team—you don't have balance."

"Wanna bet on it?" he teased, raising his arm mid-air, forming a landing spot for her. "C'mon, or you'll miss Divination again."

The conflict washed over her face. She was debating all the dramatic ways she could die from this not-so-deadly height. She rolled her eyes and turned slowly, agonizingly, until she sat fully on the branch, both legs swinging.

They locked eyes, and hers looked more frightened than ever. He melted at the sight of her hair falling slightly at the sides. She looked so fragile, so weak, so human. He wondered if this was the real her when no one was watching.

"I swear, if I die because of you—" she pointed her finger furiously, and the raven circled the tree until brushing against her back. "Oh, fuck, fuck!"

In a split second, Nova's body jerked with the tremor of her own fear of being eaten alive by the bird. With the delicacy of a wild animal, she screamed all the way down—until George, wrapped in unexpected surprise, stepped back just an inch before her weight pressed into his arms.

He could feel his heart stop in that tense moment. He did it. He caught her. Warmth spread through him with a sense of accomplishment. Was this how most heroes felt after saving someone? Or was it only because it was her?

Those questions would have to wait, added to the growing pile of things to think about when he was alone. Now he looked down at Nova, relief washing over him as he adjusted to her body interlocked in his arms.

Her eyes were closed, bracing for impact. Her hands rested on his shoulders effortlessly, as if they were always meant to be there. He could see her chest rising with every breath as she regained composure. She shivered—from the cold and from realizing she wasn't dead yet.

"Are you okay, blondie? You're paler than usual," he smirked proudly, tightening his grip around her.

Nova peeked through one eye. Then the other. Then both widened as she took in her surroundings. In a split second, she shifted—scared, then relieved, then confused, then amused. Remarkable, how easily she could do that.

"Oh my god, that was amazing," she said, sparking with odd joy. "Can we do it again?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he frowned, unable to contain his amusement.

"You mean today or in general?" she asked dryly, as though it were a fair question.

Their eyes met—a constellation in hers. From this closeness, he could smell vanilla, fresh books, and tulips. Her scent now etched itself into his mind like trying a drug for the first time, unsure if it would make him sick or become his addiction.

In that little loss of innocence, George surrendered to the idea of discovering why she was here at Hogwarts. He sighed a universe of agonies, understanding that one day she would be ready to say it. But for now, she was here.

This mess of a girl who had brought more chaos than he and his brother had managed in years was here. A curious girl, the embodiment of chaos itself.

A girl designed for him—perhaps as punishment—but still here. Every time he looked around, Nova's shining blonde hair was always there. Blame it on destiny, but it seemed there was no intention of breaking this little game of running into each other at least once a day.

George's eyes roamed slightly over her, embracing this sense of heroism, until he noticed a glimpse of red spreading across her wrist, still pressed to his shoulder.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," she murmured, guiding herself to her feet. "Nothing a simple spell can't repair."

"Right. Always acting tough, huh?" he smirked, handing her the wand—still in disbelief she owned something so aristocratic.

Nova glanced around for a moment. This was it—the end of the encounter. She needed to rush to Divination. He had no interest in wasting time with it now. They looked at each other one last time before she pressed her lips into a thin line.

But neither of them moved.

He still had so many questions—not only about her transfer here. Everything about her. She was like a book with only a few chapters written, the rest left for the reader to fill in.

Yet he cleared his throat, remembering her words. Nova was clearly afraid that something in her past could change everyone's perspective of her—of the character she had built within these walls.

That was no different from what the twins had done all these years. Labeled as jokesters, pranksters, nothing more than a smile. He knew the feeling—the need to shield part of yourself so it couldn't be broken by others.

"Um—see you around?" she murmured, adjusting her robes, slowly regaining control.

"Try not to get in trouble without me," he teased, mimicking her gesture with more confidence than necessary.

"Oh well, since you asked, I surely won't," she mocked, rolling her eyes before actually walking away.

She didn't look back. He never thought she would. That was part of her unpredictable beauty. Framed by the cold breeze tossing her hair everywhere, she stepped into the hallway and blended with the other students heading to class.

When it came to listening to his heart, George couldn't deny he was a coward. Whatever this girl had done to him was just flickers of excitement—nothing more.

Something that would fade one day, as many other girls before. Whatever this scent of vanilla, fresh books, and tulips was, now clinging to his robes, he would embrace it for as long as it lingered.

But this sense of freedom, of knowing he had saved her life—even if she hadn't been in real deadly danger—shook something in him. A deeper feeling he wanted to experience again, if destiny dared to give him another chance.

Five sickles had been all he had in his pocket just a few hours ago. Now they were filled with the hope of encountering Nova again—for a prank. For a bet. For a challenge. For a secret. Or for this pathetic magnetic pull between them.

As long as he met those crazy blue eyes, the circumstances didn't matter.

Chapter 9: Fireseed Mushrooms

November 17, 1994

When Nova was very little, her parents used to take her on the craziest adventures.

For her seventh birthday, they went camping. A little tent, surely not big enough for three people. A pit fire to roast marshmallows on. A flannel blanket to lay down and watch the stars.

She had cherished that memory for a lifetime before growing just enough to realize they weren't very far from home. In fact, Celeste and Louis Rowen had placed the tent right in their backyard—nothing magical, and still, it was one of the most beautiful nights with them.

Until the pit fire spread through the grass and the neighbors called the firefighters before it could reach their houses too—her father had forgotten his wand in the living room as usual, and her mother was fast asleep when it happened.

It didn't end tragically. In fact, it was fun to talk with the Muggle firefighters. They even allowed her to sound the sirens in their truck—simple yet mesmerizing for such a young girl.

Camping became an activity that Nova couldn't stand. Besides the multitude of insects and being forced to sleep all piled up together, there was no good reason people would actually enjoy staying in the middle of a forest just to roast marshmallows.

Still, Hogwarts decided it was worth a try. Random students had been picked for this outdoor activity in Silvergrove Forest, just four pages of Transfiguration essay away from the castle—yes, Nova studied all the way inside the Hogwarts Express.

However, a train can only take you so far. The remaining path was meant to be on foot, and Professor Trelawney was making it even longer by stopping with Professor Sprout to gaze at every shining plant.

The least responsible adults to handle all these students, Nova thought immediately.

"Is this my life now? I have climbed this hill only to be destined to die upon it?" she sighed, defeated, supporting herself against a tree, completely out of breath.

"How dramatic, blondie. We've only been hiking for twenty minutes," George snapped, dangerously serious for once.

"Only? I can't feel my lungs anymore," she widened her eyes, debating if this was a good place to live from now on.

This was ridiculous! Nova gazed at every student passing by, and no one dared to take her into their arms to spare her another mile—real gentlemen were apparently extinct.

Fred and Padma were using this as an excuse to be closer than ever, since they were never in the same class due to their year of difference—they were, annoyingly, the only good thing to look at right now.

This forest smelled like death itself. Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom were almost as sweaty as her. A squirrel attacked Cho Chang out of nowhere (Nova might have made it happen). Percy Weasley looked more authoritarian than the professors themselves.

And just the mere idea of being surrounded by these tall trees that knew no leaves until tomorrow morning managed to make Nova grow extremely overwhelmed—fainting could be the solution. At least someone would have dragged her to the campsite.

Parvati had it good. Offering to help Flinch reorganize the library. That man would fall asleep in less than an hour, and she would be as free as the rest of the students who weren't forced to be here—better detention than this torture.

"Rowen? Want some water?" Cedric Diggory's voice chimed in her ears like a blushing melody she was debating whether to like or not.

"Don't you have anything stronger than that?" she said dryly, still holding on for her life while catching her breath.

"I have some green tea in my thermos," he smiled faintly, kneeling to search inside his backpack.

That wasn't exactly what she meant, but in that moment—maybe due to a stroke about to hit her brain—Nova thought Cedric had some sort of cuteness in his movements. The clumsiness and his need to help her somehow managed to spark a certain appeal.

Not that he wasn't handsome. There was an absurd number of girls in school who had tried to slip Amortentia into his breakfast drink—at this point, it was remarkable he hadn't fallen for it yet.

A guardian angel was surely looking down on him. And she couldn't help but wonder what all this fuss was about. He was cute, with captivating grey eyes and oh, what a smile with those dimples.

But for Nova? He was way too charming, too kind, never snapping out of his whimsical presence. Never too loud, even if he had all the reason to be—he was the Hogwarts champion! Besides Potter, whom no one was rooting for right now.

Even now, while offering her the tea, without saying a word as she gagged at the lack of sugar in the thermos, he remained perfect to look at. Like a painting—not the kind that shakes your heart, but surely the ones you linger on for a few extra minutes.

"Guys, move! The campsite is just here," Padma shouted, appearing from behind a tall tree.

"Yes! Finally!" Nova snapped, gathering herself just enough to make it through the last few meters.

Wrapped in determination, she stepped forward as if able to fly and, of course, a stick had to be in the way. She tripped, bracing herself for impact, now used to this clumsiness, until her head hit the gravel.

Remarkable how someone can walk for a lifetime, having all this time to practice, and still resemble a toddler who just learned to stand on his feet—but Cedric didn't catch her in time, was the only thing she thought.

"Are you all right?" He immediately rushed to help her (too late anyway), gripping her hand to raise her again.

"Yeah, yeah, I've fallen from higher points," she groaned loudly, massaging her back—at least nothing broke.

"Wait, I'll walk you to the site," he said and then—wow—what strength. He propped her into his arms.

Now that's a real gentleman. He might not have the perfect reflexes to handle her clumsiness, but he surely knew how to make up for it. He didn't show any struggle while she melted against his chest—not out of love, only relief at finally resting.

There was an ocean of teasing words stinging at the tip of her tongue. She could've started with the tournament, crushing whatever conviction he had about winning and expecting eternal glory—something you can't earn this easily.

Or maybe Cedric's extremely obvious crush on Cho Chang, which made Nova wonder why he was spending time with her. The two girls weren't only complete opposites; they were, by definition, from different galaxies in the way they treated others.

What was the point? Cho was pretty, shy, smart (not like Nova at least), elegant, stylish in her own way, introverted—and shy again. Why was Cedric here if Cho was only a meter away? This must be some sort of game, and Nova felt sure she could benefit from it as much as possible while propping to her feet.

"Okay, students, gather up," Professor Trelawney gestured, and everyone formed a confused circle around her. "We're here today to harvest some very interesting ingredients."

A common groan of annoyance followed very quickly when the words escaped her lips. No one wanted to camp in the first place, but having to work for the Hogwarts supply cabinet too? This would be the first and maybe the last outdoor activity.

Professor Sprout stepped in, trying to calm the waves. She explained how Silvergrove Forest was famous for its natural divisions of plantations. The areas were separated by plant almost effortlessly, as if designed to be harvested easily and to prevent people from roaming too much among the trees.

Then she showed a purple velvet sachet, informing the students they would be paired up for this assignment. Needless to say, an even louder groan followed, knowing they couldn't even choose for themselves whom to spend this horrible day with.

A few were happy—like Ron, who had Neville to do all the work. And Cho smiled faintly when picking Cedric's name. Padma got George, which was both good and bad at the same time.

There was no one in this entire forest Nova wanted to be with except Padma. And at the very bottom of her list was George. Lucky, in a way, but not that much.

The sachet grew lighter and lighter with every pair. Some people weren't too happy, others jumped with excitement. A few pairs later, Nova and Fred were the only ones remaining, gazing around in hopeless hope that maybe another student was hiding somewhere to be assigned to.

There wasn't. All students were here, and this was actually happening.

"While you harvest the ingredients, we'll get the tents ready. Remember, the quicker you finish the assignment, the quicker you can come back here and have some... fun," Trelawney said, sparking an odd excitement for a woman her age.

Nova and Fred approached Padma and George immediately. This was weird—being mixed up. For some divine joke, they truly believed the sachet would bring things as usual: the couple in a relationship, and the couple that would have gladly hidden each other's bodies in the forest.

It didn't. Whatever sick prank this was, none of them felt excited about it, and it showed. The students started to disperse behind the trees, but the four of them remained—this was awkward in every way possible.

"Let's switch, mate, they won't notice anyway," Fred murmured, studying the piece of parchment with the plant assigned to them.

"Fuck off, I won't stay with the psycho," George snapped, wrapping an arm around Padma's shoulders. "I will gladly spend more time with my sister-in-law. At least she won't murder me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Nova and Padma said in sync, crossing their arms.

Nova had reasons for not wanting him during the assignment. But why didn't he want her? That was surprisingly annoying and... hurtful.

They were in some sort of enemies' relationship due to the bet, of course. Even if she couldn't deny that, when not in full swing, they kinda tolerated each other—insulting, teasing, hitting. Not exactly normal friends, but something resembling it.

All this trying to connect invisible dots was already making her head spin. She was way too sober to absorb so much confusion, but part of her felt grateful that these were the only thoughts invading her mind, that the sadness of the soon-to-be camp still rested at the bottom of her heart.

"Let's go, half-George, we have a high grade to get," she snapped, gripping Fred's wrist and guiding him into the trees.

She didn't look back. She didn't try one more time to start a bicker. She simply embraced the fact this was inevitable—and somehow better. The less-annoying twin she didn't know that well was preferable to the annoying twin who wanted to know too much.

While walking, Fred led the way with the extremely detailed map the professors had given each student, but Nova followed ghostly, almost as if her soul had left a long time ago and now only a corpse remained to be guided wherever.

It was the eerie atmosphere around. The gravel beneath her boots recreated a dead sound of leaves at every step. The trees seemed to whisper at their presence. A few crows flew overhead, as if to indicate where the nearest graveyard was. A smoke rose while they stepped deeper into the forest.

Nova thought it might be a prank—building all this ambiance in order to scare her to death. She wondered if this type of place was designed for murders. If this was where victims were taken before meeting their end—if this was where she would have been brought if she stayed home that night.

The mere thought made her shiver in a second. She rested her hands inside the pockets of her black leather jacket, taking closer steps with her boots, making herself small—at least as much as her height allowed.

"You're remarkably quiet. What did you do?" Fred teased, approaching until their shoulders were inches apart.

"Nothing yet, surprisingly," she murmured, looking down the path, slowing her pace unwillingly. "Why are you so amused?"

"Well, let's say I had a very good night." He winked—disgusting—while elbowing her slightly.

Nova gagged loudly just at the image of him and Padma together. Not that she wasn't aware of what her roommate was doing while she was in the Durmstrang wing almost every night, but still, having confirmation of it felt nauseating.

Deep down she was happy for them, truly. Fred was annoyingly a good guy. She had tried to find flaws in order to be that type of friend who despised her friend's boyfriend, but it was a lost battle before it even started.

The twins, when it came to girls, had a very particular and structured opinion. They were friends with anyone, so when it happened, even with girls, they were joking and laughing.

However, they never touched one. Their hands were always either in their robe pockets, pressed to a wall to support their weight, or around each other—never too close to a girl while talking to her.

When it came to pranks, they knew no distinction. Boys and girls received the same treatment. No one was safe from their mischief.

And still, they didn't lack charm. She rolled her eyes mentally at this conclusion. The twins knew how to move around, be noticed, and gather a few admirers—but never bragging about it or using it for their benefit.

Nova peeked from the corner of her eye at a very content Fred, not even needing to shield himself in his flannel jacket despite the cold, and wondered if he and his brother were those types of guys who had their hearts broken once and never believed in love again.

Was George like this for that reason? His constant teasing, his need to establish control and power, that irritating attitude—was this all an act? Was he crying before sleeping, like she did after the Durmstrang boy of the moment closed his eyes?

There was a vast ocean of ways to find out, but the most efficient one was walking right beside her.

"Can I ask you something?" she murmured, already regretting this very questionable choice of honesty.

"Only if my own words can't be used against me in court," he smirked, still studying the map in his hands.

"Has George ever—um—had a girlfriend?"

Silence. That had come out in the worst way possible. Nova mentally slapped herself for using such a docile and fragile tone. Whatever was happening, she would blame it on the eerie air around them and the crow that flew past—yes! Finding excuses already was the most rational decision.

However, Fred didn't seem tense nor teasing. He kept walking at her pace while gazing down at the map, though it was clear his eyes had unfocused, trying to find the best way to handle this situation—at this point she wished a creature would jump out and eat them alive.

It was just a silly question. Something to fill the air while hiking until they found the spot to harvest Fireseed Mushrooms, the ingredient assigned to them—then why did it feel like the weight of the world had just crawled up her spine, making every step such a heavy burden?

"Oh, I see..." Fred murmured, growing extremely mischievous while stopping their pace. "You have a crush on my brother"

"What? No, I don't!" she snapped, pushing his chest hard—very hard—like a professional boxer almost.

"There's no need to get offended, Rowen. I get the appeal. I mean, I look at myself in the mirror every morning and wonder how girls can live knowing I'm not theirs," he chirped, unable to contain the amusement he was bringing all by himself.

"Ugh! Forget it!" she snapped again, walking off without even knowing the path—better to get lost than engage in this.

This was a bad idea. It was impossible to have a serious conversation with these gingers—for that matter, with their entire family. She was shivering from rage, and from the faint embarrassment she would never admit to having.

Unreasonable to get this mad over something she had defined as silly. She had never denied the twins were annoyingly good-looking in their own charming way. That didn't mean she fancied them—not even under torture would she want to spend more time than necessary with George, let alone have a relationship.

Then what was this stinging pain in her lower stomach? Was it the lack of food? Or just the irritation of being teased and not knowing how to respond? She had brought herself into this situation alone, brought this visceral feeling—she gazed at a tree, wondering if hitting her head against it would be a good escape.

"Wait! C'mon, I was joking," Fred chirped, catching up to her within seconds, never losing the mischief in his expression. "Hey, sorry, okay? Let's start this again."

He gripped her wrist gently and forced her to turn, but she had no intention of looking up at him. The sky above them, the gravel beneath her feet, the creepy crow landing on a nearby branch—anything but his hazel eyes.

For a split second, Fred seemed more tense than her, lowering his spirit and taking several deep breaths. This looked like the start of a bond, a confession, maybe even a whole day of talking about feelings—she wasn't sure if this was healthy, or what her lips might let slip, but she embraced, one more time, the possibility of letting the truth out to someone.

"The answer is no. Me and my brother never had girlfriends," he said, releasing her wrist and hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Padma's my first one and, as you can see, I'm not very good at it."

"I think you're handling it pretty well," she smiled faintly while leaning back on the nearby tree—fortunately it wasn't far, or the fall would've been embarrassing.

"I'm doing my best," he scoffed before locking eyes with her again. "Why do you care about George? And don't try to get away with it with your stupid jokes."

Nova debated a thousand agonies. The answer wasn't even clear in her own mind—how could she say out loud something that didn't exist? It was a moment of weakness, that was the only thing she could come up with.

But she couldn't deny her curiosity. Two boys this confident would surely have had relationships by now. Even if not long-lasting, at least one. At least a heartbreak. That could be the only reason to act this way—apparently, she'd gotten it all wrong.

Even if, thinking about it, she too had never gotten her heart broken in the first place, and still had a complicated opinion when it came to boys. She loved them around, she loved not having them around. She was attracted to them, she felt disgusted by their presence.

What a paradox, living like this. Maybe George felt the same way towards girls. Attracted but not truly interested. Liking their presence but preferring solitude. Why was she even overthinking this? She took a deep breath, trying to wipe away these useless worries.

"I was just curious. That's all," she whispered, gathering herself in the slightest. "Let's go. I don't want to stay here more than necessary."

Frowning deeply, Fred followed without saying a word. Probably making more assumptions about her behavior—something she was doing too. Better be some alcohol tonight at the fire pit, or else sleep was being erased in the to-do list.

After what seemed an eternity walking on the path through hell, they found the designated spot for the ingredient they needed to harvest. Nova froze, mesmerized by the vision.

The Fireseed Mushrooms glowed with a purple light along their length, sparkling smoke surrounding the area. They seemed poisoned and deadly, with some sort of enchantment captivating her to lean closer, and closer, and closer.

Without realizing, she bent over her knees, mere inches from the mushroom's head, scanning every angle of it. What a curious plant—extremely beautiful, a pity to harvest. It looked so calm and quiet, a shame to disturb it.

This type of fungus didn't grow in America. Nova remembered her father Louis taking at least one trip every two months to bring home these ingredients for his homemade potions—always a waste to see them blowing up in the basement.

If he were here, his eyes would probably sparkle the same way. They didn't share the same blue color, but surely the same intensity while gazing at something this beautiful. She debated what the consequences would be of coming back without it—just to avoid letting it be used for potions.

"What's so interesting about it?" Fred eyed her from just a meter away, already kneeling to harvest the first mushroom.

"Nothing, it's just..." she caressed the head of the one in front of her. "My dad would've paid a ridiculous amount of money for all this."

Oh... that wasn't supposed to be said out loud. She immediately tensed, careless of the dirt staining her bare knees as she looked down. This would not unfold well, and she was the only one to blame.

A shift in the air—and without realizing, Fred was no longer on the other side of the mushroom. He was harvesting the one she had just touched, with a quiet expression—not mocking, simply contemplative, as very few things could make him.

"We could take some more to gift him when you go back home for Christmas," he whispered, filling the red velvet satchel.

Something broke. Maybe her heart, or the armor she forced on herself every day. But something broke. Violently. Loudly. Painfully. This was worse than telling the truth.

In that exact moment, Nova's denial crawled down her spine until finding refuge in the gravel beneath her knees. The air felt intoxicating, shifting into a strange contemplation of the world she was living in—this was reality, and it had just been thrown right in her face.

Her father wouldn't see this. She wouldn't go back home for Christmas. Was that even still to be considered home? The place where their bodies had been slaughtered as if they meant nothing? Christmas? She couldn't go back to her neighborhood until the killer was found.

She blinked quickly, trying to breathe. It became difficult. As Fred harvested more mushrooms, she melted in a second. Everything felt fuzzy. Her mind pushed to let a headache free—almost as strong as a stroke but not enough to end this agonizing pain.

The thought of running away was there. But where to go? Even losing herself in this eerie forest wouldn't bring them back. She thought of crying, but at what cost? Explaining would only hurt more.

This visceral feeling invaded her body in one cold, deadly wave, and Nova rose from the gravel, pacing left and right, steadying her lungs to adjust to this new sensation. But it was all too much, and she did the only rational thing her mind could come up with.

She punched the big, wide, ancient tree in front of her eyes.

"Ouch! Fuck, fuck!" she shouted, hearing a slight crack in her knuckles, sensing the pain flood in.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" Fred snapped, approaching her with utter concern.

But that pain needed to be channeled somewhere, so Nova kept going. Another punch. Another, and blood started to show. Another, and she pushed harder. Another. One after another until it hurt too much to switch hands. And then again. Again. Again.

"Nova, stop!" Fred shouted, blocking her wrists carefully to avoid being hit—this must have been the highest level of insanity she had ever reached.

"Leave me alone," she snapped, trying to break free, but it was impossible, and the pain had nowhere else to go.

Without realizing it, and completely unwillingly, she started... crying? Yes! Those falling from her desperate blue eyes were real tears. In front of someone, no less. She sobbed loudly. Louder than ever before. More than she ever thought she would need.

It was tearing her apart. It crawled up her throat without warning and stung like the purest alcohol ever drunk. Fred guided her into his arms, and resting against his chest, she could feel how much the shock invaded him too.

She cried, staining his shirt, not feeling relieved in the slightest. Everything hurt. Her hands—bloody and swollen. Her eyes—from the tears. Her heart—from the weight of the moment. Her head—from the overwhelming thoughts.

In the tenderness of the moment, she surrendered to the already-made mess and decided it was better to take what she could from it. It wasn't as liberating as hope, but it damn well felt like a slight weight had been snatched off her chest.

And when she composed herself a little, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her jacket—unwillingly smearing some blood on her cheeks—Nova looked up, and Fred smiled a small smile, almost invisible. His lips twitched at the corner, showing a comfort unknown even to him.

"I'm okay. It's just my period starting," she lied, taking a step back, not sure what she was supposed to do after something like this.

"Yeah, all right, let's go, tough girl. We're done here for today," he smirked, gripping her shoulders from behind to guide her away.

On the path toward camp, they didn't say anything. Fred didn't look shocked, or teasing—nothing that could give away what he was thinking in that moment. Completely blank. Almost like he was wiping away the scene to protect her desire to appear strong.

That was annoyingly sweet. She had been sure the twins weren't ones to stay serious for more than two minutes, but apparently she had gotten it all wrong.

It didn't mean anything. This was just a flicker of weakness that Nova promised never to have again—not in front of someone, nor in the intimacy of her own mind. She had to find a way of dealing with these emotions somehow, channel this anger somewhere.

Instead of asking for help, she hid her hands inside the pockets of her jacket as soon as they reached camp. Not before Fred could wipe away the little trace of blood she had left on her cheek earlier. That was reassuring, but still not enough for her to look him in the eyes again.

From there, she went blank. A corpse. She let the situations around her unfold as they wished. The professors assigned the tents; she was with Padma and Cho. Then they started a fire as the sun crawled down, making way for a half-moon.

She was there physically. Mentally, she was gone. Every tree, every owl, every smell, every sound was blocked from her senses. She was back in her backyard at home. She was seven again, waiting patiently for her parents to bring the marshmallows to roast.

They didn't come. The whole group was there—everyone but Celeste and Louis. She rose from the hard and very uncomfortable blanket spread on the gravel and found a spot not too far away. Sitting at the base of a wide tree, she gazed up at the sky.

This grief journal was going terribly. She was supposed to let the year go smoothly—maybe even more than one, if necessary—and then go back to America after graduation to start a new life.

Something had changed. The realization hit: she couldn't call that place home anymore. Too many painful memories. But where else was home? Surely not that forgotten fantasy castle. She couldn't stay there forever.

And Christmas? What about that now? Would she remain at Hogwarts with the very few who had nowhere to go? And what if everyone else did, and she stayed alone? She knew how dangerous that would be. She couldn't handle it.

"What's with the long face, blondie? Break a nail while harvesting?"

Great. The motherfucker couldn't have picked a worse moment for his dramatic entrance. He even dared to sit between her legs, using her as a pillow. She prepared to push him away, but something in his hands froze her movement.

"Where did you get that?" she frowned, eyeing the whiskey bottle—still sealed—that he showed off proudly.

"Stole it from the castle canteen. Want some?" He made himself comfortable, head pressed against her almost non-existent breast, as at ease as if it were his own bed.

If it had been any other situation, Nova would've hit him so hard he'd regret being brought to life eighteen years ago. But now George had alcohol and—surprise, surprise—she needed a way to stop the thoughts. What a fun turnaround of events, as usual.

Without hesitation, she gripped the neck of the bottle, all while he was in the middle of every movement, stirring the cup delicately until it found the gravel and guiding it to her lips—unwillingly, her free hand rested on his shoulder.

It burned down her throat, and that was exactly what she wanted. One sip. Another. Then a gag escaped her mouth. Another sip, and breathing felt easy again. The world didn't feel as heavy—unlike the ginger on her chest.

"You get into a fight with a squirrel?" He peeked at the bloody hand beside him with a puzzled expression, at least from what she could see from up there.

"Yes, and guess who won?" She smirked, taking one last sip before handing it back to him.

"I bet the squirrel kicked your ass," he scoffed faintly, taking a sip himself—small, not as much as her—and let it rest between his hands.

Huh. Dickhead. She thought but didn't say it. Even if her eye-roll felt loud in this strangely quiet air wrapping around their interlinked bodies. She took a deep breath and leaned her head back on the tree.

However, like a vision, the realization of having George this close—so close that the scent of caramel, fireworks, and spruce trees overthrew the strong smell of death in this forest—made her lean forward again. Her fingers traced his long ginger hair until they revealed the dimples at the corners of his eyes.

He didn't flinch. He wasn't scared of her touch. He trusted her, apparently. He smiled, and she could feel it growing on his face, even if she couldn't quite see it yet. He was smiling from a mere touch. And his control slipped into her hands.

"Georgie? Can I ask you something?" she whispered, embracing the alcohol that fueled a boldness brighter than her usual one.

"No, blondie. I won't come with you to fight the squirrel," he said dryly, clearly mocking the tension because he couldn't bury it.

"Shut up, I'm serious for once." She slapped his shoulder lightly, leaning more and more forward, still caressing his hair. "Do you have a special someone in your life? Besides your family, I mean."

What was that? She blinked quickly, trying to understand whose voice that was. So calm, so sweet, so fragile, and almost friendly in a way she never was. Her eyes flicked to the side, only to realize she was the one saying it.

And somehow, it felt dangerously good. Not having to spit venom. Letting the rage rest beneath this lingering sweetness, now taking over with the mix of whiskey and questionable choices—she brushed away the eeriness of herself and focused on this moment, unable to run from it.

"Of course I do. Me. I'm awesome. I think I found the one for me," he scoffed, taking a quick sip from the bottle, apparently desperate to reach her level of ease.

"Knew that already. I find it hard to believe someone else would willingly stay with you besides yourself," she smirked, stealing the bottle from his hands—take a sip, and the worries would go away.

The stinging pain vanished under it. Her throat grew sour. She could feel the alcohol burning even the lips she had bitten on the walk back to camp. All the little wounds she'd given herself along the way now absorbed the whiskey.

Something shifted. The weight in her chest eased slightly, and when she looked down, she noticed George propping himself up. Just enough to rest his back gently on her raised knee. One hand braced on her side.

They were inches apart under the stars, and for that split second, meeting his hazel eyes dimmed by the night, she thought of a ridiculous number of possibilities—a whole world opening in front of her. Damn it, she wasn't poetic, but she couldn't deny the sun hidden in his gaze.

"Do you, blondie? Have someone special in your life?" he murmured, tone almost inaudible under the weight of the question.

"I don't. I've been told I'm too rotten to be loved. That people won't waste time trying to fix me." She smiled as if it were a mere joke.

It wasn't. Those were real words that had invaded her ears for almost a lifetime. Whether from a professor, a real friend, a fake one, a stranger, or someone dangerously close—everyone had said the same thing at least once, and for a while, she had believed it.

Deep down, she thought it was stupid. She had smiled at that, always. But there was this irritating voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, if enough people were saying it, then it might be true.

That all this rage, this boldness, rudeness, and more piled on top were the worst traits a single person could hold. No amount of beauty could shove them into the shadows. She was rotten, and she always would be, with no way out of that truth and—

"I see nothing to fix," he shrugged, with the warmth of a thousand campfires.

Oh... that was unexpected. Nova's eyes narrowed in the sweetest, most intrigued way possible. It wasn't a joke of his, either. He was serious. More serious than she'd seen him since the first day of school.

And suddenly, a lifetime of firm belief that she was rotten became the most beautiful thing to know. She felt a force pressing into her spine, uncontrolled, pushing her closer, and closer, and closer.

As they fell victim to each other's eyes, mistakes had never felt so right. This had a thousand ways to go wrong—so why were they both leaning in again, slowly, hesitating yet determined all at once? She leaned. He leaned. Mere inches apart, about to break on each other's lips, but not there yet.

Nova couldn't take it anymore. She needed more. More than simply looking at him. More than rage. She needed to channel it toward something worthy. She wanted a taste, even a small one if that was all she could have.

She wanted to run her hands through his hair and feel the electricity rushing through her, just like in all the books she had ever read. She wanted to pull him in and never let him go.

And as if reading her mind, he kissed her. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. She didn't hold back. She pressed harder, letting their lips click.

It was like every fiber of her skin was dying, and he was the medicine. And oh, god, she wanted to feel like this forever. She felt stronger, in control, reckless. The taste was even better than she had imagined.

He raised his hand, cupping her cheek. She rested hers on his chest, almost gripping his pounding heart. It was there for her to catch. He was there for her to have. Her lips had never felt such a desperate need to never let go.

By the way his hand clutched her lower back, pulling her as close as humanly possible, it was obvious he needed her more than his lips could ever admit—subtle, gentle, perfectly in sync with her.

They slowly pulled back, losing themselves in each other's eyes, blinking rapidly in confusion at why they had just felt the most utterly beautiful thing in their lives. This was just a kiss, yet it erased every one she had experienced until now—nothing would ever compare.

"Well, shit," they whispered in unison.

Chapter 10: Burning Flames

November 18, 1994

Sometimes a dream stops the second you open your eyes. It stays there, between the pillow and the sheets, warmly waiting for you to relive it on an endless loop every night.

However, sometimes a dream is meant to start in your sleep and remain there, in your mind, to replay until it finds a refuge—even during the day.

That was what happened to George in these last hours. After kissing Nova. Oh, god. They had kissed. And the scent of tulips, fresh books, and vanilla hadn't left his faint lips since then.

It felt so vivid. So raw. So beautiful. He had been famous for his fireworks shows, but the ones ignited by that kiss were the most brilliant thing he had ever witnessed.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long after the realization of how good it was. Trelawney had caught them with the whiskey bottle and forced them into their tents—she didn't seem furious about the kiss itself, somehow.

This morning, while hiking back, no words lingered between them. But no tension either—and that was the most important thing. Almost all students remained silent in desperate need to return to the comfort of the castle. They just mimicked everyone else.

But how could you remain calm? This was completely unexplored territory. A kiss. He had kissed her. She had kissed him back. Whatever little game they both thought they were playing against each other was apparently all in their heads, and the battle had been lost the second he willingly rested in her arms.

This was good. This was how things should've been. This was—

"This is a disaster," Fred snapped, pacing back and forth in their room. "I can't believe Snape blamed me for a glitter prank again. I wasn't even in the castle yesterday."

"Relax, mate, it's just organizing shelves in the library. You'll be out before the party." George smiled—the same smile that hadn't left him the whole day—while lying on the bed.

That didn't reassure anyone, but at least it managed to build just enough silence to give space to the ridiculously long list of things that could go wrong from now on, after that beautiful kiss.

Let's start with the overthinking, shall we?

At the bottom of the list, there was the bet. George and Nova had marked very clearly that they would not spare one another from embarrassment until the Yule Ball—they had declared it aloud, and this wasn't easy to take back.

Then there were Nova's secrets in the middle. Whatever she was hiding, it must be very shattering, and from how good she was at not letting out any clue about it, the fear that it might come in the way of this... relationship? No, that was too much of a word.

This thing, let's define it that way, could be broken into thousands of pieces if he didn't have the whole picture of who she was.

At the top of the list came the most complicated part: this new agreement with Angelina, which arrived with very questionable timing. He had talked to Fred already, and of course, they both came to the same rational, mature decision.

Don't tell Nova he was getting paid to be a fake boyfriend.

It would only complicate things further. Showing himself unable to afford a relationship right now, being financed from a woman. Even blackmailing a woman. For how feminist Nova was, this could only make him look like the leech everyone said he was.

Padma couldn't know either—or else she would not only get mad for not knowing but also feel guilty that her boyfriend was struggling in their relationship—a chain of consequences from just one tiny, silly, totally overlooked secret.

A questionable choice in a world where honesty is the only thing keeping humanity close. But you do you, George.

"What happened in the forest? Why were Nova's hands wrecked?" he murmured after what seemed an eternity of silence.

"Um—what? I don't know! Pff, w-why are you asking me?" Fred puffed, rushing to fold clothes on top of his bed, growing tense by the second.

"Because you were there," he frowned, finding this behavior odd. "Why are you so nervous? Are you hiding something from me?"

Curiosity took over the moment his brother looked unable to breathe. He started sweating, murmuring nonsense words. He folded a t-shirt and then messed it up again, just to fold it one more time. All this while avoiding George's eyes.

No secrets. That was the first rule in their brotherhood. No matter what it was, they would always find a solution together. But now it seemed like something bigger than themselves. George rose from his bed and approached with a puzzled expression.

"Mate? What happened in the forest?" he said calmly, gripping the wooden bed frame of his twin's bed.

Fred sighed, still avoidant, and that mere gesture managed to let a thousand worries grow in an instant. First thought: they might have kissed. Ridiculous. He would never do that to Padma. Even if it would explain Nova's hands. She surely punched him afterwards.

Or maybe it was a mere bet that ended badly, but they both promised not to tell anyone. That didn't explain why Fred wasn't telling him anyway. It was clear that they weren't supposed to keep secrets from each other.

Maybe they had murdered someone. That was expected from Nova. He always thought of her as someone able to kill without fearing the consequences. Maybe his brother was just protecting him from knowing something this big and not being forced to testify in court.

"She just... cried."

Oh. That sounded like a lie. Nova Rowen, the most heartless girl in the world, knowing only rage and hate, had cried? This was impossible. Outrageous. Questionable. And yet... from the way Fred melted, apparently true.

It took more than necessary to explain what happened. Out of nowhere, Nova started punching a very strong tree, careless of getting hurt. Then, when Fred stopped her, a shift managed to make her sob like a baby for no apparent reason.

She claimed it was her period. Bullshit, he thought. She had it already last week and made a whole show about it during Divination class in order to stay a full night in peace inside the infirmary.

She hadn't lied at the time. When he burst in there to expose her, the amount of calming draughts on the nightstand suggested Nova was indeed in real pain and not only eager to skip classes.

But why lie now? George felt his own head exploding from all this thinking. He paced back and forth in the room, tapping his chin as if to find an answer in it, under Fred's guilty expression—he couldn't bear the thought that Nova might not trust him anymore.

Then his twin had to leave for a not-so-earned detention, and George started playing alone with a small firework. Passing it from one hand to another. High to the ceiling and down to kick it with his feet. He wasn't able to stay still for more than one second.

She cried. Out of nowhere. People don't just cry for no reason. Something must have triggered this reaction.

Then he stopped mid-room and his eyes narrowed as if he were having some sort of vision in front of him. Had she kissed him only because she was sad? Was that another reaction to something that happened before he approached her?

An odd and visceral feeling crawled up to him. He felt used. Disgusted by himself. Utterly disappointed that it was all in his mind. The beauty of that kiss vanished under the realization of being only another way for Nova to cope with whatever shit she was going through.

He remained there. The clock on the wall ticked with exponential speed, and while staring into a complete void, a knock on the door forced him out of that trance—three hours had passed, and no answer for all these questions had been found.

"Weasley! Hurry up or we'll be late," a feminine, frustrated voice—Angelina's, it sounded—shouted from the other side of the wood.

Shit! He had been so absorbed in the moment that he hadn't even dressed for the Ravenclaw party. He simply opened the door and rushed into his room's bathroom under her confused gaze.

Quick shower. Hair dried with magic. Just a drop of cologne Angelina had brought him. Then she landed more on his bare neck, suggesting she would buy another one if he ran out. The chrysalis silk black shirt she brought. The dark-washed jeans she brought. The new shining white sneakers she brought.

When he looked in the mirror, George thought of himself as a doll. Angelina's doll. To dress and command with a simple gaze. First used as a distraction from Nova. Now as a fake boyfriend. This prank business had better be worth all this lack of morals and self-respect.

"Remember our first date was at McGroover's last Sunday night," she explained eagerly as they walked towards the party, "and if someone asks, just tell them we're old friends trying to know each other better. Don't make a big fuss about it in front of Katie."

"Why? Doesn't she know this is fake?" He frowned, trying to focus on the moment and not let the thought take over.

"Yes, but you know how she is." Angelina waved him off just meters away from the Ravenclaw common room.

He actually didn't. Among all the people in this castle, Katie Bell might be the most reserved of them all. Always quiet and with that eerie look of someone who wants to be left alone. Not so approachable, and surely not inviting anyone to try.

However, George didn't care at all. Getting paid to not even act all sweet and caring was better than anticipated. He would've shown up at this party anyway, even if it wasn't for Angelina. This might be the only glimpse of luck landing on him in the last few hours.

After murmuring the secret word to the moving raven portrait—which was just a simple riddle to solve—the blasting music burst in their ears the second the door opened ajar. With every step it became louder, along with the voices of all the guests.

Nothing fancy like the Slytherin parties. Nothing extremely planned like the Hufflepuff ones. Nothing spectacular like the Gryffindor gatherings.

Simply the common room rearranged to host the guests in the middle. All furniture pushed to the walls to make it still possible to sit in little groups. A counter near the fireplace filled with alcohol bottles of all sorts—now that looked like a fire hazard.

As soon as their bodies were visible enough, all eyes landed on them. First just glances, but then, when Angelina interlinked their hands, everyone shifted—confused and utterly intrigued. Some whispers followed as they dove into the party.

He looked down at her briefly. She looked truly nervous. Maybe more than him. He never recalled her being this insecure about something. This tense. This fragile.

The payment for tonight had been made already, so he had to hold up his part of the deal. George wrapped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her through the crowd while growing into his usual confident self. He greeted friends and showed her off proudly.

"Want something to drink?" he murmured, leading her to a couch where Katie Bell, Ginny, Hermione and Ron sat—no need to be polite with them.

"Yes, whatever is fine, thank you," Angelina said, tense as a violin string right beside her girlfriend—they truly looked good together.

George didn't hesitate in the slightest and stopped at the counter. Very expensive stuff these Ravenclaws could afford. White wine from a prestigious Italian vineyard. Firewhiskey that seemed a waste to drink, considering how beautiful the bottles were.

But what truly caught his eyes was rum. Nothing fancy about it. Just his favorite one for no specific reason. He poured one for himself. One for Angelina. Then drank them both before filling them again.

Before returning to the group he was supposed to act like a completely different person in front of, George leaned on the counter and scanned the room. People were having fun. He had to have some too.

However, two pairs of hazel eyes were almost killing him from not too far away. Padma and Parvati. Both murmuring to each other, almost like they knew what had happened with Nova. Had she said something? Talked to them like normal girls do with their friends? Cried about it?

Fuck it! He drank again, unable to bury all this exaggerated thinking. And as always, it did its job. For a split second the worries vanished, giving him the chance to remain steady, calm. A side effect that dulled the mischief in him.

"Mate, you can't believe what happened." Fred shook him too hard mid-sip. "I found a job. A real one. That pays money."

"How? Weren't you in detention?" He frowned, wiping off the rum from his hand on a nearby napkin—no chance of ruining this expensive shirt.

"Yeah, but then Filch sent me to grab an order from a bookstore near the pub. I had to use the bathroom and their employee had just left," Fred explained, excitement sparkling in his eyes. "And guess who was there to save the situation? I'll start tomorrow night."

"But mate, you've never worked behind a counter. Do you even know how to make cocktails?" His confusion grew, but still, it was good news.

"Pff, it's not that hard. I'll get the hang of it straight away."

That wasn't reassuring enough, but money was money—even if George was sure it wouldn't last long. His brother then explained the pay was miserable, only seven galleons per hour, and of course, being a student, he was allowed to work only during weekends.

If the math was right, seventy galleons from Fred, adding to the tutoring and fake boyfriend gigs of George, meant that by the end of the month they would have enough for a brewing station equipped to at least start producing a fair amount of sickness candies.

This business was due to start, apparently. It wasn't just a dream anymore. For some reason that managed to make this party look vivid, more fun. Plus the alcohol now rushing through his body, George felt warmth spreading through him, as if he had finally found his place in the world.

"I told Padma about it," Fred murmured next, tensing slightly. "She thinks I'm doing it to get more girls."

"Like we need a job to look more appealing than this." George smirked, pouring rum into his brother's glass. "Does she know what we want to do with the money?"

"Yes, I might've briefly informed her," he whispered, almost inaudible. "Is that a problem?"

"It's okay, mate. She's your girlfriend. It's only fair you're honest with her."

Oh... what was that? George cleared his throat, trying to understand where the hell this docile tone came from. Alcohol was actually having some weird effects on him lately. Not only calming him. Even making him emotional? This needed something stronger.

A bottle of vodka. Maybe this would awaken the mischief again. One sip straight from the bottle. Then another. Then turning to offer some to his brother—who accepted briefly before being called out by some Gryffindor nearby—then another sip just to make sure it would help.

It did. For a split second at least. That burning sensation down his throat, combined with the blasting music in his ears, vanished the moment a bright platinum blonde head appeared on the other side of the room.

Nova was dressed as she had been that morning. Same denim shorts and leather jacket, probably the same black boots even if he couldn't see them with all these people around. Her hair was tied in a ponytail—the first time he saw it styled like that, though it didn't seem voluntary.

At first sight, it looked like she hadn't even had time to change. When they got back to the castle after the outdoor activity, Professor McGonagall had been waiting for them—or more precisely, for her. They had walked away together, and apparently Nova must have been with her the entire day.

She looked tired. More than usual. Her gaze unfocused as she took in the surroundings with an utterly annoyed expression. Before their eyes could meet, Padma and Parvati appeared at her sides and whispered in her ears.

The shift in her expression managed to shake all the alcohol inside George's body. She tensed on the spot. Her eyes darkened in just a blink. She scanned the room until her gaze landed on him. Cold as ice, this wide room felt suffocating.

Padma murmured something more and Nova looked to the left. He followed, noticing Angelina with the rest of the group laughing loudly. Then, in sync, their eyes met again. They were surely informing her of this new "relationship," and he regretted not waiting to explain it to her first.

There was a shift. Something changed in her expression. It became blank, emotionless, empty of humanity—and he felt faint, being looked at like that by her. Without thinking, she walked upstairs, pushing as many people as possible in the process.

What a burden to be seen in that moment. George took another sip of vodka and prepared to follow her, whether into the bedroom or to the top of the castle, even if he wasn't sure how to get away from this situation.

"Weasley, we need to talk." Katie Bell stopped him mid-pace with utter seriousness. "I believe we should figure out how to make this work. I surely don't want you to kiss, and if you can lower the touches during—"

"Katie, with all due respect, which is none, I don't fucking care," he snapped, gripping her shoulders to slightly move her aside.

Now with a clear way, and careless of leaving this girl blinking in disbelief at how her prepared monologue about their relationship had been shut down, George stepped onto the stairs.

First with an incredibly confident pace, but then, as the blasting music dulled and only unsteady sounds grew louder, he slowed. Growing concerned and a bit fuzzy from the vodka—which he took another sip of, just in case.

Nova's bedroom door was ajar, and he stood there for an eternal second, taking several deep breaths, trying to understand how to handle this—it was impossible. Either way, he was in the wrong for the most part.

Then a wrenching sound burst out again, now from inside the room. Something broke. Then something else. Wood and glass. Cuss words escaping venomously with every crash of an object meeting the floor.

Hesitant, he stepped forward, widening the door, and the image in front of him stung more than all the alcohol he had forced down his throat in the last hour.

"What happened in here?" He frowned, taking in the surroundings, hoping he was just hallucinating.

"Nothing. It was already like this when I arrived," she hissed, but it was clearly a lie.

Nova was in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. Half-broken objects littered the floor—he recalled them being the same ones from her desk. She had probably thrown everything down in some fit of rage.

The side rails of the bed were cut in half by what seemed like repeated kicks. He looked at her right boot and noticed a slight scratch on the edge of the leather. She must have done it just now.

The blue curtains of the window were ripped in half. The wall mirror lay face-down on the floor, its shards cutting into the rug. She was there. She had done it. She was boiling in rage. She was... he was... This was the most unexpected yet rational reaction from her.

But he wasn't sure what it meant. How to handle such behavior. If leaving would help. If staying would be his death sentence.

"Can you go the fuck away? I have things to do," she snapped loudly, almost making the whole air tremble.

"Like what? Burn the castle down?" he scoffed, taking another step, the glass shattering more beneath his feet.

"As long as you die in the fire," she murmured, almost inaudible. But he heard it. Loud and clear.

This was a terrible start, but at least it wasn't complete silence, nor indifference. He stepped forward until only an arm's length remained between them, and with the same agonising pace, she stepped back.

"Listen, I was going to tell you about Angelina—"

"Oh, please. I don't fucking care about her, nor about you for that matter." She crossed her arms, growing defensive immediately. "We kissed out of boredom and tiredness. It didn't mean anything."

That was a lie. It had to be. George melted—shoulders relaxing, breath heavy, a stinging pain running down his spine. She was lying for mere survival. Was she? Why was she?

He grew afraid of knowing more. Terrified she wasn't lying. Talking about it would only hurt more, even if understanding the reason behind this reaction to mere words felt impossible. He was afraid, somehow, and sank inside his own mind.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, George turned, stepped forward, then glanced back at her one more time—watching the fire leave her eyes in defeat. All the rage inside her had nowhere to go. He turned again and, with a soft chuckle of realisation, exited the door.

"Is that all you have to say to me?" Her voice called from the hallway, forcing him to stop as though cursed.

Don't turn. Don't talk. Don't fuel her fire—it will only make it worse. Act like it didn't matter, as she said. It's what she wants. Don't let her win. George repeated this in his mind for what seemed like an eternity and, with an agonisingly deep breath, stepped forward until he reached the stairs.

It took an impressive amount of strength—and more sips from the vodka bottle still in his hand—to make it back to the party, with her constant insults chasing him again and again and again. They never lowered in tone, almost as if she had followed him downstairs.

"Are you fucking deaf? I'm talking to you!"

Oh. Apparently, she had followed him downstairs. Nova shoved his back slightly to get his attention as they stopped in front of the alcohol counter. As he turned, it felt like dementors had entered the room—her eyes were so icy, a complete void that could swallow you whole.

He looked around. The party was in full swing—the lights dim, music blasting, people drunk. He looked back at her, and words felt impossible, like something he had never done before. He pressed his lips into a thin line while preparing her a glass of rum.

"Are you seriously not going to say anything else? What was the point of coming to my room without a speech prepared?" she snapped, taking the glass from his hands. She was trembling, and he noticed it in that moment.

"Speech? Do you think I rehearse conversations before talking to people?" He frowned, avoiding her eyes for fear she might kill him with a single gaze.

"I guess not—or else you would've started this in another way than 'hey, I have a girlfriend now,'" she mocked, taking a very long sip until she finished the rum.

"What do you fucking care anyway? You just said the kiss didn't mean anything," he snapped, growing angrier, feeling faint from how much he wanted to say and how little he was ready to admit.

"It didn't, in fact," she murmured with such determination he couldn't help but believe it.

George swallowed the words like bullets scratching his throat. He suffocated them with another sip of vodka—or maybe it was rum, or whiskey. Whatever was inside the glass, it didn't help in the slightest.

There was no point in telling her. Her mind was already wrapped around that idea: the kiss didn't mean anything. There was no way to change her stubborn mind. He could only try to change his own, at least. Repeat this scene until he found a sense of disgust, until he could believe it didn't mean anything to him either.

"Enjoy the party, Nova," he whispered, gripping the first full bottle in sight by the neck and turning away.

"Ugh! You dickhead!" she shouted, shoving him in the chest harder than she'd intended. "Say something! Snap at me! Fucking talk for once!"

Blank. A total, complete blank the second George's fuzzy body brushed against the alcohol table—not hitting his head, but surely helping the right leg to break in half—until all the bottles rolled over to meet the fireplace nearby.

Chaos erupted immediately as the flames invaded the curtains around the common room. People started rushing out, coughing loudly and covering their mouths to keep the smoke from invading their lungs.

It all escalated so quickly and still, as the prefects flicked their wands to contain the fire before it could burn the whole castle down, George recomposed himself—disgusted by how stained his new clothes were—then looked straight into those icy blue eyes.

Everything around him blurred. There was no guilt washing over her face. Only a strong sense of anger and almost satisfaction at having ruined everyone's night, as if hers had been ruined too even before entering this place.

He couldn't say anything. The words lingering on the tip of his tongue were either too harsh to hear or too hurtful to say. There was no point in continuing this discussion. The kiss didn't mean anything. She said it. He was believing it.

This was the perfect fucking representation of what she wanted from the start. A fire. Something to fuel whatever twisted desire lived inside her mind. Someone worth fighting, bickering with, kissing, and rejecting all at once. It was just another game for her, and she would forget everything as soon as the sun rose.

They looked at each other until the prefects managed to guide the stinging smoke away. They coughed violently, never breaking eye contact. They took several deep breaths to adjust to this feeling growing between them. And still, they didn't say anything else.

He scanned her one more time. This would be the last time she had a glimpse of power over him. George promised that to himself. Then he turned, sure she had reached the maximum level of craziness over nothing and probably wouldn't stop him from leaving.

Fucking stop me. Tell me to stay. Shout at me again—but admit it meant something. He thought this at every step. But he didn't turn back. He didn't lock eyes with her. Didn't fall victim to the little voice pushing him to make very questionable choices.

As soon as he was with the rest of the students who had escaped, he leaned back against a wall. People crowded around to ask questions, to know how it had happened and what it was all about. The voices were blocked, as if he were in some sort of bubble of his own.

He took several deep breaths—not because of the smoke still in his lungs from having been in that room just seconds before, but because there were words trapped there. Things he wanted to say but didn't. A vocabulary swallowed by painful pride.

There's a common saying about the calm before the storm. But no one ever talks about the deafening silence after the storm hits.

And George wasn't sure how long this silence would last until he or Nova started another fire—whether a real one or a figurative one.

Chapter 11: Carrot Crown

November 21, 1994

When in doubt, always blame a man.

That wasn't a popular belief nor a supposition. Nova had come to this conclusion at three a.m., while Nico with a C was sleeping peacefully after a very long weekend of enduring all her rage.

Needless to say, the poor boy would need at least a week to recover from the intensity of it.

It was a man who killed her parents in the most cruel way possible.
It was a man who kissed her in that fucking forest just to announce a relationship the very next day.

It was a man who had tried to destroy Celeste and Louis Rowen's graves.

That was the reason Professor McGonagall had immediately taken Nova the second students returned from the outdoor retreat. The American Aurors were waiting for her inside Dumbledore's office, and together they decided it was best if her parents' bodies were transferred somewhere safe.

Whoever had done it hadn't had enough time to accomplish the mysterious plan. The graveyard guardian was still awake, and with a loud bullet shot into the sky, the criminal fled before he could dig too deep.

She thought it was a trick to lure her there again. To catch her. And she was about to take the first flight all the way to the other side of the world if it weren't for the Headmaster explaining that a graveyard near Hogsmeade Village could kindly host their remains.

And to that, Nova couldn't be more grateful. At least now, if something happened, she could take a short walk and go talk to them. It wouldn't be the same, but it was more than she had in the last few months.

"Do you want to have breakfast together?" Nico murmured after who knows how long he had been staring at her.

She gazed down at him. Beautiful and mesmerizing—for a man. Then she looked at the window nearby, and the sun was already peeking in. She hadn't gotten any sleep, falling instead into a trance that seemed endless.

"Thanks, but I'd rather choke on my own saliva," she snapped, burying herself under the sheet—extremely comfortable, like a cloud.

He didn't say anything. Only a soft, amused chuckle. The same one he had let out the whole weekend every time Nova spat venomously. It was clearly a degrading kink, or at least a small fetish for being treated poorly.

Either way, she didn't linger too long on overthinking this. There was already enough filling her mind at the moment. And between all the thoughts, it was only rational to pick the least hurtful one.

Reminiscing about her parents would bring tears to her eyes, that suffocating feeling in her chest, and open wounds all over her faint heart. Better to focus on the rage toward George for now—that was fresh, new, and easily fixable by killing him.

Obviously, she hadn't expected to get married to him any time soon. Ugh! Just the mere thought of him looking hot in a suit made her mentally gag.

But still, she surely hadn't expected him to show up with a girlfriend just a few hours later. The surprise of it hurt more than the situation itself.

Mixed with the shock of what happened to her parents' graves, the blasting music of the party, and the ridiculous amount of people in the common room, rage had taken over in a split second, and it felt devastating.

She couldn't deny that Nico had been helpful, even in the slightest. After the party was over, she rushed to the Durmstrang wing of the castle—not for him specifically, but for whoever was available at that moment.

Fate wanted them to meet again apparently, and to gift him a second chance. He didn't waste it. First time was a solid eight out of ten. Second time even better. Third time miserable due to the lack of energy remaining.

And so on through the whole weekend. Nico would ask his classmates to bring food from time to time, which she didn't touch. Instead, there was vodka. A lot of vodka. But after one bottle was gone, the feeling of being wasted felt sadder than ever before.

Now, lowering the sheets from her face, Nova's mind replayed the last few days' decisions, searching for a reason behind this weird behavior.

She was mad. Boiling in rage. And still, nothing she had done to cope with it felt as right as it should. The pain was there. It had never really left. She just distracted herself one second, only to feel everything again the next.

"Nico, can I ask you something?" she murmured, leaning on her side, slipping one hand between her cheek and the pillow. "Why do you like me? Besides the fact that I'm beautiful and smart, of course."

That came out even sadder than she imagined. She dared to play with the silver chain adorning his neck, gazing at it so she wouldn't have to show the discomfort while waiting for an answer. Something true. Something that could be an awakening. Something. At least something.

Nico's muscles flexed as he mimicked her position, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The mere touch could've been reassuring, but she felt herself growing colder, stiffer, as her body didn't know how to react to such kindness.

"You're fun to be around. A little bit mental sometimes, but I like that you're not scared to show it," he cooed, tracing her jawline as if it were glass on the edge of breaking. "Is this about that ginger? Has he said something?"

"Why? What would you do to him if he did?" she scoffed faintly, not even trying too hard to lie—she was tired of pretending, and too tired not to.

"I could punch him in the nose," he smirked, able to form a smile even on her lips. "But I'm sure you'd be deadlier. Trust me, with that grip, you can do some serious damage."

Taken by a glimpse of amusement, she allowed herself to enjoy the childishness of the moment and gently slapped his arm when Nico started mockingly gesturing about the strength she had unwillingly used in bed with him.

It was slightly fun compared to the overall situation, so she couldn't help but mimic his ways. The laughs. The jokes. For a moment, she reconsidered this boy and wondered if they could be friends eventually, still sharing some intimacy without putting too much effort into it.

Then, when he started dressing and gently handed her clothes to her as well, Nova wondered how it would be with someone else. Not just a mere someone met in the hallways. George. How it would be with George entirely.

In some way, when alcohol was involved, they had fun. He had this way of getting on her nerves that felt thrilling like nothing before. The way he looked at her, seeing beyond what she wanted to show.

And oh God, his curiosity. There were moments when she was on the edge of confessing what had brought her to Hogwarts, just to see the amusement vanish from his eyes and give way to agonizing guilt washing over him.

She couldn't. That meant being treated differently. Being seen as the girl who had lost her parents. All that excitement when bickering would've been gone, replaced with careful attention at every word. It wouldn't be the same.

Then she dressed, adjusting her hair in the wall mirror, and remembered hers had hit the floor on Friday night—just when she had found out that he... oh... he had a girlfriend now.

George was with Angelina. They were a couple. Official to the whole school. Claimed each other for others not to have. He had kissed Nova and then showed up with his girlfriend.

Stop the thoughts. Stop the feelings. That's the only way to live. That's all she knew.

"See you later then?" Nico nudged, adjusting his hair when she was near the door.

"Thought you wanted to have breakfast together," she frowned mockingly, forcing a fake amusement in just a second.

He blinked rapidly, processing what a chance was being gifted to him. Nico had better be grateful George messed up, or else Nova would've never been seen with him by the whole school—or with anyone else, for that matter.

Along the way to the Great Hall, she remained quiet. More than usual. Even waving at a few classmates who returned the greeting with utter confusion—she must be on drugs or something, they all thought in unison.

Unfortunately for them, it wasn't that. Nova was just blank. While walking, she enclosed herself inside her little bubble, gripping tightly to the fake illusion that life outside this castle didn't exist. That her parents were alive and waiting for her to come back.

A very fragile and risky game to play, but that was all she could come up with in the split second the usual morning nausea from not being fed her father's pancakes hit.

"...and then Krum saw that girl with the curly hair in the library..."

Hermione Granger. That was the girl Nico was talking about. Yet Nova didn't feel in the mood for small talk, since his topics jumped from one to another like a bunny on drugs.

"...and when I was little this dog appeared at my door, he was so cute. I'll show you pictures of him..."

Blah. Blah. Blah. Why do men feel this visceral need to show pictures of everything? She paced faster down the hallways, eager to reach her destination and have him talk with someone else.

"...then at my mother's funeral my ex-girlfriend showed up just to make a crazy scene about me cheating on her..."

"What?" She stopped abruptly, gripping his wrist. "What did you just say?"

"Um—that my girlfriend caught me cheating," he frowned, not understanding the sudden interest. Probably he knew she hadn't paid attention, yet talked anyway.

"No, that was predictable. I meant about your mother," she murmured, regaining awareness of the conversation slowly.

"Oh yeah, she died when I was sixteen because of a blood curse that runs in the women of my family," he explained in a docile tone, almost as if he were narrating a fairytale.

Slowly, she kept pacing alongside him. Nico seemed confused but didn't overthink the situation. He kept sharing an absurd amount of information with someone he had just met, while Nova's mind was already traveling somewhere else entirely.

He wasn't the first person she had met in this castle who knew grief. Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom had lost both their parents when they were very little. Cedric Diggory couldn't even remember his mother's voice. Blaise Zabini had seen his father die and all his mother's lovers through the years.

All these boys had something in common. Grief was written all over their eyes. It wasn't even subtle. A twitch when mail came into the Great Hall and everyone bragged about their parents' gifts.

Some of them fell into their own minds from time to time, dissociating from the reality they were living. Sadness was always there, threatening to ruin the day before it could even start.

Not Nico. Now that she knew he had known loss, Nova studied his expression while walking through the hallway. He had this nauseating sense of joy radiating from him. There was no guilt in his eyes. He knew loss but didn't let it take over.

Nova wondered if this was something she could learn too. If there was a secret to living this way daily. If there was a chance to wipe the grief away and live at ease like he did. Was it even possible? To not let grief consume you?

Before she could come up with one of her brilliant (not so brilliant) plans, they were standing at the entrance of the Great Hall, and the loud chattering lowered just a pinch as all eyes fell on them.

Nico gripped her hand, not noticing the show he was unwillingly putting on. She let him guide her towards the Durmstrang table, since she was gazing around, studying everyone's reactions, and couldn't possibly make a step without tripping.

They were surprised, yes, but not judging. A few didn't care at all after absorbing the moment. Others whispered to each other. A poltergeist floated away in an instant, probably eager to spread the rumor around.

And then—oh, this would be good. She met George's eyes from across the room. Jaw clenched. Blank expression. Shocked, and still fighting to express what he really felt. Usual of him and a totally expected reaction.

Then Nova waved at Padma and Parvati in greeting, just to wave again in suggesting they'd join her for breakfast. She reached the table but didn't sit down immediately—deep down she hoped this situation with the ginger wouldn't influence her friendship with the girls.

Apparently, it didn't, because Fred nudged and murmured something that seemed to warn they shouldn't worry about him and his brother and should join Nova. So the girls did, and she couldn't help but feel faint from the gratefulness of that gesture alone.

"Okay, here's what we've found out so far," Padma snapped as soon as they were all seated. "Their first date was at the McGroover. He was the one who asked her out in the library. Cho Chang saw it with her own eyes."

"And I heard that if he wins the bet, he will go to the Yule Ball with her," Parvati explained quickly—dangerously quickly.

From then on, the Patil sisters shared all the new juicy gossip spreading around the castle since George and Angelina's relationship had been made official.

Needless to say, more than half of it was ridiculous and only for entertainment. Like Katie Bell saying Angelina herself had claimed George had a small dick—Nova thought it was funny but surely a lie. No girlfriend would admit that to anyone before breaking up with the guy.

Or Draco Malfoy saying it was all fake. That Angelina was in love with a girl and needed a fake boyfriend so she wouldn't be disowned by her family. Nova thought that was stupid—parents weren't even in school, there was no need to pull off such a show.

And Ron Weasley hadn't wasted any time saying he'd already seen them fight in the Gryffindor common room just after the Ravenclaw party—that could've been true, but as a fresh couple, Nova believed they were still in their honeymoon phase and the real fights had yet to come.

More and more kept coming. Padma and Parvati had spent all weekend gathering information just to share it with Nova. That was incredibly sweet and caring, but since nothing seemed true, there was no reason to listen anymore.

"Guys? Guys, stop!" she shouted when their lips kept moving quickly. "I don't fucking care what that prick is doing, okay? Can we just eat and forget he exists?"

Silence. That was good. Better. Refreshing. Padma and Parvati started scratching at their plates lazily, surely not believing she didn't want to hear anything about George. She did indeed, every single detail, but she couldn't—or else everything would rise once again.

Instead, they let Nico talk. Somehow, he managed to shift the atmosphere a little while introducing Krum to the girls. They were, of course, mesmerized by the presence of those two beautiful, captivating, and foreign students.

Not Nova. Her eyes fixated on Padma—or better, on the ginger head visible only if she peeked slightly to the side. He was looking at them too with a blank expression. She couldn't tell if he was jealous, but it was worth trying to find out.

She crawled closer to Nico, rested one leg on his lap under the table. Subtly adjusting his shirt, caressing his muscles, being all sweet and caring to the point of almost throwing up the food she had just eaten—he didn't move an inch, simply enjoyed it, knowing it wouldn't last long.

"Um—Nova?" Parvati murmured, widening her eyes exponentially. "Nova, get up now!"

"What? Why?" She frowned after setting her glass of water back on the table—a salty taste, probably the elves hadn't used enough soap.

"Nova, listen to me," Padma whispered, gripping her wrist. "Please don't overreact."

"Can you stop? What's going on? Why are you looking at me like this?" she snapped, then noticed more and more students gazing at her with growing amusement.

The laughs echoed in the Great Hall as more and more people couldn't contain themselves for who knows what reason. But she knew they were looking at her. They were laughing at her. Something was wrong, and knowing what didn't feel right.

She gazed at Nico, who wasn't shocked at all. Mesmerized, even, while scanning her face—or rather, slightly above, at her... hair? She gripped the spoon to use it as a mirror and something slipped off. Where was the glimmering platinum blonde? What was this carrot color framing her head?

Oh... fuck! Just to be sure, she flicked her wand to transfigure a glass into a real mirror, which she gripped in her hand and... oh no. No. No. No. This couldn't be true.

"What the fuck!" she shouted, springing to her feet to look better from every angle and hoping she was hallucinating.

She wished. But no—her hair was ginger. Not a normal red, but the Weasley signature shade. Her blonde, beautiful hair was gone, replaced by ginger, perfectly matching the red rage now invading her body.

Parvati sniffed the glass of water and widened her eyes, handing it to her. Nova did the same and immediately recognized the smell of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, meant for styling but probably altered to change color until the effect vanished from her system—it could take days.

"Wow, Nova, you look beautiful," Nico murmured with true honesty in his tone—she gagged, not believing the words.

"He's right, it's not that bad," Padma tried to be convincing but failed miserably, even avoiding looking at it for too long.

This was outrageous. What a stupid and useless prank. This didn't even deserve a point in the bet. She gazed around until meeting George's eyes. He wasn't laughing, but he sure was proud of himself.

As always, he couldn't just enjoy the show. Better to hear about it from others and simply walk away. Where the fuck was he going? This wouldn't end here, and he knew it.

Wrapped in more rage than her new hair could explain, Nova rushed towards him, resembling a tornado eager to wipe out an entire village. Her short heels pressed on the floor, almost flying rather than walking. She nearly tripped, but fortunately, she was already out of sight.

"You fucker!" she shouted, pushing his back to gain attention. Now he was the one almost tripping.

"Go back to your boyfriend and leave me alone," he snapped, regaining his balance and walking again—how dare he be the mad one in this situation?

"Trust me, I'll leave you alone very soon. In a graveyard. Six feet underground," she shouted again, shoving him hard, almost as if eager for a reaction.

"Stop it, fake Weasley," he teased, finally turning to lock eyes with her. "Ugh! I should've picked another color. This one is ridiculous on you."

If it were humanly possible, Nova could swear her entire body had replaced bones and blood with pure rage. Madness, fury, and the need not to burn him alive—only because of the illegality, surely not because it was morally wrong.

Embracing this intense feeling, she started slapping him everywhere, which he seemed prepared for since he shielded his face and backed away—now he was laughing like a child, making everything even worse.

"You little cunt!" she shouted, hitting his arm, then his shoulder, chest, and every inch she could reach. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Please do, so I won't have to see you with that prick," he chirped until his back hit the wall—now he was cornered by a very psychotic Nova.

"Is this why you poisoned me? Because you're jealous?" she narrowed her eyes, making sure the seriousness of her expression kept him in place.

"Pff, of course not. I don't care what you do," he scoffed, tensing just slightly.

That was a clear lie. Why was he lying anyway? She frowned. Then scoffed in sync with him. Then glanced at the moving portraits just a meter away, laughing at her. And then the rage took over again.

But George was tense—almost more ridiculous than her. The way his eyes softened slightly, pulling his guard up, avoiding meeting her gaze—fuck! He was beautiful, and she felt the desperate need to get on his nerves again.

"You're going to pay for this, you little, insolent, ugly rat," she snapped, poking his chest with her finger at every single word—damn, he had muscles under that shirt.

"Oh trust me, blondie, there's nothing little about me," he smirked, leaning forward, more pretentious than ever. "Or should I call you carrot crown now?"

Nova shoved him again. He tripped and gripped her wrist from mere survival instinct. Filch must have left the mop nearby, and stepping afterward, their bodies stumbled on the archway leading to the backyard—fortunately George caught her waist and they didn't hit the floor.

There was a slick sound—she could swear he broke his back against the edge of the arch. Good! He deserved that. Then why did she melt at the sight of his expression, struggling not to show the pain?

He deserved this! She had already been hitting him with the intention of causing pain. Seeing him bleed. Fuck! Now she felt guilty. A tight knot twisted in her stomach from the realization he hadn't hesitated for a second to think about her safety.

"George? Are you—"

Blank. Complete shimmering blank after that. Nova felt a weight pressing all over her body. She blinked quickly, even her eyes heavy. She puffed, lips heavy. Something stung across her skin, sliding down her robes.

She raised her hands and touched the mixture covering her face. Wiping it off was easy, but understanding what it was only made her angrier.

Green glitter. A lot of it. She looked up briefly and saw an enchanted bowl now upside down and empty. All the glitter had fallen on her and George, who was still trying to free his sight.

"Fuck! This is all your fault!" she shouted, wiping more from her face—there was something sticky on it too.

"Me? Do you think I'd do this to myself too?" he snapped before spitting glitter from his lips.

"Yes, because you're the stupidest person on the planet," she sneered, brushing a stray of hair away only to see the red color peeking through—at this point, the glitter was better.

"I take that as a compliment," he scoffed faintly, popping a finger in his ear to free it from the mess.

"You take everything as a compliment," she murmured, raising her hands to help free his sight—she was gentle and delicate, though unsure why.

"Of course I do. I can't fathom why anyone would want to insult me." He smiled, tucking a glittering strand of hair behind her ear.

Nova smiled back. What the fuck? She didn't want to smile back at him. This was not the plan. She was supposed to hurt him so badly he'd never dare pull a prank like this on her again. But she smiled—and mentally slapped herself for it.

It was intoxicating. Not that she had ever wished to feel this way toward him. But the desperate need of having someone look at her the way he did. The desperate need to fill the void in her heart her parents had left.

This was the conclusion her mind managed to produce in that exact moment. She needed love—in any form of it, given by whoever was willing to gift it to her. She needed something that wasn't right, something that wouldn't heal the grief, but she was more than ready to use it for as long as necessary.

She couldn't. Not with George, at least. No matter how many times she told herself she came first, she wouldn't use him. There were plenty of boys inside the castle—she could use one of them for this purpose.

That was all Nova needed to step back and break this little bubble of comfort they had created around their glittering bodies.

"I'm just going to—um—take a shower," she whispered, taking several steps back until there was enough space not to make mistakes.

"What a coincidence, I need one too. Let's go, blondie," he smirked, stepping forward, but when she raised a hand he stopped, confused.

"No. I go left. You go right. That's how things are now," she said firmly, almost cold as ice, like a dementor sucking away all happiness.

Another step back, and he stepped forward. She waved him off again, hiding the weight pressing on her chest—and it wasn't because of the glitter. Taking a deep breath, she finally turned, surrendering to the idea of not gazing at him at all.

"Nova?" he called, and she stopped, hope filling her heart in the worst way possible. "You confused them again. This way is left."

Oh... okay, now that was embarrassing. Nova turned again and avoided his eyes, not only because of the situation anymore, but to avoid seeing his amusement grow exponentially.

Of course she flipped him off, showing the middle finger as high as possible, but still, she didn't look back. Not once. Not even by mistake. She managed to walk until she turned the corner of the hallway.

A strand of hair fell on her face the second she leaned against the wall. It was ginger. Ugh. Disgusting. But she smiled. Wider than intended, at the mere thought of being part of that ridiculous family.

Then she replayed the last few minutes in her mind and smiled even more, knowing that no matter the jealousy, the rage, the sick feeling, they were unable to stay away from each other—they were always desperate for that comforting touch.

What the fuck was in that potion? Must be Amortentia, because there was no way in hell she might even consider this some kind of love gesture. Nothing about this was a love story. Nothing about him was lovable, and nothing about her was worth loving.

Yeah—when in doubt, always blame a man. In this case, blame George for making this grief journey even more difficult. It was his fault if that night she fell asleep dreaming about their next bickering, in peace, smiling more than she has done in these last months.

Chapter 12: Don’t Snitch

November 23, 1994

Hogwarts students had always had very different opinions about almost everything in life.

When it came to talking badly about professors, a few liked the authority in Snape's presence (only Hermione Granger), others admired the calm and motherly instinct of McGonagall (that would be Harry), and there were even some who liked Trelawney (surely not Nova).

When it came to houses, classes, politics, or the Triwizard Tournament, everything seemed like an excuse to fight eagerly about a topic just to prove someone else wrong.

But they all collectively agreed that the kitchen elves could put a little more effort into the meals—and that if George Weasley was the calmest one in the room, they were all fucked.

Still, here he was, sitting on the wooden table while Colin Creevey finished his Herbology essay and Rose Zeller memorized tarot card symbolism—these two were the easiest people to tutor. They only asked questions from time to time and did everything else on their own for that matter.

George had it easy, apparently. He just needed to stay there while they finished their homework, explain something if they didn't understand, and he could overthink his whole life in peace.

"Mate, here's what I found out," Fred snapped eagerly, taking the seat in front of his brother. "This boy's name is Nico—with a C, not with a K. Don't ask me why people are being so precise about it."

"What a dick name," George scoffed, finishing the moustaches he was tracing on the 1960 school yearbook.

Then Fred wasted no time in sharing more and more information about what seemed to be Nova's new boyfriend. Even the two kids who were supposed to study took a break to absorb all this information.

Nico wasn't top of his classes in Durmstrang—that was no surprise. Not really bright academically, terrible knowledge in anything that wasn't Quidditch or combat. Pureblood family, and an only child.

Then came the rumors inside the castle. He had already been seen with three other Beauxbatons students before Nova. Nothing big, or at least, no one had been observing him carefully at the time.

Viktor Krum was one of his best friends, even though it was limited to training only. His other friend was also named Niko—but with a K. They must have run out of names when they were born, George's first thought was.

There were people saying all sorts of things about him: a future dragon trainer, a banker, a professor in Durmstrang. Some said his family was dirt poor, others that he was on the same level as the Malfoys. There was even gossip about him being gay but unable to come out.

But the worst and most impossible of all this information was the one that might actually be the truth—only because of who shared it.

"Padma says he's kind, caring, and surprisingly good for Nova. She says he calms her storm somehow," Fred said, knowing how heavy these words were in such a delicate moment.

At that, George's hand stopped sketching in the yearbook. He didn't lift his eyes, but he knew his reaction could be visible from miles away. The weight pressed against his chest and he didn't know what to do with all this stinging pain.

Was this maybe happiness for her? Maybe she deserved someone like Nico by her side—at least he wouldn't add more confusion to whatever she was already going through. But then why did George feel that should've been his job?

Or maybe it was another game his own mind had produced. The twins were often described as children, desperate to have something simply for the satisfaction of owning it—just to toss it away like a used toy. Maybe this was the real reason behind his need for... her.

Nico was great. Not that he would ever admit to having spied on this Durmstrang boy all day long. But he was cool, handsome, muscular, probably able to protect her in the future. Someone able to handle her for more than five minutes deserved a statue and real acknowledgment of their commitment and—

"That's not what Nova needs," Rose Zeller interrupted his ridiculous internal monologue without realizing it. "She doesn't need her storm to be calmed down."

"Exactly! That boy won't be able to fuel the fire in her. It'll only tame it for a little while, but she'll explode at some point if she has nowhere to channel it," Colin Creevey added, almost as if this was a school subject to take seriously.

"What are you chipmunks talking about?" Fred frowned, noticing the confusion in his brother too—since when could kids this little say such big words?

"What we mean is, Nova is always so angry with the world—except when she's with you, George," Rose explained as if she were a professor in class. "In that moment, when you're nearby, she's... happy. Not like a full spring of joy, but surely not a deadly winter."

"Yeah, and when she's insulting you, or hitting you, her eyes are always so vivid, bright. I can see them sparkling from across the Great Hall every time," Colin added, now the conversation shifting only between them.

That was extremely poetic and romantic, but it didn't mean anything—or at least, George couldn't understand how that would help in the slightest. That was only a statement, an opinion, not the answer to all his questions.

But it did help bring a smile to his lips. Only by replaying their endless bickerings, pranks, lingering moments, he could see what these two kids were talking about—her eyes being vivid? They were madly spectacular.

The two kids started talking endlessly about Nova. Everything they had gathered from afar, just witnessing her psychotic behavior. And apparently, she wasn't one to bully first and second years. In fact, Rose said Nova had even defended her from an older Slytherin.

What a girl. The more you got to know her, the less you knew about her. But George listened to every word. Fred too—both sketching in an old yearbook that surely wasn't destined to be vandalized this way.

It was remarkable to know he wasn't the only one overthinking Nova entirely. Hogwarts students were well known for their desperate need to share gossip at all times, but having such strong opinions on the people they were intruding into? That was beyond.

Then a teasing sting struck George's thoughts when Colin started giving maybe too detailed an opinion on Nova's hair, eyes, lips. And when George was about to shatter this poor kid's fantasies, with only a glance at his brother everything shifted.

He looked down, noticing very harsh and mean sketches on a yearbook page. Not only moustaches and evil thorns, but kill threats, blood drawn with red ink, a real massacre happening on that page.

"Woah mate, why are you so angry with them?" George teased, leaning slightly forward, but his brother was tense as a violin string.

"It wasn't me. I just flipped the page and it was already like this," Fred frowned, scanning the page with utter confusion. "Mmh, this is weird. I don't recall sketching this before. Have you?"

"Not yet, I just got into 1960. Someone else must've beaten me to it," he shrugged, leaning further in, but it was all upside down to get a clear view.

This was... odd. There weren't many people who would dare vandalize something inside the castle except themselves. It wasn't even the kind of thing students liked to do.

Another mystery again. First, the glitter pranks no one admitted to—pranks that had gifted the twins and Nova a ridiculous amount of undeserved detentions. Now old yearbooks being sketched over, which only meant that if a professor saw them, they'd be blamed too. They did plenty, but this was outrageous.

"Woah, look at this girl," Fred scoffed, finally turning the yearbook over, finger pointing at a head with a sketched dagger through the chest.

That was Nova. It had to be. George flipped the book over and read the date: Hogwarts Institute Year 1966. Okay, that wasn't Nova—but someone deadly similar to her.

He flipped it again, lowering it until his nose was mere inches from the page. He blinked rapidly, trying to understand if they were hallucinating or if this could be someone in Nova's family.

Same platinum blonde hair, the exact same color. Same narrowed blue eyes, blank of all emotions, an annoyed expression, clearly not wanting to be photographed. The picture had been taken inside the Ravenclaw common room, and she was the only one not smiling.

He read the edge of the page, listing the names of the students, trying to find the girl's name. He'd already seen them in Nova's diary, but here they were much younger: Celeste Monroe and Louis Rowen. Yes. This was them.

"These are her parents," George murmured, and his brother dragged his chair closer until their shoulders clicked, taking a better look.

"What? They attended this school? I thought they were Americans," Fred frowned, scanning the names again, growing more confused by the second.

Even Colin and Rose leaned forward, their homework long forgotten under the weight of curiosity, but they didn't say a word for fear the twins would notice and throw them out of the mystery.

Louis Rowen had a very determined gaze, smiling faintly beside Celeste—they didn't look too happy, nor too angry. Simply there, letting the moment happen effortlessly.

George had already seen them in Nova's diary. More than one picture. So why couldn't he believe what was in front of his eyes? Until now he'd thought they attended Ilvermorny, on the other side of the world. Knowing they'd been here once managed to shift something in the air.

His mind traveled years back, doing the math to understand who else might have been at school with them—who he could ask thousands of questions to. Sirius Black was there. Even Remus Lupin. His parents too, actually.

That was something to add to the list of things to do next time they were at The Burrow. Someone would surely have something to share, even if George wasn't sure what there was to know. Again, a huge puzzle with only a few pieces and no reference image.

"Guess they weren't very popular," Fred murmured, unwillingly pulling his brother out of his trance. "Look, they're the only two targeted in the picture."

George refocused, realizing he'd been staring blankly. Fred was right. Celeste and Louis were surrounded by sketches predicting they would die one day, out of revenge from whoever had drawn them. Not only murdered, but punished for something they had done.

This was exactly how he imagined Nova's future—looking back at Hogwarts pictures and wondering how she was still alive after being, by definition, a bully. He chuckled softly, closing the yearbook until it rested in his robe pocket, then rose from his seat.

"Let's go, Freddie. We've got business to do," he nudged, and his brother followed without hesitation.

"Can we come too?" Colin's eyes sparkled with excitement as he gathered his things quickly, Rose doing the same.

"Yeah, sure. But if you get caught, don't snitch," Fred smirked, making no effort to wait for the kids.

Sure no one could see them, they slipped past empty classrooms, down a secret passage near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, then peeked into a hallway before stepping down into the dungeons. From there, they paced feather-light, scared Filch might be lurking around.

This place smelled like orc armpits. Water dripped from the ceiling, and footsteps echoed from the students walking above, making the walls tremble with every movement.

They passed abandoned storage rooms, the wine cellar, nearly tripped over old boxes that hadn't been touched in years—until they reached the soon-to-be prank laboratory. This was it, where dreams came true if you dared to ignore the smell.

Fred had done a great job. Once the door closed behind them, the room felt like another universe entirely. He had found time to paint the walls a layer of white, and an old empty wooden library stood to the side, probably for future storage. A station sat in the middle—even if empty, they could already picture brewing supplies scattered on top of it.

Colin and Rose paced around, suppressing their curiosity, their excitement obvious. They knew this was surely illegal and could land them detention, but they didn't care. They were with the twins, and that was the peak of their school days so far.

"I found a big cauldron in another room. Longbottom said he could get us a few ingredients from the school garden, but only in small quantities at a time," Fred explained, dragging a wooden chair closer.

"That's better than nothing, mate. And we can always buy more on the black market," George said, running his hand across the table in the middle, perfectly clean and begging to be used for questionable purposes.

They stayed there longer than anticipated, coming up with all sorts of ideas out loud, even letting Colin and Rose give their opinions. These two were fairly young but already mischievous—they looked ready to take over a business that didn't even exist yet.

It was happening. Just a few more adjustments, a lot of hard work, and this place could become even better than they had imagined. From there, the business would make stacks of galleons in no time.

Blame it on the confidence this vision of becoming rich brought, but George found in himself a strength to look for Nova endlessly, determined to have a serious discussion for once.

Don't get it twisted—it wasn't about a love confession under the sudden rain covering the castle. No, it was to ask her about her parents' yearbook. Though while walking, he couldn't help but wonder if she had been the one drawing those sketches.

She was, surprisingly, nowhere. He looked in the common areas—the Great Hall, the wooden bridge, the Quidditch pitch. Then, too tired to walk back to his dorm, he stopped in front of the Clock Tower courtyard, observing the grey weather above him.

His first assumption was that Nova had taken refuge inside the Durmstrang wing, probably with Nico. Or maybe she was only in her own dorm. That was what he wanted to believe, even if something inside him shouted it wasn't true.

He didn't even know what this desperate need to see her was. It had been so peaceful these days while she was recovering from the ginger-hair prank—using the excuse to rest in the infirmary. She really had a fantastical mind.

But it had been quiet. Eerily quiet without her pitchy voice, without anyone else matching his mischief perfectly. Thinking about it, it had been really, really quiet. Was she planning to murder him? Or actually spending time in peace?

Wrapped in an unreasonable fear that this would be his last day on earth, George turned around, pacing toward the nearby arch that led to another hallway—then blank. Complete, confusing blank.

Something had grappled his left ankle and yanked his body up, swinging him upside down without warning. He shouted from the sudden movement, and the sound that came out was something he would only deny ever making.

Both ankles struck against whatever kept him steady. Blinking rapidly, he took in the confusing surroundings that slowly came into focus. His robe edge brushed the floor from the weight in his pocket, his arms swung freely, and he realized he wasn't exactly meters in the air—probably just a few inches from being able to touch the ground.

The fuzziness almost faded the second he gazed at the sparkling, blinding, platinum-blonde head lowering just enough to show a proud, satisfied expression—vanilla, fresh books, and tulips immediately invading the atmosphere.

"Fuck, blondie, I could've hit my head," he said dryly, trying to adjust to the upside-down surroundings.

"Too bad it didn't happen. Want to try again?" she teased, tracing his jawline before pacing around him with a predatory stride.

Without giving him time to snap back, Nova began emptying his robe pockets. His wand landed on the floor. No way of getting free with magic now. Then came a chocolate bar he had been saving for later. Now he would starve to death.

"Stop touching me, you creep. This is sexual harassment. I'll file a lawsuit against you," he protested, only making it harder for himself.

"Something's been stolen from my dorm. I know you did it," she murmured, still searching deeply, though the prank itself was a mere excuse.

Was Nova talking about the letter? Maybe she had written in her diary and noticed it missing. Thankfully, he didn't have it on him—or else it would've been humiliating to admit he had, indeed, stolen something from her dorm.

George tried the impossible to block her, but with every movement, the strings on his ankles tightened more and more, even crawling down his legs to almost immobilize him completely.

Then silence. He stayed still for a second and noticed she wasn't searching anymore. Maybe she had left, but that didn't help the situation. He had no way to free himself, and the same person who put him in this misery was the only one he wanted to save him.

It quickly escalated as blood rushed to his head. His cheeks felt heavy, his eyes too. He could swear his heart dropped, trying to escape through his dry lips—if no one walked by, he'd lose consciousness within minutes.

"George? What is this?"

Oh... she hadn't left, apparently. But when Nova knelt in front of his face, showing the open page of the yearbook she'd found in his pocket, he wished she had been long gone before seeing it with her eyes.

It was odd. She crumpled into herself, pressing against the floor as if a heavy weight had landed on her shoulders, sucking her whole into disappearance. Her gaze lost fire, determination, life. She was blank, and her hand trembled uncontrollably.

"You did this?" she whispered—inaudible, fragile, a cry suffocated by her pride once again.

"What? Of course not. I would never," he frowned, though it felt impossible to do so upside down. "I found it in the library already like this."

"Why take it?" She let the yearbook rest on her lap, tracing every sketch with feather-light touches, afraid to break the page.

Fuck. Even upside down, she was beautiful. A heavy headache pressed in his skull—strong, brutal. He was on the verge of losing consciousness; he could feel it ticking like a clock threatening to explode.

At this point, there was no strength left in his body. George could almost feel relief in that, and as his eyes grew heavier with each blink, his soul rested, embracing the impact to come.

"I took it because it's something about you," he murmured, fuzzy and fading. "Even if just a glimpse, I get to learn more."

Through the blur, he saw Nova's head snap toward him—or rather down at him, or whatever direction applied to this absurd position. He couldn't be certain of her expression, though.

It wasn't happiness, that much was sure. But guilt, sadness maybe, remorse even—something dark, melted, and extremely heartbreaking to witness.

Blame it on the blood in your brain, he kept repeating to himself. All this overwhelm from saying something he was sure he'd regret once his mind worked properly again. This was going all wrong, but he couldn't come up with anything else in this fragile moment.

George wished the fuzziness would take over more quickly, just to end the way Nova was looking between him and the yearbook on her lap. She was clearly having a whole breakdown inside, struggling to hide it. He wanted to faint to escape the agony.

Where were all the students when they were needed most? Now that he was desperate for someone to either cut the ropes on his ankles or kick his face hard enough to knock him out—anyone, anything—instead of this sadness washing over her face.

"B-Blondie?" he murmured, eyes closed now, fingers twitching faintly.

Nothing. Not a sound. Not a word. Summoning long-lost strength, he opened his eyes again and saw Nova already a meter away, walking carelessly down the hallway.

"What the fuck?" he shouted as a wave of adrenaline crawled through his spine. "Are you going to leave me hanging like this?"

A flick of her wand—and in an instant his body hit the floor roughly. Fortunately, he hadn't been too high to break a bone, but it surely wasn't pleasant either. She didn't look back, and maybe that hurt more than anticipated.

Better a fight. Better her slapping him repeatedly. Better shouting at each other until their vocal cords ripped open. Better the usual fake hate than this agonizing indifference.

Whatever was bringing that shift of sadness into her eyes, George promised himself he would never be the one to cause it. If possible, he'd even find a way to wash it away.

And George Weasley was known to be a lot of things (most things not even the Devil himself would approve of in Hell), but he surely was one to keep promises—no matter how long it took.

Chapter 13: The Enchanted Ember

November 25, 1994

Somewhere between emotional and emotionless, Nova had found herself willingly cornered away from the whole world.

Inside an old broom storage room in the middle of a forgotten hallway, she had sat for days since finding the yearbook inside George's pockets—only that to keep her company, along with a bag of chips now long gone on the floor.

It was miserable to feel this way. She could swear the spider in the corner had moved out the second she started crying alone in the dimness. Even a rat passed by and escaped, unwilling to witness this pathetic scene—or at least, that's how she perceived the moment. Animals couldn't possibly make facial expressions.

She was stuck there. From time to time, she gripped the doorknob, taking several deep breaths to step again into the real world, only to feel it all rise again and sit back down—two days in here and she had almost forgotten what the sunlight looked like.

Was it fear of something she couldn't quite place? Whatever it was, it was strong. She felt slightly guilty about letting Padma and Parvati worry—they were surely looking for her everywhere. Or maybe not. What if they weren't?

What if no one had noticed her absence in these almost three days? What if people were enjoying a break from Devil Nova? What if she was being forgotten, destined to remain just a face in a yearbook, stained with insults like her parents'?

Something crept up her spine. She tensed, thinking it might be a spider. It wasn't. A sharp, internal voice pushed free in her mind. Stop being so weak. Grow up and get over it, the voice said. Her voice. Her internal self trying to protect her from sadness.

She was right. Well, she was always right anyway. Nova gripped the doorknob once more and managed to widen the door. She blinked quickly, trying to take in her surroundings, trying to adjust to the light. It took longer than it should have.

It was raining. What a fresh, cold smell—but it could have been her, given the lack of showers. She stepped into the hallway with the yearbook clutched tight to her chest. It could've been lunchtime, or maybe dinner. She couldn't tell from this weather.

Ghostlike, she passed through the empty hallways, past the Ravenclaw common room—empty too—and reached her bedroom door. Widening it, she froze on the spot. It was not empty at all.

"Oh my god, Nova, where the hell have you been?" Parvati shouted immediately, snapping up from the bed.

"We've looked for you everywhere," Padma said, melting into a rough hug, almost afraid to let go.

"Do you have any idea how scared we were?" Parvati snapped again, arms crossed and growing more furious by the second.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Padma asked faintly, scanning her friend's body—or at least, the few exposed inches of it.

That was... something. Nova could tell both had very different reactions about the situation, but at least they were worried, caring, and seeking answers—even if it was clear they didn't care for explanations as long as she was safe.

It was something very similar to love. Something she had forced herself to walk away from in order to preserve intact the memory of her parents' love. She was sure no one could replicate it. Apparently, she was wrong. There was someone who could resemble it in some way.

"I just had... a moment," Nova simply said, stepping further inside the room. "It's okay, let's just forget about it."

"That's not how life works, you know," Parvati scoffed, her serious expression unwavering. "You can't disappear out of nowhere and expect people not to worry. Forget about it? Like things could be that easy."

Woah. Okay, that was harsh. There was no need to be this angry. Nova frowned, feeling a tight knot form in her stomach, mistaking it for hunger even though deep down she knew it was an odd sense of guilt. She hadn't experienced much before, but she could still recognize it.

"What my sister is trying to say is..." Padma stood in the middle, trying to ease the intense tension. "We've been very worried. All of us. Fred and George are still looking for you."

"Well, tell them I'm here now. No big deal," she snapped, the weight of the moment overtaking her. "I'm going to take a shower. Try to relax in the meantime."

Nova could see out of the corner of her eye that both Patils wanted to reach for her, but they didn't in the end. They weren't the right people to handle this. No one was. There was no way to explain the situation without crying and exposing the real reason for this downfall she had from time to time.

She could only count on herself. She turned on the water and sat at the bottom of the shower. The tears invaded her bare back, crawling down her spine until finding the floor tiles on an endless loop.

This wasn't going as planned. This wasn't how things should've gone. Why was she getting so sentimental over a stupid yearbook picture? She knew her parents had attended Hogwarts. She knew there would be memories of them in it. She just didn't know they would hurt this badly.

For a second, she regretted hiding in that stinking storage room instead of rushing to the Hogsmeade graveyard. Part of her wanted to lay down near Celeste and Louis' graves for eternity. Part of her hadn't seen their names engraved in the tombstones since the funeral.

She couldn't understand. She had so much courage, boldness, fire, energy for so many things—and yet she got hurt and wounded by the silliest, smallest things.

But she didn't cry. That was a start. Nova noticed the cold hitting her skin—the water was losing warmth—and, gazing down, she saw her fingers pruned, almost warning they would melt if she didn't move quickly.

Every movement stung. Every step burned. Every breath ached. She couldn't bear her own body weight, sitting on the toilet with only a thin towel around her, careless of the water dripping from her long hair.

"Nova? We're going to get ready for the party in the Gryffindor girls' dorm. Want to join us?" Parvati's voice cut through the wooden door. It wasn't locked, yet she didn't enter.

"No thanks. I'd rather get a haircut from a blind man," she snapped, but no venom escaped her lips—it sounded more pathetic than intended.

Seized by a sudden awareness, Nova slapped her forehead, resting the palm of her hand there, almost as if supporting her head, or stopping the headache, or truly hurting herself—either way, she felt grateful no one was witnessing this psychotic reaction.

"Do you want us to stay here? We could have a girls' night together," Padma's voice broke as she spoke, almost sad, dangerously fragile.

Please stay. Please stay with me. Please don't leave me alone with myself. That was all Nova could repeat inside her mind for what felt like an eternity. She shivered, blaming the cold on her wet skin. She gripped the hem of the towel until her knuckles turned white.

Speaking had never been more difficult. Only a few words could change everything. She might have had a relaxing night with her friends, maybe even confessed everything that was happening. Everything she was dealing with alone.

Maybe this was the first step to getting over grief. But she couldn't. Just imagining their faces shifting, looking at her as if she were something broken, something that needed to be fixed—she was, but it was no one's job to do that.

For a second, Nova's hand reached for the door, right there, on the verge of opening up to them in every possible way. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and that was already a pathetic enough scene to witness—it could only get worse.

"I'll see you at the party. Nico will pick me up later," she said instead, gripping the edges of the marble sink, staring down.

That was a lie. Now she was lying. It didn't even come out well, but it was more than she had managed to do in a very long time. Even if it wasn't convincing, the Patils eventually surrendered to the idea that their friend was made like this—after what seemed like an eternity, they left.

They all do eventually. That was no surprise. Nova had asked them to go. But then why did something else break inside her when the dorm door closed and their shadows disappeared? When she was sure they were gone... why melting?

This wasn't working in any way, and another solution was more than necessary. Nova lazily wrote a note to Nico, telling him to be ready in front of the Ravenclaw common room at ten sharp—not a minute later—and then sent it off with magic.

She didn't do anything else. Still with the towel wrapped around her body, she sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the blank, ethereal wall in front of her—the world felt so heavy today.

Stop being so weak and get over it, she kept saying to herself, but it wasn't convincing enough. Stop being so weak, people are watching. But no one was actually watching. No one was even here. She was all alone in a room—just like the day she had found out her parents were dead.

There was only one difference this time. There was a place where liters of alcohol were about to flow free. A place where music would be so loud that thinking would be impossible. A place to forget who she was for one night and be like everybody else.

Nova rose from the bed, pausing to regain her balance from the sudden movement, then rushed to get ready. No amount of makeup could hide the dark circles, but she tried anyway. Then it was too much, and she started all over again. And again. And again. Until it was barely noticeable.

A dress—though most would call it undone for how short it was. A wrapped V-neckline drew the eye without trying too hard, leaving her shoulders bare. The open back revealed just enough. Mid-black stilettos. Fortunately, Nico was tall enough that she wouldn't tower over him.

The hair took longer than necessary. Nova didn't use magic this time but a hairdryer she had found in the bathroom. She let the warm air hit her back, shoulders, neck—everything that needed something resembling a hug. The hair was dry, yet she couldn't let go of that sensation.

Everything after leaving her room felt like a fever dream. Nico was there, perfect as always and not a second late, just as she requested. They walked—that she remembered vividly—but nothing more.

Nico was saying something. Probably compliments, or about the tournament. Viktor Krum had managed to win his egg, but so had the other champions. She hadn't attended the challenge, preferring to enjoy how silent the castle had been that day. But surely he was talking about it—everyone was lately.

She couldn't even recall how they reached Diagon Alley. Maybe by the Hogwarts Express or a Portkey—something made the travel short, confusing. But they were there, right in front of the club.

The Enchanted Ember was written in large letters, surrounded by a green LED glow that spilled into the dim street. Music pulsed faintly from inside, and the line was so long it curled around the corner.

Fortunately, Blaise Zabini was standing between the security guards, black shirt unbuttoned at the top, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, scanning the queue with arrogance.

When did Hogwarts students become so cool? Nova never imagined seeing them like this. They had been penguins since the first day, and now they were throwing big parties, smoking, and acting rebellious—even though most were still minors.

"Hello, my old, good, beautiful friend," Nova batted her eyelashes innocently, careless of the groaning from the people still waiting in line.

"No need to act all sweet, Devil Nova," Blaise scoffed, letting smoke frame his face. "You're already on the guest list."

"Oh, thank God." She relaxed her expression and let out a dramatic sigh, returning to her usual malicious tone. "I was about to throw up listening to my own voice."

Blaise let them in with such authority it seemed like the place belonged to him—which wouldn't have been a surprise, considering all Slytherins were known for their family vaults.

Deep down, Nova wished she'd been born into money—not because she cared about luxury, but maybe then her family could've afforded a better house, in a safer neighborhood, surrounded by wards. Maybe her parents would still be alive.

A distraction. She needed to shut those thoughts out somehow, and as the pounding music filled her head, her eyes caught the bar counter.

"Woah, easy tiger, or you'll get sick," Nico chuckled as she finished a cup of rum in endless little sips.

"Cute. You're worrying about me," she growled softly, landing a kiss on his lips. He tasted bitter, sour, salty, peppery—so mismatched and confusing.

"Of course I do. You're my girl." His hands lowered to her arse—not to grope, but to cover it.

Nova noticed how uncomfortable he looked. Everyone was gazing at her with admiration, eyes tracing every inch of exposed skin, careless about being caught.

Maybe she should've dressed more modestly. Let people wonder what was hidden beneath the silk. Be mysterious. Avoid giving Nico a reason to fight anyone who stared—he didn't seem the type to be jealous. Maybe more protective. She wasn't sure.

But the alcohol racing through her veins made her more careless than ever before. Nico wasn't her boyfriend, or at least not officially. She knew that. He knew that. This night was for her, not for him.

"Let's go dance," she gripped his wrist, letting the dress fall free from his shielding hold.

"Oi, Nico," a boy called from the other side of the counter. He looked like Viktor Krum, but with far fewer muscles.

"Wait here," Nico said firmly, turning around. He gave Nova one last look, eyes narrowed but smiling. "Please don't do anything stupid."

"What? When did I ever do something stupid?" she snapped, but then something clicked in her mind. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

As Nico approached his friend, she replayed his words from the start of the night. He was sweet. So sweet and caring. He made this whole fake relationship with benefits look so easy. He made grief look easy. Everything about him was easy. Why couldn't anything else be?

Well, thinking was becoming stressful, and she needed to stick to the plan. Four more vodka shots, then let the bartender make her a cocktail of his choice—fruity and sweet, the kind where you can't taste the alcohol but feel it creeping in.

This was good. Stop the thoughts. Stop the worries. Stop the pain. Stop. Stop. Stop. Nothing else mattered, not even all the people celebrating the champions' victory of the other day.

"That dress doesn't do you justice, blondie."

Ah, there he was. The motherfucker. Of course he'd show up just as she was starting to feel fuzzy and unbothered—prime time for bickering, with a tongue now sharpened by alcohol.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the only person I was trying to avoid," she teased, resting her head on her hand—her body loose, swaying, unsteady.

"Oh yeah? Why? Did I do something wrong?" George leaned on the counter, back to the bartender, looking her straight in the eyes.

"Not yet. But you're not exactly my favorite person today." She couldn't help but smile—why the hell was his presence so amusing?

"So there are days when I'm your favorite," he scoffed, stealing her cocktail and taking a long sip—everything he did felt calculated, and yet relaxing.

There was something oddly intense about the way he looked at her. He wasn't uncomfortable with her exposed skin, but he wasn't ogling either—his eyes were locked onto hers and nowhere else.

A completely different way of perceiving her. People were still watching carefully. She glanced around and noticed other girls wore dresses too, but none higher than mid-thigh. And when everyone else was gazing at her exposed skin, he was looking at the silk—never too far down from that.

"Is everything okay, Georgie?" she whispered, puzzled, leaning dangerously close.

"Yes, why?" He furrowed his brow, resting the cocktail back on the counter without letting go.

"Do you like my dress?" she leaned forward again, one hand brushing against his arm—dangerously electrifying.

"It's very pretty, blondie," he murmured, tensing where he stood. She was stepping too close—one more move and anything could happen.

"Don't you think it's too short?" she asked, just inches from his face. She needed to know—his opinion, apparently, was the only one that mattered.

"Not at all." His jaw clenched, and his hand found her bare back, feather-light. "It's covering you too much, actually."

Oh...

Oh... that felt good to hear. Nova's lips parted slightly, absorbing the words. She felt seen. Not devoured. Not a prey. Seen more than she ever wanted to be seen. More than she always hid from others.

No matter how crowded the club was, how loud the music, or how visible they were to their dates, they felt it—the burning skin, the craving for more touch, more closeness.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the desperate need to prove she had a glimpse of power over him, but Nova didn't entirely dismiss the idea of letting George take her—right here, right now.

She took him in more deeply, scanning his figure like a predator still debating if this was the perfect prey. Black trousers framed his long legs perfectly, and a wrinkled black shirt buttoned to the neck—it looked fairly new, almost just bought.

But it wasn't just the clothes. It was the mischief in his hazel eyes, that constant confident smile, the warmth of his veiny hands, the calm posture—the air of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

So annoyingly handsome in his own way. He reminded her of no one—and that was the most beautiful thing about it.

Like magic, just locking eyes with him, the weight of the world eased a little. It was still there, but it was as if he was carrying part of it too now. As if he could share whatever burden she had been handling alone. Somehow, he was always there, and she couldn't help but smile imagining him being there forever.

However, an insane, stinging pain pressed down in her stomach. Could've been the fact she hadn't eaten much in the last two days, or maybe, again, the lingering sensation of not enjoying something at its fullest. Nova stepped back slightly and looked down at her drink.

"I'd better leave now. Don't want to get you in trouble with your date," he whispered, glancing behind her at Nico, still deep in conversation with classmates.

"You're right. I'm not in the mood to have a catfight with Angelina either," she smirked, spotting Padma and Parvati at a table with a few other Gryffindors.

They shared one last look—a knowing one. Silently wishing one of them would take the next step. Escape their comfort zone. Take control. A kiss would've solved so many problems.

But they didn't. It wasn't right. They had dates—people with real feelings. People who weren't playing power games. It wasn't worth it.

Time stopped, allowing them this. The only thing they could do was stare, knowing there was still too much between them until they were fully ready for each other. She promised herself not to use him to get over the grief, and she would hold on to that for eternity—even if it meant not having him in the end.

Nova looked away first, ordered another cocktail, and took a quick shot. George walked over to the Gryffindor table. Now the club felt so cold, so empty, so uncomfortable.

He didn't look back—but he knew exactly how high her dress rode up when she moved, and she wished not being close enough to admire it was driving him crazy.

Maybe one day they'd swallow their pride and confess what they wanted. Stop needing to control everything. Maybe one day. But not today. Not tonight. Not now. But when, then?

"Sorry, we were talking about the tournament—"

Nova didn't let Nico finish. She kissed him. Not out of want, but out of desperation. It was easier than sitting in that agonizing limbo—not knowing what George meant, or if he meant anything at all.

But when they pulled back and started walking toward the dance floor, she glanced at George—and immediately saw the shift. His jaw clenched. Eyes darkened. Shoulders tense. Practically fuming.

If she were sober, Nova would've spent hours overthinking his reaction. Used it as a distraction from her grief. Probably driven herself mad without managing to find the right answers.

Luckily, she was drunk and full of bad decisions. One of them being dancing with Nico in the most sensual way she'd ever danced with anyone—this wasn't for him, nor for everyone else. This was for her, and her alone.

"Are you going to put on a show?" he whispered, sending death glares at the boys around them—their eyes on Nova like wolves eyeing prey.

"I'm warming up for later," she winked, locking her arms behind his neck and swinging her hips to the beat.

In that moment, lost in her own little bubble, she was effortlessly herself—free of fear, full of poetry and mess, with a touch of magic. Everything that made people feel something.

But Nico couldn't match her energy. He was too tense. Too distracted by the stares. His possessiveness took over—there was, for the first time, a glimpse of darkness invading his eyes. A memory lingering somewhere that he was making a strong effort to hide.

"That's enough. Let's go." He gripped her arm tighter than intended, growing extremely concerned out of nowhere.

"Oh, just one more song," she giggled, circling him faintly.

"Nova, please, let's go." His voice was firm, fists at his waist, not entirely angry but not happy either—typical boy behavior. Annoying, but familiar.

She had no intention of leaving. She danced more seductively, caressing his back, teasing him with every move. Nova belonged to no one. She was her own.

It was unreasonable behavior. It wasn't jealousy. What the hell was it then? A need for control? Of course not—he wasn't the type. Fear of something? He always looked so brave. Whatever it was, Nova continued dancing, because that's all she cared about in that moment.

"I need a drink, stay here." He raised his arms in defense and stormed off. He didn't wait for her to stop him—he knew she wouldn't.

Nova froze, realizing what had just happened. The distraction faded, but a strange relief washed over her. At least he cared. At least he was showing something. Proving something. Fuck! She needed another drink too, but the bar counter looked so distant right now.

Nico was tomorrow's problem. She could see him talking with a few friends, trying to calm himself from this mental episode. Tonight was hers—to not feel, to live in her little bubble.

Unfortunately, it didn't last. A handsome boy offered her a drink. She sipped it. It burned all the way from her throat until reaching her empty stomach. The mid-heel stilettos became unbearably uncomfortable, almost as if she had gained weight in that split second and nothing could support her anymore.

The corners of her eyes turned watery—probably the failed makeup now getting revenge and threatening to run. But her eyes felt tired, heavy again, almost as if they hadn't closed in thousands of years. The room spun. The music turned into one steady pitch in her ears.

She gripped the boy's shoulder lazily, feeling a tornado of pain crawling up her spine until it all came crashing down. Blank. Complete, agonizing, endless blank—until she sank into unconsciousness.

The last thing she remembered were arms wrapping around her, lifting her out of the club—icy air slapping her face like death itself had come to claim her soul, and maybe let her meet her parents once again.

Chapter 14: Peeling Oranges

November 26, 1994

The sunlight hit Nova's eyelids like a forest fire creeping closer with every movement. Only the chirping of birds was audible, reaching her ears like a tender melody, as if someone was slowly raising the volume.

As she woke, a pounding headache hammered at her skull, goosebumps rose from tossing the sheets off her body, her throat burned as if flames were inside it, and a tight grip on her stomach made her groan in pain.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispered, massaging her temples harshly. "Fucking fuck!"

She sat on the edge of the bed, careless of her surroundings, but something was wrong—more than the fact she couldn't remember anything from last night—she wasn't wearing her dress anymore.

Someone had changed her while she was unconscious. Now covering her shivering skin was an oversized T-shirt—red, wrinkled, worn, with printed letters she couldn't quite focus on right now.

Nova glanced around the dim room—two identical beds, Quidditch posters plastered on the walls, all sorts of pranking tools, and other bizarre objects she couldn't even identify—was she in the twins' dorm?

It couldn't be. It was too small to be a Hogwarts room, and the quiet outside the window didn't match the magical, bustling atmosphere of the castle—where the hell was she?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," was all she could mutter.

But when Nova tried to stand, everything started spinning, and nausea rose fast—it sat at the back of her throat, metallic and sour, pushing to escape.

Before making a mess, she rushed out of the room, and it took her three doors to finally find a bathroom.

She threw up loudly, nearly suffocating, gripping the toilet edge as her blonde hair fell loose around her face—it was, disgustingly, the best feeling in the world.

Not just the relief of the alcohol leaving her system, or the hangover that would soon fade, but the excuse to let out everything she had bottled up.

With eyes still closed, she felt them tearing, crying from this simple gesture and amplifying all the tears she had held back in the past days. Her chest rose and fell at an uncontrollable speed. It could easily have been mistaken for a heart attack—or something worse—given the intensity of it.

Without noticing, her hair was no longer in the way. Someone had entered, holding it back to keep it from getting stained. A gentle hand caressed her back, murmuring soft reassurances in sync with her movements—it wasn't helping much, but at least she wasn't forcing herself to hide.

It took Nova nearly twenty minutes before she sank back onto the cold bathroom tiles, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging herself—someone sat in front of her, and for once, seeing those melted hazel eyes was slightly less annoying than usual, even warm, like a newly lit campfire.

"Are you all right?" Fred knelt beside her, handing her a towel to wipe her lips.

"Yes," she murmured, cleaning the mix of tears and something else very disgusting from her face. "Where am I?"

"The Burrow. My house," he said, glancing around with a soft smile. "You were too wasted to sneak back into the castle."

"What happened last night? Did I do—"

"It wasn't your fault, Nova." He sat across from her, legs spread wide—these fucking twins always took up more space than necessary. "A jerk drugged your drink, and you blacked out."

"Oh..." She looked down, ashamed—when had she become so naive? Not even checking what she was drinking. "Who was he?"

The question sounded stupid. One of the stupidest that had ever left her mouth. She wasn't sure why she wanted to know, but the words slipped out before her mind could process. It was too much. Everything was.

Fred cleared his throat, and Nova slowly looked up. He was clearly uncomfortable—whether by the question itself or by having to explain. He wasn't one to keep secrets. He was all honesty and mischief. Of that, she was sure.

"Let's just say you wouldn't be able to recognize him now," he chuckled softly. "George made sure of it."

Nova blinked quickly, processing his words, trying to figure it out instead of asking more questions—had George beaten someone up for... her?

It was, rationally, the human thing to do to a dirtbag who drugged girls. Being punched to a pulp seemed fair. But being the reason for it didn't make Nova feel as good as it should have.

Not because she cared about others' well-being, but because she would never want to put the people she cared about in danger.

And even if she and George were in a constant power struggle, always bickering and insulting each other at every opportunity, she—annoyingly—cared about him too.

"Where is he?" she asked quietly. It felt strange to appear so vulnerable in front of someone—so new, so uncertain.

"Downstairs with the girls," he said, starting to look concerned. "Nova, last night, when we brought you here, you started talking about your parents."

Oh, of course. Of all the things she could've said drunk, her mind had rushed to the worst memory of her life and sought comfort in her friend's arms.

Was that what she should've done sober? Was that what her heart craved all along—just to be listened to? Nova felt it was wrong—to let others carry her burden. It wasn't fair. It wasn't their fight.

She looked down briefly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, noticing the tremor in her fingers with every slight movement. She had ruined this. All her effort to keep it a secret, and now it was out. Everything would change, and she braced herself for the strong and painful impact.

"I'm hungry. Is there something to eat?" she said instead of letting out a thousand agonies.

Fred parted his lips, probably wanting to press further, but held back. He stood and helped her to her feet. Nova avoided his gaze as much as possible, knowing that if she met the hopeless hope in his eyes, she would break even more.

In some ways, he resembled her father so much. Besides the height and the mischief, both carried that glimpse of protectiveness toward her without making a fuss. Fred had never openly told her he cared. Louis had said it only when strictly necessary.

It was reassuring knowing she had Fred. It was painful knowing she no longer had her father. But maybe—if she wanted to believe in Divination's lessons about fate and destiny—it seemed this ginger had been sent to her to heal the wounds left by her father. Maybe a chance to revive that long-lost love.

As they walked slowly downstairs, the chatter and smell of food hit her roughly—why was she getting so nervous to see her friends? The stinging pain reappeared, and it wasn't from the hangover this time.

There it was, that look on Padma and Parvati's faces as soon as Nova appeared in the kitchen—this was what she had tried to avoid, the reason she hadn't wanted them to know about her parents.

Their amused expressions shifted into the most heartbreaking sight—it was clear they were weighing their words, studying what to say in fear she would break at any moment. It wasn't spontaneous or warm, it was calculated and careful.

They surely felt she was made of glass right now—so fragile and delicate she should be handled gracefully, as though anything could trigger a breakdown. Well, more than her daily ones.

"Morning," Padma smiled faintly, her lips twitching, unsure how wide to talk without making her uncomfortable.

"Do you feel all right?" Parvati murmured, pouring water into everyone's glasses, avoiding eye contact.

Nova simply nodded, taking in the surroundings. This place looked ridiculously comfortable. Not big. Way too cluttered. It smelled of burnt wood, marshmallows, and tea. How could a place feel so familiar? So warm? So welcoming? It was magical—more than any enchanted place on earth.

There wasn't much on the table. Only chocolate muffins and fresh seasonal fruit. She smiled softly at the mismatched chairs, at the clock on the wall showing all the Weasley members' faces and their current locations. Most were out. Only the twins were home.

Not even sure what to do now, Nova wandered a little around the open space until, gazing out the window, she caught sight of a ginger head just a few meters away near a small lake—he was sitting on the grass, staring at the horizon like the true main character of his own ridiculous story.

"I'll go tell him to come eat," Fred shouted, gripping the doorknob.

"No, wait." Nova immediately locked her fingers around his wrist. "I'll go."

What. The. Fuck. She blinked quickly, wondering why her body had reacted this way. She didn't even know what to say to him, let alone talk in private. Now she just looked desperate for him in front of everyone.

This had to be the hangover effect. It must be. She clung to this firm belief. There was no way of taking back her words, so she simply took a deep breath and headed outside.

Since she'd even forgotten to put something on her feet, the not-so-cut grass brushed against her skin, almost tickling. She forced herself not to grin like a maniac while walking—even if no one could see her face anyway.

The closer she got, the more his signature scent filled her lungs. She didn't even care to take in the surroundings of the vast field around The Burrow. She was more determined and scared than ever before. Not even sure what she was supposed to say.

"Can I sit next to you?" she muttered, already lowering herself beside him, not even waiting for an answer.

"Since when do you have so many manners, blondie?" he teased, observing her carefully, all disheveled from the hangover—there was a world of jokes he could've thrown at her.

"Don't get used to it, asshole," she snapped, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees.

Silence fell—not tense as Nova had expected, just the two of them, both too scared to speak, letting the cold yet oddly comforting November air settle on their bodies. They breathed in and out loudly, unsure of what would happen next.

But the slight twitch of his arm, resting behind her back on the gravel and letting their shoulders subtly touch, made her feel that maybe she should talk first. This would be hard.

"Last night you didn't ask where I'd been," she whispered tenderly, almost inaudible. "I disappeared and you didn't want to know why."

That was stupid. Apparently, her mind couldn't formulate the right questions for this moment. For this whole situation. She had never struggled to speak before—it was one of the things she was best at. And yet, everything coming out sounded stupid and useless.

"The girls told me you could've killed me for how angry at the world you were," he said, shaking his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"But you still came to me at the club." She slowly looked up at him, so slow it seemed time had stopped between them.

"Yeah, well, I figured out recently that it's not that fucking easy to stay away from you."

Her breath caught in her throat. If she had bet on what he would say, she would've lost a lot of money. She didn't expect it—and it felt beautiful to hear.

The second their eyes locked, she fell victim to his honesty. George wasn't just telling the truth. He was telling his truth. He looked almost faint from the weight freed from his chest, and yet she could swear there was a glimpse of regret—maybe from realizing something so revealing.

And the best part was, nothing had changed. His eyes still carried that fire, that spark, that desperate need to see beyond what she showed. There was no pity, no awkward acknowledgment of what she'd been through—he knew, and nothing seemed to have changed.

"Thank you for last night," she whispered, staring straight ahead. "I don't even want to imagine what that guy could've done to me if it wasn't for you."

"Well, well, look who's growing soft all of a sudden," he smiled, sliding his hand toward her lower back—still close, but not quite.

"Huh, fuck it. I take it back," she snapped with narrowed eyes, hiding how good his touch felt.

"All right, you're welcome, blondie," he scoffed, feeling her hair brush against his skin. "And next time you dare to put on a dress that short, make sure you've got a real man by your side to protect you."

Nova could hear her own heart pounding faster. She forced a small smile, careful not to show too much. God, she wanted to show more, but her body refused to cooperate. She turned slightly, mischief growing all of a sudden—he had never once looked away. His eyes had been fixed on her the whole time.

"Thanks for the advice, but I don't need it." She took a pretentious deep breath, clinging to the little control she had left. "Because I know it doesn't matter who I'm with—you'll always be around."

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure about that?" He tilted his head slightly—half inviting, half demanding.

"Because you're clearly obsessed with me," she teased, tracing his jaw while leaning dangerously forward.

Between the quiet atmosphere, the sun landing perfectly on their skin, their needy eyes and racing heartbeats—it felt like the right moment to finally kiss, to explore this frustrating magnetic pull between them. It could've been one of those scenes straight out of a romantic book.

However, George and Nova were anything but like a novel. He wasn't the mysterious white knight, and she wasn't the elegant princess—there was nothing gentle in their way of expressing themselves.

"Shut up, I'm not," he said instead, pressing his palm directly to her face to shove her away—not aggressive, but certainly a way to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Aww, there's no need to be embarrassed, Georgie," she teased, unable to contain her laughter while springing to her feet. "George Weasley is in love with me!"

She started shouting like a child, louder than ever, ready to run if he dared get up and chase her. His eyes widened in shock—she looked mental, still drunk, or utterly joyful for no reason.

"George is obsessed with me!" she kept going, growing more mischievous with every step. "George can't stay away from me!"

"All right, that's it. You're dead," he snapped as he jumped up from the grass with such determination she couldn't help but laugh louder.

Nova rushed away, not even sure in which direction, careless of her bare feet scratching against the gravel. Fortunately it hadn't rained, and there were no glass shards—otherwise she would've easily fallen, again, and gotten hurt, again.

He didn't waste any time, though it was clear he was slowing down more than necessary. She wasn't good at physical activity, and running looked more like a fast, unsteady walk.

Still, Nova did everything possible to fuel his irritation. She kept mocking him, shouting how in love and obsessed he was. No one was around to listen anyway, so there was no harm in making this declaration public. Even breathless, she kept going, more amused than ever.

It was relieving—though she wouldn't admit it. Saying it out loud washed away a fragment of the worries about how this day might go, allowing a ray of sunshine before the devastating storm of explaining everything to her friends.

Just as George's hand almost caught her wrist, she swerved left and escaped. Then again a few meters later. And again, and again—until she could almost feel her heart drop onto the grass from sheer fatigue. But she kept going. This felt good.

"Why so offended?" She smiled, stopping an arm's length away. "There are plenty of boys in love with me already—it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to my charm."

"What charm? Tragic backstory and sarcasm? I've read at least twenty books with a main character like that," he teased, stepping forward as she stepped back in sync.

"Aw, that's cute. When did you learn how to read?" she tried to spit venomously, but feeling so at ease, the words came out softer than intended.

The comeback was clearly crawling to the tip of his tongue. George was torn between grabbing her to end this silly game, or keeping it going forever until she was speechless—fortunately, fate decided this scene was too ridiculous to let play out.

"Kids, come inside to eat. Now!" Parvati shouted with such authority they both felt defeated instantly.

Nova was the first to walk back—or rather, backward—making sure he wouldn't dare stick a foot out to trip her in the grass. She never broke eye contact until slipping past Parvati, who stood like the only adult figure in the entire Burrow.

George, however, wasn't disappointed at all. At least he had brought back that maniac smile to her face. And if breakfast turned sad, he would find a way to bring it back again. And again. And again.
Fuck. He was obsessed with seeing her smile.

As soon as they sat down at the table, Nova did everything possible to cling to that lingering happiness. She placed a chocolate muffin and an orange in front of her before sipping water—all eyes burning on her, impossible to ignore.

"All right, I'll give you ten minutes to ask everything you want—starting now," she said dryly, bracing herself for impact.

Taken by surprise, Padma and Parvati looked at each other, debating how not to waste this opportunity. There was so much on their minds that choosing only a few questions wouldn't satisfy their curiosity.

They debated whether it was better to let it go, to wait until one day she might open up without a time limit or without feeling forced—but this was Nova. She'd rather mop the entire castle with a toothbrush than talk about feelings.

"What were you like before... all this?" Fred murmured, tearing apart his muffin on the plate.

A collective hum of acknowledgment escaped everyone's lips. It sounded fairly stupid at first, but then they all tried—tried to imagine Nova without grief. Even she was struggling to remember who she had been before that terrible night.

Loss had drained something from her, but she couldn't recall what. She had always been angry and rude, bold and sarcastic. She had always carried this fierce personality and desperate need for a challenge—she had always been this way, for as long as she could remember.

"Is it bad if I say nothing has changed? It just became more painful to feel, but... I was always like this," she murmured, sounding convincing enough.

There was no reason to lie about it. Not that she was good at lying anyway. She was sure this was the truth. But it wasn't reassuring. It only meant she had sought an excuse to act this way all along, until grief gave her one—only to realize it wasn't grief responsible for these questionable behaviors.

Yet deep down, there was a stinging voice listing all the things she hadn't been before grief. But the sound was blocked. The voice couldn't reach her ears, couldn't finally provide an answer to everyone—including herself.

"Do you have any suspects on who killed them?" Parvati asked next, her voice cracking slightly at the mere mention of something so intense.

"No, not really. Aurors are still working on the case, but I'm sure they're just eating donuts in the office all day long," she scoffed, finishing her chocolate muffin.

Nova peeled an orange next—delicately, so slowly it felt like freeing the fruit from its skin was the only important thing in the world. Under everyone's worried eyes, she didn't dare look up to meet a glimpse of guilt, remorse, or anything that could trigger tears.

With precise movements, she separated the orange into perfect halves on top of her plate. Then she picked the most beautiful one—the juiciest, most captivating, probably the sweetest—and turned to give it to George. She didn't look at him. She just handed it over with such casualness it seemed like something she'd been doing her whole life.

It took only a second before she realized the gesture. Now the eyes weren't only burning on her but on him as well. Fuck. No.

He didn't say anything. He gripped the halve, a puzzled expression forming. He inspected it to make sure it wasn't poisoned. He smelled it to make sure it wasn't poisoned. He gazed back at Nova, making sure she wasn't someone else under Polyjuice Potion pretending to act kind and sweet.

It wasn't. It was her. Nova had just thought about him in a delicate moment. He wondered if she always thought of him during delicate moments. At this point, it could've been poisoned and he would still eat it—if it meant she might trust him enough to share more with him in the future.

Amused in his usual soft way, George ate the orange in silence, waiting for the situation to unfold before his eyes, observing her carefully—ready for either another orange peel or a nearby mental breakdown. He was prepared for both.

Without noticing, the Patils had fallen into casual chatter, almost forgetting they were supposed to suppress their curiosity after hours of imagining all sorts of things about Nova. For now, they were simply content that she was safe. Everything else would come with time—or at least, they hoped so.

"And then when that guy started talking to me, Johnson said—"

"Oh no! Fuck, fuck, fuck," George cut Padma off, tilting his head back and covering his face with his hands, breathing in shock.

For some reason, the three of them sitting across from George and Nova gazed at her for answers—why was she supposed to know what was happening? She had just woken up hungover and with no memories of last night. This was all so confusing.

She stared at him with a puzzled expression, trying to read beyond his silence. She couldn't help but notice how tense the muscles in his bare arms were. The dimples at the corners of her eyes deepened as he lowered his hands very, dangerously slowly.

Fuck. He was good to look at. Nova promised herself never to drink again if it meant hangovers made him more attractive than necessary. But since this was still the intimacy of her mind, she allowed herself to take him in—to archive and replay later on an endless loop.

"Fuck! I forgot Angelina at the club." He was visibly guilty, but not completely sad about it—when he lowered his hands fully, there was a smirk on his face.

"How the fuck did you forget your girlfriend?" Nova furrowed her brows, irritation growing—slapping his arm for the mere excuse to touch him.

Even if she wasn't Angelina's biggest fan at the moment, it wasn't right to be so careless with someone you were supposed to care about. She had feelings, and he had no right to play with them—well, neither had Nico with a C, but that was another story.

"Well, sorry, but I was busy carrying your unconscious ass away," he snapped, crossing his arms.

"Oh, don't you dare use me as an excuse for being a shitty boyfriend." She mimicked his pose, already regretting not actually throwing up on his bed.

"Right, because you're such an expert in relationships," he scoffed pretentiously. "Where was that Bulgarian gentleman last night when you blacked out?"

Silence fell instantly, both reminded of who they were supposed to be with right now—instead of fighting each other, again, inside The Burrow.

Nova knew she'd have to talk to Nico eventually and resolve things—he wasn't a bad person, he just had a different way of seeing things, of seeing her.

And, most importantly, she needed him as a distraction, an anchor for the moments when her mind was drowning in sadness over her parents—or full of questions about George. Fucking brain, working harder than it should.

"God, you two are insufferable," Fred smirked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing gaze. He apparently knew something they still didn't.

"By the way, Angelina went back to the castle," Padma said, unbothered by their little show.

"With Katie," Parvati added dryly sipping water.

George tensed slightly at the names being thrown out. Nova couldn't help but scan him slowly, debating what was making him so nervous. A mysterious boy, this one—more than she had ever anticipated.

They returned to eating without saying another word—at least those two did. Fred, Padma, and Parvati were in full swing, talking about the party, the tournament, and countless other things. They were an amusing trio to watch, always knowing everything about everyone.

But at least the questions were done for now. Nova was sure her friends would do the impossible to discover more, and she would happily share as little as possible—just enough to give them the satisfaction of an answer. Talking too much would make her seem weak, too fragile.

However, after cleaning the table, something shifted in the air. George, unfocused and completely absorbed in his own thoughts, carelessly dropped three Hogwarts yearbooks onto the table. Everyone frowned in confusion and intrigue.

"So, I found more sketched pictures of your parents. Now, don't get me wrong—for as much as I like vandalism, this is very concerning, even for me," he said in a tone resembling that of a fairytale narrator, not amused but not uninterested either.

She didn't flinch in the slightest. She simply leaned back in the chair, curious about how this would unfold, but made no effort to intervene. Whatever he was thinking about would be only and exclusively on him from now on.

Padma and Parvati hesitated, gripping the yearbooks before finally finding the pages George was referring to. Group pictures in the Ravenclaw common room—only Celeste and Louis surrounded by daggers, blood, and threats.

Nova only peeked, ignoring the comments on how similar she looked to her mother, or how stiff her father appeared. She peeled another orange into perfect halves, but this time didn't share any. She swallowed slowly, then ripped the skin apart into tiny pieces.

"One of these people is surely the killer," Fred murmured, tapping the page like a detective from an old movie.

"Yeah, we should investigate each one of them," Padma nodded, searching around the Burrow until she grabbed a notebook. "Let's narrow down the names and research back at the castle."

"And then what? Stalk them until they confess?" Parvati scoffed, being the only one able to think straight. "We should take this to the Auror Department and let them handle it."

"And where's the fun in that?" George smirked, peeling an orange for himself but leaving the skin for Nova to shred. "They'd only ask a few questions and then go cheat on their wives after clocking out of work."

The conversation lit up immediately. Everyone had very different opinions on how to handle the situation. Each had reasonable points to consider. From time to time, absurd ideas came out—like flying all the way back to America and using Nova as bait to make the killer expose himself.

Padma and Fred made everything sound simple, suggesting they just find the people in the pictures and observe them from afar until they were sure none were guilty. They claimed you could tell just by the way someone looked at Nova.

But Parvati explained it wasn't that easy to stalk people. They were students, supposed to attend classes. On weekends they were allowed to travel, but not too far—certainly not all the way to America. She was the one keeping everyone grounded.

Not George. He was a mix of both. Nova couldn't help but wait for his voice to interrupt at any moment—rational and surprisingly mature, yet making silly jokes to ease the situation. Never dismissing the mystery, never ignoring it.

They were all so eager to solve this. To help with the grief. To face the killer, even risking their lives. They were ready to follow Nova to the other side of the world if necessary, as long as she allowed them to be part of it.

They looked ridiculous. Kids trying to be adults. Students pretending to be Aurors. They seemed ready to go to war at any moment.

A chilling lack of ethics washed over the second all eyes fixed on her. Nova gazed up, unsure where the conversation had ended, or if they had asked her something and were waiting for an answer. She scanned them with utter concern and then melted again under the heavy reassurance in their eyes.

"Why would you do all this for me?" she murmured, trying not to give in to the crack in her voice. "I don't need your help. I can do this alone."

"We know you can, but we want to help," Padma cooed sincerely, tapping her fingers nervously on the wooden table.

"What if something goes wrong and one of you gets hurt? I can't deal with that right now," she pressed, growing more determined to change their minds.

"Aww, that's cute—you're worrying about us," Fred teased, leaning forward slightly, knowing his docile tone would only irritate her.

"Have you considered all the things that could happen? You could get arrested for stalking someone. Trust me, I know that law very well," she crossed her arms, now the only reasonable one in the room.

"Then we'd better not get caught," Parvati murmured, gaining attention. Even though she didn't agree with the plan, she wasn't exactly stopping it either.

"But what if—"

"Oh, fuck, blondie, just shut up and let us help you," George groaned, tilting his head back before locking eyes with her. "Stop with this tough girl attitude. We're in—whether you're with us or not, we'll find out who killed your parents. End of discussion."

With that, he disappeared upstairs. Nova could swear he'd come back down soon, just wanting to make a dramatic exit. Probably waiting in his room for the right moment, feeling all proud to have been the one to end the debate in the best way possible.

Deep down, she was grateful for that. It wasn't entirely her begging to be helped, nor was it her completely shutting them out. George had managed to make the decision she couldn't—too afraid of seeming either too weak or too harsh.

He always knew what to say and do. A kind of magic no spell or potion could create. She simply shrugged at her friends in acknowledgment. This was happening, and in some way, it was out of her hands now.

Nova wasn't used to all this love and understanding. She wouldn't even know what to do with it. But the look in her friends' eyes screamed they would teach her anyway—and that might be enough, for now, to let her soul rest from carrying all this pain alone.

Chapter 15: Catrina Baird

December 2, 1994

Nova said that grief hadn't changed anything in her. That she was always this bold, reckless, rude, and pitiful. That was a lie.

Before experiencing grief, Nova was the type of girl who never forgive and forget. It was a mantra she never believed in. If someone messed up, it was their choice, and there wasn't the possibility of a second chance.

And still, she was now lying in Nico with a C's bed, caressing his bare back while he slept, after a whole night of being the only outlet for all her rage.

He had apologised earlier this week for leaving her in the middle of the dance floor. She didn't apologise for wearing a dress too short. He had apologised for not being there when she lost consciousness. She didn't apologise for drinking something without checking first.

If this had happened months ago, Nova would've gladly accepted the apologies and simply never seen him again. Not even waved at him in the hallways, and probably spread a fake rumour about his weak sexual performances.

Not now. She had accepted his apologies and snuck into his room every night. Spent the day with him in the library while the rest of his friends seemed too busy finding out who killed her parents.

She agreed to follow them in case there was someone to stalk. She didn't agree to do research about Celeste and Louis during their school years.

"Do you want to have breakfast together?" Nico murmured, enjoying the touch more than necessary.

"No," she simply said, tracing lazy patterns on his skin, which resembled too much the letter G on an endless loop.

"Is that all you have to say? No joke? No insult?" He chuckled softly, slowly turning around until he faced her.

Nova simply shrugged, avoiding his gaze while continuing to trace his bare chest. Now under his silver chain, she made a heart, then an infinity symbol, two triangles—until her mind unwillingly drew countless G's.

One week had passed since the promise of finding out who killed her parents, and George seemed true to his words. Fuck, that boy was so determined and stubborn.

When he said it at The Burrow, she thought it was mere talk, nothing that would last once the reality of their busy student lives became heavier to carry.

However, they were doing it. Fred and George were never in the Great Hall for meals. They were either researching in the library or somewhere in the dungeons doing who knows what.

Padma and Parvati managed to narrow down everyone in the pictures. Most of them had died in the First Wizarding War. A few were living in the Muggle world. A couple could be found in Diagon Alley.

That's when they decided to start this mission. Nova agreed to go with them only on one condition: she wouldn't speak to anyone on that list or make any effort to interrogate them.

It was already painful watching someone and having the slightest suspicion they could be responsible for her parents' death. Having to engage with them would only make it worse.

"Are you coming back here tonight?" Nico with a C's voice pulled her back to the moment unwillingly.

"If I don't die from my friends' stupid plans," she said dryly, forcing her body to abandon the sheets this early.

"Where are you going? It's six in the morning." Nico frowned, extremely confused that she was up before the sun itself.

"It's a long story. I won't explain it to you later," she said simply, quickly dressing up and leaving the room without another word.

Nova took the longest path toward the Great Hall entrance. She avoided the moving portraits. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She went up to the third floor only to go back down again. She looked lost even though she knew perfectly where she was going.

It was a failed attempt to arrive late in hopes her friends would leave without her. To not engage in this stalking mission and be forced to hear someone talk about her parents—they were dead, there was no way to travel the highway of memories.

However, it was useless. As soon as Nova stepped into the gathering point, they were all there. Padma and Parvati talking eagerly, almost like they were on drugs. Fred and George sat on a nearby bench with their eyes closed and heads tilted back, still too deep in sleep.

"You're late," Parvati snapped with crossed arms—always so authoritarian, this one.

"Yeah, sorry, I got here as soon as I wanted," she said, stretching her eyes, careless of how rude it sounded.

"Okay, so here's the plan. We've found out Catrina Baird works in central London, my sister will stay here making sure no one notices our absence while—" Padma's words didn't find a place to bounce or be heard before she was cut off immediately.

Nova waved her off and roughly kicked the twins, warning it was time to go. She had told them all she didn't want any details. She would follow them and that was it for her part of the deal. No need to know everything the Patils planned.

Fortunately, neither Fred nor George were in the mood to talk about the mission. Inside the Hogwarts Express, they fell into a soft sleep as soon as their bodies touched the seats.

Nova claimed the spot near the window, gazing outside as the castle slowly shrank into the distance. When sudden silence invaded her ears, she looked around the compartment and a smile formed unwillingly on her lips.

Padma had fallen asleep too, on top of Fred's shoulder. And his head was pressed against hers as well. They looked so peaceful. So made for each other, Nova felt like throwing up from the sweetness of the moment.

Those two were doing a wonderful job keeping their relationship intact. They had stopped messing around and now focused solely on talking about feelings. They were very bad at it, but at least they were trying.

For a second, Nova squeezed her eyes just enough to blur her vision. They looked painfully like her parents. Besides the hair colour and completely different personalities, of course.

They were here. At all times. They were here, inside this train, going to confront criminals, interrogate people, and risk expulsion just to let her heart rest in peace and never live in fear the killer might catch her.

Fuck it! Trelawney was good at her job too. Now Nova was actually considering the universe really had the power to send the right people at the right moment. To make them friends, out of all the students inside the castle.

"Can you stop doing that, blondie?" George murmured with crossed arms and head still tilted back.

"Doing what?" She turned to him, extremely confused—she thought he was sleeping deeply.

"Thinking this early in the morning. I can hear the engine of your mind working from here," he smirked, still with closed eyes, relaxing more and more into his seat. "Be honest, tough girl, are you scared?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, returning to gaze out the window.

That was a lie. Nova hoped she was convincing enough. Well, she wasn't exactly scared. She was simply utterly, deeply, terrified.

What if Catrina Baird was the killer? What if, as soon as she locked eyes with the woman, chaos erupted and everyone got murdered? What if she wasn't the killer and this was only a waste of time?

What if this hope of finding out who killed her parents—and why—would only hurt more than anticipated? What if the reason for this cruel act was something so silly and unnecessary it could've been avoided? What if—

"It's okay to be scared, you know," he murmured gently, taking her hand and tracing patterns along her palm. "Don't laugh, but I thought there was a werewolf in my wardrobe until I was twelve. Fred was the one always checking to reassure me there wasn't."

Nova slowly turned to him, feeling faint at the mere touch. He was looking down at their hands, his eyes had lost focus and seemed trapped inside his own mind. It was George, but a different one. It didn't change his usual mischief, but it shifted into something more useful than irritating.

"And when I was sixteen, me and Fred raced with our brooms around the castle. He fell on the roof and held himself for a split second before I caught him." He spoke as if narrating a fairy tale rather than something real. "I was so scared he was dying, I couldn't sleep for weeks, just to make sure he was safe."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered, almost inaudible, taking in every detail of his face.

"I know about your parents now. It's only fair you know something about me too," he chuckled softly before locking eyes with her. "But if you dare tell someone, I'll cut your hair so short you'll look like Longbottom's twin."

The agonising touch didn't end while Nova smiled faintly, already imagining a little version of George pissing his pants for doing reckless things with his brother. She smiled, absorbing his fear and almost forgetting her own.

But she didn't pull her hand away. It was gentle. Tender. Annoyingly warm despite his cold and stiff posture. He traced patterns, looking down at it. She couldn't tell what they were without focusing too much. A few felt like hearts. Others like the letter N, but she wasn't sure.

She relaxed back in her seat and observed him carefully. Like it was the first time meeting him all over again.

Kind of a pretty boy, isn't he? But she wouldn't admit it out loud, or else he would never shut up about it.

There was so much about him to consider despite the confidence he projected. He was annoying. Hilarious. The world's biggest asshole. He could get on her nerves in a split second. And he was kind. Oh, he was so fucking kind. He had this ability of never being in the wrong, never being the one to point the finger at.

He was confusing. One second he was insulting her. The next, he was tracing patterns on her hand. He was a child. The type of boy parents usually tell you fancies you but doesn't know how to express it—mothers usually say a bully is only a kid with a crush.

Nova had considered that this was the whole purpose of their relationship. Fire feeding fire. Without banter and fights, the fire would extinguish, and they would remain mere smoke until vanishing forever.

He had a girlfriend. God, he was in a relationship with someone and she was making assumptions about them together. It was pathetic and probably the only morally wrong thing she would ever do—she was pitiful, she was selfish, but she wasn't ready to be the reason for another girl's suffering.

Even if Nova didn't know how to name this bond between her and George, she tried not to overthink it now. She let it be whatever it was. Silly, fragile, and fucking good to have. It helped her breathe more than the air itself.

"Does Angelina know what you're doing today?" she murmured after a while, already regretting bringing up the subject. "Does she know you're with... me?"

George seemed to tense on the spot. He stopped tracing patterns for a split second and his eyes roamed through a thousand thoughts all at once. She sighed, already retreating her hand.

However, he gripped it with fierce force, tracing once again. He didn't want to let go and simply turned with his usual stringent smirk imprinted on his face.

"Does Nico know you're with me?" he teased, growing mischievous once again.

"Huh, asshole," she snapped, slapping his chest before crossing her arms stiffly.

"Well, you know what they say, blondie: it takes one to recognise another."

The rest of the ride was silent. Dangerously silent. Nova kept looking outside the window, even if she could see George's reflection in the glass, gazing at her from time to time.

For a second, when everything went dark under an underground tunnel, his eyes were so vivid in the reflection, scanning every inch of her. Knowing he was looking felt stinging, burning, irritating—and utterly good.

Fortunately, it didn't last long before they finally arrived in London. They passed by the central station. Fred and George made fun of Muggles along the way. They had breakfast in a nearby café, which the twins took care of.

Nova could swear she saw them tense at the register. She wasn't far away with Padma, but there was a shift in their posture while paying. They looked endlessly through their pockets for what felt like an eternity until they scraped together the right amount.

However, she didn't say anything. She was well aware the Weasley family wasn't famous for their financial prosperity, but still, she didn't think it was that bad for the boys to barely manage to pay for four coffees.

"Okay, here we are. Stick to the plan," Padma said as they entered a small building in a very questionable neighbourhood.

"What's the plan again?" Nova frowned, ghostly following them without worrying too much about the surroundings.

"You haven't told her yet?" Fred murmured to his brother, growing slightly concerned.

"No, but only because I'm dying to see her reaction." George couldn't contain his laughter the more they stepped inside.

"Tell me what?" Nova snapped as they reached the second floor, and then her heart sank. "What. The. Fuck."

It was a dance studio. A Muggle one. There were at least five couples warming up. That wasn't as shocking as anticipated. What actually made her eyes widen more and more to the point of hurting was the board at the entrance announcing what today's lesson was.

A wedding dance class. Everyone in here was soon to get married and about to learn some kind of waltz or tango—something very close and intimate with each other.

If the plan was to be a fake young couple with a planned wedding, then Nova already turned around to rush away as soon as possible. She couldn't. Fred, George, and Padma stopped her, resembling a brick wall she couldn't trespass.

"Please, Nova, it's the only way we can cross someone off the list," Padma struggled to maintain her grip on her friend's right arm.

"Absolutely fucking not. I'd rather meet my creator than do this," she snapped, fighting for her life to walk past them.

"Oh, c'mon, you would've done it anyway at the Yule Ball. At least now you can learn how to stand on your feet, blondie," George teased, even if he was remarkably impressed by the strength she was using.

"I was planning on burning the whole place down before anyone actually got a chance to dance," she hissed, managing to push them slightly back but still outnumbered.

"Nova, stop, you're making yourself more ridiculous than usual," Fred grinned, finding this all too amusing to focus on not letting her escape.

Everyone with the gift of sight was watching them with utterly confused expressions. Couples stopped warming up and gazed at them, wondering what was truly happening—it looked funny, dangerous, like a kidnapping and a joke all at once.

Just when Nova managed to peek an arm between Padma and Fred, sure that with a little more effort she could sneak past them and finally run away, someone clapped their hands and all attention shifted immediately.

"Good morning class, welcome to—" a docile and sweet tone echoed in the room. "Oh... are you going to join us or about to start a fight?"

Now there was no turning back. Nova understood this might be Catrina Baird. The woman from her parents' picture. The one who could either be narrowed down on the list—or be behind Celeste and Louis's cruel disappearance.

Nova stopped immediately and turned around slowly, very slowly, awkwardly slowly, so much that she could hear Fred and George laugh softly at the scene. There she was. The woman. The killer. The innocent. It wasn't clear.

Identical to the picture in the yearbook. Brown doll-like eyes with very light makeup. A black dress made for standing out, hugging her thin body. Her brown hair wasn't long anymore. It was cut into a short and elegant bob framing a glossy red lipstick.

"So? Which one of you is getting married?" Catrina approached, her mid-stiletto heels pressing on the wooden floor.

"We are," Fred smirked exponentially, wrapping an arm around Padma.

Nova couldn't focus on the surroundings anymore. This woman had lived a life where her parents were part of it too at some point. Even if only during school years, she was the only one who could understand the pain of having lost them—it had been months since Nova met someone she felt so close to.

But she could also be the woman who took them away. She didn't seem violent or cruel. Not even threatening or capable of taking lives. But still, Nova knew what it was like to look angelic while resembling the reincarnation of the devil.

"And we are too." George wrapped an arm around Nova, with even more amusement than his brother. "We planned a June wedding on the beach. You should see my suit. Women will jump on me before I get the chance to say 'I do.'"

"What the hell?" Nova snapped, trying to regain consciousness of the surroundings, but it was too late. The damage was done.

"Wonderful, then. You can change your shoes right there. Hurry up or we'll start without you," Catrina cooed, sparkling with an odd excitement for a woman her age.

From there, it was a maniac scene after another. Nova tried to rush outside again but failed due to the surprising reflexes her friends suddenly had. Then she refused to put on mid-stilettos—Padma did it as a mother would when bringing her daughter to ballet.

Then she refused to even stand up in those, in utter fear of being too tall and looked at as abnormal due to her height. She crossed her arms and remained seated on the bench, ready to throw hands before surrendering to being seen in heels.

Eventually, Catrina warned the class was about to start, and George did the only rational, mature, responsible thing he could think of. He lifted Nova onto his shoulder, resembling a sack of potatoes being transported away.

She slapped him eagerly, trying to be released. She kicked her feet, hoping to hit his face. She punched his back and moved more maniacally than ever before. It was all useless—this boy had more strength than she anticipated.

"See? The world hasn't exploded just because you're a little taller than usual," he smirked as she blinked rapidly. "Also, I'm still taller than you anyway."

"By mere inches," she hissed, feeling all eyes on her—they were surely judging her height and making fun of her in their minds.

"There are times in life when just a few inches make a big difference, blondie. I could provide you with sensory proof of this statement," he teased as they turned toward Catrina, in sync with the rest of the class.

"Huh, you're disgusting." She slapped his chest weakly, making sure her hair fell just enough to hide the blush on her cheeks.

This fucker! This wasn't the moment to make dirty jokes or try to get her mind wrapped around the idea of them together. It was already difficult imagining them dancing without feeling the weight of guilt pressing on her chest, let alone envisioning them in bed.

Fuck! Great! Now she was imagining them in bed. Nothing too sweet or cheesy. Her mind jumped straight to the act itself in a split second. Just him on top, pushing so deep that all the rage in her body could finally find somewhere to rest in peace.

This room was becoming too heated. Nova wasn't able to listen to Catrina explaining the moves or showing them with a partner. She was staring at the mirror wall behind—she was staring at George.

He had some nerve getting all sweet and caring. Acting like the white knight saving her when she blacked out drunk at the party. Saving her when she made herself ridiculous during pool at the pub. Becoming so fucking addictive, like a drug.

But what else besides that? Nothing. They were nothing. He must have some sort of Gryffindor hero complex, getting satisfaction from saving her. There couldn't be any other explanation for putting all this effort into something so rotten like herself.

And still here he was. George was gripping her waist gently, raising her other hand midair to interlock it with his. They started swinging, but her eyes shifted unwillingly back to Catrina.

Why were her friends so sure this woman could be the killer? She was wonderful. She looked so kind while giving directions to a couple nearby. She looked so pure while smiling and talking and breathing.

This was all a waste of time. Nova started wondering if it was time to simply surrender to the idea of never solving this mystery and just live all her life fearing she might be killed too. Her gaze followed Catrina until locking eyes with George right in front of her.

"What's up with your face?" She frowned, noticing his utterly suffocated and shrunk expression.

"You've stepped on my feet like five times already," he murmured in a torn sound, trying to guide the movements.

"Oh, fuck, sorry," she snapped, looking down briefly to adjust the distance she was supposed to keep. "I wasn't paying attention."

As his usual melodramatic self, George gasped in relief as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. There was no need to put on this show, but she smiled faintly while trying to focus on what was happening in the moment.

Couples were following instructions. Padma and Fred were irritatingly good at it. They made everything look so easy to accomplish. They looked like main characters from a fairy tale, just escaping their own book for mere fun.

Catrina seemed content and satisfied that everyone was happy. She had it easy too, apparently, with this class. Everyone was dancing as they should. Everyone was envisioning the first dance at their weddings. Everyone was at ease. And Nova wondered when she would ever be like everyone else.

"It must be exhausting," George murmured, looking down at their feet while guiding the movements effortlessly.

"What is?" She tilted her head slightly, gazing at her hand on his shoulder.

"Being in your head all the time." He chuckled softly before locking eyes with her. "That place must be pretty scary, huh?"

"Yeah, tell me about it." She smiled faintly, hoping the blush in her cheeks wasn't noticeable. "It's just—I—ugh! I don't have control over it and it drives me crazy to think this much."

"I believe there's medication for people like you," he teased, making a bolder move and swinging them confidently around.

"Already tried. I tried everything. Smoked. Drank. Studying. Men. Nothing worked." She was effortlessly being guided by him, not even sure how. "The only time my mind was completely free was—"

Nova's breath caught in her throat, suffocating the following words. She couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not to him. Not admit it. She almost stopped moving from the sudden prank her own mouth was about to pull on her.

The only time her mind was completely free was when they kissed during the Gryffindor party. She thought it was the alcohol for a while, but that was just an excuse. She'd been wasted before he arrived and still her mind had been working at an exponential speed.

The only time her mind was completely free was when they kissed. That kiss that felt like a thousand campfires. That sounded like fireworks all around them. That made her feel strong, brave, happy, confident. That made her feel—and for once, she wasn't scared to feel.

"Oh fuck, here we go again," George rolled his eyes, and the mere sound of his voice pulled her out of her trance. "Can you just fucking stay with me for one minute?"

"I'm fucking trying to! Do you think I do this on purpose?" she shouted, stopping their movements. "If I could stop thinking, I would!"

"Well, if only you'd finish the sentence, I'd know how to help you," he snapped, irritation rising out of nowhere. "Just tell me, Nova. Tell me how to help you."

"You can't!" she shouted again, louder than intended. "No one can! You're wasting your time and wasting my time and wasting these people's fucking time!"

The look on George's face was something Nova knew she would carry in her heart for days, maybe even forever. He wasn't entirely defeated, but his spirit had surely lowered.

She glanced around, noticing everyone had stopped swinging. They were staring at her with concern—and a hint of terror. She looked unhinged, completely crazy, a worrying sight for muggles.

Taken by a surge of rage, Nova gasped in frustration and rushed out of the room after grabbing her things and yanking off the heels. She walked barefoot only because a dramatic exit would've been embarrassing if she'd stayed to put her boots on.

Where to go was unclear. She stood on the sidewalk and, now no longer barefoot, she kicked a steel fence. Then it wasn't enough, so she kicked the nearby tree. That helped—so she did it again, over and over and over.

It was irrational and completely unnecessary. She knew that. But she couldn't help it. The rush of adrenaline mixed with anger and pain and sadness and confusion—all of it swelled in one breath, and she didn't know what to do with it.

George wasn't to blame. Neither was Catrina. Nor Fred or Padma. Not even the one who killed her parents. There had to be a reason they did what they did. There had to be something that explained why Celeste and Louis were taken away from her.

She could feel it burning through her skin. This wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing was supposed to happen. She should've just cried alone in her room, gone to classes, and one day woken up free from grief.

Why the fuck wasn't it that easy, like in the movies? Why did characters simply break free of their shells by living life with their friends? Why wasn't grief the same for everyone else?

"Muggle police take tree safety very seriously, you know," Catrina's voice came soft as the wind—sweet and almost like a hallucination. "If I were you, I'd stop before—"

"Well, good thing you aren't me, then," she snapped venomously, halting her kicks at every non-living object around her.

"No, I'm not. But I understand your pain." Catrina stepped forward until she sat on the foyer stairs. "When you walked in, I thought I was dreaming—that Celeste had come back to me."

Oh... this will hurt. Nova froze on the spot, still facing the poor tree. She didn't turn. She didn't breathe. She stayed there, not even looking for an escape. She wanted to stay hidden in case a tear slid down her face.

"Are you here to know more about your parents? I have plenty of stories about them." Catrina's voice broke slightly, though she remained confident.

"No thanks. I'd rather get an autopsy on myself while I watch," Nova murmured, taking deep breaths—and yes, a tear was already slipping.

"Woah, okay, a simple no would've been enough." Catrina laughed softly but didn't leave. She stayed, waiting.

Wrapped in frustration, Nova sighed loudly before leaning her forehead against the tree. It hurt—but not as much as her pounding heart. There was a door of possibilities opening and closing at once before her.

She could learn more about her parents. It would be good to know about their school years, maybe even uncover if someone had hated them openly. The killer might have had motives—and maybe Catrina knew them.

But the fear of learning something she shouldn't was stronger. Her parents must have done something to be targeted. They must have—or else there was no reason for such cruelty. She wanted to keep their memory intact for now, suffocating her curiosity.

"I just—it's—how did you get over grief? How did you forget about them?" she found herself asking, loud enough to demand an answer.

"I didn't. I think about them every day, especially when some young, bold, soon-to-be bride walks in here with her stiff and unbothered soon-to-be husband." Catrina scoffed—it sounded like a faint laugh laced with vast sadness.

"And then what? You think about them, and what do you do with it?" Nova turned slightly, forehead still pressed to the tree.

"Nothing. I just feel grateful I have memories of them to look back on. That's it."

That fucking easy, huh? Nova rolled her eyes, holding back a maniac laugh. She even smiled as another tear hit the gravel. She didn't feel better—but she understood.

Sensing a sting in her forehead, she leaned back and rubbed the spot the bark had scratched. No blood, fortunately, but it was close.

"Listen, you're young, and you're dealing with this differently than I did. But I'll lend you a secret—they'll always be alive, as long as someone remembers them," Catrina said softly as Nova sat beside her.

"That sounds like something therapists say just to finish the appointment and get their money," she muttered dryly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and staring at her shoes.

"Funny, because that's exactly what my therapist told me when your parents died." Catrina turned to her with the sweetest smile.

"What a waste of money then. You could've found the same quote in a fortune cookie." Nova chuckled, not even knowing what to do with her hands—on her lap, in her hair, crossed arms.

"It wasn't. Therapy helped me, and I'm sure it would help you too."

Those words stayed with Nova the entire ride back to the castle. They arrived just in time for dinner. Fred didn't miss his shift at the McGroover. Padma shared the whole day with Parvati. And George... he disappeared.

On the Hogwarts Express, he had fallen asleep. Once they stepped out, he rushed inside the Gryffindor common room and didn't join dinner. Nova knew it was her fault, but she wasn't sure how to handle it.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be good to talk with someone. She had always believed therapists were nosy people who built careers out of intruding in others' lives. Leeches, even, who got paid to watch people suffer.

However, Catrina said it helped her. And as Nova had already admitted, she'd tried everything. Nothing worked. Maybe this was worth a shot.

Or maybe she'd drive every therapist in the world insane in just one session. Well, better start booking an appointment now—before word spread and no one dared to listen to Nova talk nonstop for an hour.

Chapter 16: Bursting Bubbles

December 7, 1994

He couldn't help her. She said he couldn't help her. She didn't want to be helped. If only Nova wasn't so fucking stubborn, George would have helped her.

That was all he could think about these days, after returning from the not-so-well-ending plan to find out if Catrina was the killer—she wasn't, but that didn't mean they would stop looking.

It was more Padma pleading to keep investigating and Parvati lazily supporting this decision. Fred said he would do whatever his brother wanted, and in that moment George wanted to quit.

Deep down, it was wrong. Nova was just messed up, a little crazy, and grieving in the worst way possible—she surely didn't mean those words, but still, she said them.

"...then this summer you'll make an appearance at my parents' beach house..." Angelina's voice cut through his mind like the most irritating thing in the world. "...you can bring your friends so at least you won't be in my way..."

Blah blah blah. This girl only talked about her very long and detailed plan of faking their relationship. George was starting to believe she would even marry him as long as her parents never found out about her and Katie Bell.

He would only do it depending on the money. Maybe a thousand galleons—or he would be just as happy if she invested in the prank business he was building with his twin.

"...it's not a big house, it will barely fit us all together..." she said dryly, more to Katie than to him. "...Ginny already said she would come and I still have to ask Granger..."

"Wait, what?" Fred snapped eagerly, blinking quickly to regain focus on the conversation. "Our sister has Quidditch camp this summer. I'm sure she'll be too busy."

Something shifted in the air, and George was forced to free his mind from worrying about Nova and scan the table with utter confusion—something was wrong, but he couldn't understand what.

Angelina simply shrugged, returning to list all the beautiful things they would do as a fake couple while bringing her girlfriend with them. Maybe George could convince Parvati to fake-date Katie Bell—at least he'd have someone to talk to.

Then the twins looked at a very tense and silent Ron just beside them. He had been talking with Remus just a second ago—why this sudden mutism?

And apparently their intense, frowning expressions managed to shock their little brother just enough to make him sigh in distress.

"Ginny isn't going to summer camp. Mum and Dad can't afford it," Ron muttered, looking down at his still untouched homework.

Oh, poor Ginevra. She had been so happy when she got admitted that the twins gave her a very hard time throughout the whole day at the Burrow. They started teasing her about how desperately she needed to practice more, saying her Quidditch skills were equal to Longbottom's.

Even if, deep down, both Fred and George were well aware that their little sister was the only one with real talent—maybe even able to pull the whole family out of their financial misery.

Well, her and the twins too, thanks to their prank business. Oh! Right! The business. George locked eyes with Fred and, in sync, they rushed outside of the Great Hall under everyone's confused gazes.

As soon as they turned into an empty hallway, he could feel it burn into his skin. That connection with Fred—thinking the same thing, reaching the same conclusion without having to say a word. They knew. They always knew what the other was about to say.

"How much do we have aside?" Fred snapped, frowning deeply.

"A little more than two hundred galleons," George shrugged, feeling his head explode at the soon-to-start math. "Summer camp is like a thousand galleons."

From there it became a contest of who could find the best idea to gather more money than possible. Fred even considered getting paid to be a fake boyfriend too and explaining it all to Padma, but she would've killed him before he earned the first payment.

George was ready to ask Granger to lend him more students to tutor. She looked way too busy between helping Potter and dating Viktor Krum. If only he could get another pair of kids, everything would double.

Soon there would be a family gathering at Angelina's house—that was fifty galleons, but there weren't many of those. Maybe George could always wrap her parents' minds into hosting more dinners, even once a week if necessary.

Then Fred considered stealing things to resell. George didn't oppose it, but then both imagined Molly's face, the disappointment washing over her while they were dragged to court because of it.

They could use the money they had to start the business anyway, hoping to gain from the investment. There was a chance, though, that they wouldn't make enough profit in time to pay for summer camp before they narrowed down the attendance list.

"I have a headache now," Fred murmured, massaging his temples with closed eyes. "How can Nova feel like this all the time without exploding?"

"Can we not talk about her?" George hissed as they walked into their bedroom, jumping onto his bed.

"Oh please, don't tell me you're still mad at her," Fred grinned, jumping into his own bed. "She was just having a mental breakdown. I'm sure she didn't mean it."

Now wasn't the right time to rethink it all, but just as the words left his brother's mouth, George's mind rushed back again to everything he had fought to wipe away and distract himself from.

Not that there was much to consider. Nova had said the truth. He couldn't help her. He had never experienced grief. He didn't know what a person needed in these cases. He couldn't help her—and she wouldn't let him anyway.

But since when was he being a white knight savior, anyhow? George was, yes, a Gryffindor, but he always thought it was about bravery and loyalty. Not surely for the hero complex most of his house had—some more than others.

He had never been one to seek this sense of glory in helping people. And still, when it came to Nova, it pressed down in his chest, this desperate need to be the one saving her.

What a fucking situation he had gotten himself into. Wanting to help the only person that didn't want help.

That stinging confusion and sense of defeat in not knowing how to handle everything remained until George fell asleep unwillingly, without even reaching the Great Hall for dinner.

When he woke up Fred was gone, but he remembered his brother saying something about seeing Padma. Or it could've been just a dream. Anyway, he was alone.

It was almost three in the morning, and he felt regenerated as never before. George decided it was better to clear his head in the best way possible—a warm bath would always help him find the solution to everything.

But not the normal, tiny bathtub in his room. That had never been used by the twins due to their extremely long legs. George walked towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It had the biggest and most comfortable bathtub in the whole castle.

Just a meter away, all the thoughts struck again in his head, threatening to actually make it explode. He had lost the chance to start the business. He would have to work double to afford Ginny's summer camp. And he had lost the only girl able to make him feel this... thrilled.

Things would be different from now on. George wondered how long it would be before he saw her again. Both were avoiding each other. It might take the whole year before she pleaded for his help. Or maybe she had transferred somewhere already.

Or maybe—oh. Well, okay, maybe he was just overreacting, because as soon as he stepped inside the bathroom, a shining, blinding, platinum blonde head was resting on the edge of the bubbled bathtub.

Nova. She was here. He was here. She was taking a bath. He needed to take a bath. It was three in the morning, and no one would dare sneak out of their dorms and come in here. She was there. With him.

"Need some company?" he murmured, locking the door behind him and stepping forward.

"Leave me alone, Myrtle, or I'll bring you back to life and make you die a slow and painful death," she said, strangely calm, eyes still closed.

Psycho! Apparently Nova was bickering with the poltergeist before he entered.

George scanned the surroundings. Her clothes were on the floor, but no underwear. That meant she wasn't naked. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or tense about it.

There were two empty vials. Just a glance at the label made it crystal clear: calming potion, and the strongest version, since Nova hadn't moved an inch.

This could go wrong in so many ways. He had never experienced a calm Nova. Was that even possible? All it took was a calming potion? He shifted on his feet for a second, imagining all the possible scenarios.

Fuck it. He stopped thinking the moment a scent of tulips, fresh books, and vanilla invaded his nostrils, and he stripped carefully before entering the warm bathtub with only his underwear on.

Nova noticed the shift in the water. He didn't sit too far away, just a little more than an arm's length. She opened her eyes and tensed on the spot. Her big, blue, mad eyes—now soft, alive, and vivid more than ever.

"Hope I'm not disturbing your moment," he smirked, spreading his arms on the edges of the bathtub. He couldn't see underwater, but he could sense her legs dangerously close to his.

"You're always disturbing," she whispered, tilting her head again, though she kept her eyes closed.

His gaze remained firm, trying not to make her uncomfortable, but hell—she was only in underwear, and he could see the straps of her white bra without knowing if there was a pattern adorning her breasts, or a full color, or lace. Too many fucking bubbles in here.

Still, George felt her gaze burn into him. She traced his bare chest until stopping where the water began. He imagined her cursing too at the bubbles making everything hard to see.

They remained silent longer than expected. When together, it was odd not to tease or shout or snap or do anything loud. They were studying one another with utter curiosity, and George felt faint from how close they were.

He hadn't seen her in so long. She hadn't changed much besides the relaxed expression. Nova was equally intrigued, not suppressing that little voice reminding her how many things could go wrong. With this intimacy, even a murder could happen.

Under the water it seemed to be an ocean between them, so George crawled slightly closer and, surprisingly, she guided her calves on top of his lap. Her lips turned slightly upward, satisfied, feeling the electricity of this mere touch.

"Where is your boyfriend?" he cooed, never taking his arrogant gaze off her. "Couldn't handle your attitude anymore?"

"He wouldn't be the first," she exhaled, defeated, looking briefly down before locking eyes with him again.

There was something uncanny in Nova's eyes. A desperate need for something he couldn't quite place. It was there in the blue shades. She tilted her head, framed by her wet hair, still studying her next move.

Between the warmth of the water and his touch, the soft, comfortable atmosphere, and how tired she felt, Nova was calmer than ever before. It was weird to see her like this, and yet utterly satisfying.

At least now George knew there was something that could ease the grief and the overthinking, because she didn't seem lost in thousands of scenarios. She was here, embracing how the situation would unfold.

"Me and Nico aren't exclusive, you know. He can do what he wants," she said dryly, cupping bubbles in her hands.

"That means you can too?" He raised an eyebrow, growing extremely predatory—this was shifting into something perfectly terrifying.

"Yes. Aren't you and Angelina like this?" She sank underwater slightly, letting her blonde hair finally get fully wet, just to resurface even more mischievous than before. "Can you... be with other girls?"

They weren't asking the right questions. Nova's boldness took over thanks to this state of relaxation, and she was leading the conversation while George wasn't even sure how far he could push before she might break in his arms.

She was always so fragile. Like a bomb threatening to explode at any given moment. Remembering how things ended last time—with something as silly as dancing—he surrendered to the idea of not moving an inch unless she directly asked for it.

He gazed around mockingly before eyeing her crawling closer, more predatory than expected. In a split second she was desperately close and yet so far. He didn't abandon the pretentious smirk, but he couldn't ignore how fast his own heart was beating.

"I see none around for now," he teased, lowering his hands underwater as she was almost fully seated on his lap, "but if it happens, yes, I wouldn't decline the opportunity."

"She wouldn't be jealous?" Nova gripped the edge of the tub behind him, flexing her bare arms, fighting some sort of urge toward him.

"Of you? Not a chance. I think she's even developed a crush," he lied while his fingers tenderly traced her waist. "I wouldn't be surprised if she started flirting with you."

"Then maybe I should invite her to take a bath with us next time," she leaned forward, noses brushing, eyes burning with lust, "unless you don't want me all for yourself."

When George—finally—gripped her waist with force, Nova tensed on the spot. She was taking this too far, and he understood what that need in her big blue eyes was.

She had tried everything already. She had channeled her rage over and over into the wrong things. Nothing could fuel her fire except his own. And George could help now. After feeling so helpless, he could be the only person able to help her.

"Would it be selfish to say yes?" he murmured against her lips—gazing briefly at her breasts and the white lace bra finally visible.

"Yes what?" she teased at his ear—the warm breath sending shivers through his whole body. "Say it and I'm yours."

This silent power fight was breaking into a thousand pieces, floating in the water beside their needy skin—the subtle touch, the tension, this magnetic pull, stronger than ever before.

But George had no intention of losing. It wasn't in his mind to surrender to her this easily. It would've been a waste of potential to simply give her what she wanted. It wouldn't help, and he wanted to help. He would act as usual, wiping off the idea of losing this little game.

However, something shifted in her eyes. Maybe the realization that both had partners. A glimpse of insecurity and fear. She was fighting against herself, and no matter the amount of calming potions, her mind was working at an exponential speed.

He had to take control, or else this spark would vanish if they kept overthinking. Fuck Nico! They weren't friends. He didn't owe him anything. George gripped her waist even more confidently and guided her closer—closer than humanly possible.

Her lips parted and oh god—she couldn't. She was holding back only with her gaze. Again falling victim to her own mind. Why couldn't she stay there with him for just one second? Their chests pressed, noses touching—they were there. He needed her there.

"Tell me to stop, blondie, and I'll do it," he murmured, his voice catching in his throat, almost a plea.

"I don't want you to," she breathed, caressing his bare neck with agonizing touch, "but Angelina—"

He forced their lips together, tired of talking. Tired of letting her think. He kissed with force and urgency, gripping the back of her head delicately. She stiffened slightly but then surrendered to the idea of this happening—of this not being a moment of hesitation.

Nova's moves were wild, astonished, asking for nothing and being as careless as possible. He lowered his hand, tracing her bare shoulders, upper arms, moving to her spine, down to her waist once again under the water.

Every curve, every flinch, every goosebump forming as their lips felt the hunger rising with every breath—George felt the tension trembling in his arms. She was releasing something. Maybe anger. Maybe sadness. Whatever it was, he had it in his palms and would do his best to snatch it away.

By the way his hands clutched her lower back, pulling her as close as humanly possible, it was obvious he needed her more than his lips could ever admit—subtle, gentle, perfectly in sync with her.

"Oh god, you're so fun to kiss," he gasped loudly before returning to her lips, now landing smaller, more tender kisses, slowing the urgency.

Cheeks. Smile. Jaw. Neck. Lips again. Now that he was allowed a taste, he couldn't get enough, and how much he wanted to have a mirror for Nova to see herself in that moment.

She looked like another person completely. Still her, but free from restraints. Strong. Fascinating. A maniac smile, her hands rushing everywhere on his body to memorize every inch.

Lost in contemplation and lust, Nova lifted her hips, growing urgent, inviting. George matched that desperate need perfectly. He lifted slightly, just enough to guide his underwear away into the water.

The second his fingers traced her inner thighs, her lace underwear, she gasped softly and locked eyes with him with the sweetest, most demonic expression he had ever seen. He found it difficult to breathe—she was intoxicating oxygen.

"We should probably stop," she murmured, clicking their foreheads together while feeling his erection so close. "We shouldn't do this. It's wrong."

It was the glitter in her eyes that gave it away. Nova was, once again, getting trapped in her own mind—considering and thinking and worrying—and fuck, he was helping. While kissing she had been free, and now she was chaining herself again.

He wouldn't let her this time. She would relax as she should. She would get a moment of fucking happiness and pleasure without having to burn her brain for mere overthinking—he would regret saying this, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

"Please, Nova, allow me this," he whispered in a docile tone that made her melt in an instant. "Put it on me. All your anger, all your sadness. Allow me to help you."

Her eyes scanned his face. She cupped his cheeks and traced the upper part with her finger. The puzzled expression lasted only a second before she let their lips meet again—with urgency, hunger, desperation like never before.

"God, when did you become so hot?" she gasped before tracing his jaw with kisses, caressing his hair gently.

"I've always been, blondie," he grinned softly before lifting her slightly underwater—this was his chance, and he wouldn't waste it.

With delicate, almost suffocating touch, George pushed aside Nova's lace underwear, feeling a wetness he could distinguish from the water of the bathtub. He looked at her one more time, and when she nodded slowly, he could swear his heart leapt out of his chest.

He guided himself inside her, and both moaned in an odd sense of relief. They had both waited so long without knowing. They ached for this more than they were willing to admit, but their bodies spoke for them anyway.

Without hesitation Nova sank onto him, trying to take every inch, and he could see the little flicker of realization—it was, proudly, too much to handle.

"Told you my ego wasn't the only big thing about me," he teased, lowering kisses to her neck as she—surprisingly—tilted her head to give him more space.

"Uh, I've seen better," she said weakly, adjusting to the size with soft thrusts.

"Oh, don't lie while I'm inside you, blondie," he smirked, lips on her shoulder, savoring the moment. "I know you're enjoying this."

Unwillingly, she released a moan. Then she bit her lip, probably regretting it already. So George did the only rational thing he could think of—he lifted her enough to take control, to make sure she was so lost in pleasure she wouldn't have time to regret anything.

His hands held firmly at her waist while guiding her movements. Underwater it was all easier to do, but less gratifying. He pushed with the same urgency as he sank her onto him. They clicked perfectly, fire feeding fire.

There was a stinging sensation on his bare shoulder, neck, and back. Nova was scratching him everywhere she could reach, channeling all the pleasure into him while hiding dangerously close to his ear.

He could feel her cold breath as he thrust, savoring her skin with uncanny hunger. He could feel her walls clenching around him, and somehow he was channeling all that anger with the same urgency she was releasing hers.

"Fuck! I need more, George," she moaned into his skin, gripping his hair tightly.

"Oh my, what did I do to deserve seeing you so needy for me?" he kissed her again, contemplating, hoping this would last forever.

"You're one word away from being slapped," she warned, letting their foreheads touch while rolling her hips faster.

"What makes you think I don't have a kink for that?" He lifted her slightly to start thrusting himself—he could feel she was getting tired.

"Ohh, fucking fuck!" she moaned, but now she was somehow gaining confidence—boldness and courage.

Nova arched and stretched in front of him. She allowed herself not only to enjoy the moment but to be fully there with it. Completely his. She gripped his shoulders and helped the movements, the pace—wanting to feel all of him.

It became all too heated, too real. His thrusts quickened, sending water splashing outside the tub, wetting the floor. Their bodies collapsed into each other, and yet still wanted more than they could ever ask for.

Even lost in pleasure, Nova couldn't help but mark her new territory. She leaned forward once again, leaving a little purple bruise on his shoulder—probably hoping he wouldn't notice under the pleasure of the moment.

However, George already felt it burning on his skin when her wet lips traced it. Smiling softly, he didn't say anything—but bloody hell, he promised himself to do the same next time, and make it impossible to cover.

Thrusting underwater was becoming more difficult than imagined—it was too slow, lacking the desired impact each time he pulled out and reentered. Nova noticed he was starting to struggle.

"Georgie?" she batted her eyelashes innocently, a mere inch from his face.

"Yes, blondie?" His eyes darkened, looking down at their bodies collapsing together—a perfect view.

"Come inside me," she ordered, resting a hand on his bare chest, slowly moving in sync with him.

The way his expression shifted—more lustful than ever, lips parted, eyes studying her figure, breathing like he was suffocating—made Nova smile in satisfaction.

With a swift motion, George reversed their positions, pressing her back to the marble tub and towering over her, gripping behind her head as she locked her legs around his waist. There was more to push in this position, and her surprised yet amused expression was an honor to witness.

Nova gripped his wrists, making herself small under his body. He was so in control, so sure of what he was doing, and clearly no longer afraid to expose himself.

"Oh god—fuck!" she moaned, tilting her head until their lips brushed.

"You like that, huh?" he smirked proudly, kissing her jaw.

"Shut up!" she snapped, letting his tongue roam slowly across her wet skin.

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled before letting their lips meet again—warm, consuming pleasure.

George thrust into her with such force that nearly all the water in the tub now drenched the floor. What once covered her to the collarbone now only reached her waist. It was rough in a weirdly satisfying, gentle way.

This wasn't her first time having sex, but fuck—he was sure she had never felt this utterly in pleasure. So wild and free and still irritatingly attractive.

Nova felt her climax hit, and all sorts of moans escaped her lips as she came around him—she might not have realized how many times she had moaned his name, but he heard each one and treasured it in his mind.

Seeing her spent and catching her breath, relaxing under him, made George thrust one last time before coming inside her, just as she had asked.

Both satisfied, he pulled out and sat beside her, instantly guiding Nova into his arms. Their lungs filled with new air—pure, vivid oxygen their lust had created. They remained there as if the world outside this bathroom didn't exist.

But it did. He could feel the shift. Nova looked up at him with soft eyes—god, they were so blue and so innocent and so evil all at once. She cupped his face and kept caressing his cheek as if she were touching broken glass, hoping to get hurt.

"Um, we should talk about what happened the other day at—" she started.

"Shh... just a little bit more, blondie," he whispered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

The second she melted into his arms, he hoped it was clear there was nothing for them to talk about. She was there. He was there. That was enough for now.

Chapter 17: Suit Up

December 9, 1994

"Nova,

I have to get a few things in order. Please, don't overthink my absence these days and take a fucking calming potion before planning how to kill me.

There's just something I have to do, and I'll explain everything as soon as possible.

P.S. Try not to moan my name in your sleep.

– George"

That yellow post-it was printed on Nova's forehead when she woke up after the most peaceful and annoyingly beautiful night of her life.

She had, indeed, dreamed of it. She wasn't sure if she had moaned, but the dream was vivid enough. She and George together in the bathtub replayed on an endless loop until she felt breathless opening her eyes.

That morning she simply had breakfast. She didn't snap at anyone, even gave a few ideas about the plan to find out who killed her parents. Her heart was at rest and her mind free. She had released a little bit of rage, and she couldn't feel more grateful to George.

However, that note was from two days ago, and he was nowhere to be seen. Fred was equally busy with something, apparently. Padma said he was looking for another job, possibly in the afternoons free from classes.

No one knew what the twins were doing. The castle had never been so free from the fear of being pranked. There was a lingering sense of calm that felt extremely irritating. Where the fuck was George?

If he thought a note was enough to stop Nova's mind from rushing into thousands of scenarios, he was more stupid than she believed. After asking around the whole castle, she sat in the library, fuming.

They had sex. Great sex. She wouldn't admit it, but it was the best of her life. He had caressed her after, taking care of her instead of rushing away. They stayed there without talking, and she had never felt safer.

They even had a brief bickering match because he fell asleep and started snoring so loudly Nova slapped his chest. Then he teased her about how violent she was and how she should be on parole. She said she already was—for the state of California.

But they laughed. Oh, they laughed so hard Nova forgot what the world looked like outside that bathroom. Replaying everything in her head felt so good, so satisfying, so addictive that she couldn't stop planning how to make it happen again.

And now he was gone. Disappeared. She was sure it wasn't her performance—he had moaned very loudly, and he was so warm, so beautiful, and he pleaded. Nova realized she had some sort of kink for hearing him beg for her.

George was probably with Angelina. He must be. They were in a relationship, and Nova was breaking it willingly. She was betraying another woman. Was this also to blame on grief?

"Woah, are you okay?"

In hopeless hope, Nova lifted her blue eyes only to tense at the sight of Nico with a C sitting beside her. This was so stupid. George's presence had always been irritating. Now she craved it more than anything.

"I was waiting for you last night. Thought we'd be together," he said dryly. There was never emotion in his tone.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot you existed," she rolled her eyes, supporting her heavy head on her hands.

"Wow, okay, you could've at least lied," he smirked, not the slightest bit offended—he never got offended. He never got mad. He never had fire.

However, Nico was here. George wasn't. And that was far too noticeable right now. Deep down Nova knew she would not forget that night with George and, annoyingly, she wouldn't have sex with Nico anymore because of how dry it would feel in comparison.

So that only meant one thing. She could treat him like a friend. She could say anything to him, and right now she was desperate to talk to someone about this whole messy situation.

Explaining everything to Padma and Parvati would only complicate it. They were good listeners, but they always liked to have a plan to get things their way.

Nova had tried these past two days to tell them. She couldn't because every time her lips parted, the Patils jumped from topic to topic, most of them about people in the castle dating each other.

They said Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum were close, but that wasn't enough for them. They were planning ways to trap them somewhere intimate—to help the relationship start.

Hell, they even tried to talk to Cedric Diggory and convince him to invite Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. He said he was still working on it, but Padma and Parvati pushed too many buttons, playing Cupid.

It was impossible to explain something to them with the simple request of just listening. They wouldn't. They would plan strategies, count contingencies, say the most absurd things while Nova just wanted to talk.

"Nico, we're friends, right?" she asked, tilting her head to scan him softly.

"I mean, I haven't seen a lot of my friends naked, but yeah, I think we're close enough to friends," he said seriously. He wasn't teasing. He was deadly stupid.

"Well, so I can tell you anything, right? Even if I might have to say something about another... boy?" she muttered, unsure how that sounded.

Ugh! This could go wrong. What if Nico's heart broke? What if he ran around the castle repeating everything she might share? There were so many things to consider, but somehow she was simply hoping he'd say yes, because there was equally too much she needed to say.

However, Nico's expression didn't shift. He remained blank, emotionless, dangerously at ease. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, leaned back on the chair, and scanned her with quiet invitation before nodding proudly.

"Okay, so," she almost jumped in her seat, growing extremely excited, "I had sex with this boy, but he has a girlfriend. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not the one intruding into relationships, but it just kinda happened."

"How? Did you trip over his dick?" He frowned—and no, it wasn't a joke, he was actually asking.

"Now explain to me how that could even be a possibility," she slapped her forehead, feeling the usual headache threatening to form.

"I don't know. You're the smart one around here. You tell me." He shrugged, and god, he was so hot even without a brain.

"Anyway, let's go back to the topic, and please try to reserve all your questions for the end," she gestured, as if she had a toddler in front of her instead of a grown boy.

From there, he obeyed. That was useful. Nico listened carefully to every word and made minimal facial expressions, debating how he felt about the situation.

When Nova explained the exhausting day she'd had and how she ended up in the bathtub with two strong calming potions rushing through her body, Nico melted—probably blaming himself for not being able to handle the fragile moments she'd fallen victim to.

Then, when Nova explained in vivid, raw, passionate detail the sex with George—though she hadn't said his name yet—Nico grew stiff only to become extremely intrigued.

Even she was surprised by how much she had to say about something that had always been so unserious, like sex. It had only ever been a way to release frustration. A mere human need, she often said.

But god, George truly knew what he was doing. Maybe it was the calming potions. Maybe it was the rage pressing on her chest at all times. Still, with him it was different. It was visceral. Raw. Intense. He looked straight into her eyes and made thousands of compliments without saying a word.

And he pushed so deep she could feel the rage leaving her body. All the sadness stepping away to give space to the beautiful collision of their bodies. It was fire feeding fire. A never-ending need for more until it became unbearable.

For this part of the explanation, Nova didn't choose her words carefully. She was tired. Tired of hiding something. Tired of not expressing herself. Tired of pretending she didn't enjoy something for once.

And at that, Nico melted again—but it was clear on his face that he realized he wasn't the one able to bring her all that. He was a beautiful boy. Kind. Sweet. But he wasn't her boy. He never would be.

"And well, now he disappeared to do something and...I don't know, I'm slightly worried he might regret it all," she murmured, looking down as guilt washed over her.

Nova understood how wrong it was to talk about this with Nico. He didn't deserve to feel like this. To feel used, embarrassed, or whatever else he was thinking. She wished for some sort of time turner to stop her past self from starting this conversation.

That's why she often kept things to herself. She was a burden. Never saying the right thing. Too selfish to consider how others might feel. This was wrong, and there was no way of turning back now.

Instead of feeling relieved to finally have talked about everything that happened with George, she only felt worse than ever.

"Only a fool would regret you, Nova," Nico whispered, leaning forward until his elbows pressed on the table. "I'm sure he's just busy, like he said in the note. Give it time."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

"Don't apologize. I'm happy that you trust me enough to share these things. It's maybe more platonic than sex, in my opinion," he smirked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before forcing their eyes to meet.

There was so much honesty in his tone that Nova didn't realize a tear had traced down her face until he was the one wiping it away. This beautiful boy had been there for her when she needed someone, and now she was throwing him away as if he were nothing.

He wasn't. She cared about him. But she couldn't care for people. That's why she didn't want to care for people—because now she had to say goodbye, she had to lose him, and the pain would not ease.

Nico slid his chair slightly closer, letting their knees brush. He lowered his hands until he gripped hers, caressing her knuckles. He didn't want to let go, but he knew he couldn't stay either.

What a fucking sad situation. Nova had fucked herself into this, and now she had to unfuck herself from it in the cleanest way possible. She didn't want to hurt him. Why couldn't this be easy?

Taken by a tender sweetness, she raised her free hand to cup his soft, beautiful, cold cheek, and he melted under her touch. She didn't even worry about wiping away the other two tears tracing down her face. She let them fall, embracing the dramatic moment.

"I wish I could love you," she sobbed, unafraid for once. "I'm sorry."

"I know." His breath caught in his throat unwillingly. "I hope everything works out between you and George. He seems like the right guy for you."

"What? How—"

"Oh, c'mon, it doesn't take a genius to understand you were talking about him. No one else is that brave to approach you nowadays. He's the only one with a death wish." He scoffed softly, still unable to let go of her hand, staring at their touch as if to remember it forever.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity and yet just a second. Nico landed a gentle kiss on Nova's forehead and warned that, no matter what, if she needed anything, he would be waiting for her in his room, as he always had.

But he was also sure she wouldn't. Nova might be selfish and self-centered and pitiful and a very long list of things, but she wasn't one to ask for help, wasn't one to make herself a burden for others. She would rather paint the whole castle with a nail brush than go back after hurting him.

So there she remained for a while. Not thinking. Not crying. Blank and lost. Nico was now out of the equation. George too, since he still had a girlfriend. Well, he was a cheater, actually, so that meant something.

But she wouldn't say anything, because she was just as guilty. There she stayed, absorbing all the pain once again, until she realized the sun was setting and decided to whine some more in her room.

A very long shower was just the perfect excuse to cry in peace. Padma was at the Groover, making sure Fred talked to as few girls as possible. No one was watching, and still, Nova needed to hide while crying endlessly.

Everything was wrong. Everything was confusing. Her head was exploding and pounding, her heart knew no rest, and she ached for the absence of her parents, who would surely know how to handle all these emotions at once—they weren't there, and they were the cause of all this pain.

Ghostly, she dried her hair with magic. She scanned the messy room, all clothes on the floor, and eventually picked George's shirt she had stolen that day at The Burrow—everyone knew she took it, and yet no one said anything.

It smelled like him. That fucking rat smelled good. She'd never fancied caramel because of how sugary it tasted, but now it was all she craved. She'd never liked the strong smell of spruce trees because they reminded her of winter and cold things, but god, now it became her favorite tree.

Pathetic. This was the most pathetic state she'd reached since arriving in this castle. Actually, in her entire life. Especially when she jumped into bed and could smell the most signature scent that resembled George.

Fireworks. She'd liked them before—whether at New Year's or someone's birthday, they were beautiful to look at. But she heard them the first time they kissed. She heard them almost every time they went too deep into bickering and fueling each other's fires.

She could swear there was an endless fireworks show in the bathroom while they had sex.

Now? Complete silence. Complete absence. Everyone leaves eventually. That's life, and Nova understood it. Even the three therapists she had appointments with—they left mid-session, and then their assistants warned of a "sudden development" that forced them away.

Fucking unprofessional. But at least they didn't ask her to pay. Even if the last time she could swear the therapist was hiding under his secretary's desk. Or maybe he was hiding from her. Either way, she didn't pay, because they hadn't actually helped.

Just when Nova decided it was better to fall asleep without reaching the Great Hall for dinner, a sharp knock on the door made her jump in fear. She approached, a knot in her stomach, sensing something very wrong shifting in the air.

It took longer than necessary before she gripped the doorknob, turned it slightly, and widened the door and—oh god! Her heart stopped, and she could swear her soul left her body.

George was on his knees in front of her wearing a black suit. George was kneeling. Was this a wedding proposal? That's why she always tried not to be completely herself during sex. It was only a matter of time before someone wanted to marry her because of how good she was at it.

At this point it seemed odd she hadn't received more proposals over the years. She was damn good at it. One of her best talents. Oh god, now she would have to break another boy's heart. What a burden to be smart, beautiful, clever, funny—

"Woah, calm down, I was just lacing my shoes." He rose and started gesturing eagerly. "I'm not—it's not what you think. I—I, fuck, please don't freak out."

"I'm about to faint," she murmured, feeling fuzzy and heavy as she walked toward her bed with a hand massaging her temples.

"Always so dramatic, blondie." He smirked, closing the door behind him before sitting on the edge of Padma's bed.

Okay, maybe she was indeed overreacting. He didn't even have a ring box in his hands. For how smart she claimed she was, that should have reassured her immediately, but of course she had been too busy praising herself to consider any other rational explanation.

Now slightly calmer, she took a second to scan him and—fuck! He was handsome. How could he even afford this dragon-skin, perfectly tailored black suit? And dragon-skin shoes? No tie, with the white shirt underneath the jacket revealing a glimpse of his chest. Was that a gold chain hiding in there?

At this point Nova started to believe he was dating some older woman in secret and being spoiled by her. His whole family combined couldn't afford this attire. That was the only answer to all these questions.

"Listen, there's no way of saying this without sounding like a hypocrite dick..." he scratched the back of his head, looking down, "...there's something going on with my family, and I know I told you more than once how important it is to ask for help, but..."

The second George looked up at her again, his smile grew wider than ever. He frowned. Then relaxed. Then blinked quietly, and Nova felt almost faint being looked at like this. In full admiration. In full beauty.

"You're wearing my shirt," he murmured, almost inaudible, his hazel eyes piercing and sparkling.

"Oh... um—yeah, I had nothing clean to wear," she lied, glancing briefly down at how perfectly it looked on her. How he looked good for her.

"Well, I don't find that hard to believe," he teased, scanning the room with utter mischief. "I mean, you can't even see the floor in here."

Ugh! This fucker. Nova grabbed the first thing within reach—fortunately for George, it was a pillow—and threw it hard at his face, her irritation shifting slightly.

"Can we go back to you being all moody and serious?" she snapped, crossing her arms, hoping the dim light was enough to hide how furiously she was blushing.

"Yes, okay, right. So, I was saying that I'm going through something, and I don't want you to worry about it. But I'll be a little busier from now on," he said in one quick breath.

Oh... well, that was understandable. Nova started melting away all the plans she'd made to kill him for his sudden absence these two days. Needless to say, she was so original she truly believed she'd been a serial killer in another life—the kind you saw on the news and wondered how they came up with their signature method.

But that wasn't enough for forgiveness. He had disappeared after they had sex. And now he was even asking her not to investigate it? Maybe she would keep a few ideas about killing him, just in case.

"I found a job. Angelina's father hired me in his Quidditch recruitment agency. It's not much pay, and I'll work all weekends during games and practices," he said, looking down, ashamed of something she couldn't quite place.

"Listen, George, if you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore, just say so. There's no need to come up with excuses—"

"No, no, wait! That's not what I'm doing." He snapped softly, rushing to sit next to her. "I want to help you. I want to find who killed your parents. I want to be with you every time we investigate a possible suspect."

"And when are you going to do it? Between working and spending time with your girlfriend? I can handle this by myself while you handle your own things." She tried to sound hard, but it came out more desperate than anticipated.

Wrapped in absurd and unnecessary rage, Nova stood and, in her irritation, started cleaning her room. Folding clothes and tossing some to wash later. Avoiding his gaze as much as possible.

"I'm grateful for everything you've done already, but I surely didn't expect you to stay. I'm used to being alone. Like when I asked you to let me handle all our potion essays. I did it because I'm used to it," she muttered, not even sure what she wanted to express.

She wanted to talk. She didn't know about what. She had so much to say, and she had already talked today. At this point she had opened a door to feelings, and too many had escaped. It was too late to close it, so at least now she would benefit from it as much as possible.

"And this whole plan to stalk possible killers is a waste of time. If you hold back, maybe Padma and Parvati will finally surrender and stop giving me hope for something that will never happen." She opened her wardrobe and started putting clean, folded clothes away.

Nova turned to throw a big pile of shirts and trousers into the basket. From the corner of her eye, she saw a weirdly stiff George, his gaze never leaving her. Maybe he was listening, or maybe he was just pretending—either way, she wasn't done.

"We had sex. No big deal. It surely wasn't my first time, and it won't be the last a boy disappears after it," she hissed, reorganizing her desk filled with useless clutter. "And don't worry, I won't tell your girlfriend you're a cheater, so you can go back to her and pretend to be in love."

What a relief, snapping eagerly without thinking. But what a stinging pain, marking some sort of end with George. She was spitting everything out and still, it felt so wrong to only pick the most spiteful things instead of the few pathetic good ones she had thought since then.

"We can also call off the bet. You wouldn't win it anyway, so I'll do you this favor," she said dryly, flicking her wand so a broom started sweeping the floor. "And I'm happy you found a job. I'm sure you won't last taking orders from others, but—why the fuck aren't you saying anything?"

Without noticing, Nova turned around, raising her hands in the air in irritation before dropping them to her hips. Now she was looking at him, and it was devastating how melted, quiet, and sad he was.

What a fucking twat. First he acted so spiteful toward her. Then he started playing the white knight from a mere hero complex. That became so addictive. And now he wasn't even snapping back. He was just there, absorbing everything as if agreeing to every word.

Fine! If he wanted all these things to happen, she would make them happen. Fuck the bet. Fuck the Yule Ball. Fuck Angelina. Fuck finding the killer. Fuck them all—she couldn't care less, and she would cry about it later, when she was alone.

"Are you done?" he simply said, propping himself on his now-expensive shoes.

"Yeah, I think so. I might have other things to say, but God is listening," she muttered, trying to boil in rage. She couldn't.

George stepped forward. Then again. Another step. She matched it with the beats of her pouring heart as he approached. So close. Caramel, spruce tree and—oh god—fireworks coming her way.

He towered over her slightly, tugging a stray lock of hair behind her ear just to trace her jaw, then clicking his fingers under her chin and forcing their eyes to meet. Electric touch and all the romantic shit she never believed in.

"You can't push me away. You can shout at me all you want, Nova, but I'm not going anywhere," he whispered gently, taking in as many details of her face as he could.

"I'll prove you wrong. I can be more stubborn, petty, and rude than this, you know. I was holding back until now," she muttered, looking away as he kept putting her hair in place. "Ugh! I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah, heard that before." He smirked before locking their hands and guiding her to sit back down on the bed. "But hey, something good came out of all this. Look at this beautiful clean room."

Nova frowned, scanning the surroundings, wondering who had cleaned it. Then she remembered—it was her, just a minute ago, while letting out as much rage as possible. This must have been the first time one of her coping methods was actually healthy.

Then she noticed George hadn't pulled away from the touch. They both looked down at their interlinked hands, their knees brushing, and all she wanted to do was take refuge in his annoyingly muscular arms and find peace there. She didn't. She just watched as he caressed her knuckles.

"Where are you going dressed like this? Selling yourself at an auction?" she scoffed faintly, hoping time would stop and allow her this moment.

"Maybe," he cooed gently before taking a deep breath. "Are you willing to make an offer, blondie?"

"Huh, no thanks. I need all my fortune to pay for future lawyers. I know one day I'll need a very good one." She looked up at him, and he was already staring. She supposed he was. Now she was sure of it.

"Yes, you will."

Dickhead. She slapped his chest weakly with her free hand, then let it fall back down next to his. What was she supposed to do now? Why weren't there instructions about how to handle this—not-a-relationship but a relationship between them? This more-than-friends but less-than-lovers thing?

Her mother, Celeste, would know what to do. She would caress her daughter's hair, make some tea, and watch a romcom with the lowest volume while explaining how Nova was supposed to behave from now on.

Even her father, Louis, would've said something. He would have loved George. They were so similar in so many ways. The mischief, the height, the hero complex. They would've gotten along so well, while Nova would only snap at both for making fun of her endlessly.

And when she thought about it, she realized George was here. Her parents weren't. That didn't mean anything anyway. But she couldn't help imagining how life would be if she had met George before her parents died.

Her personality and behavior would be the same. Maybe she would've carried less rage and sadness. But wasn't that the first thing that forced her closer to George? Wasn't he here to help with grief and nothing else? Or was there more? Even before knowing about her parents, George had been there for her.

What a confusing yet straightforward boy! She couldn't even blame him for all these questions. For all this doubt. Because Nova knew that, if she only dared to ask, he would answer everything with pure honesty.

"Listen, blondie, I have to go to this family event at Angelina's house tonight. Believe me when I say things aren't how you think, but I can't explain it to you," he whispered after a while in lingering silence. "Can you trust me on this? Can you pretend I'm not in a relationship?"

"But you are. That's the point." She sighed, twisting the steel ring on his finger. "Just tell me what's going on so I can help. I want to help too."

Woah, okay—who the hell was saying this? Nova frowned at her own words. She never wanted to help anyone, and now she was even pleading for it? This must have been some sort of jinx someone put on her before she reached her bedroom. That was the only explanation.

"You already have too many things on your plate. But if you truly want to help, allow me to do my part on our potion essays." He leaned forward, hoping to lock eyes with her. "I mean, I'm a genius. It could only raise our grades."

"Huh, we already have the highest scores since the castle was built. Snape filed a complaint to get me transferred because he's scared I'll take over his job." She scoffed faintly while surrendering already to pushing this any further.

"Woah, are you actually that good?" He frowned—not mockery, just genuine confusion. "Well, then can I at least be near you while you write the essays? We could, while I tutor first years."

"What? How many jobs are you picking up?" She tilted her head, now placing this information on the big wall of George Weasley and all his side hustles.

"It's a long story, leave it be," he waved her off, though a glimpse of pride was clear on his face. "So? Think you can sit close to me without snuggling me in front of everyone?"

Taken by surprise, Nova placed her palm directly on his face until he landed fully on the mattress, laughing loudly. She turned the other way, hoping he couldn't read her mind—a lot of very inappropriate scenarios were forming in there.

Eventually George had to leave. Fuck! Why did he have to leave? Now she would be alone again, rethinking this awful day, all her life choices, and all the possibilities—and no amount of calming potions would help ease the headache.

However, just when she leaned on the doorframe, he didn't rush away immediately. He, once again with agonizing slowness, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and stepped closer. It would've been the perfect kiss—but it would also have been the most wrong thing in the world.

"I'll see you tomorrow night at the Hufflepuff party," he sighed in some sort of defeat. "Try not to burn the place down this time."

"Like you weren't the one landing your ass in all that alcohol." She rolled her eyes, balancing briefly on her feet.

"Yeah, that won't hold in court, since you were the one pushing me." He smirked—and didn't leave.

He wasn't leaving. He was here. Fuck, she couldn't leave first, or it would be like clearly marking that she wouldn't fight for this. He wasn't leaving, and he was the one who should. Angelina was waiting for him. A life he had built around himself without Nova's craziness in it was waiting for him.

But eventually he stepped back. With melting hazel eyes, he walked away. Slowly. Looking back briefly. And oh god, she wished he would run to her and they could stay in this room for eternity. No problems in here. No pain. No sadness with him.

"George?" She peeked into the hallway, and he didn't hesitate to turn around in a split second.

"Yes, blondie?" He smiled widely, hiding his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"You look like a penguin in that suit," she teased, trying to repress the equally awkward smile on her own lips.

"Huh, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." He chuckled softly before turning away. Then, with a glance over his shoulder: "Goodnight, Nova. And try not to dream of me."

Chapter 18: Shared Pet

December 10, 1994

"This whiskey tastes like shit." Nova snatched the glass from the counter, reaching for a nearby tissue to clean her lips.

"That's because it's wine. And it's not yours," Fred snapped, taking the glass. "It's for a customer."

With the professionalism of a monkey being trained for the first time, Fred slid the wine to a boy on the other side of the counter, making sure to wipe away the little stain of lipstick Nova had left on the rim.

She propped her head on her hands and melted. This Hufflepuff party sucked. It was just a gathering at the Groover with no open bar—why should people come to a party if not to drink for free?

What a waste of potential. Nova had even dressed up for the occasion: a black shirt-dress and a new pair of leather boots. She'd done her makeup and her hair exactly the same as always. No, really, there was no effort in her attire. She looked exactly like she did every other day.

But she felt she had put effort in this. It wasn't in the clothes or the makeup. It was in the attitude. She hadn't come just because the Patils pleaded. In fact, she was the one who had kicked off the preparations by blasting music and letting them borrow her clothes.

Why? She didn't fucking know either. She had simply woken up eerily content. Not sparkling with joy but calm—or rather, settled. She had spent the whole day doing her own things in peace, and the little flame inside her heart was resting too, at least for now.

And it seemed to be working for a little while. At least, until Parvati plopped into the chair beside her and downed the wine Fred had just poured for another customer in one gulp.

"You two are going to get me fired," he snapped, but still poured another glass, knowing no one would actually scold him.

"What's up with you?" Nova frowned, watching how frantically her friend was moving.

"Um—nothing. I just kinda kissed a Durmstrang student and then he made a funny sound so I ran away," Parvati explained, settling onto the barstool.

"Ugh! Men are disgusting." Nova rolled her eyes, tearing the tissue into tiny pieces in front of her.

"Huh, women." Fred shook his head before stepping off to serve other customers.

Even though it was supposed to be a party, Nova was grateful to be sitting at the counter. It was better than expected to talk with Fred before all the guests arrived, keeping him company.

She was sure it helped him too, at least a little, since George was... busy. They were keeping each other company in the absence of someone else, but Nova would never admit that she was actually finding Fred more fun than his brother.

Maybe it was because they didn't have any power games or bets in the middle of their friendship. They could tease one another in a healthy way. It was about learning more about each other, not about irritation or fueling some pointless fire.

Nova teased him about his whole relationship with Padma only because she wanted to know what was happening and how he felt—they were, currently, in a fight and he didn't want to go into extreme detail.

Meanwhile, Fred judged each Durmstrang boy as he handed them their drinks. It was his way of easing her worries a little after she'd quickly explained that things with Nico had ended, even if she hadn't said exactly why.

It was good. It felt annoyingly good to have Fred. He was the personification of her father, Louis, and yet still carving a shape for himself, detached from someone he didn't even know he was being compared to.

"Where's Padma?" Nova found herself asking, noticing a lingering silence.

"Ask him where she is," Parvati snapped, dangerously venomous—more than Nova expected.

"Your sister is overreacting as usual. I didn't do anything," Fred puffed, cleaning a row of glasses with a towel.

"So you're saying she's crazy? That she's crying herself to sleep for no apparent reason?" Parvati hissed, boiling with an odd sort of rage.

"Woah, what? Padma is crying? Why didn't I know about this?" Nova straightened in her seat, her eyes darting between the two of them.

In that split second, both of them froze and looked briefly at each other before gazing down, guilt washing over them. Something was wrong, but Nova couldn't quite understand what.

These days, Padma had said she was sleeping in Fred's dorm. And now it turned out she was staying at her sister's the whole time? Crying and finding comfort there without even running to Nova, too? This was... painful.

But before she let herself overthink, Nova knew she needed more information. At least that way, the headache would be a big one instead of a thousand little ones. Rational, yet completely absurd.

"Guys? What's happening?" She frowned, her gaze sharp on them.

"Well, you kinda were on your own recently and we just thought you were having one of your... moments," Parvati whispered so quietly it was almost as if she hadn't moved her lips at all.

"You know, because of your parents," Fred added gently, scratching the back of his head.

Oh... that was... something. They didn't know about the whole George situation. He hadn't told them? Not even his twins? He was keeping it to himself for some reason, and Nova wasn't sure whether to consider that a good or bad thing.

Thinking about it, she had been on her own lately. But she hadn't done it willingly. She had just kept herself busy with studying, sleeping between classes, walking all the way to Hogsmeade before dinner only to turn back the second she got too close to the graveyard where her parents had been buried.

Yeah. She had cornered herself. But that didn't mean she wanted to. It was time to change this. She had accepted George's help, and it was only fair to return the same openness to the others who had been so caring toward her.

What a fucking situation! She was getting all emotional and mature and rational all at once, out of nowhere. It had better be worth it.

"I don't do it on purpose," she murmured, tearing another tissue into pieces and looking down at it. "Sometimes my body avoids people without my consent. I wasn't having a moment, I was just... kinda blank for no reason."

Silence. Even the music at the Groover seemed to have stopped, growing the intensity of her confession until she wished she could take it back.

Wrapped in remorse and a glimpse of sadness, Nova's eyes lifted slightly. She met Fred's reassuring gaze and Parvati's softened expression. Both were silent, only inviting her to say more.

Blame it on the whiskey Fred had rested on the counter—she drank it in one gulp—but she felt ready to let it all out. What a sentimental week this was. She had never talked about her feelings this much in her entire life.

Nova struggled to find the right words, but somehow her sentences came out structured enough to make a little sense. It was her mind's fault, as usual. It just shut down for a while to let her rest. At the same time, though, she would isolate herself without noticing.

A survival instinct to preserve a glimpse of humanity. She just needed time to absorb everything before going out again, never breaking the endless circle of: make something happen, don't talk about it, hope it solves itself.

"Well, that's basically it, I believe," Nova murmured, letting out a resigned sigh, still unable to fully meet their eyes.

Silence again. What the fuck was going on in this pub? Was the DJ following their conversation, cutting the music to make the atmosphere even heavier? Whatever it was, it didn't feel as good as she'd hoped.

Nova's eyes twitched, desperate to look up but terrified to do so. She was as torn as the little tissue pieces in front of her—until Fred's hands gently brushed them away with tender care.

"When George and I first got to Hogwarts, we had some pretty big shoes to fill. Our older brothers Bill and Charlie expected a lot from us," he murmured, wiping the counter. "We were under so much pressure that we'd only go to classes. Never hung out with anyone unless it was necessary."

"And then what? One day you woke up and you were kings of mischief?" She scoffed faintly, tracing the edge of the empty glass.

"Oh, so you do admit our crowns are irreplaceable, huh?" He smirked, earning a loud, exaggerated middle finger in his face.

"I believe what he's trying to say is, it's normal to want moments alone sometimes. But just don't forget you can always be alone with us too," Parvati said, then frowned, replaying her own words. "No, wait, what I meant is... we could all be alone together somewhere if that would help—no wait, that didn't sound right."

In a split second, Parvati and Fred were mumbling nonsense. What they meant was that Nova was allowed to feel sad like everyone else—maybe even more than others—and that they would help her cope in any way possible.

Looking at them in their confused state only made Nova burst out laughing, which confused them even more. She knew she looked maniacal, childish, maybe seconds from a breakdown.

But it wasn't that. She was feeling. Everything. Everyone. Every little emotion inside her exploded when Fred mocked how stupid Parvati's words had sounded. The moment both of them acted like true siblings-in-law, bonded through Padma and slowly outgrowing that bond.

"Let's go find your sister," Nova sighed, trying to recompose herself. "And Fred? If I find out she's crying because of you, I'll chop you into tiny pieces and serve your remains to your family at Christmas dinner."

She linked arms with Parvati as they headed toward the door. This was good. She could be good. She didn't need to be sad all the time. Or at least, that's what she kept telling herself along the way.

"Glad to know you're coming to Christmas at the Burrow, Devil Nova," Fred shouted, earning the second loud middle finger of the night—it wouldn't be the last.

Whatever this was, Nova embraced it, not flinching as she pushed open the pub door and let the cold air hit her face. This was good. This had to be good.

Maybe she was like the main characters in movies. Maybe she was healing by being around her friends. Maybe this was the whole point of grief—building a new family for yourself.

Nothing could replace Celeste and Louis. But she could still find happiness in these little things. Except... what if they got offended? What if, up there in the sky, they felt betrayed? What if this wasn't right?

Struck by sudden sadness, Nova released Parvati's arm as they walked in silence. This was wrong. She wasn't Celeste. It was stupid to compare the two of them.

It was wrong because Fred wasn't Louis. Because no one around her belonged to the childhood where her parents were still alive. God, now she was cursing herself for awakening all these irrational thoughts, growing angrier with every breath.

Bargaining was a wild beast that ate you alive, and Nova hadn't done enough research on this stage of grief, believing she'd never reach it. But here it was. Pressing painfully on her chest with every inhale.

But there was always a distraction. Just a few meters away, on a bench, Padma was crying endlessly on someone's shoulder. Yes! Drama! That would help.

They walked closer until the boy's hair became visible under the dim lamplight. It was ginger. Not just any ginger. Weasley ginger. Padma was crying on George's shoulder like a baby.

"What's happening? What did you do?" Nova snapped, jabbing her finger directly against his chest in her usual maniacal way.

"Calm down, tiger. It wasn't me. I found her like this when I arrived," he scoffed, raising his hands in mock defeat.

Parvati immediately sat beside her sister to be the comforting shoulder. Padma was calming down, but still crying. She looked so exhausted it seemed like she'd been crying for days, and Nova felt faint knowing she hadn't been there for her friend.

Fucking fucker! As always, George managed to look crystal clean. But it wouldn't be that easy this time. If Fred had done something unforgivable, George would fall down the line with him.

"What happened?" Nova demanded, her hands on her hips, scanning her friend with concern.

"It's a tragedy. It's—I—oh god." Padma melted into her sister's arms in a split second. "Fred—I—you won't believe it—"

"Just fucking tell me!" Nova shouted so loudly that all three of them froze. She realized how harsh she'd sounded. Her throat burned from the effort.

But apparently neither Parvati nor George knew what was happening. They looked just as confused and curious about the whole situation. Fortunately for them, Nova was doing all the craziness—at least they wouldn't appear too noisy.

Blinking quickly, Padma recomposed herself on the bench and started a very long and boring monologue about last year, when she and Fred were simply friends. A whole speech that included a long list of girls—at each name, Nova stopped her to ask if he had cheated on Padma.

He hadn't, but the way she was explaining it made it sound like the biggest tragedy on earth. It felt as though she were narrating a story where you could sense the betrayal chapters before it even happened. She was mental, and Nova wondered if this was how people perceived her on a daily basis.

Then, unexpectedly, the whole point of it all slipped out. Somewhere between her rambling, Padma revealed the main reason for her crying and whining and sadness—only to jump right into the next part of the story without giving them time to absorb it. But they did.

"Wait. What the fuck?" Nova snapped, interrupting the endless monologue. "You're acting like this because Fred said he didn't want to share a pet with you?"

"No—well, yeah. I mean, we're in a relationship, he should want to have a pet with me," Padma mumbled, avoiding everyone's gazes.

"Oh for fuck's sake. I listened to you for twenty minutes for this?" George groaned, slamming his palms against his face and rocking manically.

"My dear sister, you know I love you, right?" Parvati said, gripping Padma's shoulders. "But you're the craziest person I've ever met. And I'm friends with Nova and George."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Both Nova and George hissed, matching each other's confusion and irritation perfectly.

The Patils immediately slipped into some sort of sisterly understanding and started talking in a way very difficult to follow. They were speaking about something without actually naming it, reassuring each other without any cheesy words.

So Nova wasn't sure what her role was. She wasn't their blood. She didn't know them as well as they knew each other. There was a lifetime bonding them, and Nova was just... there.

Not sure how to handle this sudden, sad realization that she was more than useless, she glanced around, searching for an escape into the wintery night. Maybe she could simply walk away and it wouldn't look weird. Or she could say she needed the bathroom and remain there until the party ended.

She needed to do something, or else she would overthink until she melted in front of all of them, like a snowman on the first sunny day. She shifted on her feet, uncertain what to do. Unsure how to help. How could they always manage this so effortlessly, when she couldn't?

A slight shift in the air, and her shoulder brushed against something. When she turned, George was there, observing the situation with utter confusion and discomfort. His arms were crossed, his posture firm. He was dead serious—more than ever before.

"Should we kiss? I think it's the perfect moment to kiss," he murmured.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? We're in the middle of a crisis and you're thinking about making out?" She snapped, shoving him slightly to hide her blushing cheeks.

"First of all, I always think about it with you," he grinned pretentiously. "And second, I was only trying to let you escape your mind. It's scary how quickly you fall in there."

"Since you're in the mood to play white knight as usual, can you help with this?" She pointed at their friends, still caught in their nonsense conversation.

Padma and Parvati were solving nothing. One was whining and getting sadder, the other snapping some sense into her without making progress. Everything they said sounded like a mash-up of multiple movie scripts with no connection at all.

With a renewed sense of determination, George took a deep breath and shot Nova a quick ‘watch this’ look. He was dangerously proud. Maddeningly mature. Annoyingly handsome. She actually started considering his offer to kiss, just to relieve the bathtub moment all over again.

But then she cursed herself for even thinking of using him to deal with her rage and sadness. It wasn't right. She wasn't right for him. He deserved someone stable like Angelina. Someone sure. Not the personification of chaos.

"Listen," he sighed, sliding between them. "I'm sure my brother would want to have a pet with you. Hell, he'd have thousands of pets with you. But it's just—we kinda can't afford it right now."

"But you have all these new expensive clothes, so I thought you were doing fine," Padma cooed, shrinking in shame.

"No, it's not like that. It's a long story, and we'd appreciate it if you didn't ask any further," he said carefully, nerves showing. "The point is, you'll have time for a pet. Even babies, if you don’t kill him before graduation. Just enjoy what you have now. More serious steps will come with time."

Fuck, he was so hot. Nova melted, tilting her head as her eyes ran from head to toe. How could the most childish, arrogant, rude, pretentious, self-centered boy on earth also be so mature, reassuring, understanding—so much more of a man than a boy?

It was remarkable how he was two sides of the same coin. One face focused on survival through mischief, hiding behind a tall wall of jokes. The other was empathy—something people could so easily take advantage of.

"But what do you mean we can't ask anything? We're friends. We're like family. Shouldn't you feel safe saying anything to us?" Parvati murmured, softening for once. She sounded insecure. Doubtful. Maybe even hurt.

"Oh, girls, you're putting me in a very bad position right now." He tensed before wrapping his arms around both of them. "We are family. It's just—me and Fred are handling a few things. We'll tell you eventually."

"But when?" Padma melted against his shoulder, mirroring her sister. "We want to help if you're struggling with something."

"I know, but you don't need to worry about it," he whispered gently, shielding them.

It was the most disgustingly cute thing Nova had ever witnessed. They were in sync, in harmony, close and familiar. They looked like siblings. Found family. Worthy of a photo to keep as a reminder through dark times.

But Nova only had her memory to capture it. She took in every detail. Every touch. Every breath. Every expression. She would replay it as a reminder of what love looked like.

And still, she wasn't there. She wasn't sitting next to them. She wasn't part of the hug. She wasn't part of whatever that was. She had done that to herself by enclosing in her little bubble of discomfort, refusing to let her sadness touch them.

Once again, George noticed. Their eyes met. How the fuck did he always know when she was drowning in her own mind? Was there some shift in her expression? Something in her gaze that gave it away? She wasn't sure—but he always knew.

"Blondie?" He grinned, and both Patils immediately looked up at her. "Want one of my famous special hugs too?"

"Ew, fuck no, I'd rather—"

She didn't have time to finish before George grabbed her. His arms locked tightly around her back, blocking any attempt at slapping him away. He lifted her briefly from the gravel—she could barely kick him. Fucking twat had a surprisingly strong grip.

"Get off me right now!" she shouted. At least her lips were free.

"Stop pretending you're not enjoying this, blondie," he smirked, swinging her around as though she were weightless.

"What's happening here?"

Fortunately everything stopped quickly. They all looked over to see a very amused Fred holding a tray of five full glasses. He didn't even know what to look at first—Nova and George hugging, or Parvati bent over with laughter, or—

Oh... Padma jumped on Fred without hesitation, planting little kisses all over his face. She wasn't careful about the tray either. She was utterly happy to have him. To be with him. It was intoxicating. Adorable.

So much so that Nova felt his grip loosen. She took her chance to slap George repeatedly until she finally put an arm's length between them.

"I swear, the next time you do that, I'll cut off your skin and gift it to your mother as a Christmas present," she snapped, eagerly adjusting her hair, her dress, everything he'd messed up.

"That means you're coming to the Burrow for Christmas?" He blinked quickly, going soft out of nowhere.

"Huh, fuck off." She shoved him aside before dropping into a seat next to a very, very amused Parvati.

Now at peace, Padma returned with the girls, knowing there would be time later to talk with Fred about this stupid fight that could've been easily avoided from the start.

For a second, George and Fred leaned in to whisper something to each other, but that was only part of the mystery surrounding them. Nova noticed how Padma and Parvati shared a knowing look—the same one the twins often exchanged. They were all mentally connected somehow.

It didn't last long before both boys came back, and George kindly handed Nova a glass. Just by looking at it, she could tell the smell of rum was stronger than ever. She was silently grateful Fred remembered the very few drinks she actually liked.

Then Parvati broke the glittering amusement by raising her glass and scanning everyone, expecting someone to make a toast. But when they all glanced at each other, silence was stronger than any of them.

"Fuck! Can we just drink and get this over with? It's freezing," Nova snapped, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

They cheered for nothing in particular, sipped their drinks, and Parvati was about to launch into some gossip as usual—until she looked at Nova and almost jumped in place.

Padma did the same. Fred and George couldn't contain their laughter. Nova frowned and finished her glass in one big gulp. She didn't feel dizzy. She didn't feel drunk. So why the hell were they looking at her like that?

A couple of Hufflepuffs exited the pub and, on their way past, stopped a few meters from the bench to laugh before continuing on.

Nova felt something was wrong. Something had shifted in the air. The fact that Padma and Parvati slid aside to the far corners of the bench, looking terrified even as their lips twitched with suppressed smiles, said enough.

"George? What did you do?" she hissed slowly—dangerously slowly—rising to her feet.

He didn't answer. He simply exploded with laughter, bending over from how hard he was laughing. He was ridiculous.

Nova flicked her wand and transfigured her glass into a mirror and—oh... fuck! What was happening to her face? There were pustules, her jaw was stretching into an odd shape, growing grotesquely, and her eyelids sagged down—fucking sickness potion! He'd spiked her drink!

"Mate, you should run," Fred whispered, stepping aside.

"Yes, you should, mate," Nova said, studying her reflection one last time before transfiguring the mirror into a dagger.

"Oh, fuck." George's eyes widened before he bolted.

Nova chased him across the gravel, between benches, around trees, dagger raised high in the air, pointed straight at him. Everyone wondered what would've happened if she managed to corner him somewhere.

She wasn't a killer—but seeing how furious she was, no one could completely dismiss the idea of spending the rest of the night torn between a visit to St. Mungo's for George and a trip to the Auror Department for Nova.

This is what family is supposed to do, right?

Chapter 19: Chocolate Pudding

December 12, 1994

Hate had always been too strong of a word for George. It was a feeling worthless to deepen—but he hated a few things.

He hated mushrooms, either eating them or using them for potions. He hated Quidditch after he and Fred weren't allowed to play on the team anymore due to so-called inappropriate behavior—they had just punched Malfoy in the face, nothing that serious.

He hated icy roads. The smell of gasoline. He hated silence. He hated Professor Snape's insults—only because they were so original compared to the twins' jokes.

And, most recently, he hated himself. A little hypocritical and unexpected from one of the two most confident and self-centered boys in the whole castle.

But he hated himself. He hated tutoring four kids and earning money from them when they were actually pretty smart and capable of doing everything on their own—their families were the ones too stupid to understand their children didn't need a tutor.

He hated that after Christmas holidays he would start working with Angelina's father. A very cold and demanding man who would take advantage of him as much as possible.

George would have to stay in a little office, bringing coffee to people who looked at themselves in the mirror and felt proud of their jobs—while he just had to fetch coffee. That was all people thought him capable of.

He didn't hate Angelina. She had tried to call him off from this job offer immediately, knowing how that field treated little boys like him. But he needed the money.

He hated himself for needing the money so desperately. Ginevra still didn't know about any of this, but George had now grown the habit of gazing at the little fortune he and his brother had made and stopped hating himself.

The smile on her face would be worth all this.

That didn't necessarily mean that, if he was having one of the worst days of his life, he would spare the entire fucking Hogwarts population from it.

"If the whole school was part of the tournament, what would happen?" Parvati cooed, though she didn't seem all that interested. "Want to place some fake bets?"

"Ten galleons on Longbottom dying immediately," Nova spat, filling her plate with all sorts of food—where was all this hunger coming from?

"I'm putting ten on Lovegood being the first to understand the Dragon egg riddle," Padma said like it was the only truth in the world.

"My money's on Devil Nova becoming champion," Fred teased, stealing the fresh copy of the Daily Prophet from Ron not too far away.

"Too easy a win, mate—she'll insult her rivals until they disqualify themselves," George hissed, sipping his tea with utter contempt right in front of Nova.

Apparently, she was having some sort of bad day too. There was a glimpse in her vivid blue eyes that gave away irrational irritation.

At every sound she would flinch slightly with a deadly serious expression. Every time Padma reached for something nearby, she would lean back in order not to be touched. That raging little vein in her forehead screamed to be pressed on its edge.

What a coincidence! George just needed something to take his mind off all this nonsense hate towards himself. He needed to light the fire in him once again before the coldness of what his life looked like would bring a very fucking cruel winter.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he murmured, growing extremely mischievous, letting their knees brush under the table.

"Good. Thanks for the interest," she said dryly, frowning exponentially, probably due to his sweet tone.

"Don't you want to ask me how I am this morning?" He rested his elbow on the table, wondering when she would snap venomously.

"I don't fucking care," she snapped—well, that didn't last long. "Ugh! Fine. How are you, George?"

"Thank you, blondie, for taking interest in me," he mocked, glancing quickly at their friends. "I'm in a particularly good mood. Want to know why?"

There it was! Like a drug he couldn't get enough of. That shift in her face, not quite yet falling victim to her own mind but contemplating, narrowed, not sure what to expect and thrilled not to know.

If only he could bottle that expression and take the scene from whatever she was feeling, he would, just to replay it endlessly as a reminder he mattered to someone. He had an effect on someone. He was being studied and seen without any expectations.

The whole table fell silent, admiring the usual morning show. George almost shivered in his seat from how exciting it was not knowing how it could end. Maybe a jinx war. Maybe she would slap him. Maybe they would... kiss.

Oh fuck! Now he was thinking of kissing her. What the hell was wrong with him? How could such blue eyes make him act like a simp all of a sudden? Forget it. No one would hear his thoughts anyway.

"Yes, George, tell us all—we're all so fucking curious," she nearly trembled with impatience, irritation, mischief—a tornado of all thrilling things.

"You sure? In front of all our friends?" he whispered, though he wasn't actually trying not to be heard. "I don't know if they care about the details of what happened inside the bath—"

His words got cut off by Nova's foot kicking him under the table—more than once—nearly flipping the plates above from the sheer force. Apparently, she was stronger than she thought.

Of course, he wasn't about to truly reveal everything like this. When the time was right it would be epic. One of those moments where everyone's minds exploded learning that the very two people who seemed to despise each other until death had sex.

Deep down George was well aware that they weren't so subtle. There were a lot of rumors about them faking this whole hate-and-bet show only as a mere excuse to keep people from intruding on their utterly secret relationship.

He never denied anything when someone asked. But he surely came up with very absurd stories to make them question how much was true—making someone crazy was apparently one of his hobbies.

"What happened where?" Parvati furrowed her brow, trying to catch on—there was new juicy gossip in the air, and she could smell it.

"First of all, you hurt me, blondie," he chuckled, rubbing his leg. "And I was just about to say that, inside the bathroom, Moaning Myrtle saw Chang and Diggory together."

She could breathe again. She let out a simple puff of agony but still had her guards all built up and reinforced, already building another wall. She was absolutely crazy and detached. Such a curious girl.

"What? That's big!" Padma gasped, turning to Fred. "Did you know about this and not tell me?"

"No, darling, George hasn't shared any secrets with me in the last weeks," he said dryly, eating his eggs, completely unbothered. "Not a single one."

Fucking liar. George had, indeed, told Fred the second he returned to their dorm that night. How could he keep it to himself? There was so much to consider. So much to talk about. So much to relive with mere words.

George had sex before. But whatever demon had possessed Nova that night inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was very good at it. Not only the act itself, but there was just some sort of magnetic pull between them. As he said before, fire feeding fire.

"Wait! Why did that make you so happy?" Parvati snapped with a knowing smirk. "Since when do you care about Chang or Diggory?"

"Exactly, George! Tell us more about it," Nova teased, adding more tension than necessary while bringing her hands down her knees.

"Well, I'm glad they found each other," he puffed, wondering why he hadn't considered how to handle the rest of the conversation. "I think boring people deserve to be together."

He truly believed that. Cho Chang was extremely shy and composed and aristocratic in some sort of way. Cedric Diggory was... good? Fine? Maybe a dick sometimes, but still, Hufflepuffs in general were a little complicated to place.

"Is that why you're with Angelina?" Padma hissed—not a fan of his fake girlfriend, apparently.

"Oh, fuck!" George let out a loud breath. "I forgot I was supposed to have breakfast with her."

This whole boyfriend-for-hire thing was more complicated than necessary. It was good to be paid even for mere things inside the castle like studying in the library or having meals sitting beside each other—it was just... he didn't have the best time-management skills.

Growing extremely annoyed to be dragged once again into what his real life was, which was only selling himself to one person and then to another, George propped to his feet resembling an inmate forced to the death chair.

"I have to go—"

Blank. Something hit his head, tracing down some sort of mixture. From the surprise he wasn't sure what to expect, but then the strong scent of chocolate invaded his nostrils as pudding kept pouring all over him.

Everyone burst out laughing immediately, echoing through the room and drawing other students' attention to enjoy the show. As always, Nova's voice was the loudest and most high-pitched of all.

This bitch! How could he not have noticed she was flicking her wand and letting a whole fucking plate of chocolate pudding float in the air? All these worries about how much he hated himself lately had really shifted him into the most unobservant person ever.

"That hair color really suits you," she mocked, almost tearing up from laughter.

George chuckled almost hysterically, wiping the pudding from his eyes and splashing it onto the floor—it wasn't clear whether he was about to kill her or eat himself.

"Uh, good one, blondie," he said, placing his hand on the wooden table and leaning forward. "Isn't chocolate your favorite?"

Without warning, he crawled onto the table and hugged her so tightly that her hair and clothes were stained almost as badly as his—finally, the usual morning show had begun.

"Get off me, you cunt," she snapped, but his grip was too strong. "Ew, you're disgusting."

"There's a bathtub that says otherwise," he whispered, making sure to smear pudding into her hair.

"Oh, shut it already," she elbowed him hard in the ribs, but it was useless again.

Just like the other night in front of The Groover, Nova had really underestimated how maddening he could be if there was enough rage and irritation melting along with all sorts of emotions.

Fuck it! She could chase him with a dagger again—he didn't care. She needed to be humiliated just as much as she had just humiliated him.

And they say romance is dead, huh?

For a moment, Padma and Fred exchanged an odd glance—those two were indeed fighting like boxers in a real match and surely taking it too far. Still, two soft, amused smiles lingered subtly on their faces.

"Fuck off," she finally managed to push him away, shoving his chest, as a weird, cold feeling ran through his body from the distance.

It seemed their bickering wasn't as entertaining as the other students had hoped, and most returned to their breakfast, still not understanding how those two hadn't killed each other yet.

However, what none of their friends expected was Nova looking down at her body covered in pudding and then gazing at George with an unusual expression—was she finally about to stab him? Or maybe shifting into her ultimate form of evil and into some scary creature?

Apparently, neither. Because in her mind, all sorts of thoughts were racing—irritation from being stained and messy; pride, because she'd earned another point in the bet; annoyance, because she now had to get dressed all over again.

But, more surprisingly, amusement at the situation itself. Her lips twitched, not fighting off a smile, her shoulders that were always tense as violin strings relaxed after taking a deep, defeated breath.

"You should see yourself right now," she started laughing—soft, angelic, the most beautiful sound on Earth.

"Me? Do you want me to grab you a mirror?" He was shocked by her reaction—this was a vision for his eyes.

Padma and Parvati couldn't help but laugh too—not only at how ridiculous those two were, but because seeing Nova so calm and almost human was something to enjoy while it lasted.

However, Fred's smile was more calculated—he surely knew it was odd for his brother to grow so attached to someone again. The admiration on his face was something he hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Some days, I truly can't believe you two are considered adults by the Ministry," Parvati shook her head like the concerned mother she felt she was inside.

Almost as if reading each other's minds, both Nova and George raised their middle fingers at their friend, then gazed at one another in shock—what the hell was happening today?

"Don't treat my friend like that," she snapped, slapping his arm, starting to grow irritated again.

"Ouch! You did it too," he hissed, trying to dodge her hits. "And I've known her longer than you."

"Kids, stop, or no dessert after dinner tonight," Fred mocked, wrapping his arm around Padma's shoulders—they were enjoying this parental scenario way too much.

George already heard Nova laughing. It was never like this. How much could you learn about her before it became useless against everything she wasn't showing? He always liked puzzles, but this one was the size of a fucking mountain with no reference image.

Just when their eyes locked again, his gaze fell behind Nova. Right at the Great Hall entrance—the sound of cracking boots approaching them in such an authoritative way made the air tense and thick. Unbearable.

Instantly, George leaned forward to shield Nova, placing her behind his back—jaw clenched, chest open, eyes filled with concern. He didn't even have to think about it. He did it. His body reacted that way without his consent.

With the corner of his eye, George could see Nova first, about to punch him probably thinking he wanted to attack, then melting and making herself small behind him seeing Dumbledore standing in front of them, with two American Aurors at his sides.

"What—Rowen. Weasley. What happened?" Professor McGonagall scoffed in disbelief at their condition. "What's that? Pudding?"

Nova didn't answer. But she had one hand placed gently on his back trying to hide, and god, she was trembling like crazy. It felt like having a fucking vibrator pressed on his skin. This wasn't how someone should feel. This wasn't how he wanted her to feel.

"To be precise, it's chocolate pudding. Want to taste it?" he offered, his stained elbow acting cocky and defenseless.

Deep down he was calculating. How many probabilities were there that the American Aurors were here to deliver very terrible news about the case? Maybe they were here to ask a little more or to check if she was okay.

George looked at his brother, who had stood up and placed himself behind Padma, finding comfort in placing his hands on her shoulders, waiting for any clue to step in if necessary.

While the Patils were scared to death. Not because of the Aurors—they were serious but not that scary—but because they knew that whatever happened, they would plan to help Nova in the best way possible.

It was always difficult. When she wasn't around or having one of her moments, they would talk about her. They were all wrapped in some sort of hero complex, but they quickly understood this crazy girl had stolen everyone's heart somehow.

The realization of not being the only one obsessed with seeing Nova without grief, doing the impossible in order to let her soul rest, was more reassuring than anticipated—at least he wouldn't be worried when he wasn't around. Because there would always be either Fred, Padma, or Parvati.

"Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore's gaze was always so magical and intriguing. "Would you please escort Miss Rowen out with us?"

"Yes, sir."

Without needing to be told twice, George's hand rested firmly on her back, slowly guiding her to walk—she was frozen in place, too scared to move, and her vivid blue eyes had lost the maniacal spark they had just moments before.

But he couldn't just let it be. If they remained here, everyone would know how her parents... The Aurors could say something and trigger a mental breakdown right here. She would never forgive him for letting it happen. So he did the only rational thing his mind could come up with.

"All right, blondie. Let's go."

In one swift motion, he lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Her arms flailed for a second before settling as she hung there, upside down, face pointed away from him, stunned and speechless.

Professor McGonagall was shocked at this sudden movement. The students weren't. Fred, Padma, and Parvati propped up to follow, but the way the headmaster looked at them was a clear reassurance nothing bad would happen in his presence and to just wait here.

While walking towards Dumbledore's office, the Aurors didn't say a word. They didn't even look at Nova. They were staring right ahead of them, almost like human machines, impossible to feel emotions or have opinions.

All George could focus on was her breathing. It was heavy. Stinging. Full of agony and fear. He was getting a little tired of carrying her like a sack of potatoes, but he wiped away the remote thought of seeing if she was able to stand. She would probably run away without thinking twice.

When they reached the office, George set Nova down on a seat—he had never seen her this tense and nervous. She was blank, emotionless, still as a statue, already anticipating heartbreak.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. That'll be all for now," McGonagall smiled gently, standing beside the desk.

However, George had no intention of leaving anytime soon. He glanced at Nova quickly, then at the Aurors who looked ready to break her heart in a split second. He wished she would look up at him and say something. But she couldn't. She was looking down at the floor, hoping a hole would form so she could fall in it.

So, melting under this new version of her he had never witnessed, George lowered himself until his eyes replaced the trajectory of where she was staring. He tugged a wild chocolate stray of hair behind her extremely jeweled ear with such delicacy because he feared she would shatter into millions of pieces.

"Do you want me to go, blondie?" he murmured, careless of acting disrespectfully toward the professor.

It was clear the surprise was washing over her. She fell victim to her mind again. Her eyes unfocused slightly, and he could tell she wanted him to go away only because she was too stubborn to ask someone to stay.

George knew that, even if she said yes, even if she shouted at him to get the fuck away, he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't let her handle this alone this time. And somehow she understood he was just as stubborn as her.

The second she shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line felt like the best win he had ever earned in his entire life. She had already agreed to let him help find who the killer was. But allowing him to be some sort of anchor in this moment? No words could explain how it felt.

George scanned the room with arrogance and, putting on his usual mischievous smirk, sat on the chair beside Nova, letting the chocolate pudding stain it—it looked expensive and old. Detention might be his for the rest of the year.

"Well, I think we can start, shall we?" Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the pudding completely vanished from both their bodies so suddenly they jumped slightly in place.

"Nova, these two men have some new information about—um—there's been a development," McGonagall struggled to find the right words, having just learned it herself, probably.

"Do you know this boy?" one Auror asked, placing a picture on the desk.

Leaning forward for a better look, Nova grew extremely pale, more than usual, and seemed close to fainting. George already had his hands positioned to catch her, even as his eyes jumped to see the boy for himself.

Curly brown hair freshly cut, soft blue eyes filled with happiness, two identical dimples on his cheeks from smiling—he was surely their age. His features were defined, and from the way she delicately traced the photo, he seemed important to her.

"He's been kidnapped. There were signs of a struggle in his house and fresh traces of magic in the air," the other Auror said vaguely, snooping around the shelves and making very confused expressions at the exposed objects.

"W-what? That's impossible. No one has a reason to hate Nick that much—" she whispered in disbelief, shivering slightly. "No—I raised wards around his room, it's not—"

Nova speechless? That's new. She raised wards? Where the hell did she learn to do that? Who the fuck was this Nick? So many questions and no time to ask. She would surely not tell anyway, but this was a piece of her life too important to miss.

Without having control over his own body, George's hand rose until it rested on the backrest of Nova's chair. The second she leaned back with the picture of the boy in her fingers, he could subtly caress her hair, the back of her neck, trying to remind her that he was here even without speaking.

"We believe whoever took him did it to get to you, hoping you'd try to save him. It might be the same person who killed your parents."

As if it wasn't already bad enough—losing Celeste and Louis, having to move and leave her whole life behind—knowing it was somehow her fault didn't help. Whatever tornado of emotions she was feeling took control quickly and without warning, she broke in front of everyone's gazes.

Her sobbing wasn't what they expected. It wasn't as loud as it should be, and her tears had a hard time streaming down her face, thick as blood. She tried to hold it back, not to appear weak, but it was impossible now.

"Whoa, you could've sugarcoated it a little, mate," George scoffed, pressing a hand heavily on her back—fucking Aurors, always so harsh with words.

"Think carefully, Nova. Is there anyone in your life you may have threatened? Someone who hates you enough to do this?" one of them leaned forward, trying to ignore George's murderous glare.

George could bet there was already a very long list of people who would want revenge on her. Only because he had made one for himself last year, and only with pranks, you could earn a few enemies. Imagine adding Nova's subtle bully personality and it could only double the number of suspects.

But this whole plan? Kidnapping a Muggle boy hoping she would jump into the first plane and go rescue him? She was only eighteen, with very little combat skill. Whoever thought she would just go out there probably didn't know how clever she really was.

Or was she? George, still caressing her back while she wiped away the few tears she allowed to fall, debated what would've happened if she decided to go. He couldn't let her. It was dangerous. Stupid. Irresponsible and... something he would surely do too if someone he cared about was about to die.

"Are we done? I have to go to class," she snapped, standing abruptly, quickly followed by George.

"Nova, this is serious. The killer could come for you. We should put you under protection until—"

"And who would do that? You two jerks have the same amount of muscle as Moaning Myrtle—and she's a freakish ghost," she teased, adjusting her hair, shivering in irritation.

The air thickened instantly. The two Aurors stiffened, glancing at the professors for support, but McGonagall had an amused smile that clearly indicated she had no intention of schooling her—she was even proud of how she stood her ground.

"If that's all, gentlemen, you know your way out," Dumbledore shrugged. He, too, wore a small, amused smile.

But as always, the one having the most fun was George, who mockingly waved at the Aurors as they walked away, even wishing them a good flight back to America and reminding them to try butterbeer before leaving.

"I'm sorry," Nova murmured, rolling her eyes. "I didn't mean to cuss in front of you—"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it, Miss Rowen. We've all done it at some point in life," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "You can go if you'd like, but remember, if you need help you know where to find us."

"Thank you, sir," she nodded, smiling gently in reassurance, then finally walked away with George.

The second they stepped outside the office, everything changed. Nova started pacing like a maniac, and he could barely keep up. Tears crawled down her flushed cheeks from rage. Her fingers twitched slightly, and there was so much sadness taking over.

For a moment, George simply wanted to stop her firmly and force a hug. She needed one desperately. She had just learned a boy, probably her ex or a very close friend, had been kidnapped to get to her, and the only thing Nova could do was walk frenetically.

She needed a hug. Fuck it! At this point he needed one too, for how stressful the whole situation was. However, he didn't force it because there was always another way to handle Nova rather than the most healthy and human thing.

"What's your plan?" George tried to lock eyes with her, but she was rushing somewhere unclear. "Blondie? Are you about to faint?"

"Not yet," she snapped, boiling in rage.

"Will you warn me if it happens at least?" he teased, then gently gripped her arm to finally stop her.

"Just leave me alone!" she shouted, gasping in exasperation. "Go back to class, I'll deal with it."

"And do what? Bat your beautiful blue eyes and the killer will let the boy go? Really clever, I must say," he hissed, crossing his arms, studying her carefully.

It wasn't an attempt to bicker. It was his own way of saying he would not sleep, eat, or do anything else until this problem was resolved. Words weren't his strongest superpower, but, hey, she should catch all this from what he said, right?

"I don't need your help. I can take care of myself," she scoffed, resting her hands on her hips, deeply focused on coming up with a plan.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Big old strong Devil Nova can do everything by herself," he mocked, gripping her shoulders and slowly guiding her away.

"What? Let me go! Where are you taking me?" She almost tripped trying to get free from him, but it was useless as always.

"Let's go to the others and come up with a real plan, Blondie."

Hate had always been too strong of a word for George. It was a feeling worthless to deepen—but he hated a few things.

And allowing Nova to do something self-destructive and dangerous without him was becoming one of the things he hated the most.

Chapter 20: Matt’s Type

December 16, 1994

Don't ask anything.

That was the only rule Nova had forced on her friends before agreeing to let them come all the way to Chicago—Padma, Fred, and George weren't sure how much they could handle all these questions.

Don't ask how she managed to get them all first-class plane tickets. She sent an owl, and the next day she had them in her hands.

Don't ask how she managed to convince Fred's boss to let him call off work for the weekend. She talked to him for only ten minutes, and everything was in order.

Don't ask about the extremely detailed plan Parvati had to follow to make sure their absence went unnoticed. They were allowed to leave the castle, but they surely weren't allowed to leave the country.

Simply don't ask—and be there for her. That's all Nova wanted. It was already difficult having them feel the burden of her old life. Explaining everything would be more painful than they could imagine.

"I hope my sister doesn't get us in trouble," Padma hissed as they slowly walked through the dim neighborhood.

"Of course she will. My sister-in-law can't lie to save herself," Fred puffed, gently elbowing her—only to receive a much harder elbow in the stomach in return.

Nova didn't flinch. She didn't listen. She just walked, lost in the intimacy of her mind, now completely blank. She wasn't sure what to expect from this rescue plan.

For once, it was impossible to overthink. And it wasn't the best feeling. She went blank and simply embraced the fact that everything could be the last.

Maybe she would die tonight. Or in the following days, searching for Nick. As the perfect drama queen, she wondered if this was the last time she would walk. If this was the last time she would breathe air. If this was the last time George would approach and let their shoulders brush slightly.

"Oi, blondie," he scoffed faintly, having to run a little to catch up to her. "Here, eat something. I have no idea where the nearest hospital is if you faint or feel sick."

Nova scanned him slowly and reached for the chocolate bar he had brought from the plane—or better stolen—or better, they had been free from the start, but he felt so proud of himself it was a waste to break his ego this time.

As always, he was perfect. The only perfect thing in her life. He was irritating, teasing, and joking as much as possible, but he was calm and mature, ready for combat at any moment. He was there, just there, doing nothing for now—and still, it felt good knowing he was there.

"Does Angelina know you're with me?" she murmured—not jealous, not teasing—just eager to distract herself.

"Yes, and she almost begged me to come too," he let out a big, dramatic breath, though his tone didn't seem as honest as usual. "She wanted to spend time with you."

"Careful, George. I might get into a relationship with your girlfriend at this point," she said dryly, halfway through the chocolate bar.

"She better get in line. There are people who've been waiting longer," he whispered, almost inaudibly, gazing around the street.

Nova's head snapped up to him, letting his words linger delicately in her mind—was he talking about himself?

If it were any other situation, she would have started a bickering match, or had sex with him, or fainted if there wasn't enough sugar in her body—but now, it was different.

The quiet neighborhood, with the sun slowly setting, the houses silent—probably families already having dinner or gone for the weekend—and the dim glow from the streetlights...

This felt dangerously intimate. She hadn't considered that coming here would also mean spending these days in close proximity with George. That meant she wouldn't have a second alone with her thoughts without him catching her emotional distress and paranoia.

What a shitty situation she had brought herself into. And what was that? A love confession? Was he waiting for the right moment to date her? Where was this coming from?

Too many worries and only one she could focus on. Nick was in danger. It was her duty to save him. To be the white knight for once. The hottest one, most likely. This thing with George would have to wait. It always had to fucking wait.

"Guys, I'm tired of walking. Where's this kid's house?" Fred groaned, clinging to Padma so she'd guide him—like kids, as she often said.

Just as the words left his mouth, Nova stopped abruptly, making everyone nearly trip over her—there it was, the place Nick had been taken from.

The outside of the house looked the same as the others, but she always thought it had so many differences—if you looked closely, there were pieces of her scattered around the estate.

The heart with their initials etched into the left side wall, the tree in the backyard that held the swing she'd spent hours on while Nick read books to her.

A row of tulips covered the right side of the garden—his mother had planted those three years ago so her son could gift Nova flowers for every occasion. She'd never say it out loud, but those romantic gestures were nice to receive from time to time.

"Are you sure about this?" Padma rested a hand on her back, sensing how tense her friend had become in a second. "We could let the boys go and wait outside."

"Oh please, they'd trip over themselves on the stairs," she breathed, almost defeated, trying to sound reassuring. "This is a woman's job."

"Hey! We heard that!" the twins scoffed in disbelief—but still smiled, glad she was slowly returning to her bold self.

"Yeah, you were supposed to," she hissed firmly, walking into the house.

As soon as she opened the door, the spark of magic in the air surged through their bodies in one swift wave before shifting to an eerie quiet.

No one was home, and from the dust and stale smell, it seemed like it had been days since anyone had stepped inside—where were his parents?

Nova gazed around, trying to avoid the hundreds of family portraits on the walls—some of them with her in them, hugging Nick. She'd seen them multiple times, but she couldn't look now. It felt like one of those fever dreams that made you sadder waking than sleeping.

"Oh, look at this!" Padma picked up a frame from the entry table, catching the twins' curiosity. "Nova's dressed as a bunny. She's so cute."

Fuck! Between worrying about Nick and reliving her old life, she'd almost forgotten that having her friends here meant they'd see a side of her she wished to keep hidden forever.

Not the Devil Nova Americans had experienced, but the sweet neighbor girl who'd grown up in this house and lived a mostly Muggle life with this family.

"Oh shit, blondie—you had glasses and braces in middle school?" George stared at a portrait on the wall. "I'm going to make copies and wallpaper the whole school."

"Wait, do you think they have family albums with her in them?" Fred gasped, turning to search the entire house.

"If the killer is in here, I'll allow him to kill you all," she snapped, roughly swiping all the frames aside before they could see more.

Padma elbowed the twins silently, suggesting they behave, but it was crystal clear in her expression she was just as curious about what little Nova looked like and secretly hoped they'd get the chance to snoop around.

It obviously doesn't happen every day to have this memorable opportunity to see this side of her: what she was before grief, what she was without all the rage and sadness and guilt and shame. Who Nova had been was inside this house. And she was sure they would not follow the rule to not ask.

That is, of course, if they didn't actually encounter the psychopath who was kidnapping—and probably torturing—the people she cared about.

Before entering Nick's bedroom, Nova gripped the doorknob and couldn't bring herself to swing it open—this was it, the next heartbreak waiting to shatter her already broken soul.

Her fingers trembled. Her breath became heavier and heavier, like a rock pressing on her lungs. She felt ridiculous. She knew she looked ridiculous. This was a mistake. She was supposed to do this alone like everything else in her life.

But a sudden noise came from inside—someone tripping or rifling through drawers—making everyone jump in fear.

Was the killer inside? Waiting for Nova to come in so they could take her too? Kill her even? Or maybe it was a wild animal that had found its way in looking for food—either way, no one felt ready to find out.

Fortunately, the door opened by itself, revealing a figure and—on pure instinct—Nova punched it in the face, summoning all the strength in her body.

"What the fuck!" The figure bent over in pain, covering his nose as it started to bleed. "Fucking fuck!"

The twins immediately shielded the girls, gripping their wands but not drawing them completely yet in case the figure was a Muggle—but seeing him in pain because of Nova still made them smile, as usual.

"Oh fuck, what—Nova?" The boy looked up at her, confused, starting to feel woozy.

"Matt?" she furrowed her brows, leaning forward. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to!"

"Shit! When did you get so strong?" he hissed, tilting his head to ease the bleeding.

"Uh, don't be a baby—it's not that bad," she gripped his shoulder, studying his face—it was, indeed, worse than she intended.

Padma chuckled softly before transfiguring a nearby plant into a towel and roughly resting it on Nova's shoulder, then walked inside the bedroom to snoop around without being disturbed.

Even if the twins were enjoying the show, Nova could sense their eyes growing serious and narrowing in order to scan the boy to their fullest. She was sure George was debating if he could be a threat, someone to be careful of, someone who could ruin whatever bond they had.

She wasn't ready to ruin this inquisitive look on his face, but no, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. At least she could pretend there was for a little longer.

The boy—Matt—was as tall as her, which was incredibly admirable. There weren't many people who could match her height, though George still held first place, towering over her slightly. Fucking cunt, always remarkable in everything.

However, compared to everyone she had ever dated, Matt wasn't Nova's type—not physically, he was fairly handsome—but because their relationship was like siblings. It was like George and the Patils. She was now in her place. Again, where she always belonged.

"Can you stop moving? I can't fucking see this way," she snapped, cleaning his snub nose—the bleeding had stopped.

"Hi, by the way, I'm Matt," he waved slowly, unable to stay still for more than two minutes. "Are you friends of hers or did she blackmail you to come with?"

"Both," George teased, walking into the room with his twin—she could swear he was growing a little jealous.

Using her wand, Nova cleaned Matt's shirt and summoned an enchanted bandage to place on his nose in case the bleeding returned—since when was she capable of hurting someone that much?

"What are you doing in here?" she said playfully, adjusting his brown hair—he was messier than the last time she saw him.

"I was waiting for you," he shrugged, brushing dust off her sweater—she was dressed much more modestly than she had been when she lived here.

Matt Collins, her best friend since kindergarten—there were so many memories with him it would take another lifetime to share them all. They grew up together, and still, leaving him behind hadn't been as sad as she had imagined.

Not because she didn't care for him, but because their bond had grown past that—no matter where they were in the world or how much time passed, their hearts beat together as one. They would always find their way back to each other.

Seeing them so in sync and harmonious made Padma and the twins more curious than before as they sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the situation to unfold—Nova avoided their gazes as much as possible or else she would hold back too much.

"There's nothing in this bedroom that'll help you find him," Matt said, watching as she searched for something—a clue, an answer. "But we can go ask around. Maybe someone's seen him—"

"I don't want others to know I'm here," she cut him off, fingers tracing a drawing on the wall.

A cherry tree sketch—not precise or good—she'd drawn it out of boredom while Nick studied history or something for his Muggle school. He kept it, like lots of things from her.

"Why not? Lexi and Tim haven't seen you in forever," Matt said, walking to the window and lighting a cigarette with his wand. "The first week, I told everyone you were dead too. You should've seen their faces. Can't deny, some were happy about it."

"Oh, shut up," she threw a book sitting on the nightstand—the sudden movement made her trip.

Fortunately—oh fuck, they were still here!—George caught her by the waist before she could fall, and the sudden touch almost made her forget what she was supposed to be doing.

What soft eyes. What resting lips. He looked so ready. So relaxed and enjoying being there for her. What a fucking feeling to have his hands pressing on her skin, even if the black sweater didn't let any warmth through.

"You should change the bet to how many times George manages to save you from hitting the floor," Fred teased, proud to have made Padma laugh.

"A bet? Really, Nova?" Matt stood in front of them, offering a cigarette to the twins, which they surprisingly accepted. "You're not allowed to make those anymore."

"Oh, bite me," she rolled her eyes, distancing herself from George—fucking idiot should've let her fall instead of making a scene.

However, silence fell instantly as they all turned to see Matt scanning Padma from head to toe with an intrigued expression—not possessive and dominant like most boys, nor sweet and caring. Just... a Matt expression.

"Sorry for my manners, but who is this beautiful creature?" He took her hand and placed a kiss on it, not noticing Fred's killing glare.

"I'm Padma," she whispered with an amused smile—making the twin jealous was apparently her favorite hobby.

"Are girls at Hogwarts all this divine, or is it just you?" he said, sitting beside her, leaving very little space between them—it wasn't clingy or creepy, actually a very nice presence.

The twins exchanged a look—a knowing one. Nova rolled her eyes, already growing irritated that Matt wasn't taking this seriously. She kept searching for something around the room, careless of them but still taking in everything they were doing.

Fred wasn't extremely uncomfortable. Not totally jealous, just trying to understand better. He was probably debating at what point he would have all the rights to step in and punch Matt in the face.

Not George. Nova could feel his eyes piercing her with every movement. When she gazed inside Nick's wardrobe, she could swear he almost cracked his neck to get a better look.

When she gazed at other portraits on the wall and stretched her arms, her sweater raised slightly, and she could swear he was looking at her belly piercing.

Everything she did was being observed, studied. She wasn't sure if it was intoxicating to know she was being built inside someone else's mind or if it was reassuring knowing she couldn't trip, set something on fire, or fall victim to her own thoughts as long as George was there.

However, he was worried also for his brother. Matt kept complimenting Padma—her clothes, her eyes, her hair. It wasn't cheesy nor cocky, neither clever nor bold. It was just... Matt.

George was uncomfortable, and she had at least a glimpse of power to make it stop. She could help. She could help him the same way he helped her.

"Don't worry, Fred," Nova teased, seeing how irritated he was getting. "I think you're more Matt's type than Padma."

"What?" Everyone snapped their heads toward her with confused expressions.

"Oh fuck you, Nova, always ruining my fun," he scoffed, raising his wand to light the twins' cigarettes.

Fred shook his head slightly, realizing he was overreacting. It wasn't right to feel jealous anyway—he shared a brief gaze with her that resembled some sort of thank you, and she winked awkwardly, not sure how she was supposed to react.

As George walked toward the window to let the smoke out, Nova found herself approaching him. He hadn't said much. He hadn't done much. She hoped he wasn't feeling left out or guilty. Or worse, feeling helpless. She knew how seriously he took the white knight role.

Since Matt, Padma, and Fred seemed so engrossed in their chatting—probably swapping funny Nova stories—it felt like the right moment to speak the words that had been lingering on her tongue this entire trip. The reason why he was here.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered, stealing the cigarette from his fingers—caramel, spruce tree, and fireworks on the butt of it.

"No, blondie, I won't convince my brother to have a threesome with Padma and Matt," he teased, leaning on the wall behind him.

"Not that, dickhead," she slapped his arm gently. "It's impossible to have a serious conversation with you."

As Nova exhaled smoke through her nose, starting to grow irritated, it landed on his face beautifully—it looked like a blurry dream showing your deepest desires you try to hide in the corners of your mind.

Besides her worry for Nick, the pain of being back in her old neighborhood, reliving the life before Celeste and Louis' deaths, and all the other sad thoughts threatening to break her—he was effortlessly the most reassuring vision on earth.

"All right, blondie, ask me anything. I promise I won't make a joke for the next two minutes," he said, mockingly crossing his fingers and trying to suppress his smirk.

Her eyes fell on his body slowly, trying to decide if she could trust him enough to speak her mind honestly—risking a comeback or being made fun of—but she slipped into a trance, admiring him.

Black jeans hugging his long legs, a white t-shirt beneath a dark red sweater—slightly oversized but still framing his shoulders and complementing his hazel eyes. Oh fuck! Why was he becoming hotter by the day?

"Stop eyefucking me—we're in your ex-boyfriend's bedroom," he said, stretching just enough to show off his V-line, then leaned forward to steal the cigarette from her fingers.

"I wasn't—uh, cunt," she mumbled, pushing him and walking back to their friends—no, she couldn't ask him why he was here with her.

"C'mon guys, I'll show you around," Matt said, grabbing Padma—apparently they'd bonded strongly in the last few minutes.

"No, wait! We have to find a way to help Nick," Nova stopped them right at the door, her eyes blazing. "I won't leave him—"

"Don't worry, I already have a plan. Let's go," he scoffed, brushing past her to lead the way.

"You're incapable of that! Last time I followed one of your ideas I almost got arrested," she grabbed his arm as the twins and Padma walked slightly behind, enjoying the show.

"Exactly, but did we manage to sneak into the zoo or not?" he grinned, proudly resting an arm on her shoulders, pushing as much of his weight.

"A lion was fucking about to eat us! Don't you remember?" she gasped in exasperation, like they were alone again.

Matt stopped abruptly and turned to face her with wide eyes and a deeply offended expression—she almost laughed in his face, but she missed bickering with him too much.

"I had everything under control and your arm was barely scratched," he snapped, crossing his arms. "Admit it—that was the best birthday of your life."

"Oh yes, my biggest dream has always been blowing out candles in a hospital bed," she grinned, and without warning, they started hitting each other like true siblings often do.

Nova could see, with the corner of her eye, Padma and Fred laughing at the scene uncontrollably and prouder than ever. George was blinking in surprise, a lingering smile adorning his lips. They were all happy, somehow, to experience her in this state.

And for once she didn't want to hide it. Having Matt was calming her down. After all this time thinking that reliving her past would only hurt more, it was refreshing. It was vivid. It was...

"Guys, watch out!"

In a split second, Nova felt her body being dragged, and she braced herself for impact. Only a blinding light. A car horn. And the rest was only the sound of her dangerously beating heart.

When she opened her eyes, George was there. Fuck! He was always there! Wow, he was always there. She was lucky for it, but he was even more grateful to put his hero complex to work.

How did they even end up in the middle of the road without noticing? Were they actually pushing each other this hard? She wasn't sure, but when she looked back, Matt was holding Fred a little too tight. At least he was safe.

"Oh my god, did you see that? I almost just died," she gasped, pressing her palms on his chest, feeling his heart pounding just as loudly.

"Tragic that you didn't," he said dryly, but still gripping her waist tightly, almost in fear of letting go.

"Huh, don't pretend you won't miss me," she scoffed faintly, sure she was blushing slightly.

They remained there. Time stopped. Why the hell had time stopped the moment they were this dangerously close? Fuck! She had so much in her mind right now, and she couldn't enjoy it as she wanted.

She had to hold back. She did step back. What coldness came from it. But she couldn't. She had to save Nick. She had to heal from grief. There were so many things to do before being ready for him.

Wait... what? She wanted to be with George? She blinked quickly as they returned to the group, and she knew he was just as confused about how to handle this.

Don't ask. She had put that rule on her friends, and now she was forcing it on herself. Don't ask what you meant by being ready for him. Don't ask if you wanted to be with him.

Don't ask if you were unwillingly and annoyingly falling in love with fucking George Weasley.

Chapter 21: Brainless Monkey

December 16, 1994

There wasn't much difference between London and Chicago. Muggles were muggles—always acting in some sort of whimsical way, even without magic coursing through their bodies.

The only difference in the air? Fucking Devil Nova. She was more at ease than ever with Matt. They walked slightly ahead and only stopped from time to time to gaze at the closed windows of forgotten shops.

This didn't look like a wizarding neighborhood. And places were difficult to reach without a car. It took them a very long time to get to a diner.

And no matter how much George wanted to witness Nova laughing endlessly, making fun of people, snapping at Matt instead of him, he felt extremely tired and hungry—a little jealous, perhaps, but he would choke himself to death before admitting it.

"Woah, am I on drugs or seeing the devil itself rising from hell?" a boy shouted as soon as they entered the almost empty place.

Fred and Padma couldn't help but laugh, already anticipating another piece of Nova's past—people who had known her deeply and might have some really good stories to share.

However, George grew tense seeing how that boy hugged her tightly. They seemed close—maybe even too close—and he was, annoyingly to admit, very handsome.

Tall like him—oh fuck!—coal-black eyes framed by inhumanly long lashes, tattoos covering almost every inch of his clay-toned skin, and deep brown hair freshly cut. Next to her, they were a fairly hot couple.

George was never one to find a boy attractive. He could say if one was handsome. But bloody hell, this boy was sculpted by the gods above. At this point, he was questioning his whole sexuality.

Then he looked at Nova, her vivid blue eyes, the vein on her forehead screaming to be pushed, the way her black sweater had that straight cut to show her bare shoulders, and he cursed himself for not marking her that night—just to have a reminder of their little moment.

It returned to normal. Tim was handsome. But Nova was the most beautiful demon ever to exist.

"Tim, these are my friends," she whispered, almost proud to show them off—well, this was oddly satisfying to see.

"It's a pleasure," Tim smirked, shaking their hands, then gripping Fred's more tightly and leaning forward. "Blink twice if she's holding you hostage."

Padma was too mesmerized by how handsome the boy was to process his words, but the twins glanced at each other, minds instantly flooding with questions about why anyone doubted they could voluntarily be close to Nova.

This rescue mission was shifting into connecting pieces of the big puzzle about her life—but without knowing what the final picture looked like. And that was making George more excited by the minute.

"Where's your beautiful sister?" Matt sat roughly on the diner booth, quickly followed by Nova—those two showed no manners, acting like they were in their own house.

"Probably ruining someone's life as usual," Tim chuckled, inviting the others to sit together.

When the waitress approached, Nova ordered milkshakes and fries for everyone, not bothering to ask what they actually wanted—she didn't wasted any time. The plan was top priority, and George stiffened in his seat, taking in however the situation would unfold.

They had promised not to ask. And he would not. Or at least not out loud. But he would observe everything. Study her in what seemed her natural habitat. He would be there if she fell victim to her own mind again. Fuck it! There was no need to hide it from himself.

He couldn't care less about saving the muggle boy. He couldn't care less about these two idiots sitting too close to her. He couldn't care less about looking like a simp.

He was here just for her. Just because she needed help and was too stubborn to ask. She would be ready one day, and he was sure he would abandon everything he had built so far if only she gave him a chance to show her what love looks like.

Fuck! Love? What a big word. He could feel it stinging in his mind. Making his stomach twist. Crawling up and down his spine. What a fucking big word to use. Better to say he would show her what hate wasn't. Yeah. That sounded better.

"Have you been around my neighborhood recently?" she cooed, trying to look unbothered by George's knees brushing against hers under the table.

"Of course. Who do you think is cleaning your house after the parties?" Tim shrugged, loudly sipping his chocolate milkshake. The sight alone made Padma almost drool.

"What parties?" George furrowed his brows, noticing how tense Nova had gotten—probably thinking about her old house.

"Since she moved out, that building's been abandoned. It was only fair to keep the magic alive and invite everyone over at least once a week."

Silence fell. Padma and Fred sipped their milkshakes and ate their fries, probably coming up with all sorts of questions about this little dynamic in front of them. But the rule was not to ask. And god! All three wanted to just fucking ask some more.

There was a shift in Nova's expression. Her eyes lost their sparkle once again. She was refuging in her mind. She was thinking. Remembering. She was not there with them anymore, not even for a split second.

An heartbreaking sight each time. George wondered if there was a potion or a medication she hadn't tried yet. He wondered if having sex was truly the only way to stop the thoughts.

And the mere idea of it being only that—only a distraction—didn't feel so good all of a sudden. He wanted to help. He didn't want to be just helpful. What the fuck was in Chicago air? Amortentia?

"Can I punch him?" she snapped at Matt, who was reading a Muggle newspaper nonchalantly.

"No," he said dryly, not even looking up.

"Not even slap him gently?" she batted her eyelashes innocently, summoning all her strength not to cause a scene.

The way Nova was sitting between the two boys—Tim amused and eager to tease her, while Matt remained completely unbothered—was almost creepy as a show.

The twins realized they were replacements for these two—George, the one almost getting hit most of the time, if it weren't for Fred constantly trying to ease the tension and keep his brother from ending up in the infirmary.

Padma shifted in her seat with a puzzled expression, laced with concern—and in George's case, even a bit of jealousy—ugh! Someone needed to step in or else he would punch these two immediately.

"Do you know anything about Nova's neighbor who was kidnapped?" Padma leaned forward, head resting on her hands like she was talking about silly gossip.

"Yes! Now listen..." Tim scanned the table, building suspense. Everyone's attention shifted to him with utter intensity. "His name is Nick McClaire."

After a minute of silence, it was clear there was nothing else escaping his beautiful lips. That was the only information he had, and he even looked proud to share it. Handsomely dumb, George realized.

"Oh God, I can't believe I slept with you, brainless monkey," Nova gasped, exasperated, letting her forehead hit the table, swinging in defeat.

"Wait! What?" George's eyes were fuming.

Was this boy one of her exes, and he had just found out? Like it was nothing?

Realizing he was a substitute for that—almost sculpted-by-gods—boy sitting beside Nova, knowing they had even had sex and didn't end up in a relationship, made George want to walk away, careless of getting lost in these unfamiliar streets.

However, he needed to be strong. He needed to remain calm. Don't ask. That was the rule. He would have time to shout at her back in the castle. He would have time to be jealous later. He needed to remain calm and not ask.

Fuck! It was difficult. Especially because Nova was now going completely mental. She didn't even care how much her forehead would hurt later from hitting the table so hard.

No. George was now sure there weren't any medications for someone like this. It wasn't even grief. It wasn't even the situation itself. He sighed in defeat, sipping his milkshake, feeling all sorts of twisted emotions pushing in his chest, unsure how to handle them.

"Don't worry, ginger. I made that mistake once—it won't happen again," Tim teased, but not receiving the right reaction from Nova made it less satisfying, apparently.

"Oh, stop acting like you're not still in love with her," Matt rolled his eyes, slipping a brick of tissues between her forehead and the table—or she might have bled from the repeated hits.

"Are you?" Padma's eyes sparkled with mischief—hoping it would help George understand the situation better, and also because she was nosy.

"Pff, trust me. It's like Stockholm syndrome being with her," Tim gazed away slightly before realizing it was time to talk about it with someone else. "She's abusive and possessive, but you get addicted to it."

Well, they surely didn't expect to hear that—especially since he didn't look like the type to know a medical term like that. As she said, a brainless monkey was the best way to describe him.

However, that wasn't a joke. There was honesty in his voice. He had lived Nova and knew what damage getting wrapped in her drama could do to a person. No, he wasn't lying—and that only made everything worse.

"Careful, she might hear you, and I won't restrain her anymore," Matt cooed, starting to sketch on the pages of the newspaper—that was meant for other customers, but apparently, he didn't care.

"Not now, she's having one of her psychotic breakdowns," Tim stole her milkshake to take a big sip, almost freezing his—well, let's call it a brain—and then gazed at George seriously. "Are you the boy from the bet?"

"My reputation precedes me, apparently," he said dryly, stiffening in his seat—his eyes were actually more captivating than anticipated.

"Yeah, that and the thousands of letters she sends Matt, listing all the ways you irritate her daily," Tim leaned forward with a teasing smile. "How come you're still alive after casting spiders on her body?"

George's eye twitched instantly, not sure if the fact that Nova was writing about him was a good or bad sign. If she only talked about the pranks, then it would've been fine—just a way of sharing it with someone outside the bet.

But was she sharing even their intimate moments? The bathtub, maybe? Were these two boys aware of all the ways he pushed inside her and even cuddled for a while in the water after having sex?

Those weren't the right questions—because one, in particular, rose from the bottom of his heart. And still, it was annoying to admit to himself that he wanted to read those letters to understand if there was a slight possibility of being with Nova.

Well, after she stopped grieving and surrendered to the idea of having a real relationship with someone who wasn't just a distraction—small details compared to the bigger picture.

"You're describing her as a heartless monster," Padma said in a know-it-all way, irritated by how everyone seemed to perceive Nova.

"Because she is!" Tim snapped, blinking in disbelief that no one believed him.

"Oh fuck, here we go again with that story," Matt rolled his eyes, gently gripping Nova and raising her head. "You have my permission to punch him now, before he talks about the abandoned graveyard."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Nova seemed to snap out of her trance, already fisting her hand in preparation to hit him.

Fred and Padma widened their eyes, seeing her summon so much strength.

While George was almost shivering in anticipation—satisfied to see her slowly getting back to her usual weird and rude self—it didn't last long. She tensed on the spot.

Something clicked in her mind—a memory, a clue. The answer she had been looking for the whole time since they left the castle and jumped into this not-so-well-organized plan.

"Fuck! Of course he would've been there. How stupid I was not to think about it," she gasped, slapping her forehead gently. "Fucking fuck!"

Without warning, Nova towered over Tim, kicking him in the middle parts and gripping his hair to keep herself from tripping. But when she noticed he was still slightly intact, she added a sharp slap to his arm—that was for the parties she hadn't been invited to, apparently.

Fred, George, and Padma quickly followed, visibly confused about where she was going. But she looked so focused and boiling with rage that it was risky to stop her just for an explanation.

Their heads would explode with all the questions slowly bubbling up since arriving—hoping there would be time for some well-earned answers once Nick was safe.

Nova stopped a taxi on the street and gave instructions to the driver sitting beside her, almost not noticing her friends in the seats behind, gazing at her, wrapped in full concern—she looked more maniacal than usual.

Leaving Tim and Matt at the diner automatically made them responsible for her for the remaining time of this plan—shit! They should've brought an adult.

After one of the fastest rides of their lives, thanks to a mentally ill driver almost as bad as Nova, they arrived in front of a dark and creepy cemetery—judging by how destroyed the fence was, it was indeed abandoned, as Matt had said.

"Wait, wait, wait," Fred gripped her arm, seeing her so confident walking inside. "Let's think about a plan first."

"Yeah. You're right," she nodded mockingly. "Stay here, I save Nick, and then we go for a drink."

But as soon as Nova tried to go through with this, George's hands wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the gravel and onto his shoulders like she weighed nothing—this time, she resisted and started punching his back.

"We'll be right back," he chuckled to them, who were silently glad that he wanted to deal with it—they were getting very concerned for her.

This was enough. He couldn't just bury it anymore. He needed to take control of this situation before they all died due to her stubbornness. He knew they would one day. Not tonight, though.

"Fuck! Let me go!" she shouted, and when he positioned her back on her feet just a few meters away, under a tree, she tried to run, but it was useless. "Get out of my way."

George's body towered over her, not possessive, but deadly serious—he had never looked so mature and worried, so authoritative, it felt like the moment before being scolded by a professor.

Neither of them knew what he wanted to say. There were so many questions. So many things he had witnessed in the last hours. His brain was exploding. Burning out. He would need at least a month without her craziness to recover.

But now wasn't the time. George took several deep breaths to become blank. He didn't have time to think. He had to be strong. He couldn't ask anything. He wouldn't fall victim to her beautiful blue eyes and would remain firm.

"Listen very carefully, blondie," he snapped, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing to emphasize the weight of his words. "I'm tired of all the crap you've pulled in the last few hours and—"

"I don't have time for—"

"Shut up a minute and stop acting like a fucking kid," he said firmly, almost exasperated. "I can deal with meeting your exes without punching each one of them, follow you through this suicidal plan, careless of what consequences are waiting for us at Hogwarts..."

For some reason, Nova pressed her lips into a thin line, making herself slightly smaller. Her gaze softened, and she looked so fucking fragile. For a second he was about to take it all back and just apologize for having shouted. It wasn't something he did if not strictly necessary.

There was some guilt washing over him without warning. Now, all of a sudden, he fucking cared a lot about saving that muggle boy because that would mean Nova would stop acting crazy. They would save him, and then she would have a lot of explaining to do.

"...but you won't go in there alone and die under my watch. Understood?" he said, regaining control over himself in the slightest.

"Yes, okay," she nodded, defeated, hiding an amused smile.

That was odd. He had this long monologue about how irresponsible this whole plan was. He had managed to formulate so many words in his mind and considered all the worst-case scenarios if she said no.

But she... agreed? She was willing to listen to him. She wasn't asking for help, but she wasn't denying it. She wasn't taking control. She wasn't being stubborn. Something was wrong in this city. Something was terribly and irreversibly wrong.

"Good," he furrowed, confused that it was that easy. "Let's go, and don't do anything stupid."

While walking back towards Fred and Padma, who seemed to be having an angry moment too, George scanned her with utter contempt. She was looking down with a lingering smile. Her usually pale cheeks were now blushing slightly.

Maybe she was offended. Maybe he had shouted too loud. Or maybe she was imagining ways to kill him. Neither of those scenarios would be good.

He felt faint. Between the lack of sleep and the adrenaline of this whole rescue plan, he could swear he was losing consciousness at every step. A visceral feeling that something terrible would happen—and somehow it would be his fault if Nova got hurt.

"Do we have an exit strategy?" Padma gripped her wand firmly, waiting for directions.

"A what?" All three tilted their heads slightly, gazing at her.

"Oh god, we're all going to die," she rolled her eyes, being the first to approach the entry.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, even if the thin gravel under their feet made it difficult, they all slowly gazed around, not sure what they should be seeing—why did Nova have a reason to come here?

But the answer wasn't even within herself. She seemed to just have a feeling that this was the most rational place to bring a muggle and be able to cast spells without being caught—it was covered with magic from the thousands of wizards buried under the ground.

American Aurors wouldn't be able to find a clue in here; everything was too strong, and a trace would have been easily erased in the air—well, they were also stupid, but that's another story.

"Nova, this place is scaring the shit out of me," Fred whispered, gazing at the names carved on the tombs—people who had lived hundreds of years ago.

"We should've brought Tim and Matt to protect us," she teased, noticing the satisfying smile on Padma's face.

"Uh, bitch," both twins murmured with a loud roll of their eyes—they were better than those two pricks.

Just when the atmosphere seemed to shift into something more playful and calm, the sound of chains and a metal door swinging in the soft wind made them all turn to their left.

A private mausoleum sat firmly, almost as dead as the corpses around it. The name was covered by hanging vines, tracing the whole marble of the walls—that was scarier than anticipated.

Without hesitation, Nova burst in, and when the twins shielded her, placing themselves in front of her with wands raised, the sight inside made everyone's hearts melt in an instant.

Nick McClaire was sitting on the floor, hands chained behind his back and a blindfold on his eyes—his head snapped up at the sound of someone entering, visibly terrified it could be the kidnapper.

"Oh god," she murmured, rushing to free his sight, her hands twitching exponentially. "Are you hurt? Who did this to you?"

Nova used magic to unchain him, and he didn't look surprised to see it—probably whoever took him had already told him everything about her: wizards and witches, her parents, and hell knows what else.

"Are you okay?" She cupped his face and melted just by looking at him—this was completely unexplored territory.

"You came all the way here to save me?" Nick whispered, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"No, I just didn't have anything else to do tonight," she said, unable to resist the little tear sliding down her cheek.

Fred and Padma took a step back, surveying the surroundings in case the kidnapper returned—maybe they weren't the strongest fighters, but there was no one else for now to do the job.

However, George leaned back against the wall, carefully observing how Nova seemed completely like a different person with Nick—something she maybe could never be with anyone else.

From what little he managed to learn from this trip, those two had some sort of relationship in the past, but the way they looked at each other was clearly beyond that—not only love, but true understanding.

Nico, Matt, Tim, Nick—all these boys seemed to have carved their names inside Nova's heart, for different reasons but still, they were there, and she let them in without hesitation.

But why was it so difficult with George? He could see it was always different when she was around him—mostly tense, or with her guard up—never this relaxed, soft, and gentle.

If it wasn't for the confused and visibly tired muggle boy they had just saved, George would've made a scene out of jealousy, truly asking her why she couldn't let herself go with him like she did with others.

Now wasn't the moment, but he promised himself that once back at the castle—and after finishing the thousands of hours of detention they'd get—he would confront her once and for all.

Fuck the grieving! That was just an excuse. There was no reason to shut him out and let these jerks have her attention instead—he had pleaded. He had proved himself. He was there. Why was that not enough?

A visceral feeling grew in his stomach. He didn't want to watch anymore. He didn't want to think anymore. If there were any food in his body, he would've thrown up from how hard it was to realize, once again, he was just a tool to an end.

He was just a distraction while all these boys were everything for her.

"Just wait here," Nova whispered gently before nudging George to follow her into the corner of the room.

"We should take him to a hospital and—" he started, not able to meet her eyes.

"I need to obliviate him," she cut him off, breathing heavily. "Knowing about magic will only put him in danger, and I can't protect him while I'm at Hogwarts."

That was, surprisingly, one of the most mature and rational things Nova had ever said since they met—apparently, there was a side of her deeply hidden behind the childish and irrational persona she usually displayed.

In any other situation, George would've pinned her to the wall and praised the way she managed to act so serious, whispering in her ear what a good girl she was—not now, though. Nick was just a few meters away.

"Will you—umm..." The words were on the tip of her tongue but struggling to come out.

"Do what, blondie?" he mocked, lowering his ear close to her face. "Oh, I can't hear you if you talk so low."

"Fucking cunt," she snapped, crossing her arms in irritation.

"Well, I guess it wasn't that important," he shrugged, turning to walk away. But she grabbed his arm roughly, just for him to grow the biggest smirk ever.

"Uh, George, will you help me obliviate Nick's memories?" Her voice was nearly inaudible, but he decided that was satisfying enough for now.

"Say the magic word," he cooed, leaving very little space between their bodies.

"Fuck you," she rolled her eyes, gently elbowing him, but a glimpse of amusement grew fond in her eyes.

"Not that one, but it'll do for now," he said, walking towards Nick, who was now weakly on his feet. "Let's go, muggle. The night is still young."

They caught a cab, and the man didn't care there was one person more than the legal quantity required by law. Padma sat on Fred's lap, and Nick sat in the middle. George barely looked at him, his eyes fixating on the road in a thousand agonies and questions.

Don't ask anything. That was a rule. Fuck that rule! As soon as they were alone, he would not stop asking until his heart was at rest.

While walking toward Nick house, all three found themselves blinking in shock the whole time—Nova was acting strangely kind, warm, and reassuring toward the boy. It felt like they'd been transported into another universe.

And the weirdest part? It wasn't an act. She wasn't faking. Around Nick, she was completely absorbed in his presence, visibly relaxed. Who the fuck was that girl?

However, before George could faint from jealousy or punch the muggle, pop music blasted from a house nearby, where hundreds of people were gathering.

"My parents called the police because of your friend's parties but eventually bought earplugs," Nick's shoulder brushed hers—a familiar and comforting touch.

"Where are they anyway? Romantic getaway in Hawaii?" she smirked, gazing at her old house echoing with laughter.

"Close. Backpacking in Asia," he nodded slightly, scanning George a meter away, fuming. "Is that your boyfriend?"

Nova's eyes jumped to her friends with utter concern. George heard the question and god, just say something! Fucking answer! He could feel his heart pounding more than necessary. A simple word could've changed so many things.

He was sure they weren't ready to be in any type of relationship. He was dealing with way too many problems already. She was dealing with something so hard and cruel, like grief—and not in the best way, either.

But fuck it! What was so weird about them starting something? Maybe not dating. But something more than... this. Whatever this was. They were bonded somehow, and he couldn't stand it. Not being quiet that and quiet something.

Was this love? Could he use the word if that's what he meant? George understood he had to do more research on the matter because he had always been told you can't despite and fancy a person in equal measure—apparently he got this all wrong from the start.

However, Nova didn't shake her head—he wasn't her boyfriend. She neither nodded to confirm he was. She simply waved Nick off, growing his curiosity—and George's too. What the fuck did that mean? Was she considering him or not?

Fuck! Now he was the one needing some potion or medication to stop overthinking everything. He let out a resigned breath—he had taken a lot in the last hours—and simply focused on what was happening around him, pushing away his thoughts as much as possible.

"C'mon, muggle," Tim gripped his shoulder roughly. "Come see how wizards have fun."

Now, when did they arrive? But George felt grateful for it. Among all these boys, Nick was the closest to Nova. So he needed to be as far away from her as possible.

Matt joined in and dragged Nick away, ignoring Nova's physical protests. She eventually gave up just a few steps from the entry of her old house—she must not have been here in months.

However, Fred and Padma didn't seem to decline the party invitation, even locking hands to enjoy the playful atmosphere—they'd get detention anyway once they returned, so they might as well have fun.

There it was again. While everyone stepped inside, the music grew louder, a few people were chatting in the yard and the foyer. There was chaos around them, but Nova enclosed herself in her mind, probably not hearing or feeling anything.

George balanced on his feet, hands hidden in his pockets to shove some discomfort in there too. He was so angry. So curious. So jealous. And yet he melted seeing how fragile she looked in that moment.

He wondered what happened that night. If she saw the corpses. How much she saw of the house. If she smelled the blood of her parents on the walls. How much cruelty she had witnessed to grow this scared in a split second.

This was her house. Her home. And she looked completely unfamiliar with it. Remarkable how a place you knew so well could become a nightmare with just one single action.

"Blondie, are you all right?" He stood awkwardly beside her, hoping his mere voice was enough to reassure her.

"Yes, but we need to take care of Nick, we can't—" she breathed loudly, looking and feeling exhausted.

"Don't worry, we'll obliviate him later. Just take a minute." He walked to the two steps of the porch, raising his hand to her. "Let's go. I'm dying to see how your bedroom looks."

Even if it was just an attempt to make her laugh—or snap, or hit him if necessary—George truly craved a reaction from her. He didn't want to see this sad and defeated version of Nova.

Everything was better than this. He would've let her slap him, punch his nose, kick him, he would've pranked her, grown that little irritated vein on her forehead, started a fire, and done very irresponsible things just to keep her outside her own mind.

What he didn't expect, though, was for her to take his hand in such a delicate way that her skin felt like weightless silk—a touch meant for him alone, no other boy to hold. It was so gentle it resembled touching a ghost. The most alive, warm, and beautiful ghost.

"Maybe if you behave, I'll show you my room at some point," she whispered, dangerously close to his lips.

What an abyss in her vivid blue eyes. He must look for another way to describe them because that was becoming boring for him. Remarkable how they lose and gain spark within seconds. Remarkable how she was. What she did to him.

The visceral feeling vanished under the scent of tulips, fresh books, and vanilla. Invading every inch of his soul, warning him to stay at rest. There was no need to be jealous now. She was there with him. She was holding his hand. She was smiling at him.

"Oh, blondie, I'll summon my inner Longbottom if that's what it takes," he smirked, letting himself be guided inside by her.

Amusement and excitement took control over the tiredness of this situation. But George was no fool. His wand was ready to be withdrawn if whoever kidnapped Nick was just lurking around, waiting to make a move.

Because he had Nova now. Not fully. Not completely. But he had her in this moment. And he would not let anything happen to her.

Even if he couldn't ask, he knew. He didn't need to ask what they were. He knew. She knew. The whole fucking world knew already.

Chapter 22: Chicago Air

December 16, 1994

Nova's parents had always given her permission to throw parties on the weekends, especially since they usually traveled up to their lake house to get a well-earned rest from work.

But now she was asking herself what would've happened if they had burst into the house and discovered the twisted turn this party had taken—Tim had gone beyond her imagination.

Each guest was a wizard or a witch, with no Muggles except Nick, which was odd. At her parties, the whole county used to show up, even without an invite—had they scared everyone off from coming now?

The alcohol was overwhelming: over a hundred bottles of vodka, forty kegs filled with American butterbeer (very different from the one the twins were used to), and firewhisky shots poured as easily as water.

Maybe her parents wouldn't get mad at the sight of their house in this wild state, but Nova was—boiling with rage and eagerly throwing the most valuable things into a box—slapping boys for old matters along the way.

"I can't believe you two jerks didn't even empty the place before letting all these people in," she shouted once the boxes were resting in the basement, gazing at her friends lazily sitting on the couch.

"Relax, babygirl. It's not like anyone wanted to steal your teddy bear anyway," Tim smirked, sipping his drink slowly.

Nova slammed her glass down, letting whiskey drip all over his body, soaking his shirt and making his sculpted abs more visible—Padma was about to throw every drink around just to see more of it, and that was disgusting to even notice.

However, Fred scoffed slightly, noticing how his girlfriend was so fascinated by someone so stupid and immature. Nova was sure he couldn't wait to get back to the castle and escape all these handsome boys.

"Well well, the most famous slut in Chicago is back, apparently."

Everyone turned toward the deep, low voice—a girl resting her hands on her defined hips, long black hair perfectly straight, and a dress far shorter than what Nova usually wore—heavy smoky eyes filled with darkness.

"Oh, don't worry Lexi, that crown's been yours since birth," Nova mimicked her posture with a diabolical smile.

"Meowww, catfight coming," Matt teased, passing a whiskey bottle to George.

Since entering the house, he had been surprisingly on his best behavior. Fucking cunt! He could at least do something. Be the usual idiot like in school. At least she would have an excuse to snap at him.

Nothing. He was indeed channeling his internal Longbottom, acting as the most responsible, mature, serious, and dangerously hot boy in the room—he was seeing her while others were just judging.

She might looked too busy filling boxes to notice how everyone was watching her the whole time—but she knew. Some with admiring eyes, probably feeling bad for what had happened to her parents inside these walls.

Others were more calculating, especially the boys, who seemed eager to get her attention in any way possible, trying to see if she remembered them from Ilvermorny—she didn't. There wasn't anyone besides her friends she recalled ever talking to in the past.

There were even a few disgusted and terrified expressions, but those had to do with the ridiculous number of restraining orders on her school record—that was something her friends would ask about back at the castle.

Fred and Padma were all over each other in the armchair, whispering silly comments, the blasting music making everything easier to say without consequences—they didn't seem as curious as George about everything she was doing.

Everyone around was watching her with some sort of idea, opinion. George was watching her simply because he seemed to like watching her. That was all she needed for now.

"You've gained some weight, I see," Lexi hissed, approaching slowly. "Don't they have gyms in that fantasy castle?"

"Stop acting like you don't have a picture of me attached to your mirror as a reminder that you'll never be me," Nova scoffed as their chests nearly touched.

"Uh, same old arrogant bitch," Lexi narrowed her eyes, raising her hand toward Nova's back.

"Yeah, I missed you too."

The girls fell into a tight, swaying hug, a long-lost touch that seemed never meant to reconnect—careless of the confused expressions around them.

Padma was starting to grow jealous too, realizing that could be Nova's best friend—or something similar—and understanding that if Matt and Tim were the equivalent of the twins, she was indeed a less bold version of Lexi.

Was Nova rebuilding her life piece by piece, taking inspiration from what she had lived through in America before her parents' death? If so, where did that leave Padma and the twins?

All three felt a tight grip in their stomachs, gazing at each other and silently communicating this shared concern with the most profound expressions they could muster—it looked maniacal, and Nova saw it while pulling back from Lexi.

She knew there would be a lot of explaining to do. She was already building a long monologue in her mind slowly. She would tell them eventually. But she wished they could leave it be.

"Why are you so late, Lexi?" Tim teased, gently kicking her leg.

"Mind your business, noisy little brother," she snapped, sitting next to him and stealing the now-full glass of whiskey from his hand.

"Where did you leave your manners?" Matt shook his head in disbelief. "Don't be rude, introduce yourself to our guests."

At that moment, Nova scanned the room carefully, realizing there was nowhere to sit—her old friends and a weirdly silent Nick were spread across the couch.

Padma and Fred had their own armchair, and it would've been inappropriate to join them—or maybe it wouldn't? No, too embarrassing.

That only left George—fuck! Now everyone was looking at her with those teasing smiles, already knowing that choosing to sit anywhere else would be admitting he had some sort of effect on her.

No, this wouldn't happen. All of them knew her too well to see Nova appear the slightest bit affected by a boy's touch—her stubbornness was far beyond that.

"So, you're all voluntarily friends with her?" Lexi smirked, scanning them with a puzzled expression. "Or did she pay you to be here?"

Nova took the opportunity to crawl onto George's lap, trying not to make a scene, but apparently the other conversation was about to start smoothly, and only Fred seemed to care about her movements.

At first, she tensed—it wasn't the first time they had touched, but it felt utterly intimate now, a statement for others' eyes—they were together in that moment, not as friends or enemies on a bet, but as a... couple?

If she hadn't overthought everything since leaving the castle, now seemed the perfect time—because Nova wasn't sure what he would think about this silly little moment. Was this making her appear weaker than just sitting anywhere else?

However, when George's hand delicately traced her lower back, stopping at her waist, all her worries seemed to fade—not out of reassurance, but because there was no more space in her brain for other questions.

"...Oh c'mon, what could you possibly see in her to agree to come all the way here?" Lexi cooed before noticing the Muggle boy beside her, probably wondering who the hell he was.

"We could ask you the same thing, since you seem so close," Padma snapped. That was it—Nova understood her friend couldn't handle all these mysteries anymore.

"I only tolerate her because my brother is in love with her, otherwise I wouldn't be in the same room as her," Lexi lied, winking subtly at Nova.

"No, I'm not!" Tim gasped in shock, elbowing his sister. "And you're the one at home yapping about how much you miss her."

Nick and Matt found themselves crawling onto the arm of the couch, leaving the two siblings to jump on each other, hitting harder than anyone imagined—the real catfight was starting.

"Guess they're both in love with Nova," Fred said dryly, trying to look annoyed by the scene—but he couldn't. They were too fun to ignore.

"I still don't understand why they don't just say they're friends with her," Padma rolled her eyes, gazing at her boyfriend. "Why keep insulting her?"

"Maybe it's just their way of expressing how much they care for her," Fred shrugged, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Like my brother does, you know?"

They both gazed at George and Nova, who looked completely absorbed in each other's eyes—he was pouring whiskey into her cup slowly, commanding, wrapped in his usual confidence, while she studied his movements with a puzzled yet amused expression.

Whatever was happening between those two, it seemed they weren't aware of it—but the people around them could notice. In the end, you can't hide something you don't even know you're carrying.

Nova felt the weight of the world on her shoulders replaced by a steady sound. The music seemed to lower, like that night at The Groover. It always happened when she focused deeply on something more vivid, more alive in front of her.

She was aware. Surely she was awake. Catastrophically aware that his hand was on her lower back. That she was sitting on his lap. That her fingers were brushing his shoulder while her free hand held the plastic cup.

What was this tenderness? How could he always be so gentle with movements? He was only pouring alcohol into a glass. Why did it feel so intoxicating? She blinked quickly before taking in the surroundings, or else even her heart would jump inside the glass from all this overwhelm.

"Oi, Muggle," Matt approached Nick, resting an arm on his shoulder. "Aren't you jealous of the ginger? He's stealing your girlfriend."

"Nova was never mine, nor anyone else's," Nick chuckled softly. "You know her as much as I do—she belongs to no one."

She could hear it. They weren't exactly murmuring, but she peeked at George, and he was staring at her. What the fuck was on her face? Had he put something in her drink and grown thorns? Why was he always looking at her like that?

But then Fred called him to talk about something, and he turned. Thank God he turned, because she was feeling faint from being watched. It was difficult to focus if he was seeing her.

Everyone simply watched. He was seeing beyond what she showed, and in that moment she wasn't sure what version of herself to present in this room.

Matt seemed puzzled for a second, almost serious, gazing quickly at Nova, then loudly gagged, catching everyone's attention.

"This kid is emotional as fuck!" he shouted, patting his back gently. "Are all Muggles this poetic?"

Nova furrowed her brows, realizing she had fallen into some sort of contemplative state over Nick, not noticing everything happening around her. But when she scanned the room, a glimpse of panic washed over her.

Tim and Lexi were slowly regaining composure on the couch after almost making each other bleed. Fred and Padma's bodies were vanishing up the stairs—fuck! Were they going into a bedroom without asking first?

But most importantly, why was Matt guiding Nick toward the kitchen filled with alcohol with that disgusting, flirtatious expression? Had she missed the part where Nick liked boys too?

Ugh! It was all George's fault that she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings—God knows what would happen now that no one was under her supervision for five fucking minutes.

"Everyone is having fun beside me tonight," Lexi puffed, crossing her arms until her eyes caught something more interesting. "Who are you?"

"George," he said dryly, sipping his whiskey.

"Cute. Are you single?" Lexi hissed, leaning forward with a filthy expression.

"No, he's not," Nova snapped, eyes narrowed—possessive, raging, lethal.

"I'm not talking to you, bitchy witchy," Lexi waved her off, crawling to the closest side of the couch to scan him better.

"Oh please, don't fight now that I don't have backup," Tim rolled his eyes, glancing around to see if someone would eventually help—no, he couldn't count on anyone.

Nova's arm rose behind George's neck, leaving no space between their bodies, staring at Lexi as if killing her with her mind—just because he had a girlfriend, of course, not out of jealousy.

Maybe she wasn't the biggest fan of Angelina, even if she couldn't deny she was a sweet and kind girl who surely deserved way more than an annoying cunt like George.

But there was no reason to allow someone to flirt with him, careless of the consequences.

Well, she wasn't exactly defending his relationship in the most respectful way, but as long as Lexi kept her dirty hands off him, everything was justified.

"It's okay, blondie," George whispered with a soft smile before gazing at the girl in front of him. "I do have a girlfriend back at Hogwarts."

"So she isn't here right now," Lexi tilted her head teasingly, running her heel up and down his leg. "What she can't see won't hurt her, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," he shrugged, tightening his grip on Nova's waist, making it more reassuring than expected. "But it's not like that. We're not exclusive yet. I can still do whatever I want, like she can."

Those words were clearly not for Lexi to hear—his lips and eyes were on Nova only. His statement—again, a choice in disguise—was asking for permission to do something without actually begging.

Why was he always so subtle and smart in this? Admitting to wanting sex from her but leaving her the only one who would say it out loud—apparently, the twins were more clever than she anticipated.

"That's perfect then. Want to go somewhere quieter?" Lexi's voice was growing sensual and low, extremely predatory.

No, he would never accept that, right? Nova was sure her friend wasn't his type. George might be a cunt, but at least he had taste—or, well, she hoped so, because her wand was almost drawn to jinx him if he dared go away with her.

There was no reason to act like this. She wasn't supposed to be jealous. Where the hell did all this jealousy come from all of a sudden? At the castle, she had never felt like this about Angelina. But maybe only because she had never seen them together.

Now it was different. There was a visceral feeling invading her stomach. Her head felt heavy. Her hands trembled. So much anger, irritation, frustration, and all sorts of dangerous emotions. She would burn this house down.

"Actually, yes, it's too crowded here." He gripped Nova's chin, forcing her to look into his hazel eyes. "Blondie?"

"Mmh?" She was breathing heavily through her nostrils—he better not ask her to move just to follow Lexi, or she would finally make a scene.

"Did I behave well enough to see your bedroom now?"

Thankfully, no one could see how Nova's face melted at his words—the sun in her smile, the fire in her eyes. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this jealousy was rational. Maybe all this wasn't one-sided.

Ah! And the pride in his expression was, for once, not so irritating. He was all pretentious and mischievous and all over himself. And it felt great because Lexi was watching. Because he made it a statement.

At least here, on the other side of the world from Hogwarts, they could make it a statement. They could forget how people expected them to act around each other.

"Yeah, I think you deserve it."

Nova gripped his hand gently and guided him away, making sure to show the middle finger to Lexi before disappearing up the stairs—earning a win without even trying was utterly satisfying.

"He's a lucky man," Tim sighed, defeated, drinking whiskey directly from the bottle.

"Yes, he really is. Nova's amazing," Lexi smiled, looking down. "I miss her, you know?"

"Me too." He poured alcohol into his sister's cup before something clicked inside his mind. "Maybe we could transfer to Hogwarts for the rest of the year, be with her again."

"I graduated two years ago, don't you remember?" She furrowed her brow, but her brother's expression was blank as usual. "I can't believe we came out of the same vagina."

Lexi got up to look for someone to keep her company for the remaining time at the party, while Tim, left alone on the couch, was immediately jumped by girls who had been waiting to spend time with him—but he didn't get the hint and left to avoid disturbing them.

The blasting music and playful shouting of the guests immediately shut down as soon as Nova locked her bedroom door behind her. She remembered the spell she'd cast in here—no one could hear them—and warmth grew inside her body.

However, George was in no rush. He was too amused by his surroundings and carefully choosing what to tease her with first—this place was like being inside her mind, and he was about to benefit from it as much as possible.

But there was a shift in his expression while taking in the room. He frowned, gazing at the perfectly made bed with blue sheets. The white walls were covered in framed sketches she had drawn—butterflies, books, lakes, and even Nick's face outlined.

The light wooden desk only had one journal at the center, with a pink pencil beside it—if he had a meter, he could swear everything was the same number of centimeters apart, weirdly perfect. She tilted her head, not understanding what he was looking for.

"All right, very funny, where is your real bedroom?" He chuckled, opening her wardrobe—all hangers exactly one finger's space from each other.

"What do you mean?" She snapped, crossing her arms. "This is mine. Can't you see it?"

George's eyes jumped to the nightstand—same wood as the desk, a single lamp on one side, a potion book on the other—ultimately still, looking like mere decor with no actual function.

Looking more maniacal than herself, he checked the window: not a single fingerprint on it. Under her bed, a complete void. No hidden clutter. He kicked the fluffy white rug—no dust resting beneath it.

"I know it's messy, but I haven't been here in months," she whispered, gripping the journal on the desk and resting it in a drawer—that was also creepily organized.

"I can't believe this. I have to listen to Padma complain about the mess you make in your dorm, and this is how your room looks?" He rested a hand on his hip, puzzled—almost irritated for some reason.

"That's because I don't care about that place. I won't be there after graduation," she rolled her eyes, not understanding what was so concerning about it. "When I'll come back here, I want to—"

"Yeah, okay, I get it," he said dryly, freezing on the spot with his gaze down.

Nova could feel the shift in the atmosphere—things weren't supposed to go this way. They were supposed to jump on each other, have fun, wild sex, and kick him out right after so she could sleep peacefully in her tears and nightmares.

But now she couldn't hold back, and the guilt for making him angry was slowly rising in her body, so she did the only rational thing she could think of—lazily removing her clothes until she remained in only her white underwear.

Not to seduce him—that was the least of her worries—but to crawl under the sheets and take a deep breath—she was there. She would fall asleep shortly. The next move was his.

This silent game of power was becoming more confusing by the minute, both unsure at what point the match ended and real feelings emerged—but obviously, they acted like it wasn't that important.

After a minute of silence, Nova understood she couldn't just act like she needed him—that this whole trip had been so stressful that the mere idea of being with George at the end was the only thing that almost made her relax the entire time.

She turned around, facing the wall, shutting her eyes and trying to think about something else entirely until he would eventually leave—breathe in, breathe out—he would walk away soon. Everyone does when she acts uninterested.

However, when the sheets lifted slowly and the mattress dipped beside her, a little smile grew on her lips involuntarily—apparently, she wasn't the only one in need of this.

George's fingers delicately pushed her hair off her shoulder, exposing the glowing bare skin and gently kissing it—caramel, spruce tree, and fireworks—why this scent was so addictive remained a mystery she didn't want to solve.

There was no need to say it out loud—his lips spoke without words, exploring every inch of her body, craving attention—but she wasn't turning to him.

"Blondie?" he murmured, one hand gliding up and down her stomach—extremely gentle and suffocating.

"Yes?" Her body arched under his touch, her back and his chest pressed together as one—he was naked.

"We don't have to fight all the time," his breath on her neck like a lingering sudden wind.

"I know that," she chuckled, slightly turning just to watch him from the corner of her eye. "But we're good at it."

George let out a soft laugh but still didn't shake from his now-in-control self. His fingers dipped to remove her underwear slowly, making her shiver in anticipation, only to rise again, brushing her entrance lightly.

"I bet there's a long list of things we might be better at."

When his finger found space inside her, Nova arched more than anticipated—his touch felt warm in a way nothing else had lately. Not only reassuring but incredibly pleasant, able to relax her easily.

As he thrust roughly and deliberately, his free hand slipped beneath her neck just to resurface on the other side of her head, tilting her face slightly—just enough to let their lips meet—wet, passionate, deep.

Letting their tongues explore each other after what felt like an eternity, the only thing Nova could think of was him in his entirety—his face, smile, body, voice. He clearly missed this as much as she had—and that was more satisfying than any word he could say.

Once he added another finger, pushing in with firmer thrusts, she couldn't help but breathe heavily against his lips, trying to suppress moans to avoid feeding that irritating smirk of his.

So she gripped his arm close to her face, squeezing hard enough to nearly scratch his skin—fighting the urge to be loud for so little touch—he needed to be the one to break this time.

"Oh God," he gasped, planting little kisses along her jaw. "You're so fucking beautiful," he traced behind her ear, "and you drove me crazy today, you know?"

"Don't blame me for your psychosis, Georgie," she said weakly, more a moan than a firm sentence.

That split second of weakness was enough for Nova to crawl on top of him. The swift motion made George blink quickly, realizing his fingers were no longer inside her and her entrance was dangerously close to his erection.

This wasn't the moment for a power play. This wasn't the moment to let out the rage, the sadness, the emotions. This was the moment to feel him in his entirety—she didn't need a distraction. She desperately needed him.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, more seductively than either of them expected.

"Promise you won't hit me?" he teased as she raised his wet hand toward her mouth.

The vision of her sucking his fingers, tasting herself with such confidence, never breaking eye contact—she was putting on one of her big shows, but this time, it was private, just for him.

"I don't make promises I'm not sure I'll keep," she batted her lashes innocently, and for the first time, it wasn't forced—she wanted to look this angelic.

"Uh, fuck it, blondie. Do what you want with me," he snapped gently as Nova guided his hands to grip the bed frame behind him—slowly closing his eyes.

For a moment, she got lost in admiring him so close without needing to wear the bold mask—he couldn't see how her face melted at the simple thought of this being forever, always this relaxing and incredibly warm. It didn't last long.

Nova quickly remembered why she positioned herself on top—it was time to break him and take control until he begged for more.

She longed to hear him beg. It was the most beautiful, fragile, and satisfying sound she had ever heard.

Her tongue trailed down his lower stomach, tracing a long, wet, teasing line across his bare chest—savoring the taste of such a perfectly wrong choice. How many times she had wanted to do this. And now it was all in front of her.

"Don't peek," she breathed into his ear, sharp and heated, sending shivers along his body.

George couldn't hide his pretentious smirk, probably imagining her riding him into exhaustion and letting him do all the work till the end—standard procedure she reserved for most boys who weren't worth her incredible performances.

However, when her lips wrapped around his erection while her hands worked the base, he tilted his head back, hitting the headboard hard, lost in pleasure—she had surprised him. She was bringing him all this.

Nova gazed up at him while taking as much of him as possible inside, almost feeling the tip at the back of her throat, with sharp thrusts—fuck! Hard to admit, but it really was as big as he proudly claimed.

And the way his Adam's apple showed. His jaw clenched. That fucking pretentious smirk fighting to take over. And the dimples. Oh, those dimples. What a vision she wasn't allowed to witness every day.

But when he looked down at her, surprisingly, she didn't snap or force him to close his eyes again—no, she was fully absorbed in the rewarding vision of George.

"Like what you see?" she rose up, hands still working him with more intensity, eager to hear him say it.

"Very much, actually, blondie," his eyes darkened, full of lust—it was his turn now.

George slowly leaned forward, just enough to grip her waist and guide her closer, letting their lips roam on one another—vanilla, fireworks, tulips, and spruce tree—all mixed together at once.

The subtle way he was holding her body to take control again made Nova breathe more heavily than before, unable to hide the need to feel more of him—forget the pride, this was too much to handle. He was too much to play around with.

"Oh George," her fingers traced delicately over his face, already arching, sensing his erection so close to her entrance, and yet it seemed so distant.

"Go on, blondie, tell me what you want," his hand pressed against her lower back—in control but still waiting for her to break.

"Fuck! Just take me already," she gasped in exasperation before leaning in until their lips brushed. "Please."

That was the first time she pleaded. She swallowed whatever insecurity she had in pleading for someone. In pleading him. As long as it was George, she could allow herself some moments of weakness.

And it did something unexpected to him—what seemed to be his maximum state of control apparently wasn't even a glimpse of how passionate he could get if you just asked for it.

"Good girl," he kissed her—rough, raw, commanding.

George's hands lowered to her thighs to guide her to his erection and then let her sink onto it as deep as possible, carefully listening to her moans of relief as Nova tilted her head slightly.

For a second, she could see where she had marked his skin the first time, now faded, but she knew exactly the spot—he stopped his lips just a few inches above her collarbone, leaving a wet purple stain on it.

Both had marked their territory at least once, forgetting that the heated body in front of them didn't even belong to each other in the reality outside this bedroom—it didn't matter now, no one was here to witness this.

Nova quickly noticed he was about to change position to deepen his thrusts and pushed him back on the mattress, resting her hands on his bare chest to take control—he needed to beg too, it was only fair.

"If you tell someone about this, I'll kill you," she warned before starting to roll her hips with more confidence and control than he expected.

At first, he frowned, probably thinking she was talking about the sex part, about keeping it a secret, but no—it was about not sharing this new discovery—Nova was riding him like a fucking professional.

It was slow and mismatched, not unsteady or rough, but she could see how his eyes softened in surprise and amusement. The way they sparkled with excitement and his lips parted, breathless. She had some effect on him too. They had an effect on each other.

It was a perfect collision. She could feel the inches filling her walls. Pulsing inside her. It was beautiful. Warm. Wet. She would've sunk more and more for eternity. Liberating—not for the rage. Fuck! She was doing this for her. For him. For them. And for no other reason.

"All right, that's enough," he said firmly, reversing their positions and finally managing to be on top with a deadly serious expression.

"Fuck! Why?" She arched as his thrusts deepened, glad to rest but slightly irritated that she hadn't managed to make him—

"I want you, Nova," his jaw clenched, one hand pinning her leg behind him, "you win, I'll beg or whatever you ask me to do..."

Almost breathless, she could feel his thrusts grow more secure, steadying to find the weak spot inside her walls—not even imagining what hearing her name from him did to her whole body.

"Say it again," she mumbled softly, gripping his shoulder and slowly moving in sync with him.

"Nova..." he whispered in her ear, "...I want you."

That was enough for both to get lost in each other's gazes as he pushed more and more, until she finally started trembling in anticipation and defeat. She dug her nails into his skin. Their foreheads clicked.

He was looking at her. He was seeing her. She had never felt this seen. She had never felt this good and relaxed and warm and alive and vivid and pure. She breathed heavily against his lips and he seemed to breathe through her.

"I'm going to be a little rougher now, okay?" he murmured while one hand traced her waist, hip, leg, and breast.

Nova simply nodded, embracing herself slightly. She let their lips meet once again with such force, anger. She wanted to taste him and imprint this taste in her mind forever.

He did fucking get rougher. More than she anticipated. George pushed inside her with otherworldly strength. It weren't mere thrusts. He was scratching her walls while biting her lips. He went as deep as possible before retreating to leave the tip inside and then pacing inside once again.

It was agonizing in the most pleasant way possible. Nova wasn't holding back anymore. She moaned loudly. More than she ever had in her entire life. She wanted him to know how much she was enjoying this. How much she wanted him.

And from the way he used her moans to thrust, she could sense he was hitting a level of pleasure he didn't believe possible too. Suffocating moans escaped his lips but he repressed them by kissing—or rather devouring—her.

The collision of their bodies hurt. Nova knew she would have a few bruises from their bone-on-bone contact this rough. But she felt faint knowing she would look at them before they vanished, remembering this night.

"Nova, darling, you're so fucking pretty like this," he whined against her bare neck. "Please come all around me. Make a mess. I need it."

"Oh, fuck, you're so hot," she breathed, cupping his face to let their lips meet once again. "When did you get so hot?"

"Stop it or I'll come first, god," he snapped, pushing more and more, and she knew he was about to erupt.

"Then do it," she gasped when he unwillingly hit a weak spot inside her walls.

Taken by an unexpected wrath, both let their lips click. Nova arched and tried to sync with his movements. She did her best, but he pressed with such force she was pinned to the mattress, barely able to move under his thrusts.

When they kissed, she felt it. All over her body. Rushing in her veins. Aching in her chest. She tasted his lips and realized she had been starving until now. She had never tasted something this beautiful. Never felt this good with someone.

The orgasm tore through her in one warm wave. She felt faint. Released around him and surrounding him first. But she didn't care. This wasn't about winning. This was about them together. It was visceral—what's now left inside her. She had hit her climax and didn't feel empty afterward.

She was blooming in his hands. Under his touch. On his lips. It was a rebirth of that part of herself she never allowed anyone to witness. The only true part. The only true Nova she had almost forgotten existed.

It took just a few thrusts for George to come inside her, staying deep to fill her up, while lowering his mouth to leave another purple stain right on her neck—one visible to everyone.

Their foreheads clicked. They were breathless. This room felt a fucking oven at its maximum intensity. It was a waste to have waited this long for this. To hold back, but it was worth it. She carved his name on her heart and decided he was worth leaving there for now.

"You lost. I can't believe it," she scoffed as he dropped beside her in disbelief—had this actually happened? He admitted to wanting her? Fully?

"Get over yourself, blondie," he chuckled as she surprisingly rested on his chest, "you just caught me off guard thanks to that little show you pulled."

"Still, you admit it," she giggled, looking up at him, the tiredness of the past hours catching up all at once. "You're in love with me. Oh God, I can't wait to tell Padma that—"

Her words were cut off by George pushing her until her body hit the floor loudly—fucking cunt couldn't just cuddle in peace.

However, her laughter echoed in the air like a soft melody. That wasn't the reaction he expected, apparently, since he sat up to gaze at her—and the sight must be one of the most maniacal versions of Nova he had ever seen.

She was just lying there, hands on her stomach, almost tearing up from how hard she was laughing. Even naked, she didn't feel vulnerable—was she having a psychotic reaction? Was this the start of another mental breakdown?

No, it was beyond that, because as soon as he leaned closer, she jumped back on the bed, sitting on his lap and starting to hit his chest weakly—it wasn't real rage, she was actually having fun.

"Fucking cunt, I'm going to kill you," she shouted as he, being far more agile, dodged her punches.

"Ouch, blondie, that's no way to treat someone you just moaned the name of," he teased, grabbing a pillow to use as a shield.

If it wasn't for the spell on the door making it impossible for anyone to hear from the outside, the sounds coming from the room would've been a mix of a rough boxing match and amusement park laughter.

Either way, the silent power fight had come to an end. They lost because they both pleaded. They won because they realized they had someone to be fragile with.

That night Nova slept. In his arms, she slept as she hadn't done in months. She slept, and the world outside didn't look so scary anymore, and grief seemed more bearable than she had ever believed.

Fucking Amortentia in Chicago air, making her all emotional now. If only that was also inside the Hogwarts castle, things would've been much easier.

Chapter 23: Just Ask

December 20, 1994

"Okay, who wants to start?" Nova murmured, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms as if to shield herself.

The library had never been so quiet and still. The only sound was Padma's foot trembling nervously. Parvati hadn't flinched since arriving, and Fred and George had barely taken a loud breath.

She gave them a very precious opportunity, and she wished they wouldn't waste it. She told them they could ask now. Everything they'd gathered in Chicago could finally be asked, and she was sure they had so many questions they couldn't decide which one to choose first.

At least they didn't get detention. Parvati had done everything perfectly and kept their absence unnoticed. That earned her the right to ask too. They needed to ask, but there was another rule: after they left the library, they weren't allowed to ask anymore.

Nova had taken two calming potions for this. She even brought one with her, just in case things became too intense to handle. It was right there in her pocket, along with a vial of veritaserum—in case they didn't believe her, she'd drink it in front of them.

"Was Nick your ex-boyfriend?" Padma murmured after an eternity of silence.

Oh... okay. This wasn't bad. She thought they would've jumped into something deeper and more traumatic. She could talk about Nick. But could she, in front of George?

"Not really. We were neighbors, and he was kinda always there for me. He was my first. Of everything—kiss, hangover, blunt, sex. I tried everything with him," she said, maintaining a detached tone. "But I never fell for him. Well, for no one, really."

Well, that was a fucking lie! Because Nova had recently discovered she felt something for George. She wasn't sure what love was. But with him it was... something. A feeling she had never had before, so it could be love, right?

Now she regretted bringing the veritaserum, because it would be pretty embarrassing admitting she'd lied about this part.

"What about Tim?" Fred asked, probably out of his brother's curiosity rather than his own.

Oh... okay, yeah, she could talk about him. That was easy. She had so much to say about Tim, or Matt, or Nick. So many stories. So many prepared speeches about them. And yet, she wasn't sure how that would affect George.

"He's one of my best friends. One night we were drunk, he had just broken up with his girlfriend, I was angry about something—I can't quite remember what," she explained in such a docile tone she didn't recognize herself. "We had sex. Then again a few times. Nothing serious."

"And yet he seemed in love with you," Padma smirked mischievously, resting her chin on her hands. She was finding this way too funny.

"He's just joking. He does that every time I bring someone I—" The words got stuck in her throat without warning. No amount of calming potions could make her comfortable enough to admit that.

Nova caught, from the corner of her eye, George stiffening in his seat. Out of curiosity. Out of frustration. Something shifted in him because she couldn't say it.

Because Tim did act all in love with her every time Nova brought someone she liked. Every boy she had ever made sit at their table had rushed away at the mere idea of competing against someone as handsome as Tim.

Not George. He wasn't fazed by it—or at least didn't show it. And that was why everyone else kept pushing this idea. That's why the whole group had said more than once that Tim was in love with her. Always the same script. Always the same act.

And yet George didn't step back. He stayed. He didn't show any weakness or insecurity. He had some sort of trust in her—or maybe he was just too confident to be threatened by Tim's looks.

Either way, he didn't run, and Nova noticed. God, she felt faint just thinking about it. What the fuck was in those potions? They weren't working, because she wasn't as calm as she was supposed to be.

"And Matt? Is he like your brother or something?" Fred asked next, sensing everything was becoming too tense. Too heavy.

"Yeah, he is. Matt and Tim have always been my family." She took a resigned breath and then almost shivered, desperate to end this topic.

Nova found herself explaining the dynamic with a lingering smile on her lips. She looked down, with nothing to do with her hands except play with her bracelets and rings. But at least she was talking. They were asking, and she was answering.

Matt and Tim had been there since kindergarten in the muggle school of their neighborhood. It happened so fast. Nova stole their toys the first day, and they broke her pencils in half to get revenge.

There was a big fight between the three kids, and then they became friends in the infirmary. Well, Nova was barely scratched, but both Tim's and Matt's parents were pretty upset about it.

However, Celeste and Louis stepped in and invited all of them to dinner. They ordered takeout because her mother was incapable of making tea without burning the whole house down, let alone preparing a whole meal for so many people.

From there it was one adventure after another. But Nova didn't share those stories, because most ended with the three of them either in a hospital or a muggle police station—in all those scenarios, her parents were saving her. Now they couldn't anymore.

"What about that girl? Lexi?" Padma's voice was filled with repressed jealousy.

"She's just Tim's older sister. She was around sometimes. But our relationship was limited to insulting each other at parties or family events," Nova said quickly, making it clear that wasn't a very interesting topic.

That was it about her childhood friends. When Fred asked a little more about Nick, she explained there was nothing between them—three times—until he let it go. The pressure was really for George, and when he relaxed, Fred did too.

Padma pressed more about Tim's sentence regarding the abandoned graveyard. That was a story sealed with a blood pact. Whatever had happened that night would never meet other ears besides the two of them.

But Nova let out just one story that could summarize their dynamic: when they organized a surprise party for her sixteenth birthday in a big venue. It was beautifully decorated. Wide. Filled with all sorts of food.

It was mesmerizing when she entered with them, Nick, and Lexi. They'd picked a gorgeous light-blue dress with shorts underneath the princess-like skirt, because they knew she would either climb somewhere or trip. At least no one would see too much.

Pity Tim and Matt forgot one little, silly detail. They didn't send the invites. So no one was there. And still, it was the most beautiful night ever.

They ate a lot. Drank a lot. Smoked a lot. At some point they did karaoke, which Nova's singing made them immediately regret. It ended with all their expensive outfits stained with cake and a venue that never hosted them again.

"Aw, that's cute," Parvati said dryly before scanning the whole table. "Am I the only one who wants to talk about the kidnapping part? Or are we going to interrogate her about her exes some more?"

"What could she possibly know anyway?" Padma snapped, forced to step out of the sweetness of this story. "It's not like we saw him or anything else."

"But Nova had the idea of going to that graveyard. That must mean something," Parvati rolled her eyes, irritated that no one was following her thoughts.

Oh... things were about to turn dark. Fuck! Nova wished they could talk about her friends some more. Hell, at this point she wished they'd talk about her parents instead of going back to this topic.

However, the calming potions were doing their job. She chuckled softly, still looking down at her bracelet. The one Nick had gifted her on that sixteenth birthday. She needed to tell the truth. They had done so much for her. They deserved it.

"What I'm about to tell you might change your perspective of me," she murmured, sensing how they all shifted in their seats. "Please let me finish before asking anything else, okay?"

There was a communal murmur of agreement. She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. Now resting her hands on her lap, still gazing at the bracelet. She had never looked at it for so long, and it felt like the most reassuring thing she owned.

It took a while to find the right words. But she did, and it felt terrible to let them know why she suspected Nick was in that graveyard. Why she wasn't allowed to make bets anymore. Why Matt was so shocked to learn she was telling the truth. That she actually had an active bet with George and wasn't just lying in those letters.

She was fourteen when it happened. At Ilvermorny she already had a pretty solid reputation, along with Tim and Matt, for pranking students without sparing anyone. They were bullies. They knew that. And for a very long time, they didn't think it was that bad.

But there was a girl. Their age. Her name was Stella. A very bright witch who created a Divination club for people who enjoyed it. Nova didn't. She hated the subject and everything associated with such "muggle and useless" art.

And Nova was petty. She was the type of person who needed to prove she was better than anyone else at everything. That's why they made a bet. The first one who managed to talk with a spirit at the abandoned graveyard would win.

At stake there was nothing major. If Stella won, then Nova would have to admit Divination was a real magical art in front of everyone. If Nova won, Stella had to close her little club and admit it wasn't a real art—that it was only a waste of wizards' talent.

But when they arrived at the graveyard, both started a very difficult and, in most countries, illegal ritual. They used blood and potions and objects stolen from the school. It was scary. Eerie. Totally absurd in that moment.

However, something shifted in the air. The altar Stella prepared to get in contact with a ghost burst into flames. Behind a mausoleum, Matt and Tim were flicking their wands to help their friend win.

But Stella got caught in the fire too. And no one could react in time. She didn't die, fortunately. They brought her to the nearest magical clinic in town. But the damage was done.

Between the flames and the ritual, there was a combustion of magic that managed to make Stella lose her memory and sanity. She was now in a mental state of schizophrenia and enclosed in a structure for her safety.

Nova wasn't allowed to make bets anymore. Her parents didn't speak to her for almost three months. It was the first time she felt angry at herself—and took it out on the world.

She was never the same. She did make other bets anyway. But silly ones. Not that dangerous. She would study all contingencies and ordered Matt and Tim to never get in the middle again.

"Is that what Tim was talking about?" Padma managed to say after an agonizing silence while they absorbed everything.

"No, um—oh fuck! Tim was talking about us having sex in that graveyard and me saying I loved him," she snapped, unable to contain it anymore. Otherwise, who knows what they would've thought.

"What? But you just said—" Fred frowned deeply and blinked quickly, just like everyone else.

"Yeah, well, bite me. I loved him for a little while because I felt like it. I wasn't in love. I just—I just wanted to love someone and used him, okay?" she gasped, frustrated like never before. The calming potions must have left her system.

Nova grew irritated in an instant. She crossed her arms and gazed to her right, at the window displaying the grey sky above the castle. She couldn't think about it again. She had already felt guilty for so long.

Tim was a wonderful boy. They had dated—if that was the appropriate term to describe two best friends having sex, being together in front of everyone, but never labeling their relationship. He loved her. She wanted to love someone. It worked for a little while.

But she was, as he said, abusive and possessive. She had this need to prove something to everyone. If a girl dared to be too close to Tim, she would've made questionable jealousy scenes.

She was absolutely crazy about her own issues and used Tim as an excuse. He was in love. She wanted to love someone. It didn't work as they hoped. But they remained friends. She apologized more than once. She had made up for it.

At some point Tim didn't love her that way anymore, and Nova didn't want to love anyone else because she didn't know how. But Tim also didn't love anyone else after Nova.

"That's... something," Parvati blinked rapidly, processing all this, but she remained the first, serious, and the voice of reason. "But can we go back to the fact you almost killed someone? I believe we jumped off that topic too quickly."

"It was an accident. Matt and Tim simply wanted to scare her a little bit. And I didn't do anything directly," she gestured, still avoiding their gazes while adjusting her hair in frustration. "Stella is getting help, and I pay her nurse to send me weekly updates on her conditions. I messed up, okay? Nobody's perfect."

Silence fell. An intense, judging, inquisitive silence. Everyone was debating what to say first. They were ready to accuse her of murder. She had already blamed herself endlessly. They surely couldn't say anything she hadn't already told herself.

Taken by all sorts of stinging emotions, Nova reached into the pocket of her robe and grabbed the calming potion. Under their confused gazes, she drank it, because she was about to fucking slam her head on the table until bleeding. She drank it and—

Fuck! It was the veritaserum. Fuck fuck fuck. She should've put them in two different pockets. Now it was too late. Now she couldn't hold back anymore nor lie. Fuck! What was this visceral feeling invading her throat? How strong was this?

She remained calm. She took a deep breath, trying not to show her panic. She put the empty vial back in her pocket and acted naturally. They didn't know it was the fucking potion that forced her to say the pure truth. They thought it was just a calming potion.

So act calm. Limit yourself to short answers. Stay calm, and they won't realize you could reveal everything without control over it.

Why the fuck was George looking at her like that? He knew. He obviously knew. Was paranoia a side effect of veritaserum? It wasn't documented. She wasn't sure, but he seemed to know. Fuck!

"I don't get it," Parvati murmured with a deeply puzzled expression. "What does Stella's story have to do with why you thinking Nick was in the graveyard?"

"Because that's the place all wizards in Chicago go when they want to do something without getting caught," she said in one breath, too honest, too pure. "If I wanted to hurt someone, I would bring them there."

That was good. She wasn't lying. Well, she wouldn't anyway about this. It was the truth. What a stinging relief to say the truth.

Silence settled again. What the fuck was wrong with this? Something was wrong. She could feel it, thin in the air. She wished she could go back in time and never let them ask. They would surely run away. Avoid her. Everything would break in front of her eyes.

"Um—are we, like all of us, substitutes for your old friends?" Padma's voice was almost inaudible. It felt feverish. Insecure. The start of a cry.

"What? Where is this coming from?" she snapped, now for the very first time looking at them.

She couldn't lie. But she surely couldn't tell the truth without knowing what the question truly meant. They gazed at each other. Not George—he had been looking down the whole time. But the others shared something with just a glance, and she felt her heart lose pace.

"We couldn't help but notice that there are some similarities between us and them. We were wondering if you are just trying to replace them temporarily," Fred said, scratching the back of his head, tense as a violin cord.

Oh... that hit Nova's brain like a stroke, rough and direct. Was she doing that? Rebuilding her old life inside this castle, piece by piece? If she had, she wasn't aware of it. If she hadn't, they saw something that wasn't there.

Nova scanned them, and a relaxing feeling washed over her. The calming potion mixed with the veritaserum made everything almost bearable. It made her vulnerable in a way she was never allowed to be. In a way she always forced herself not to be.

"It's not like that. I wasn't trying to use you for something. For healing. For fun. I bonded with each of you because of who you are. I'm sorry if it looks like that, it wasn't my intention to hurt you," she said in one quick breath.

They stared at her. They melted. And blinked quickly. Even George was now looking at her with wide eyes. No one expected her to say this. No one knew she had a potion forcing her to speak truths. And yet, she was sure now that it was the truth. She felt it was. Always had been.

"I mean, I didn't even want friends when I arrived, but god, all of you pressed so much to include me in everything, even without knowing about my parents. I hated you the first month because you wouldn't leave me alone," she gasped, frustrated but still relieved. "I was truly about to file a transfer to Durmstrang. I had it all written down and never sent it."

"Why haven't you?" Fred frowned nervously, tapping his foot in sync with Padma's.

"Because you didn't give up. Padma was always making sure I would wake up in the morning, screaming in my fucking ear. And Parvati dragged me to every boring party and never left my side," she started saying without even thinking. Her lips were out of her control. "And you, Fred, always smiled at me. Always listened to me. There wasn't once you walked away while I talked."

Fuck, now it was painful. Now she was trying to hold back. Now she didn't want to say the truth, and it hurt. Her throat burned with thousands of agonies, and she could cry. She could fucking die to not say more. She couldn't. The potion was too strong.

"And, fuck! George was there. All arrogant and pretentious. Had the nerves to challenge me. To smile at me. He was there the whole fucking time. At every fucking occasion, he never left." She was now almost tearing up, she couldn't handle this pain anymore. "You were all there for me. I couldn't just leave. How could I, when you were trying so hard?"

Feeling ashamed as very few times before, Nova crossed her arms on the table and sank her head into them, sobbing as silently as possible. But she couldn't hold back. It was all out. She needed to let it all out.

It was a desperate cry. Everything she had avoided feeling was there, in between the two potions rushing through her veins in equal intensity. Her chest ached unbearably. Her eyes burned as tears spilled over her lashes. She felt cold. Extremely cold. Like thousands of dementors had just entered the library.

She didn't care if other students might see this. She was pathetic. She always had been. Acting strong and emotionless and happy. She never was. From the night her parents died, she became the most fucking pathetic person in the whole world.

It wasn't clear how much time had passed. She wasn't sure how long she remained there, drowning in her mediocrity. She was a cruel person—just as much as whoever killed her parents.

She had done terrible things for fun. She had burned a fucking girl. She had terrorized her entire school and was doing the same in this fantasy castle. There was no place in heaven for someone like her. And in hell, the devil would probably be ashamed of her too.

Someone caressed her hair. Fuck! She didn't deserve this kindness. She needed someone to shout at her. To slap her. To be angry at her the same way she was angry at herself. This was all it was. This unexplainable rage. It was toward herself. Never toward others.

"Nova?" It was Padma's voice. It was her hands caressing her hair. "Do you want a hug?"

"Yes."

Fuck! She didn't want one. Or maybe yes. Well, it was the potion talking. Maybe she could blame it on that. Either way, Padma guided her to her feet and wrapped her arms around her.

What a feeling. Disgustingly good. Padma was so warm and reassuring and kind and caring. Nova didn't deserve this. But she fucking needed it like air to breathe. She needed a hug, and her friend gave her one.

Parvati joined immediately, and now the warmth doubled. It didn't resemble a hug—rather, the two Patils were shielding her from the outside world, and she made herself so small between their bodies. So much they looked to be the same height.

"It's okay. It will be okay," Padma murmured, and there was a suffocated sob in her voice.

"We're here for you. We aren't going anywhere," Parvati added, pressing their bodies closer together.

What a fucking feeling. Nova hoped to remain there forever. Free to cry. To be weak. To tell the truth. But she couldn't. After what seemed an eternity, the girls wiped away her tears and guided her to sit down. They didn't, though. They remained standing.

Even Fred stood and approached. He knelt in front of her, and his expression was... he had cried. He had tears in his eyes. He was shocked. He was mirroring what she felt, maybe? He was looking at her in a way that made Nova almost start sobbing again.

She expected him to say something disgustingly sweet. Something dramatic, like out of a book. But Fred simply smiled, chuckled softly, and caressed her back the slightest before standing again. That was more than she expected. It felt better than any words that could have escaped his lips.

"Can you give us a minute?" George nudged—oh god, she had missed his voice so much since arriving in the library.

The three of them didn't hesitate. They shared one last comforting look at Nova and walked away. The rule was not to ask once they were out of here, but she owed them thousands more explanations. They would ask, and she would answer again.

Now came the most dangerous part. She was alone with George. She had veritaserum in her body. He could ask anything, and she couldn't lie. She couldn't lie even to herself anymore.

They had made such big steps toward each other in Chicago, and she had ruined everything now. She ruined the image he had of her. She ruined whatever bond they had. She ruined the only good thing she had managed to create. She ruined it. And it would haunt her forever.

George looked exhausted. Completely drained. He took several deep breaths while rubbing his eyes, running a hand through his hair, looking straight ahead with a puzzled expression, then breathing again to look down. It was agonizing. He was maybe trying to find the right words to end whatever this thing between them was.

Maybe he was about to tease her. Joke about this whole situation. Anything would've been better than this silence. She would've let him insult her. She would've let him shout. Hit a wall. Burn the whole fucking castle to ashes. But say something. Please say something.

"Huh, what a fucking plot twist you are," he shook his head with a smile. A hysterical one. "It's fucking crazy. I feel like I'm part of some sort of book where the author is giving you all this trauma to push me away from you."

"Is that what you want? To stay away from me?" she murmured, looking down. Ashamed. Guilty. What shitty emotions.

"Of course I don't. Why do you think I'm still here?" He chuckled, massaging his temples slightly. "I get it. You messed up. Your whole life is messed up. But—ugh! Fuck! I can't just stay away."

Nova forced herself to gaze at him. George was drained. Exhausted. She had brought him into this state of self-doubt, overthinking, and frustration. It was all her fault, and she couldn't even say anything because he was the one speaking the truth. She didn't need to.

"And the funny thing is, I'm messed up too. Because even if you've done terrible things. Even if you're completely insane. And even after everything you told us. I can only think of being used by you the same way you used Tim," he snapped, growing furious—rather to himself, actually.

"No, it's not like that. I—"

"It's okay. If I were in your position, after everything you've been through, I would use someone as a distraction too. I get it. Use me, I don't care," he shrugged, but he was mad. He was ashamed. "There are already a lot of people using me anyway."

Fuck it! She couldn't bear seeing him in this vulnerable state. He couldn't possibly mean that. He was just angry and resigned and wasn't thinking straight. He was saying something out of frustration and would take it back after cooling down.

So fuck it! She already looked weak and pathetic. At least she would walk that path now and never turn back. She snapped the two vials on the table—one full, one empty—and leaned back in her chair, looking away.

"What's this?" He frowned, taking both in his trembling fingers.

"I messed up. I wanted to take a calming potion and instead drank veritaserum," she snapped, marinating in her own rage.

"Are you fucking crazy? This is dangerous. Do you have any idea what could've happened if someone had arrived and asked you something? What if Dumbledore asked you how your weekend was? You would've exposed all of us," he spat, scratching his eyes. Drained. Exhausted.

"Well, it didn't happen. And that's not the point anyway!" She shouted in the library she hoped was empty. "I told the truth. That's the point. I fucking care about all of you. I consider Padma and Parvati like sisters, and Fred like a brother, and you—"

Fuck! It tore in her throat like a needle. She wanted to say it. She was about to. Fuck! He was leaning forward, trembling in anticipation. And she wanted to say it, but he hadn't asked, so the potion had no effect. If he didn't ask, she wasn't forced to say it.

George knew about the veritaserum. Why wasn't he asking? He could take advantage of this moment, because there would surely not be another one like this. But he wasn't asking, and she wanted him to, so she could blame it on the potion.

She couldn't deny it anymore. She. Wanted. Him. In his fullest part. All the messy, chaotic, arrogant, and irritating parts. And the white knight, caring, protective part. Everything. She wanted everything and still couldn't bring herself to say it.

"It's okay," he grabbed her hand on top of the table and caressed her knuckles. "Breathe, Nova. Please, fucking breathe."

She was hyperventilating. She could feel her chest rising and pressing down. It hurt. The effects of the potions combined with all these emotions overflowing. She had never had a panic attack before, but this felt like one. She couldn't feel her lungs. Her heart. Everything was so fucking blurry and unsteady.

"George, just ask me. I can't keep it anymore," she pleaded. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue but couldn't escape.

"What? Nova, I can't—" He frowned and kneeled beside her, cupping her trembling face.

"Just fucking ask me!" She shouted, and it tore again in her throat.

She couldn't say it. She wanted to say it. There was so much she wanted to say but couldn't. She couldn't say it if he didn't ask, because the potion wouldn't work. She needed the potion to work. She needed to let it out and blame it on the potion.

And without warning. Without blinking. Without hesitation. George pressed their lips together. It wasn't passionate. It wasn't deep. It was a kiss. Half apology. Half terror. He kissed her, and fuck, it was beautiful.

She could breathe again against his mouth. Her lungs filled with air. Her heart rested. She focused on the warmth of his lips, on the scent he emanated—caramel, spruce tree, and fireworks. A lot of silent fireworks around her.

When he pulled back, his eyes were wide. Vivid. Sparkling. But scared. And confused. She imagined hers were just as filled with emotion. But she could breathe. She was steady.

"What—why?" she whispered, blinking quickly.

"Um—you were having a panic attack, and well, I just thought—" He blinked quickly too but was careful. More worried.

"Yeah, that worked. Um—thanks."

Fucking fuck! What the fuck was that? How was it even possible? He sat back again, and both stiffened in their seats. It was all confusing. It was all uncertain. This was... something she would surely overthink for the rest of her life.

Silence was better. Considering the state she had been in just seconds ago, silence was better, but it wasn't enough. He was still drained and exhausted. She had to return the favor and make his heart find peace.

"I was trying to say that you're not Tim. You're not a distraction. I mean, the whole bet thing is, but whatever this thing between us is, I'm sure it's not a distraction anymore," she said, breathing. She was fucking breathing again because of him.

"I didn't ask you. The potion works only if someone asks you something." Now he was the one having difficulty breathing steadily. His fingers twitched on top of the table.

"Well, yeah. I suppose you just have to trust I'm telling the truth then," she smiled faintly, looking down, adjusting her hair, doing anything but looking at him.

If it weren't for the calming potion, she would've laughed hysterically. She would've bent over and cried to show power and strength. She would've flicked her wand and made a mess to ease this silence. Not now. She was fucking calm and fucking enjoying this silence.

They were both looking down with lingering smiles on their faces. She wasn't sure what he was thinking, but it seemed funny. Just like she was taking this whole situation.

She had confessed everything to her friend. Hell! She had said he wasn't a distraction anymore. It was an endless flow of emotions and overwhelm. And she found it funny because she knew it wouldn't change anything.

There was still so much she hadn't said. George had his own problems, and he didn't want help. He was in a relationship. A healthy one. She was a mess who couldn't keep a therapist for more than half an hour. Nothing would change if she didn't.

"Okay, blondie, here's the plan," he sighed, and their eyes locked with an ocean of understanding. "You're coming to The Burrow for Christmas. After that, we're going to find who killed your parents. In the meanwhile, I'll get my fucking life in order, and you'll do the same."

"Yeah, we tried already, and things aren't going exactly well," she shook her head, defeated, resting her chin on her hands.

"It's different now," he murmured, sensing her confusion. "Because I'll help, and I'll allow you to help me. I'll tell you everything after Christmas. I'll explain what I'm doing. We can do this."

"And then what? After you solve your things and mine, and we find the killer, and whoever is putting the glitter pranks on us, and I find a good therapist? After all this shit, what happens?"

George clicked his fingers on his chin. He thought deeply, gazing at the ceiling, but she knew he was just mocking. She knew the answer—or at least, she hoped it was some sort of promise about them trying to be together.

This is the veritaserum talking, not surely her. But she smiled, truly, honestly. She felt the mockery, and the air became less heavy, the surroundings less blurry. It wasn't that scary anymore, so she smiled, and it healed a little of all the agonies she had felt until now.

George seemed to have come up with an idea and gazed back at her. What eyes, what dimples while smiling back at her. He leaned forward, stripping the softness and disgusting sweetness of the moment to return to his mischievous self.

"After that, I'll win the bet, and you'll go to the Yule Ball dressed as a clown with Filch as your date," he grinned, knowing how dangerously close he was.

"Huh, you wish! I'll win, and you'll go to the ball with freakish Moaning Myrtle," she snapped, narrowing her eyes but unable to wipe off her smile.

"Sure you won't be jealous?" He tilted his head, and fuck! Of course she would! And she had veritaserum in her body.

It was beautiful. A very romantic moment in some way. They were so close, and after everything that happened today, she was about to answer in hope they would kiss again. Maybe even walk into his dorm and have very not-distraction sex.

But she had veritaserum, and she had to answer, so she did. Well, she slapped her palm on his face and pushed him until he met the floor, then nodded. Technically she answered. Practically, he didn't see it. But he laughed, and she did too. And then they fought, which was good and romantic too.

Fuck! This was the last time she would brew veritaserum or any other potion that could make her this weak. Or at least next time, she would put them in two different pockets.

To tell the truth to herself, she doubted she was that smart, since she had made such a wrong yet useful mistake.

After Christmas everything will be better.

Chapter 24: Light Pink

December 25, 1994

Fred and George pleaded with their mother to accommodate only one condition for Christmas: don't treat Nova like a wounded puppy.

Did Molly agree? Absolutely, yes. Did Molly immediately jump on Nova, caress her hair, and tell her everything would be okay because she would act like her new mother from now on? Also, yes.

No one could blame her. In fact, Arthur Weasley did the same in a less cheesy way. Remus Lupin shared his traumatic childhood and what a bitch of a mother he had. Sirius Black had a lot to say when it came to feeling like an orphan, because his real family was all here at The Burrow.

And Harry Potter, even if he didn't say anything, was the central topic during dinner. While talking about the tournament, everyone reminded Nova how lucky she was to have experienced them before they died—a pathetic argument if you asked George.

Because, for once, it's not a race to see who had it worse. If you lost someone, you lost them. Period. End of discussion. No matter when in life or even if they were bad people. You lost them. You're grieving. That's all that matters.

"Pss, George?" Padma leaned forward from his side, almost glued to Fred's chest. "Are you going to do something about it?"

"What are you talking about?" He leaned in too, now nearly pressing against his twin.

"Nova. She's not doing well. I haven't heard her talk since we arrived," she murmured weakly watching her friend in front of them.

"Like what? I can't order everyone to just shut up a minute," he snapped, growing confused and concerned and irritated and tired. Extremely tired.

George was well aware he had put this whole white knight/hero complex on himself. He knew he was now responsible for Nova's safety. But fuck, it wasn't as easy as everyone believed.

After what happened in the library, she had raised her walls so high it felt like the first day of school all over again. She was there with them physically at all times, but mentally? She was long gone.

She would answer with dry, monosyllabic sentences. She would study like a maniac while he tutored kids. She would eat—that was good. She was there and not quite there, and George understood it was the most terrifying stage of grief.

Well, he didn't know much about that in particular, but he had done his research, and yes, what was happening to Nova resembled depression. Maybe it was too early to confirm it. Maybe it was too late to save her.

"You two are ridiculous," Fred said dryly, gripping both their heads and pushing them away from his chest. "Just prank her or tease her or something."

"Really? Is that your plan?" Padma snapped, slapping his arm. "That's not what she needs."

"Of course it is. Look at her." Fred waved in front of them and god, it was heartbreaking.

Nova was looking down at her plate, eating. That was good. But she felt like a ghost. Paler than usual. Her loose blonde hair drooping down as though to shield herself. Her eyes empty. Not vivid. Not blue. A complete void.

This wasn't supposed to happen. After the whole confession with the veritaserum. After they kissed. After they came up with a plan to get over grief. After she hugged her friend. After sobbing like a baby. Nothing had changed. It had become worse.

That's it. He couldn't bury this anymore. George gripped his wand and looked around. Woah, there were so many people, and so loud. No wonder she was feeling this overwhelmed.

Just as Nova raised her fork with a piece of chicken, he flicked his wand and half the fork melted down as if made of butter. She frowned with her mouth still open and stared at it. Maybe too silly. Maybe too much?

"Ah ah, funny," she said dryly, putting the fork down and stealing Ron's before gazing down again.

Okay, that was a pathetic attempt. But George wasn't sure how far he could take it. It had been so long since they pranked each other seriously. He wasn't even sure how far he could go before crossing the line and making her see him as the enemy once more.

So he leaned back in his chair, now defeated, while Fred and Padma were thinking about a solution too. They weren't very good at it, because as soon as Parvati started talking to them about other clues on who could've killed her parents, they forgot it would be useless if Nova didn't escape this sad state.

It was impossible to know what she was thinking. If this was actually depression. If it was some sort of survival instinct to not feel pain while being surrounded by such warmth. It was impossible to know, but he was desperate to.

What better way to know than a visual representation? George excused himself for a split second, reached his bedroom, and looked around their potions drawer. He was sure he had something that could help, and once he gazed at the transparent square-shaped vial with the purple mixture in it, all hope returned.

Growing mischievous, he sat back down at the table, shared a smirk with Fred, and subtly showed him the vial. His twin recognized it immediately and grew just as excited.

George thought of a plan—a way to put the potion in Nova's glass without being noticed. He scanned the room and fuck! Why was everyone so loud? He always liked chaos, but he had never realized how irritating it was when you were trying to think.

However, it was one of his best talents to benefit from every inconvenience. Since the whole family was engaged in chatting and no one was paying attention, George simply guided his hand over her glass and emptied the vial. Then he took the end of his fork and stirred it until it became crystal clear, like the water that was in it.

Easy. Easier than anticipated. Nova didn't even look up from her plate. She was in some sort of contemplative trance. She was watching but not seeing.

However, it took longer than necessary for her to drink it. Fuck it! How could a human eat that many salty potatoes and not feel thirsty? Either way, she finally did, and the twins almost jumped out of their seats to see if their product worked.

"She will kill us," Fred murmured, leaning slightly toward his brother but never leaving his gaze on her.

"At least she will do something," George smirked broadly, arms crossed, already planning his escape.

In one split second, Nova's blonde hair shifted to blue. Okay, then—she was sad. That was the color for lingering sadness. This was good. It could be handled.

Padma and Parvati widened their eyes at the sight, but Fred explained how the potion worked—that it matched her feelings. Nothing dangerous or lethal. Well, he left out the part about it being the first time they tested it on someone, but that didn't seem important now.

However, just when George was about to make the biggest and funniest joke he could think of to cheer her up, Nova's hair shifted again into a bright red. That was anger. She was suddenly angry out of nowhere.

And then white as snow. That was isolation. The hair shifted but her expression remained the same. What the fuck was happening inside her mind?

Then grey. Indecisive and dull. Then forest green—that was guilt. Then blue again. And red. White. Blue. Grey. It happened so fast George didn't know how to react. Fred, Padma, and Parvati were about to panic, and if they had the potion in their bodies, their hair would've turned dark purple.

He felt faint. It was an explosion of emotion. A tight knot formed in his stomach and his chest ached. Because he didn't know what to do. Because he couldn't help. Because he had a fucking hero complex and it was only worse when it came to Nova.

Wrapped in desperation and a sense of failure, George slid down in his chair, ashamed. In doing so, under the table, their long legs touched, interlinked, and pressed their knees together and...

Oh.

Her hair turned a light pink color. From the roots to the tips. It was a delicate and pastel tone. That represented happy emotions. If it had been bright pink, it would've meant disgust. It wasn't. It was light pink and it meant calm.

Nova seemed to pull herself out of the trance but didn't look up. She kept eating and gazing down at her plate, but she was calm. Fuck! She was fucking calm because they were touching under the table, and George was about to throw the table across the house to give her more.

"Mate, that's weird. What did you do?" Fred murmured with utter shock at their own product.

"Look for yourself." He nudged, and his brother didn't waste any time.

When Fred understood, he told Padma and Parvati, and both gazed under the table and grew extremely amused. They even started giggling to each other and murmuring who knows what romantic supposition.

But George needed to know more. Well, to help Nova, yes, but also because one of their products was a big success. And it was beautiful. Perfectly executed. All the colors they chose for the emotions. The intensity. It all worked, and this could be a win-win situation.

Learning more about Nova's emotions and testing their product. Perfect. Things couldn't have turned out better.

So George broke the touch of their legs, and it took a minute before her hair turned blue. She was sad again, and Fred frowned, placing a hand on his brother's leg.

He let them connect again and her hair turned light pink. He guided George's leg back again and it turned blue. They did this at least ten times, wondering if it would happen with every human touch. Fred rose from the chair and walked until he was standing beside Nova.

Careless of giving explanations, he grabbed Ginny's hand just beside her and rested it on Nova's shoulder. The hair was still blue. Then he grabbed Ron's hand on the other side and did the same. Nope, always blue.

Remarkably, no one was paying attention to this scene. George scanned the table and literally not a single person seemed to care that Nova's hair was changing color. But the twins decided the whole family thought they were pranking Nova and simply chose to let it be.

So Fred waved to Padma and she approached, not sure what to do. He gripped her wrist and rested her hand on Nova's shoulder. Light pink. Okay, that was good. Well, George had thought he was special for a moment, but apparently it happened with someone else too.

Then Fred removed Padma's hand and the hair turned blue. Sadness took over immediately when there wasn't a familiar touch. And then Fred rested his hand and they were light pink again. That said a lot.

"I want to try too," Parvati said, rushing forward, feeling a little left out.

She snatched Fred's hand away, gazed at the blue color, and then rested hers on Nova's shoulder. Light pink again.

"Oh thank god, it would've been pretty embarrassing if she'd remained sad only with me," Parvati gasped, as if she had been holding her breath with insecurity.

Like kids finding a new toy, the three of them kept resting their hands and then retreating them, gazing at the change of color. George couldn't help but smile at the scene but then noticed a shift in Nova's expression. The little vein in her forehead was becoming vivid, pulsing, and threatening to explode.

He tried to warn them this was about to be dangerous. But it was an experiment, and since Fred, Padma, and Parvati were having so much fun with it, better to lean back and be the only one not getting in the middle of her soon-to-start fury.

George almost couldn't contain himself anymore. He wanted to see something. A reaction. Nova in action. Nova angry or happy or snapping. Anything! But not this numb state.

And it was working. The roots of her hair shifted bright red slowly and she narrowed her eyes. Her hands started trembling and she regained consciousness of her surroundings. She would snap. She would be angry. She would probably kill them all. And yet, George wasn't to blame. That was even more fun.

"Oh, leave the poor girl alone," Molly approached, gently pushing Fred away and locking eyes with him. "You will have time to play later. Now she needs to eat..."

The split second their mother rested a hand on Nova's shoulder, not looking down at her, the hair turned light yellow. Not her usual platinum. Not bright to represent frustration.

Light yellow meant hope. She had hope somehow. Because Molly's hand was on her shoulder. That could mean an absurd amount of things. But George liked to stick to the idea she had found hope in a mother's touch. Something she missed. Something she needed.

It snapped her fully out of the trance. Nova looked up and their eyes locked. He melted at the sight because there was a tear in addition to the vein slowly retreating. She was gaining consciousness. She was taking in her surroundings almost as if she had forgotten where she was the entire time.

When Molly withdrew her hand to guide Fred, Padma, and Parvati to sit back down, Nova's hair returned... normal. They were platinum blonde again. She wasn't feeling anything while blinking quickly and stepping into reality.

That was good. That meant if she wasn't thinking then she wasn't feeling. Well, he was no mind-healer, but that didn't seem so bad, right? Either way, she was here again, and George would do the impossible to not let her slip away this easily.

"Oi, blondie? What do you think if—"

"Absolutely not," she snapped, narrowing her eyes and growing extremely serious, yet showing no emotion.

"You don't even know what I was about to say," he sneered, leaning slightly forward, feeling faint from hearing her voice again.

"Something stupid, for sure," she scoffed, resting her chin on her hands, clearly done eating and ready to spit venom.

"Huh, sometimes I forget how mean you are." He mimicked her position, but with utter mischief—game on, finally!

"I thought I was pretty nice today, actually," she mocked, pursing her lips.

It was all fake. She looked amused, but she wasn't—or else her hair would have turned light green. Not forest green like guilt, but a pastel and delicate green. They were still normal. She was still not feeling.

So George did the most rational and mature thing his mind could come up with. Under the table he clicked their knees together and—fuck!—her hair turned light pink. Oh, what a feeling. What a win. What a beautiful sight.

"I was saying," he smirked proudly, because she still hadn't noticed, "what do you think if we go outside and make snowmen? Whoever makes the ugliest has to jump in the freezing lake."

"I'm in," Fred snapped immediately, already halfway standing from excitement.

"Us too," Padma cooed, and Parvati nodded, both already reaching for the door.

In one split second they were outside. But Nova remained seated, and George didn't waste any time. He pulled on his brother Charlie's jacket and grabbed his own. Then he approached her and rested a hand on her shoulder. Light pink was now his favorite color.

Somehow she let him do everything without snapping. Well, she sent killing glances at every moment but didn't resist. She let him guide the jacket around her arms. She let him lift her from the chair. She let him interlock their hands as they exited The Burrow.

Her hair remained light pink. Even when he shouted that there was a spider on her back. They turned pitch black from fear, but when she realized he was joking, they turned light pink again—not before she slapped him very, very hard on the chest for it.

Padma and Fred were already fully into making their own snowmen, competing against each other only. Parvati was lying in the snow to make an angel, but she moved too quickly and it ended up simply a big mess.

"Hope you know how to swim, blondie," he teased when he found a good spot to start.

"Why? So I'll come save you when you lose and have to jump in the lake?" she spat, not too far away, already preparing the snow ground.

"So full of yourself, huh?" He shook his head and got to work.

They couldn't. Well, they started the base of their snowmen. But they couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Nova tensed for a second, and even in the darkness of the backyard he could see her hair turn orange—he didn't remember what that meant, but it was bright, so surely a bad emotion.

She returned to her snowman in silence. Parvati was the one teasing all of them like she hadn't engaged in this bet at all. She hadn't started her snowman, only making fun of the others. She would be the one to jump in the lake very soon.

And there was a moment George looked around and felt some sort of pride. He was proud to have these friends. He was proud of his family. He wasn't proud of what he would have to do once the holidays ended, but he could enjoy this for now. He wondered what color his own hair would be right now.

Or what color it would be when he was with Angelina. Maybe it would remain the same since he didn't think about her in any way. Or maybe blue, from the sadness of being used. Probably bright red out of rage at being a mere tool for a bigger end.

He could enjoy this now. He could breathe. He focused on the snowman he was creating and enclosed himself in this little bubble. He didn't have to think about it now. He could breathe.

And it felt so fucking good to not be used for once. Because Nova wasn't. Well, she said she wouldn't anyway, because that wasn't what she wanted. That he wasn't a distraction. So she wouldn't use him. She didn't want to.

That meant something, right? He wasn't sure what, but he knew she wouldn't—and that's what mattered now. George already had a very structured plan to be with her in the end.

It starts with finding out who killed her parents. That was top priority. In the meantime he had to pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp so he could break up with Angelina. All this while dragging Nova to a fucking good therapist so she could deal with everything in her mind.

And then... he wasn't sure. Well, he would want to be with her, but he wasn't sure how. It was a little complicated. She was complicated and crazy and difficult to live with. But it couldn't be worse than living without her at this point—the romantic air of Chicago must have followed them here.

Taken by some sort of lingering confusion, George blinked quickly and took in his surroundings. When the hell had they started a snowball fight? They were running all over the backyard and it was very dangerous—but funny. Dangerously funny.

Fred and Nova were in full swing. They were even throwing rocks at some point, keeping a fair distance and hurting each other carelessly. Padma was too, but she was scared of getting hurt, so she limited herself to throwing snowballs from time to time and hid behind her snowman when they got too close.

Nova's hair was platinum blonde. It was normal. She wasn't thinking. Just enjoying the moment. That was good, that was human—that was what he wanted her to do for now. And, for how much he wished to join the fight, it felt good seeing them together.

Fred had shared more than once this big brother instinct he'd grown toward Nova. After the library he was the most focused on finding out who killed her parents.

He even asked Molly and Arthur, but they simply said that during those school years, they had avoided Celeste and Louis because they were bullies—the Weasleys had never got along with bullies.

And Fred did research. He looked like some sort of federal agent fully into an investigation. He had a notebook now where he connected dots and scenes and pieces of her parents' past he could find scattered around the castle. Nothing came out of it, but he felt accomplished by trying to help her.

Yeah, the fucking Gryffindor hero complex was stronger than imagined. They both had always felt like this. But now it only applied to Nova. They were helping her, and they weren't sure they would ever feel this strongly about someone else in the future.

So George remained there, beside his half-made snowman, watching them with utter contentment. They were having fun. All the sadness and struggles outside this estate didn't matter for now. They could all breathe and be kids again.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Parvati murmured, standing on his right, looking at the scene with the same sweetness.

"Yeah, it is," he sighed faintly gazing at Nova, but something pressed beside him. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You like her, don't you?" She grew extremely mischievous in a split second.

"Pff, I tolerate her just because she's your friend," he scoffed, looking away, tensing on the spot.

In the attempt to avoid Parvati's intense gaze, George found himself scanning Nova deeply. There were snowflakes on her beautiful silk hair. A glitter in her vivid blue eyes. They hadn't spoken much lately. Not in the same quantity. And she was so fucking irritating.

How could someone have so many emotions inside and still, with the strongest potion known to the wizarding world to reveal every truth, she still fought not to say it. Not to admit she wanted him. That said a lot and nothing at the same time.

Because in the end, she didn't want to admit it. She wanted him to ask so she could blame it on the veritaserum. She didn't want to admit it. And god, he didn't want her to blame it. He wanted to hear it because she felt like it.

So fucking stubborn and arrogant and controlling and confusing and beautiful. Oh, she was beautiful. A vision for the eyes. The most angelic demon on earth. George would be damned if he lost the chance to live with her without grief—or at least with it eased.

He wouldn't live at all without knowing. How could he? Back in Chicago he had a glimpse of Nova, the girl who wasn't sad and wasn't building walls around herself at all times. He had a taste of what life with her could be and couldn't get enough of it.

It was visceral. Intoxicating. And he was sure it was irrational. Completely mental to imagine willingly handling her mood swings and traumas and self-doubts. But she wanted to help him. She had asked to help him. She wanted to carry his burden too. That meant something, right?

"Oh god, you two are made for each other," Parvati said dryly, shaking him out of his trance. "I can already imagine you staring at a wall all day long, just overthinking everything."

"Ugh! Shut up," he gagged, pressing a hand against her face and trying to shove her away, but she held her ground, so he couldn't help but laugh along with her.

"C'mon, don't be a baby. There's nothing wrong with admitting you like her. I mean, it's pretty obvious by now." She elbowed him gently, and something about her expression made it clear she wasn't leaving until she got an answer.

"It really is, isn't it?" He side-eyed her the slightest bit.

"You smile like an idiot when you talk to her. More than usual."

And that was the second George looked at Nova, sitting in the foyer after tripping over herself and scratching her leg on a sticky hidden in the snow. And he was smiling like an idiot. He knew because Parvati burst out laughing.

So he grew serious. He frowned, offended that someone could have this effect on him. Well, many people were controlling him at this moment in his life, but at least he was earning money for it.

What did he gain with Nova and all her madness? Pride and glory? Some sense of reward in helping someone? Great and wild sex in the most unexpected moments? Well, yes, also, but—

Without realizing, George was sitting next to her on the foyer steps. Padma, Parvati, and Fred were long gone inside to open gifts—no one will jump on the lake apparently.

Now Nova was slightly hurt, her clothes a mess, her hair unchanged in color—which meant she wasn't thinking. Her head was light, steady, and he never wished to see that color this much compared to the rainbow of emotions.

"Remember to add a course on how to stand on your feet to our list of things to do," he teased, guiding her calf onto his lap to look at the wound.

"Sure, we can do that after your 'how to be funnier' classes," she mocked, resting her palm behind her to support her weight.

"Of course, I'm teaching that class. Can't miss it for the world."

Nova scoffed faintly and looked away, slightly irritated. But her hair didn't change. George caressed the torn part of her trousers where there was a slight bleed. Nothing major or deadly. He caress it, knowing it didn't even need to be cleaned, but he kept caressing before looking up at her.

Her hair was platinum blonde. She wasn't calm. Why the hell wasn't she calm now that he was touching her? All hopes were lost. The potion effects must have worn off. It was worth noting how long it lasted. But damn it, he had to make it last longer because now he couldn't know how she felt.

Well, he'd never known before anyway. But it had been fucking useful. Maybe he could pour the potion in her morning tea. He wiped away the thought immediately because it would've been too easy.

Trying to understand what Nova felt had become the pathetic purpose of his miserable life. And he was learning. He didn't need the potion. He'd understand one day. All of it.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. No need to go to the Hospital for now," he said dryly, pulling himself out of the little trance.

"Aw, pity. I was really trying to avoid giving you your gift," she groaned loudly. "Maybe I can hit my head on the wall and—"

"You brought me something?" he snapped, sounding more desperate than intended. He couldn't hold his breath.

She had gifted him something. She had brought something. Or made something. Oh fuck! Hopefully it wasn't an explosive or a cow tongue. Well, she gave him something, so it had to be fine.

They locked eyes. She wasn't teasing this time. She knew what she was doing with her vivid blue eyes. And he let it happen, because he wanted to.

"What is it? Oh god, I hate surprises," he gasped, gripping her legs harder, now fully on his lap. "Is it a gold watch? Please tell me it's not a dead bunny."

"Ew, what's wrong with you?" She frowned, leaning forward, the two of them completely intertwined. "Trust me, the last time I gifted a dead animal to someone, it didn't end well. I learned my lesson."

"Um, I'll do myself a favor and not ask about it," he muttered, lips pressed thin to erase the image. "But please tell me it wasn't a dog."

She didn't answer. She exploded into laughter. It burst in his ears, and he matched it with equal intensity. Whoever was inside might have mistaken it for delirious people escaping some mental ward. Cynical as it sounded, there was no better way to describe the image.

When Nova finally caught her breath—after a long while—she flicked her wand until a little box appeared in her outstretched hand. It was medium-sized, blue, fraying at the edges, used and hidden who knows where.

"Do you remember Tim and Matt talking about some letters I might have sent them about—um—you?" she murmured, staring down at it.

"Yeah, briefly," he lied, because that mystery had been eating him alive since they'd returned from Chicago.

"Well, here they are. All of them. From the first day of school until the one I sent Tim to buy us the plane tickets." She handled the box with such tenderness he was sure she wouldn't let it go easily.

Well, that wasn't a gold watch nor a dead animal. He could breathe again. But then he looked down at it. And he couldn't breathe anymore.

Every thought, opinion, insult, compliment—everything was there. Everything she had carried when they weren't aware of the reason she had to transfer to Hogwarts. Everything she had suffered alone. And knowing her, she had probably held back in the letters too.

In front of him was Nova. A version of her she surely didn't expect anyone to see besides Tim and Matt. And she trusted them. So there would be something very interesting in those letters. Raw. Intimate.

He gazed at the box like it was enchanted, pulling him forward. His chest ached with the need to know. He was dying to know. It was all there. All of her was there.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Thought you would've jumped on it by now," she snapped, hands trembling. Oh, she was shivering, and not from the cold.

Fucking hell! He couldn't. He wanted to, but couldn't. George looked straight into her eyes, and she looked away. She was scared. And he didn't need her hair to change color to understand it. She was terrified, and yet she didn't take the box back. Because she was also stubborn.

So he gripped it—the box. And when it rested on his lap, right above Nova's knees because they were practically tangled together, he opened it.

There were so many letters. At least twenty, maybe thirty. The handwriting on the first one stood out. It looked printed by a machine rather than a human. It was remarkable. She was remarkable in everything.

"I'll make you a deal, blondie," he said, trying to hide his excitement. "I'll burn them all, without reading them first."

"What?" she snapped, her face twisted in confusion. "Where's the catch?"

"I'll burn them all on one condition," he murmured, handing her back the open box. "I want you to read out loud the one you sent after we had sex in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Fuck no. Ugh! Forget it. I'll burn them myself," she snapped, slamming the lid shut and clutching the box in a weird, almost defensive way.

George expected that reaction. Still, his reflexes weren't fast enough, and now the box was hidden in her arms like a predator protecting its baby. She was furious, breathing through her nostrils and looking everywhere but at him.

She was so pretty like this—mad, crazy, stubborn, fiery. She was so pretty, and he smiled because he couldn't help himself.

"C'mon, blondie, I would've read it anyway," he whispered, still with his hands on her legs.

Nova didn't answer. She only grew more irritated and flushed. Yes, her pale cheeks turned red. And she stared hard at a faraway tree, probably debating how much it would hurt to smash her head against it instead of doing this.

"I promise on my own mother that once you're done reading it, I won't say anything about it. No teasing, no jokes," he said firmly, though it didn't work. "I'll close my eyes, all right?"

And he did. George pressed his hands harshly to his face, curling himself into the cramped, pleasant, uncomfortable position they were tangled in. He was basically buried in her knees, on top of his lap. It was so fucking uncomfortable—and he had never felt more at ease.

The only sound was his heart pounding like a hammer. Nothing else. Maybe the occasional gust of wind, but if he weren't touching Nova's legs, he could've sworn she had left. She could be silent when she wanted, apparently.

But then there was a shift. For a second, George believed she had summoned a dagger and was about to stab him in the head. He didn't open his eyes. He had hope, and if he had drunk the potion too, his hair would've been bright yellow because of it.

"Dear Tim and Matt, I read the muggle newspapers and I can't believe you burned my fucking backyard again..." she started, voice fragile, almost inaudible. "...You're lucky I'm not there or I would've let you die in the fire..."

This was it. His heart stopped pounding just so he could hear. This was the moment. He wasn't sure why that letter in particular, but... he was desperate to know. So he remained still as stone and listened.

"...I'm not mad. Well, I should be. But not today, because I had the best fucking night of my life. Do you remember that boy I told you about? The irritating rat who had the nerve to make a bet with me? Well, he's still annoying, but he's good at something.

I'll spare you the intimate details because you're incapable of reading in your head, and since you're idiots, I'm sure you're reading this out loud in a very crowded space.

But I'll tell you this: George fucking Weasley has done something to me, and I don't know how to handle it.

I believe it was the sex. He's very good at it. But it's not only that. He was looking at me—you know how much I like being watched and praised. Well, who can resist looking at me? Naked, especially.

Anyway, that's not the point for once. Oh, you should've seen him. I felt so good with him. And he kept noticing details of my face like he wanted to remember everything. It was disgustingly good to be seen like that, for once. He was seeing beyond everything I was showing—and more.

You should see his eyes. He has dimples on the sides. And the most irritating yet contagious laugh. His hair is the worst color, like the ginger we always made fun of, but it looks good on him though. It frames his face somehow.

And he claims to be the king of mischief. He kinda is. He and his brother have the craziest ideas. I'm not sure how he comes up with them. He's a genius. Well, I'll deny it if he asks, but he's really smart. Annoying too, though.

Don't get me started on how much he handles my shit. Can you imagine? Well, you can, because you always did. But imagine someone outside our world doing that. It's remarkable.

I could literally tell this boy I'm in the mood to hide a body in the woods, and he would follow. I could say I'm craving the saltiest, sweetest food on earth, and he would somehow find it. I could tell him I'm sad—even if I didn't—and he would make me happy.

Like he did last night. He knew something was wrong and didn't care to be all proud and arrogant as usual. He pleaded me to channel my anger somewhere, and I did. And it felt so good I wanted to kill him after, because I became addicted to it.

I'm not sure how things with him will go now. He has a girlfriend. I'm... well, I'm me, you know? It's kinda hard imagining something more happening before I heal properly.

That's it for now, I think. I hope to tell you the details face-to-face one day. I miss you guys. And I love you very much.

P.S. Stay the fuck away from my house, seriously.

Your favorite witch,
Nova."

Silence fell, and George understood that was it. She took several deep breaths, and he realized he had stopped breathing for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should look up, because he couldn't move.

What the fuck was that? Now he wanted to read them all. Was she always writing about him this way? This was the best Christmas gift ever.

He felt it visceral in his veins. A heart? What's that? His had just left his body along with his soul. He felt warm and stinging and aching and burning, wanting nothing more than to look up at her and just kiss her endlessly because... no one had ever talked about him that way.

That he was good at sex—there was no doubt. But she thought of him as smart. Nova fucking Rowen, the girl that even Professor Snape was scared might take over his job for how clever and brilliant she was, thought he was smart.

He was confident enough to call himself beautiful. She didn't say it directly in the letter, but it was clear she found him beautiful. Pathetic as it seemed, now it was the only time he felt it more real than ever before.

So she thought of him as a handsome mischief genius, and he scoffed into his hands at the thought. For the longest time, he thought he was anyway. Now he was sure—because Nova said it.

"Don't laugh! You promised you wouldn't tease me," she snapped, and from the shift it was clear she had closed the box again.

"Sorry, blondie, I was just thinking that—"

The second he rose from the very uncomfortable position and locked eyes with her, it was blinding. Soft. A stray of hair was light red. Apparently, the potions hadn't completely left her body yet.

Light red. It wasn't... it couldn't be... that's for love. She couldn't possibly feel like this out of nowhere. It was light red, and she was looking at him with such fragile eyes. It was light red, and it meant love.

This was suffocating. Because she didn't know about the potion, so there was a chance she wasn't even aware of her feelings. But what if she was? Now George felt faint. No, literally, he felt fuzzy and heavy and close to fainting. Practically bracing himself to fall over.

"What? Thinking about your first joke? Go ahead. Make fun of me, I've handled worse," she said, looking away. But still, it wasn't bright red from rage. It was light red—from love. "I knew I couldn't trust you with this. It was way too intimate, and you can't—"

George, taken by sudden anger, snatched the box out of her hands and tossed it onto the gravel just a meter from them with such force she remained speechless. Fucking finally! She was ruining the romantic atmosphere.

With a flick of his wand, he burned the box. It was a high flame that took over immediately. Everything she had said about him. Thought about him. Everything she had been scared to share was turning into ashes, and he regretted nothing.

"Do you think my brother Ron left us some chocolate cake?" he murmured, looking as serious as possible.

She blinked rapidly, not sure what to say or how to react. He didn't want her to. He had made a promise and kept his part of the deal. He wouldn't joke about it. Wouldn't give her a hard time. It was difficult not to smile a little, but he remained stiff, dry, emotionless.

"What the hell—"

"Let's go. I'm starving," he snapped, pushing to his feet and gripping her hand to guide her inside.

He didn't look back at the letters because he didn't need to. Whatever was written there would only make it worse. He wanted to strip Nova of her fears and doubts and emotions slowly, all for himself, without advantage.

This was what he was earning by handling her madness: that look of trust. That look of understanding. Being worth reading those letters. Someone looking at him and not expecting anything. Just having him there.

Everyone else could use him. Everyone else could pay him for it. They could take every single glimpse of self-value from him. But Nova was giving it all back effortlessly, without even knowing.

But he would not sleep tonight, because he wanted to fucking read the other letters—
It would pass. Hopefully. If she never stopped looking at him like that.

Chapter 25: Under The Bed

January 7, 1995

Did Nova wanted to tell Padma and Parvati everything that happened with George since day one in this castle? Absolutely not.

Did the girls get Nova drunk at The Groover and listen to her whine about George for a total of three hours? Fucking finally, yes!

It wasn't completely fair to put the blame on either of them. It was George's fault, as always.

Because as soon as all the students got off the Hogwarts Express after the Christmas holidays, the first thing he did was rush to Angelina—and no one saw them since then.

Only a day had passed, and whatever Nova had built with him—trust? Love? Not-so-deep hate?—had scrambled beneath her feet along with the realisation he had a girlfriend.

"I think we're missing something," Padma snapped, not able to walk straight as they approached the castle. "He has no reason to still be with her."

"Why not? She's hot as fuck," Nova snapped, arms interlinked with theirs in order not to trip. "And she must be good at expressing feelings."

"You are too, in your own way," Parvati smirked—and drunk Parvati was not a concerned mother but rather a reckless child.

"Well, that's the only thing I believe she has more than me. Because it can't be the sex. I'm dangerously good at it, you should try to understand how much," she scoffed faintly, not caring where they were going.

In fact, they were going absolutely nowhere in particular. They were drunk. Their heads were heavy with thoughts and suppositions about George and why the hell he was with Angelina. They were walking senselessly around the castle.

But it felt nice. Nova felt weirdly good being dragged with them and having confessed everything. It started very slow. At first, she talked about it like it was gossip about two other students. Then it got slightly too specific and she messed up. So she just started all over again—with drunk honesty.

With the Veritaserum it was different. She could feel the truth pushing down her throat, and she had some sort of strength to swallow it away. She cried that day in the library. She had felt it all. The words stung. Her heart burned.

A bottle of vodka? Easy. Nova shared everything in very specific detail without shattering. She didn't hold back. It was all out, and it didn't hurt. When she felt like not saying something, she would sip her drink and then say it. Easy. Done. She should've come up with this way earlier.

Padma was the happiest about all the intimate details in the bathtub and back in Chicago. Obviously she made disgusted expressions, remembering they were talking about her brother-in-law. But she listened. And she asked. And Nova answered. She said even more than she thought possible.

And Parvati? That girl needed only a drink to become worse than her sister. Well, she cared more about the feelings, and she was still rational enough to push Nova down from the clouds she was bringing herself into. But she listened. And she asked. And Nova didn't mind having second opinions.

Where it led, though, was remarkable. An absolute void. Because after connecting the dots of everything, the only conclusion was that George was with Angelina for some unknown reason. And Nova hated not knowing something. Especially when it came to him.

"I know what we need to do," Parvati snapped, forcing them all to stop mid-hallway.

"Ugh! If you dare to say I need to be mature and talk to him, I'll—"

"Ew, no, are you on drugs? We hate him now. We're not going to do that," Parvati sneered, scanning her slowly. "We need to snoop into his room and find information."

Wow, okay, that was something Nova should've proposed. What was happening? Her friends should really get a grip and stop taking inspiration from her. It was becoming disturbing, dangerous, and extremely brilliant.

So they all interlinked arms again and burst into the Gryffindor common room. There were a few gazes, but nothing alarming from the very few people in it. Honestly, it was disturbing that no one tried to stop them from walking into the boys' wing.

Yes. It was this fucking easy. Three girls—two of them Ravenclaws—had just all the rights to sneak inside another student's room—a boy's—and no one would say anything. Nova noted this and put it aside in case she ever needed it.

And once inside Fred and George's room, it was Padma who led the way. She waved at her boyfriend's bed and pointed Nova to George's in order to do her own research.

It was a mess. That cunt even dared to make fun of her room when his looked like this. It wasn't comparable but still, it wasn't the most organised or clean. A boy's room. A typical, messy, cluttered boy's room.

"What are we looking for?" Nova frowned, tracing a Quidditch poster on the wall.

"I'm not sure, but it's fun, isn't it?" Padma giggled, opening Fred's drawers like she'd never had the chance before.

Even Parvati got into it and snooped inside the twins' wardrobes. There was a brand-new suit wrapped in a protective bag, hanging loose near the wall mirror. And George's three pairs of shoes were perfectly stacked in boxes on the side.

It felt weird. For a split second, Nova tried not to touch anything. She simply looked around and sensed some knot forming in her stomach. It could be mistaken for guilt at invading someone's privacy, but it was simply fear of what she could find here.

However, thank Merlin for how long alcohol lasts, because Nova blinked quickly, taking in the surroundings before almost jumping into George's side of the room, washing over whatever she felt about it.

It started with his drawers. A mess of clutter between prank objects, parchments, underwear, and broken toys. Nothing except growing in Nova the need to clean this. She couldn't. Or else he'd know she was here.

"Oh my god," Padma snapped, and in one second they were all around her.

She had her eyes and mouth wide, gazing at her hands where a little velvet red box rested open. A gold bracelet. Thin, no diamonds, no fuss. Only a little heart in the middle of it. And even if not screaming expensive, it screamed utter love.

"You think Fred bought this for me?" Padma murmured, trembling, probably on the verge of crying.

"Hope so, because if it's for another girl I'll burn this whole room down," Nova smirked, kneeling beside her.

"It must be for your birthday," Parvati smiled, but then something struck her and she rushed to look under his bed. "Better have one for me since it'll be my birthday too."

It was a mess. Parvati started throwing whatever she found across the room. Lots of clothes, broken toys, objects, and candies. What the hell was wrong with these two? How many things could they hide under their beds?

But Nova's eyes were on Padma, focusing on how she felt. She couldn't help but be happy for them. They still had a few problems, like learning how to communicate instead of hiding in each other's rooms. But they were trying, and most of the time succeeding at keeping their relationship intact.

And for a second Nova believed it possible to be like Padma too. Melting in front of a gift. Coming back to her room with the silliest of smiles. Planning a future with someone. Having hearts in her eyes while gazing down at her birthday present...

"Ah! There it is," Parvati snapped like a maniac, catching their attention. "It would've been embarrassing if he hadn't bought me something too."

The red velvet box was identical. The gold bracelet the same, but there was a bow in the middle instead of a heart. It was utterly beautiful and somehow it screamed friendship, loyalty. Nova wasn't sure where the difference was, but she could sense it.

Both Patils were now melted like butter. Surely the alcohol helped this sweet moment. And Nova didn't want to ruin it. So she simply watched them to understand what happens after someone feels like this.

Because when she's overwhelmed, it never ends well. She always breaks something, pranks someone, has sex with George, or says something she will surely regret. She wondered what normal people do after being so cheesy and emotional.

"I can't wait for our birthday. I need to rehearse my reaction to this," Padma giggled, guiding everything back under the bed.

"Wait... what do you mean 'our birthday?'" Nova frowned, tapping a finger on her chin, sure she was missing something. "Do you celebrate together?"

"You kidding, right? We're twins. Of course we celebrate together," Parvati scoffed, helping her sister not to leave tracks.

"Woah, since when are you twins?" She gasped loudly. "I thought you were just sisters."

Padma and Parvati turned to her slowly, still sitting on the floor, leaning back on Fred's bed, probably realising a break was needed. They looked amused and yet confused. No more than Nova. She was out of her mind.

Up until now, she had believed they were sisters. No one ever said anything about twins. She believed Parvati was older and had missed a year or two, that's why she was in the same school year as Padma. That wasn't a supposition. Nova was sure of it.

And they didn't even share the same features. For example, Fred and George were terrifyingly identical. There were times when Nova waited for them to speak in order to know which was which. Those were twins. You didn't question if they were twins.

But Padma and Parvati? Completely opposite people. Padma had more rounded features, she looked like a stag, eyes wide and docile and sweet. She had dimples at the side of her smile that could melt any boy in sight. She looked whimsical. Almost royal.

Parvati was harsher. Her features longer and sharper. There was always this slight irritation in her narrowed eyes that Nova admired because it was similar to hers. She looked firm, like a rock, something unbreakable and an honour to receive attention from. Almost threatening in the best way possible.

"When's your birthday?" she found herself asking, trying to let the alcohol connect the dots.

"Twenty one of this month," Padma said with a tender smile. "Are you okay? You seem to have seen a ghost."

"Yes—it's just... are you twins? For real? Or are you just messing with me? Because honestly it would be very funny if this was all a big prank." She gestured quickly with her hands, not even sure what she expected.

"Oh god, I can't believe people say you're the smartest witch in school." Parvati groaned before crawling closer to Padma. "Can't you see? We're identical."

It took a second. Well, actually almost five minutes of Nova jumping her eyes between them. Tilting her head to consider better. Their noses. Their features. Their smiles. Nope! She couldn't see it. They were completely different.

But she couldn't admit it. They looked so proud to be identical. To be an extension of one another. They might not make it loud like Fred and George—or Nova had never paid enough attention to...

Oh right! Yeah! Ron Weasley had called them the Patil twins once at lunch. And Harry Potter was asking if the Patil twins would be generous enough to be their dates at the Yule Ball before Fred jinxed Harry's water to drool while looking at Cho Chang.

The Patil twins. Yes. People did call them that. Woah, that was a big revelation. Nova understood she must pay more attention from now on because there must be other things she had missed until now about literally everyone.

And then she thought about the friend group in general. She was friends with twins. Like two sets of twins. This was weird. It felt weird, right? She had never met twins her entire life, and now her only friends were twins.

She laughed. More than necessary. More than she allowed herself daily. Her hands pressed on her stomach from the effort and a tear traced down her face. She laughed and Padma and Parvati did too, in a less maniacal way.

"Huh, I must have a fetish for twins at this point," she coughed, regaining herself in the slightest. "I can't believe the only people I care about are twins."

When Nova walked back towards George's bed she realised her mistake. She froze on the spot and tried not to look back at them. She would blame this on the alcohol. She must.

"Aww, you care about us," Padma cooed, and in one second both were hugging her from behind. "You're so cute when you confess feelings."

"Girls, get off me," she snapped, moving left and right but truly, she wasn't using much strength either.

"Say it again, please please please," Parvati's voice resembled a toddler. Totally out of her usual authoritarian self.

"Three seconds or I'll chop your limbs so you have arms instead of legs and vice versa," she snapped more harshly, stronger.

It worked. They stopped hugging her slowly. Not scared, but because Nova hoped they had now learned she didn't like physical contact if she wasn't the one initiating it. If she wasn't feeling like it.

But she wasn't lying. She fucking cared about all the twins in her life. And she would make sure to keep it a secret to herself because, honestly? She had already exposed too much. She had said too much. Something said repeatedly loses its effect. Loses its truth.

So silently but amused they returned to snoop around the room. Nova looked under George's bed that was annoyingly clean. There were two hoodies that she touched delicately and, without being seen, guided until his scent invaded her nostrils.

Caramel, spruce tree, and fireworks. This fucking boy would be the ruin of her. Why couldn't it be simple? Why couldn't they just be together and try, and if it went wrong, Nova could move somewhere else and forget ever coming in here? Why couldn't things be that fucking simple?

She snatched the hoodie away and kept searching. There was a book and Nova almost fainted looking at it. A Muggle author. Not a mere romance. It was a self-help book about grief.

She opened it with trembling fingers, and there were highlighted parts. She passed them quickly, refusing to read a harsh truth. But he thought them worth remembering, so she started from chapter one.

"Grief is just love that needed somewhere to go. And it's okay if today, that love spills in tears. You're not weak for remembering.
You're simply honoring what mattered."

"Give yourself grace as you grow through grief. Be patient with your pain. There is no rush to mend. Take care as your healing ebbs and flows."

Nova skipped the too-poetic quotes because she knew poetry could make you feel. And she didn't want to. She couldn't afford it now because she was in someone else's room and she would break something. She had felt too much already, and she didn't want to anymore.

But then came the stages of grief, and they weren't only highlighted—George had noted something on the edges of the pages. His own thoughts. His own plan.

Shock. When you lose someone, you may feel in shock, numb, or in denial of the situation. This is normal, but remember you need to feel what you need to heal.

And George added: "Nova must have had this already. No worth deepening." And he was right, because it happened the second she saw her parents' bodies being dragged away.

Anger. It's normal to feel angry at someone else, with the world, or even with yourself after you lose a friend or loved one.

George added: "Where to put Nova's anger??? Prank bet? Call an exorcist?" And she smiled softly at the idea of him thinking a Muggle priest could be the solution.

There was a shift in the air, and Padma and Parvati were kneeling at her sides, sharing a reassuring look. They would read too, but not judge. This was her moment and they were here for her. That was enough.

Bargaining. You may think about how things could have been different—what you could have done but didn't, or what you did do but shouldn't have.

George had a few questions here, apparently: "Is Nova blaming herself? How to get her to not feel guilty?? Find who killed her parents so she won't bargain anymore."

Sadness. Sadness may come in waves, especially when certain memories or triggers come up.

Wow. George was funnier than anticipated because he wrote: "Yeah, tell me about it. She's always so fucking sad. And it's literally driving me insane she isn't sad out loud. Because she's so irritatingly loud all the time. Except when it matters."

And then another question she had already asked herself more than once: How to not be sad? How to handle sadness in a healthy way? And then again: "Call an exorcist?"

Acceptance. This doesn't mean forgetting, but just accepting what has happened and choosing to move forward with your life.

Here George didn't write much. And the ink had even faded, maybe because he hadn't pressed down hard enough. It was fragile. Trembling. Like he was scared to write it.

"I want to take the grief away from Nova."

That's all. Not a question. Not a plan. Not an opinion. George wanted it desperately. It was all that mattered to him now. And Nova sighed in a very embarrassing way, tracing the ink. Tracing his mind and his desire.

Padma's hands rested on her shoulder in utter reassurance while Parvati leaned in until their eyes met. She couldn't fall victim to her mind. She could speak out loud. She couldn't—but she knew she could.

"I swear if you two don't get together in a month I'll go crazy," Parvati teased, searching once again under the bed.

"Me and you, my dear sister." Padma scoffed but didn't retreat her hand.

Well, Nova would go crazy too if she didn't figure out what was happening. Because yes, she felt something for George, but... it was all spark and magnetic pull and grief and... there was the possibility of it vanishing after being together.

She couldn't think of it now. Not until she understood why he was still with Angelina after everything that happened between them. One problem at a time—or else she'd be the one calling an exorcist for herself.

"What's this?" Parvati frowned, gripping a medium-sized box and sliding it into the middle of the three of them.

When she raised the lid there was a communal gasp, then frowns, then sounds of confusion and disappointment. They were drunk. Let's blame it on that and never talk about it again.

A box of money. A lot of it too. Nova gripped the parchment on top and unfolded it slowly. Her heart sank at the sight. Now she truly needed an exorcist and several potions to regain herself from this.

Ginevra Quidditch camp:

Fred / The Groover:
– 70 galleons per weekend
(set 30 aside to take Padma on dates)
– 150 galleons first tournament challenge bets

George:
– 25 galleons per fake boyfriend service
– 50 galleons per Angelina's family event
– 40 galleons tutoring (+new students if Granger accepts)

Total needed: 1700 galleons due in February

The air had never been thicker. All three girls looked down but weren't reading anymore. They weren't even fucking breathing. This was... this meant... this couldn't be it.

Nova's hands trembled furiously without her control. Padma and Parvati noticed only because she was about to break the parchment in half, so they guided it back into the box, though it stayed open to gaze at some more.

It was all fake. He was getting paid to be with Angelina. It was all fake. And Nova thought it was real. She felt so fucking stupid now. And humiliated. And used. And angry. And happy. And how the hell could someone feel like this all at once?

But Nova couldn't comprehend. She couldn't connect the dots, because in one split second Padma was sobbing like a freakish baby. Endlessly, loudly, breaking under their eyes.

"Oh my god, I feel so bad. It's all my fault he's working this much," she murmured, pressing her hands in front of her face. "I—I never questioned how he could afford all these dates. I thought his parents were doing better. I—I, oh god."

And now it was Nova hugging her. What the fuck? Well, no need to curse herself for it. Her friend needed a hug, and it was pretty poetic for it to be exactly Nova who gave it.

So Padma, after a little shock of surprise at the gesture, returned to sob uncontrollably, blaming herself for letting Fred work like a maniac in order to make her happy.

She explained their dates weren't the most fancy, but he tried. In Hogsmeade he would never leave before gifting her something. Either it was a stuffed animal, or a flower, or anything she could bring to her room and look back on to remember the date.

Now, Padma was ready to sell everything back and give him the money he needed to pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp—which Nova just now understood meant Ginevra was Ginny's full name, not some random girl they were trying to help. She wasn't very clever lately.

But something dangerously similar to a stroke hit Nova's mind in the split second Padma calmed down. The three of them stayed silent, but a tornado of things was happening inside them.

Fred and George needed money. Needed help. Nova didn't have a lot of money. But she could help. Because one of her best friends in Chicago was loaded—almost as much as Draco Malfoy. She could help. She could pay for Ginny, and the twins could stop working this much.

And Tim wouldn't even ask why she needed so much money. He didn't the day she asked for the plane tickets. He didn't when she asked him to bail her out of prison before her parents could be called. He didn't the day she burned Ilvermorny's Potions wing and he had to repay the school for it.

Because, for how stupid that boy was, when it came to money he was the smartest in his family, and now the only one allowed to handle it since his father had a very big gambling problem. So he could do whatever he wanted, and when it came to Nova, he would sign a blank check without blinking.

"I'll take care of this," she said, guiding the box back under the bed and pushing herself to her feet.

"What? Please tell me you don't have some stupid plan," Parvati followed, and they were already out of the room.

"I'm in, whatever it is," Padma smiled, wiping her tears gently.

Nova could help. Woah, what a feeling. What a thrill. She felt on top of a rollercoaster and stuck on it with no way down. What did this mean? Don't ask. It's just how she felt right now, and for once it wasn't something to wipe away.

So they walked, and she was satisfied. She'd help the twins and everything would go back to normal. George could break up with Angelina. Fred could use that money for dates—even if it was clear Padma would no longer accept anything because she felt guilty.

But they would work it out, as always. Now it was all in Nova's beautiful and perfect hands, and she would make the most of it. Was this how Gryffindors felt with their hero complex? Ugh! Disgusting—but truly good (not that she'd ever admit it out loud).

"How was the first day?"

They froze in place, just under the arch leading to the common room, and made themselves small in the dimness.

Angelina and George were sitting on the couch. They couldn't see the girls hiding there. Their heads were turned toward the lit fireplace, the only light source in the entire room.

"It was shit. Now I understand why you hate your father," George sighed, and it seemed now he was looking down. Maybe ashamed. Maybe guilty.

"Told you it was a bad idea," Angelina scoffed, shifting in her seat. At least she wasn't getting closer, or Nova would've been ready to jinx her. "You can fire yourself. I can pay you more if you need..."

"No, thank you. I'll be okay," he sighed, defeated and sad. "Honestly, I'd rather get paid by your father than steal money from you."

There was silence. His tone was bitter and so fucking sad Nova was about to jump on him and play the white knight for once. Just to slap him repeatedly for not telling her everything about this—about this struggle.

Angelina shifted again. She turned until their eyes locked. It was impossible to understand what way they were looking at each other, and all three girls almost exposed themselves just to see better. But they resisted the urge. They needed more answers.

"I'm sorry I put you in this position. I swear once we graduate I won't ask anything more from you," she said, and it sounded torn—like she was on the verge of crying.

"Don't worry about me. I'm glad I'm helping you with this. I truly hope one day you and Katie will be free to be together."

Oh...

Now... that's... that means... what the fuck does that mean? Nova looked at Padma and Parvati for answers, but they were just as shocked. Who the hell was Katie? And what did he mean by this?

There was silence again, and it wasn't good. Because if they weren't talking, then Nova was forced to think—and that wasn't good. So she let her mind roam over all the possibilities.

George needed money. So he faked being Angelina's boyfriend. Because Angelina was... with a girl named Katie? Why keep it a secret? Maybe queer people still weren't completely free to live, but no one was chasing them with flames and forks.

No, it was more. George had said something about her father. So it must be Angelina's parents who didn't want this. That's why they agreed on it. But George needed more money and was now working with her father.

Okay wow. That was a lot. More than anticipated. A revelation. It meant something, and Nova sighed, defeated, knowing exactly what.

Even if she paid for Ginny's Quidditch camp, George would still be with Angelina—because he couldn't just leave her to handle this by herself. And Nova knew why he couldn't. It wasn't right. Angelina needed this.

In the end, Nova had Padma and Parvati. She had her girls. She had Fred too—more a brother than a friend. She had Tim and Matt, even if they were far away. She had other people who could help her get over grief.

But Angelina? She was forced to hide a relationship with the person she loved. And now she only had George to help her do that. Nova knew it would be selfish to take that away from her.

And trust Ilvermorny students when they say Nova is selfish in everything in life—but not when it comes to another girl struggling with something.

So yes, she would pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp. But no, she would not ask George to end this fake relationship. And the thought burned more than all the alcohol she'd drunk tonight. It was a hangover of emotions. It was silently painful.

"Can I ask you something?" Thank god he spoke, or else Nova would've fainted from thinking.

"We've been through this already. I won't teach you how to get down a girl," she snapped, shifting again on the couch.

"Huh, not that. I'll figure it out on my own," he scoffed, probably rolling his eyes though she couldn't see it. "Um, when your uncle died last term, how did you get over it?"

"Is this about Rowen?"

Fuck yes, it's about her! Nova was all ears. Not only because George was asking—and that felt good—but because she truly sought an answer. Because she wanted to get over grief. Because she was desperate to hear how others handled it so she could too.

And Padma and Parvati wiped away their shock to focus on their friend. They smiled teasingly, and Nova elbowed them gently, warning this was no love confession. Just listen and don't ask further.

"I'm pathetic, aren't I?" he sighed again, looking down.

"A little bit, but I get you. She's a very special girl, and it's okay if you want to help her." She tilted her head until it rested fully on the couch. "By the way, I haven't told anyone about her parents. Not even Katie."

Oh... that was sweet. Well, George wasn't supposed to tell her anyway, but maybe he just needed a second opinion. Or it slipped somehow. Either way, it wasn't something that felt completely bad. So Nova decided to forget about killing him for it.

"I appreciate it. I just—I don't understand why she wants to keep it a secret. Everyone in this school lost someone, and they wanted comfort. They wanted to tell. Not her, and I don't know why." He was raging. He was defeated. He was confused.

"Have you asked her?" Angelina's voice had never sounded so friendly. "I mean, you two should really work on your communication skills, because half your problems come from not asking things."

"Because..." he sighed in agony, "I'm scared she doesn't trust me. That she won't tell me the truth."

Oh fuck! Nova felt it rise in her skin like stepping on fire—the guilt, the overthinking, the shame. She never wanted him to feel like this. She never wanted anyone to think that. She looked beside her, and Padma and Parvati had expressions that only confirmed they felt the same.

This was wrong. This wasn't the plan. If it weren't for being caught hiding here, Nova would've screamed that this wasn't how she felt. That she trusted her friends with her life at this point. But how to say it? The words always got stuck in her throat.

So she stayed silent. She stayed there and became one with the wall. If she couldn't say it, she would show it. She could do it. For now, she stayed silent—because it was impossible to speak it aloud.

"Listen, I don't know her enough to give you advice on this, but when I lost my uncle I didn't want to talk about it, because I didn't want to acknowledge he was dead," Angelina murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It took me six months to visit his grave. So, give her time."

Time. She needed time. Not to grieve now—there was too much going on. Nova, Padma, and Parvati managed to sneak back to the girls' dorm wing without being noticed, and that's where the plan took form.

She would pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp.
She would let George date Angelina for as long as she needed.
She would heal herself—whatever it took. Therapy, alcohol, study. Whatever.
She would hang out more with Padma and Parvati, because she needed to show them how much she cared.

But she would not, ever again, make any of them feel like she didn't trust them. Because, fuck, she had just built a family around her—and with a lot of twins, apparently—and she was not going to lose it this time.

Chapter 26: High Heels

January 14, 1994

"My dear future wife and light of my eyes,

Here's the check you asked for. I added another thousand galleons just in case you need to buy a dress, school supplies, or bail yourself out of jail.

We miss you terribly. Thank you for not obliviating Nick, by the way. He's a real blast. We're having so much fun together and, don't worry, nothing too illegal for now. I think my sister Lexi is loving him a little too much, but I warned the boy. I think he'll be fine.

Anyway, hope you're good and don't forget to update us on the George situation. We're dying to know what happened after you left Chicago!

Love you endlessly, Nova. I always will.

The most handsome wizard in the universe,
Tim"

This letter had been sitting in Nova's lap for half an hour. She had read it multiple times because, honestly, what else did she have to do inside this room full of Muggle models getting ready for the show?

Don't ask how she ended up here. She didn't know either. She had been following Padma and Parvati through their plan to interrogate Marlene McKinnon, one of the girls in her parents' yearbook picture, and she had somehow found herself being a model for a day.

Apparently, Marlene was a fashion designer and extremely unapproachable. But the moment one of her models bailed last minute, Padma proudly presented Nova as a replacement. Now, she wasn't the most graceful girl on earth, but let's be honest—she was tall and blonde. That was more than enough.

Marlene simply agreed out of desperation, and Nova was now sitting in front of a vanity with a pink robe around her body and only Tim's letter to keep her company. She wasn't sure what to do, how to approach, what to ask. She had hoped the Patils would take care of that, but they were kicked out immediately.

There weren't even George or Fred. Both were too busy to follow and had promised to arrive as soon as possible. At this point Nova hoped they didn't show up because her, a room full of people, and high heels weren't a good combination. It would be a disaster for sure.

"Here we are with the last one," a girl said in a rush, laying makeup products on the vanity.

"C'mon, we don't have a lot of time," another said, preparing all sorts of hairbrushes and rollers.

Nova had to fight very hard not to slap the two of them. They were good at their job, but their hands were harsh. Manlike. Not delicate. They were touching everything with agony and desperation.

It lasted just a few minutes before another girl told them there was still half an hour before the show, and they relaxed. Thank Merlin—or Nova was burning this venue down without thinking twice. And so, she relaxed too in the chair.

Okay, it wasn't that bad. Nova fought the urge to smile while they worked on her makeup and hair. Because they started praising her endlessly. How beautiful she was. How good her features were. How silky her hair was. Yes, it felt good, only because of the compliments—and that was enough.

It didn't last long, though. Because Marlene McKinnon burst into the room, clapping her hands and warning everyone to get dressed. But she stopped in front of Nova, blocking the view from the mirror.

"Oh god, you're stunning," Marlene gasped—and wow, now they were like best friends. "I knew a girl exactly like you in school. Same hair color too. Her name was—"

"Celeste?" Nova murmured without thinking.

It was maybe the first time Nova had truly said the name out loud. It burned her throat to do so, but it escaped. It wasn't part of her plans. She just needed to study Marlene and understand if there was a slight possibility she was the killer.

No. Her mind had other plans. A long, sad trip on the train of memories instead. Why did saying a name hurt so much? She wasn't sure, and now it was too late to take it back.

"Yeah, that was her name. Are you... her daughter?" Marlene's eyes weren't tearing. They were in shock. That was good. Better than crying.

"Chicago hospital says so, apparently," Nova scoffed faintly, looking down at her hands. Tim's letter was long lost in her clothes, folded away.

Marlene, who resembled more of a rock star than a prom-dress designer, melted in an instant. But it was different. It was contemplative. It was visceral. It was only a sign of recognition. Not sad. Only... scanning her.

Well, she could fucking move out of the way if she had nothing to say about her parents. At least then Nova could just return to her life and cross her name off the list. But no, Marlene stayed there, and the tension felt palpable.

Around them, everything was happening. Models rushing to get dressed. The girls from before fixing the last details on everyone's faces. An adrenaline and chaos that, for once, wasn't brought by Nova herself.

"I'm sorry, I just... didn't think about Celeste since the news," Marlene blinked quickly, regaining consciousness. "I should've noticed the resemblance when you stepped in here. I was kinda busy earlier."

"Don't worry, I truly don't care if you recognize me or not," Nova snapped, leaning back in the chair—not as venomously as she wanted.

"Yeah, right, now I see the resemblance. Got your tongue from her, huh?" Marlene scoffed faintly, avoiding her gaze for a split second. "Let's go. The show's about to start."

There were very few times Nova found herself being dragged from one place to another, but now it seemed she was. Don't ask why. She didn't know why she allowed Marlene to put this ridiculous dress on her and kneel to adjust a few details.

But it felt good because along the way Marlene shared a few stories about Celeste. Nothing too big. They weren't exactly close friends. They had been partnered up in Potions all through fifth and sixth year. That looked fun.

Nova knew this was good. They were good stories. It was a good feeling. And yet, deep down in her stomach, there was this visceral sense that the truth was nearby. A slip from Marlene that would reveal Celeste was a bad person.

So, for the remaining ten minutes, Nova blacked out. She didn't listen. She remained firm and stared straight ahead at the wall. There was no mirror, so she had no idea how ridiculous she looked now. But she didn't listen. She didn't want to.

"You're all done now," Marlene said, standing in front of her with the coldest of smiles. "I—um, I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral. I was working, and I would've probably caused a scene. I'm not good at handling emotions."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Nova scoffed, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Are you okay? If you need someone to talk to or—"

"Do you know who killed my parents?" she snapped, growing slightly irritated for no reason.

The expression on Marlene's face gave away she was not the killer. Well, Nova was no detective, but she was pretty sure someone who melted like that only by remembering they died couldn't be responsible for such a tragedy. Plus, she was sure the killer was a man, but Padma and Parvati wouldn't listen.

And yet coming to this conclusion was only worse. Because Nova did want to catch the killer. At this point she could point her finger at a random person just to find peace in it. It wasn't Marlene. It wasn't that woman from the dance class. Who the fuck was then?

The list was still long, but now, in this exact moment, Nova felt faint. No—literally, she had to step down from this little platform because she found breathing difficult, supporting herself with one hand on the nearby wall.

"Listen, your parents were wonderful people. I can't fathom why someone would want them dead," Marlene murmured, approaching with featherlike steps. "But that doesn't matter. You have to move on."

"I fucking can't," she shouted, almost trembling. "Whoever did it is tormenting me. Kidnapping my friends. Looking for me. I—I don't know what to do. I'm just eighteen. I can't play detective. I'm usually on the other side of a police desk."

Marlene was considering. Thank god, because Nova needed a second to gather what she had just said in front of a stranger. She hadn't admitted it to Padma nor Parvati, but she was truly, a little bit—just a tiny little bit—scared. She admitted it. Not to the people that mattered.

A girl from the other side of the room shouted to get in formation for the show, and there was a rush of people moving in all directions. Not Nova. She was about to bail out last minute.

"There's one person that can help you. He was your father's best friend and, if someone is targeting you, he might know who—or join the investigation," Marlene said after a while. Honestly, too easily distracted to be the boss in here. "I'll give you his information later. Now let's go."

"Wait! I want to see what I look like now." She glanced around—no mirrors. No surfaces to make fun of herself.

"That's the point. You'll see how beautiful you are from the way people glance at you."

That's fucking stupid, Nova thought immediately. She propped in line with the other models. Remarkable that there were so many girls as tall as her—or taller. Nova considered making this a career only to hang out with people like her.

But it took just a second to remember she was in heels. In some very ridiculous dress. Hair and makeup done by professionals. She would trip over herself. She was sure of it. But hey! These were all Muggles. She could obliviate them shortly after.

And while Nova was planning how to lock everyone in this venue until she was sure she had erased her own embarrassment, George took a seat in the crowd with his brother Fred. Not sure what all this was, but ready to be filled in by the Patils.

Needless to say, when Padma explained Nova was about to model, the twins burst into laughter for an endless time—careless of the guests asking politely to shut up in order to enjoy the soon-to-start show.

George didn't believe them and asked again where Nova was. But when Parvati's expression shifted dead serious, he understood this was truly happening, and a flicker of concern washed over him.

"Are you crazy? She can't model. She can barely walk with normal shoes, let alone with heels," he widened his eyes, feeling embarrassed for her already. "That's why we don't let you handle these things alone. It will be a disaster."

"Oh, bite me," Parvati snapped, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "She'll do just fine, and she has the chance to talk with Marlene McKinnon. A perfect plan if you ask me."

"Poor Muggles," Fred smirked, resting an arm behind Padma's chair. "We'll have to obliviate everyone when she falls from the stage."

That was... true and efficient. George relaxed the slightest, because at least they could erase everyone's memory. Not his own. If Nova messed up, he would give her a hard time about it. Because, let's be honest, it was the only way he knew how to flirt.

So he relaxed. He was smiling like a kid waiting for a disaster. And he was tired. He could've fallen asleep right there in the front row. Because working with Angelina's father was the worst thing in the world. And tutoring those kids was draining him. And being seen with Angelina was painful since she couldn't be with who she truly loved.

He tried to relax. Even when the show started and he trembled every time a model appeared. But as soon as they didn't have the platinum blonde of Nova, he leaned back. He was tired and drained from the life he had built for himself.

However, deep down, there was this warmth spreading just imagining Ginevra jumping with joy, knowing she would attend that expensive and luxurious Quidditch camp. And she would be offered some sort of after-school contract. And all of this would be worth it.

So in his mind George decided it was good to feel drained. It was temporary. Just for a little while, and then he could focus solely on the prank business again and help Nova to...

"Oh god, she's beautiful." Padma gasped.

Right at the end of the stage, Nova peeked through and started walking. George was now almost falling from his chair, feeling his skin burn with every inch of her he looked at.

A blue dress with a straight cut on the right leg. It sparkled and shimmered with millions of subtle glitters you could notice only under the light. A heart-shaped upper part that enhanced her narrow shoulders perfectly. And fucking heels. She was standing on dangerously high heels.

Not to mention the makeup. Whoever did this to her face deserved an award, because they managed to hide the dark circles under her eyes—from what George supposed was either lack of sleep or maybe crying all night alone. And there was a layer of something rosy on her cheeks. A fake blush he rarely saw.

And... impossible. Nova had allowed someone to touch her hair? It was elegantly curly, one side resting gently on her shoulder, the other effortlessly pushed back. He had never seen her with curly hair, and now it stuck in his mind—he would learn how to do that for her every day.

She almost tripped. Right in the middle of the walk. But she regained balance immediately. It seemed natural, and most probably hadn't even noticed. Then she walked again with such confidence, more than usual, and she somehow seemed to be having fun.

The closer she got to them, the less George could breathe. And when their eyes met, he could swear they were inside a fucking oven, because it all became too heated, too much to handle for his poor heart.

It was all there. When she stopped and posed the slightest, never breaking their gaze. It was there, hidden behind her signature smirk. From the twitch of her lips to the base of her exposed neck, through the arch of her eyelids.

Her beauty made a slave of him.

And not even when Nova walked back and disappeared behind the stage could George breathe, because he had witnessed the devil from hell shifting into an angel for some sort of miracle. And he wanted more. God, he was starving for more.

"Fuck my life," George found himself murmuring under his breath.

"Are you okay, mate? You're drooling all over the floor," Fred teased, elbowing him back to reality.

But he couldn't. George was immersed in what had just happened, and he didn't even care about the rest of the show. He leaned back in his chair, replaying it all in an endless loop in his mind.

How the fuck could Nova walk in heels? And be so beautiful while doing so? She always tripped over her own shadow even when standing still. Now she was a professional model? When she did trip, it was the slightest slip—but it was so... her. So effortlessly her.

No, because truly, he knew she was beautiful in her uncanny, demonic way. Now she was a little less angry girl and a little more healed woman—for that split second on stage. Was this Nova without grief? Or, at least, a glimpse of her in the future?

Without noticing, the show was over. The stylist, Marlene McKinnon, gave a whole speech, but Nova wasn't there with the other models, so George was dragged by his friends backstage.

Was this possible? When they got backstage, Nova was sitting in front of a vanity, smiling faintly while staring at the wall. She looked so at ease. So calm. Happy. Vivid. Lucid. Oh, what a fucking vision.

"You did so good," Padma giggled, rushing to hug her.

"And you didn't fall—wow," Parvati added, with more aggressive enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I might have enchanted the heels to do so, but it was worth it," Nova said, visibly tense from all this touch and sweetness.

"I knew it! Darling, you owe me five sickles," Fred raised his hand until his girlfriend paid for the lost bet—well, not so romantic, but perfectly their style.

And George? Oh, Nova met his eyes, and she could feel her own cheeks blushing exponentially. She was still wearing the dress. Her hair and makeup were still intact, surprisingly. And she wasn't sure how ridiculous she looked, or what his first joke would be. But she couldn't look away.

The second he approached, the whole friend group started acting like kids watching some forbidden movie. All grinning and giggling and looking absolutely adorable—and irritating at the same time.

Fortunately, Parvati got the hint and guided Padma and Fred away. Not too far, actually. They were still within reach to see, but their presence didn't feel heavy, and they probably couldn't even hear what was being said.

So George leaned on the vanity in front of her, their legs threatening to lock together. He crossed his arms, sighed in defeat, because there were no words that could express how faint he felt with her like this in front of him.

Weirdly enough, Nova didn't know what to say either. They fell victim to each other's gazes and, for once since they were born, there was no joke on the tip of their tongues. They were speechless in each other's presence. That was a first. That was the real miracle of today.

Don't get it twisted. It was no romantic gaze. Nothing spectacular. They were still teasing with their eyes and full of confidence to spare with the whole world. But everything around disappeared. And the room was too heated. And their hearts too heavy.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She smirked, letting her heel click against his leg.

"Debating if I'd rather take the dress off or fuck you with it on," he said, trying to remain calm, even though it was difficult.

"Are you flirting with me, Georgie?" She tilted her head, never feeling so strong in her whole life.

"I've been for months, but thanks for noticing, blondie," he chuckled softly, feeling her heel crawling up and down his leg. "Better late than never."

Oh... Nova fluttered more than necessary. More than she had ever done in her entire life. She stopped her agonizing torture on him and froze for a second. Honestly, she wanted to be taken right there without blinking—but she couldn't.

Because, ladies and gentlemen, Nova had a plan. Not a good one. But it was a plan, and she had thought it through for a whole week. She had narrowed down all the steps, and it started with this gesture.

Nova leaned forward until she reached her folded clothes, never leaving his gaze. She gripped Tim's letter and, apparently, Marlene had left a piece of paper with a name and address—probably the man she was talking about earlier. That didn't matter now.

Under his confused expression, Nova separated the letter from the check and gazed down at it slightly. She had a speech ready. She had it all prepared. She could do this. She could, right?

"This is for you. To pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp," she said, avoiding his eyes and handing him the check.

No, that wasn't the speech actually—but fuck it! She was giving him money, so there was no need to make a big fuss over it. And George looked at it, and then at her, and then at the check—and yes, he was about to faint.

Because what the fuck was this? How did Nova find out about Ginny? What else did she know? He felt tightness in his chest, growing ashamed. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It wasn't how he wanted her to see him.

And she saw it. Right there in the dimples of his eyes, there was an uneasy sense she only recognized in herself. She had never seen it on someone else, and it felt terrible. This was her fault. Now she was ashamed too.

But fuck it! Nova had done more embarrassing things than a kind act. She had cried. Set places on fire. Bullied people. Cried some more. Told her friends she cared about them. So gifting money wasn't something to be ashamed of. And accepting it neither.

"Just fucking take it and stop looking like a wounded puppy," she snapped. Well, she was kinda sweet—but she could've chosen better words.

"I can't, Nova, it's—I'll handle this on my own," he murmured, biting his lips, searching for some sort of escape from this situation.

"That's funny. I said the same thing to you multiple times, and you never listened. Why the fuck should I now?" She sensed her arm trembling from being raised so long.

"It's different. You're struggling with emotions—that leaves no debt behind in helping you." He took several deep breaths before finally locking eyes with her. "I can't take it."

George wanted to. Things would've been so fucking easier. Just pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp and get it over with. A normal life again. Pranking people. Studying. Starting the business. Taking care of Nova. Winning the bet. That's all—by just accepting.

But he couldn't. It made him feel less of a man. He could do this with his brother. They could make it alone without anyone else's help—especially from a girl. A little sexist, he knew that, but he just couldn't. It was stronger than him.

So Nova understood and didn't spit venomously nor force him to. With a tenderness she barely recognized, she locked their hands and guided him slowly until he was standing between her legs.

Woah. Okay. She hadn't considered what it would mean to be this close, but now it was too late. He was shocked for a second and then looked away—even though his hands were already caressing her thighs on top of the dress.

"It doesn't make you less of a man," she murmured, cupping his face gently—so fucking gently—and he melted against her touch.

"It does." He closed his eyes and embraced it like it was the first time he had felt human contact. "And I don't know how to pay you back."

"You don't have to. Tim gave them to me, and it's not a debt. He's been gifting me money since I was fourteen. And now I have a valid reason to use them." She caressed his cheeks, and he was so soft and so warm and so irritatingly sweet.

"I'm not a valid reason. You should use them for a fucking therapist," he smirked, slowly reopening his eyes. He was on the verge of crying from all this unexpected kindness.

There was this fire of determination in her gaze that George couldn't ignore. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Because Nova was still caressing his skin, and his hands were still on her thighs. And fuck, he was about to throw that dress on the floor, careless if someone burst into the room.

Because she was being kind. And it was a big step for her. She was being gentle, which was so surprising. And she was truly not a little girl. She was mature and serious, and if that wasn't a woman in front of him, George wasn't sure what it was.

"Tim is already paying for that. My first session is next week," she said after a second of consideration, debating whether to admit this or not. "The best mind healer in Europe, he said."

"Wait! What? You're willingly going to therapy? Without someone dragging you to it?" He frowned hard, sure this was all a big prank.

"Don't sound so surprised." She rolled her eyes and leaned back, her hands now resting on top of his. So warm. A fucking campfire, this boy.

"No, I didn't mean—well, yes, I did mean that, because what the fuck? When did you decide to heal in a healthy way? Who are you? And what did you do to Nova?" He mumbled, a little enraged and amused at the same time.

The answer was there, hidden beneath her smile, and Nova had to swallow several times because she couldn't say it out loud. It was impossible. She wished she had veritaserum so it wouldn't be so difficult.

But there was so much hope in his hazel eyes, and she couldn't say it directly. But honestly, she was a master at saying something between the lines. Saying one thing with another meaning.

"Well, there's this boy who's desperate to see me without grief, so I decided to grant his wish," she said, gently caressing his knuckles.

Oh... how his eyes sparkled. Not only hope but pure joy—something only a few people in the world were honored to see in themselves. But he frowned slightly, just for a split second.

"It's me, right? Just to be sure we're not talking about someone else," he snapped, growing concerned out of nowhere.

"Ugh! Yes, George, it's you," she said dryly, now irritated. "Who the fuck could it be if not you?"

"I don't know. I've been so busy lately that maybe Nico was back in the picture," he gestured nervously but then stopped in full realization.

This was happening. Nova was willing to get help in the healthiest way possible. And Tim was paying for it, so George felt grateful—for him, for the people who cared about her, and most importantly, for the fact that she was talking about him.

What a day to be alive. For both. But there was still something Nova had to do to make all this possible. She raised the check once again and smiled teasingly, letting it swing between their faces.

"Take this. Drop the tutoring and the job. It's making you miserable," she tilted her head, predatory as ever. "And don't break up with Angelina. She needs you to handle the whole thing with Katie."

Now that was surprising. George's lips parted and his eyes widened. He was speechless again, just like when she walked on stage, beautiful beyond reason. He couldn't bury this anymore.

How the hell she knew about everything he had tried to hide was a big mystery, but honestly, he didn't care. Because she was pulling one of the most mature moves he had ever seen.

For a second, he looked toward the room where Fred was probably being informed about everything Nova was doing. They would get their answers later. For now, both were feeling faint from this kindness.

And then George debated whether to kiss her now, pin her against the wall and praise this maturity, or just go on stage and announce to everyone that Nova fucking Rowen had managed to come up with a plan that didn't end with burning down a whole room or bullying someone to tears.

He wanted to. He was so close to her lips it would take less than a second to melt together as one. And Nova noticed. She could feel the tension rising, because both were moving very slowly toward one another.

"Are you sure? Won't you be jealous?" He tilted his head, so inviting, so captivating.

"That's a question for you, since it's your girlfriend who could flirt with me," she smirked, tilting her head the opposite way, making it clear she wanted this.

"Just answer me. Would you be jealous?" he said more firmly. He truly needed to hear it.

"Ugh! Okay, I might. I don't know. Maybe? Can we just kiss and get over this?" She rushed, growing irritated.

And George didn't waste time pressing their lips together. So much. And she let him in easily. Without doubts. Without fear. No matter their friends were watching. No matter someone could burst in. No matter what was next in Nova's plan. This was the moment.

It was unexpected. There was still their usual anger and frustration while devouring each other. But both quickly understood it was an exchange of gratitude that they weren't good at expressing with words. That was enough. It was fucking enough.

When they parted, it was intoxicating, and even if only mere inches apart, there was an ocean of unspoken between them. That's when Nova decided she had said too much. Exposed herself too much lately. Little steps. She needed to take this little by little, or she'd ruin it.

And George was so happy for it. No matter that it had taken months, dangerous scenarios, and allowing his brain to fume from overthinking. She was now there in the palms of his hands, and she would set the pace to do this properly.

However, there was something scratching at the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it away. Because he had swallowed his pride to accept this check. To appear less of a man. To admit he was struggling.

But this something was different. He couldn't suffocate it under mischief and confidence. His lips still tasted like her, and she was looking at him with a sense of scary accomplishment. He couldn't deny it. He needed to say it, and she needed to hear it.

So he guided one hand up to cup her face, and she tensed at first, not used to this sweetness. He caressed her cheek until he was sure she was adjusting to it. She was embracing it the way she should. And feeling his own heart jump out of his chest, he started murmuring:

"I'm proud of you, Nova."

Chapter 27: Purple Hands

January 20, 1995

Life is good. No, truly. George's life has never been this good.

He had fired himself from Angelina's father's office, making a very funny fireworks scene over it. He had to drop the tutoring but promised Rose Zeller and Colin Creevey he'd teach them some pranks and allow them into the business if it ever started again.

He was free. It was glorious—because Nova had done this. Made it possible. She helped and she was... healing? Well, that was still under construction, apparently.

Because she said she would deal with it alone for a little bit. They barely saw her this whole week, except in class where she was deeply focused and didn't care to make chaos.

She was blamed for a glitter prank and didn't complain. Her favourite activity was gathering potion ingredients with Hagrid inside the Forbidden Forest.

And Padma and Parvati informed them they saw her getting ready this afternoon to go to therapy. Amazing. Brilliant. Totally unexpected and surely it wouldn't last long. But it was something—for now.

"Do you think she's burned the building down already?" Fred teased, pouring drinks for both, not as an employee of The Groover tonight.

"Not yet, she's probably choking the therapist to death first," George teased, sipping the whiskey.

The Patils' birthday party hadn't even started and it was already a beautiful night. Fred was off duty because, even if they didn't have to pay for Ginny's Quidditch camp anymore, he thought a job would be useful for affording his relationship.

That's why he put so much effort into tonight. To show. To shout to the whole world it was worth celebrating his girlfriend and his sister-in-law. The whole school would arrive soon. And Nova too—if she hadn't been arrested.

George couldn't be more proud of her. He hadn't said it anymore after that day at the Muggle fashion show, when Nova had a mental breakdown and they had to bring her to the nearest hospital because she fainted.

So he didn't say it. He wanted to—endlessly and ethereally shouting to her he was proud. But he didn't, or else she would've fainted again and it all would be worthless.

Did he try to show it? Not really, because she was fucking living in her own bubble all day long. Did he have a plan to help? Yes, but still, she was doing everything alone for now, so he put it aside.

And it didn't matter if in the end Nova messed up. She was trying so hard to heal. If she messed up, killed someone, fainted again and they had to start from zero all over again, he would do it. Because she was trying for once and, deep down, he wished she would succeed.

Even if that meant he hadn't helped. Even if that didn't fuel his hero complex.

"Oh mate, she's a bad influence. You've become an overthinker like her," Fred teased, spinning lazily on the barstool with a mischievous expression.

"Like you haven't gone soft with Padma, huh?" George scoffed, turning until he was watching the two sisters greeting guests.

"That's because they're witches. They're probably using some spell of some sort on us," Fred puffed, ignoring every boy that would hug his girlfriend from far away.

Padma and Parvati were beautiful tonight. The whole atmosphere framed perfectly their joy. They were turning eighteen and yet they always looked the most mature and grown-up people in the entire school—without considering Granger.

It was remarkable. Their bond, George thought. So effortlessly there. So effortlessly strong. Now becoming more and more a family. Even without Nova—but they couldn't deny that wicked girl had clicked them all together like the one missing piece of the puzzle.

Yet again with thinking about her. But George couldn't help himself. Because it had been one week without her craziness. One week since the last time they kissed. One week of calm and quiet he thought he liked before meeting her.

When the party started, no matter the loud music, the cheering, the people, nor the alcohol, George with his twin claimed a table and shortly after Padma and Parvati joined. They started drinking and talking. Something was missing. A loud, irritating, cynical voice was missing.

On the Marauder's Map there was no trace of Nova inside the castle, as Fred suggested she might be running late. They asked a few Ravenclaws but no one saw her leaving Hogwarts nor around Hogsmeade to reach the pub.

"At what point should we worry?" Parvati said dryly, cutting through the long silence. "What if she's in danger?"

"Don't," Fred snapped, growing concerned. The fear was written all over his face.

"Maybe she's just having a moment. You know? Like sitting on some forgotten bench and crying," Padma murmured, nervously playing with a paper tissue.

"How is that better?" Parvati threw her arms in the air, frustrated.

And George was there. But was he really? Not completely. His mind had played a very tricky game, listing all the ways Nova might be dead somewhere with no one passing by for days maybe. There. In the almost melted snow.

They decided to wait a little bit. To not jump to conclusions just for a second. And time passed, and the Patils were cutting the cake. And then they were opening gifts. And then they were hugging people. The party was in full swing and Padma and Parvati returned to the table on the verge of crying.

Fred and George shared a simple gaze and understood this wasn't the moment for the gifts. They would—together. Once they found Nova. And it took only a second for the four of them to put on their jackets and rush out of The Groover, careless of whatever was happening inside.

It was easy. The overall plan. Start with the therapist who, fortunately, had a clinic just a short walk away from Hogsmeade. And they were all quiet. Like anticipating a disaster but not wanting to be the first to say it. They walked in silence and it was the worst type of silence in the world.

They reached the small clinic, slowing their pace because honestly, they were fucking scared. Part of them would rather see Nova framed by a corpse because she had a moment, rather than not having her there at all. You can justify a murder. You can't live with a missing person.

So it was Fred who knocked on the black door and a short, sweet nurse let them in. They didn't have an appointment but it was late at night and they were closing, so—don't ask why—she pointed them to the only therapist who was available today.

There again it was Fred to knock because the others were completely frozen. George himself wasn't breathing—and that's vital to live—so he did as little as possible. He couldn't bury this tension. This fear of having lost her.

A woman widened the door. A very hot one at that. Maybe thirty? Thirty-five years old? Beautiful braids and piercing brown eyes. Her features were oddly familiar. If George hadn't met her yet, this woman could easily have been Angelina's mother somehow.

"Can I help you?" The woman snapped, landing a hard hand on the doorframe.

"Yes, we're looking for our friend Nova. She was here earlier for an appointment," Parvati said, almost trembling, dangerously close to crying.

The woman's fingers twitched. She was growing irritated for some reason. Not exactly the calm temper of a therapist. What the fuck? Of course Nova couldn't get proper help if these were the people supposed to help her with the rage.

"That little maniac ran away a few hours ago," the woman snapped eagerly. "She made a mess and honestly I'm not even sure of half the things she said to me. I'm still searching the terms in a vocabulary."

As the therapist widened the door, her office came clear and wow, Devil Nova hadn't disappeared apparently. It was, indeed, a mess. There were books that knew no place in a bookshelf and were now covering the floor. The armchairs just lit off of fire but still fuming. And George smiled—because how could you not.

The woman's rage was now a little justified and yet the whole group didn't feel so at ease. Nova had snapped but the damage was limited to a room. The old her would've literally destroyed the whole clinic and probably taken over Hogsmeade village along the way.

Little progress. Not exactly something to be proud of for someone who didn't know her well. For George? Go girl! That's a change worth celebrating. If only, well, if only she were here with them.

"Any idea where she went? Did she mention anything?" Fred found the strength to ask among them all.

"No, but I truly hope some psycho ward will allow her in. She's a danger to society and should be locked up," the woman snapped before closing the door literally in their faces.

Defeated but still grinning, they approached the front desk, not ready to burst into the gelid cold before making their minds up on what to do next since their only lead was a disaster.

Just when Padma and Parvati were starting to have a full panic attack that would've made Nova slap them in the face, George's eyes caught a flyer board on the left wall. He nudged his brother and jumped on it eagerly.

Now, don't mistake him for a detective but he was quite observant when it came to little things about Nova. Like the name and address Marlene McKinnon left her about some man who could help the investigation.

When she explained it she didn't even know what it meant. But Marlene explained that the man, Alaric Woodcraft, was an art auctioneer not far from Hogsmeade. Inside the only museum in this forgotten place around Hogwarts.

And would you look at that. Just tonight there was an auction in that museum. So, of course, it could've been a waste of time but it was the only other lead they had. Maybe Nova was there to investigate herself—or they would find the place on fire. Either way, they rushed outside without hesitation.

The walk was silent. Again. Agonisingly so. They had so much hope Nova would simply appear out of nowhere with some boring story of where she was. Because if she wasn't at the museum then... no! George wouldn't think that.

Once they arrived the place was even more silent. It was still open and there were fancy people leaving. The richest of them all, it seemed. Dressed in ways the Weasleys all together couldn't afford in a thousand lifetimes. They rushed inside as they were allowed and, since the auction was done, there was no reason to push them back.

It was easy to find Alaric. Well, he was the only man still inside the room for the auction, so it didn't take a genius to understand it was him.

George recognised him from Nova's parents' yearbook pictures. He had a beard now but the blue eyes shimmered with the same intensity. He remained tall like her father. And his right hand was still scarred as years before.

"Are you lost, kids?" Alaric said, almost defeated and tired for some reason.

"Have you seen a girl tall like a giraffe and with blinding platinum hair around here?" George asked, gesturing like a maniac—but truly, those were the things someone would notice about her.

"You mean Nova? Yes, she was here and almost got arrested," Alaric scoffed with clear amusement growing while adjusting some chairs.

"That doesn't surprise me," Padma murmured, now all approaching him more confidently. "What did she do this time?"

There was something odd in this man. In the way he moved around, in how he flicked his wand to summon a bottle of wine and a glass. How he poured it slowly. There was nothing elegant. No class. He was clumsy and resembled...

Wait. This man had very plainly blonde hair too. It was short and half gone due to age. But still—blonde. And his eyes were vivid blue. Almost the same shade as Nova's. Something was off. Terribly off.

And he was indeed clumsy, because he couldn't manage to pour the wine properly while having his wand interlinked in his fingers. He made a mess and grew irritated with himself. But then he flicked his wand to clean and...

Wait. Oh god, George was hallucinating now. He was thinking too much and couldn't truly focus but... it was a very elegant wand. So fairy-like. Whimsical. Nova had a similar one too—well, not the same colour and material, only different from her. Just as much as Alaric's wand was different from his.

"She started making fun of the paintings and got kicked out. I recognised her immediately and went to her," Alaric explained, avoiding their gazes. "Let's just say her temper is the same as her mother's."

George found it difficult to breathe. This was all weird and his chest ached. He gazed at his brother and needless to say, no one else was thinking the same way as him. He wondered if he was tripping. If he was seeing things.

But can you deny it? This man had Nova's features. Same hair. Same clumsiness. And the way he talked about Celeste? Well, George had never met his possible-mother-in-law but surely no one except her husband should have that guilty expression on their face.

"Any idea where she is now?" Padma murmured, biting her nails nervously.

"Not actually, but please, inform Nova she's prohibited by law from coming near this museum," Alaric said, almost desperate and extremely tired.

From the way he moved around the room it was clear he had no other information to give. So, defeated, the whole group exited with a tender pace. Scared. Concerned. Not sure what's next.

Now it was time to panic, and the Patils wasted no time doing so. They started sobbing loudly. Padma in Fred's arms. Parvati in George's. And the two boys didn't know what to do because, honestly, they were only eighteen and not as smart as Nova.

However. Nova found them smart. She said that in the letter. Yeah, that could work as a booster of confidence. So George said to split up. Hogsmeade might not be that big, but the scattered places around were many. They would cut time like this, and they decided to burst a blue firework in the sky if one of them found her.

Feeling full swing in a dangerous mission, they rushed in different directions. George looked around closed bookshops. Turned corners and then rushed to the Three Broomsticks. She wasn't there and, from the description he gave, no one had seen her.

Needless to say, he wanted to panic too. He felt it deep down in his chest. Burning his throat. His heart must have left his body a long time ago and he wasn't thinking straight.

What the hell happened to Nova tonight? She went to therapy and somehow managed to make the most famous and successful therapist in all England ready to retire after one session.

Then she went to an art auction? To talk to Alaric. And, oh, what if he was her real father? That could trigger something in her mind to make Nova move away. Or do something stupid, like jump off a cliff just for the drama of it.

If this was all true, George wasn't sure how to handle it. One thing was grieving. The other was finding out there was a parental figure still alive. And that erased the other one? How does that work?

Just when he thought his fucking life was going well. This girl was trouble. This girl would be the ruin of him. And wow, why this didn't scare him was the mystery. Because he was scared to lose her. But to do this? To deal with this type of thing? That was thrilling and worth it, apparently.

The realisation of being a masochist—because he imagined a lifetime of chasing Nova around the world and handling her mental breakdowns—struck in his mind like a vision. And he became hysterical. No, really, he gripped the steel fence of a graveyard and started laughing uncontrollably.

Because yes, this was stressful and dangerous and concerning. The fact this could be only the first of many more moments of Nova disappearing just because she fucking felt like it. But it was good, as long as he was the one to find her in the end.

Then he stopped. He stared ahead of him and raised a hand to the middle of his chest. Fuck! He was in love! This was love, right? Agreeing to a lifetime of this? Fucking fuck!

George was no expert on the subject but maybe a fainting heart, imagining a future with someone, doing everything to make them happy and not being able to fall asleep without hearing someone's voice resembled love, maybe? He wasn't sure. But it was dangerously close to that.

Gripping the fence tightly, he looked around for some sort of answer in the eerie emptiness of this graveyard. It was all pitch black and scary. And just not too far away there was that fucking blonde hair he loved to be blinded by in this moment.

Without hesitation he approached, and Nova was lying between two tombstones. Celeste and Louis Rowen were here. He hadn't known about it but apparently she did. Never mentioned it though.

Her eyes were closed but from the way her chest was rising it was clear she was still fucking breathing at least. And thank god she was well covered from the cold. She did something very irresponsible by running away, but she had the sense to put on a jacket, and that was enough.

Seeing the empty vodka bottle in her hand was a clear sign she was drunk and probably sleeping. George found her so peaceful in that moment that he wasn't sure whether to disturb her. Neither would he leave. He would not leave now. But she looked just so peaceful—it seemed a waste.

So he flicked his wand and exploded blue fireworks in the air. At least his friends would know she was safe. And Nova's eyes burst wide open in fear before she groaned in some sort of mind pain.

"Fuck! Why is it always you?" she murmured, resting an arm to cover the blinding sight in the sky. "Leave me alone."

"Can't do that, blondie. The Patils would kill me if something happened to you because I left," he scoffed, sitting in front of her with crossed legs.

If it wasn't clear enough, George's hands had a habit of slipping out of his control. So, unwillingly, he guided her legs by his sides until being so close someone could mistake this for a public sex act.

He couldn't help it. He needed to show her comfort somehow, and that was the only position allowed since she wasn't moving an inch and he would not lay on top of her mother's grave.

"What happened, blondie?" he murmured, resting his hands on his lap.

"Life happened. I was born and then boom—it's all a mess," she gestured, now that the fireworks were done and she could free her eyes. "How do you always fucking find me? Truly, it's disturbing."

"Fate is a petty bitch. It's bringing us together, perhaps as a punishment for something I did," he smirked and—fucking yes—she smiled.

Nova was drunk for some reason, but she was safe. In a graveyard in the middle of the night. But safe. And for now it seemed there were no injuries...

"Why the fuck are your hands purple? Wait, your arm is bleeding." He was panicking now, scanning her fully. "Why are your knuckles bruised? What's that in your ear? Blood? What the fuck, Nova!"

"Calm down, you freak," she groaned, sitting up. She seemed even in a little bit of pain.

The shift came naturally. George drew his knees up, bracketing her sides, and she mirrored him, lifting her own until they hooked against his. It was an oddly interlocked position, their chests facing, their limbs entwined as if they'd snapped into place.

The closeness of it looked almost indecent—like a sex act paused at its threshold. There’s surely a name for this position in some sex guide. That's how fucking close they were.

But when she made herself small, almost against his chest and avoiding his gaze, he wiped away the heat—even if with her it seemed impossible—and focused solely on understanding the situation better. Call him pathetic, but understanding Nova made him harder than seeing her naked.

"We don't have to talk about it," he murmured—and it was a lie because he wanted to.

"Stop being so fucking perfect all the time," she gagged, playing with the strings of his jacket. "Can't you be a little bit more toxic so I can have an excuse?"

"An excuse for what?" His hand swinged on top of his knee but the other couldn't resist the urge to tuck a stray hair behind her ear—which was stained with blood, by the way.

"For liking you. I don't want to like you. Because you're a pain in the ass and so full of yourself," she sounded so childish, so angelic, so pure.

"You're being ridiculous now, blondie," he chuckled, still scanning for other visible injuries. "Is this why you ran away? Because you like me?"

That he could deal with. George knew this might be understandable. Well, he had just had the revelation himself and was having a full panic over it too. He laughed maniacally in front of a graveyard. That he could handle.

And it's only something temporary. Because once Nova gave in to the idea of a bond more real, more deep, between them happening, there would be no more problems. Except finding the killer, figuring out who the glitter prankster was, and getting over grief. Other than that, there was no reason not to be together at this point.

It would be difficult because she's fucking crazy, but he's fucked up too in his own way because—let's mark it honestly—he hadn't exactly confessed his feelings either. Neither pushed to date nor made it official. He was embracing the moment and doing nothing about it.

A pretty fucked up couple, if you asked someone—but, you do you, guys.

"Blondie? What did the therapist tell you?" he murmured, leaning back until his palms pressed on the gravel to support himself.

"She told me I'm crazy. Can you believe it? Someone like her shouldn't be allowed to use that term," she snapped, still playing with the strings of his jacket with a trace of shame.

"Well, seeing the state of her office, can you really blame her? What happened before she told you that?" He tried to meet her eyes but it was impossible. Still, he tried. Again and again.

"Um, I might—ugh! Okay, I was talking about my parents and apparently she knew them and told me to get checked because I could have..." she mumbled, but then stopped and swallowed the next words.

As fucking curious as he was, George didn't press. Didn't plead. He wiped away the blood from her ear and, fortunately, there was no injury—just a stain. He remained silent without pushing.

Then he transfigured a leaf into a towel and started cleaning her knuckles. There was a slight injury because she must have punched something. Probably a tree, since she always liked to pick fights with those. He remained quiet.

He then moved to her palms and flicked his wand to splash water and wash away the purple paint. Where that came from? No idea. But he cleaned them and then did the same with her arm. Just a scratch. She must have tripped. Nothing deadly for now.

And from the way she was looking down at everything, it seemed she was building up to some sort of speech. So he waited. He didn't press. He focused solemnly on her and ignored his own heart pounding so hard it was the only sound around them. He took care of her. Nova was clean and safe.

However, when George was done, there was nothing else to reassure her with, and she didn't seem ready to talk. Now he was fucking nervous because his hands weren't occupied. So he guided her to face the tombstones and began playing with her hair.

Maybe now, not so face to face, it would be easier. But he didn't push and just threaded his fingers through her hair. They were silky and smelled like vanilla. Then he attempted a braid. He failed. Tried again, because what mattered was the comforting touch.

Sighing in defeat, Nova leaned back against his chest and George nearly fainted from it because his heart was so close he wondered if it was touching hers somehow. She guided their hands together and played with them. Now she was ready.

"My mother had this illness. It's a curse I even refuse to acknowledge by name because it's stupid," she murmured, almost on the verge of tears. "And the therapist implied I might have it too."

With a strange strength, Nova explained it better. Something Muggles call bipolar disorder. In simple words, it was a mental illness that trapped a person between euphoric highs and depressive episodes.

For wizards, it was more complex. It weakened the body while clouding the mind. Depression on a magical level—where you could lie down and effortlessly feel the weight of your own blood. Of your bones. Of your breath.

And the euphoric spirals were even worse because they carried a level of madness that resembled the same calm cruelty Death Eaters approached life with. Able to kill and laugh about it. No regret. No guilt. No shame.

Celeste had it. Nova explained with ease because she was drunk, but something slipped through. It was devastatingly sad, and George had to fight hard not to tremble against her. He had to stay strong for her.

Because yes, her mother had it, but it was Nova who had dealt with it her whole life. Skipping school when Celeste wanted to do reckless things, and she, surprisingly, had to be responsible and make sure Celeste didn't get hurt—even when Nova was just ten.

During the depressive episodes, it was Nova who took care of the house. They had no elves because her father couldn't stand them apparently. And she was responsible. She cooked and cleaned. She ran errands and even graded her mother's Muggle students' homework.

There was a lot Nova wasn't saying. These were mere examples to explain what it meant to live with this curse. And George sat frozen like ice, letting her play with his hands while talking.

But inside, he was a storm. Because what the actual fuck? Could this girl just live normally? Couldn't she just be someone who lost her parents and nothing else? All this mystery, curses, sad childhood, and trauma—for what? At this point, Potter was the only one who could even relate.

"I got mad at the therapist. She wanted me to be checked up. But my father already did, yearly, and I'll do it every June for the rest of my life," she snapped, tilting her head slightly. "I don't have it. I swear. There's nothing to worry about."

Silence. George didn't feel his heart anymore. Right. He was supposed to say something now. That's how it usually worked. But... what the fuck could he say after this revelation? Hug her? They were already close. Ask more? She'd only feel cornered.

So, once again, his hands moved on their own. He gently cupped hers with one. The other raised to guide her hair aside, freeing her neck, and he buried his face there. He landed one reassuring kiss and let himself enjoy the goosebumps forming on her exposed skin.

Then he rested his chin on the arch between her neck and shoulder and gazed at the tombstones.

"What were your parents' favourite flowers?" he murmured, withdrawing his wand and making sure not to move her an inch.

"Um, pink tulips. Why?" She was probably frowning, though her voice was a bit hazy with drink.

George flicked his wand and two identical flower crowns appeared. Around Louis's name: pink tulips. Around Celeste's: pink tulips. It was no season for them but, hey, that's what magic was for.

And she froze before melting, like ice and he was the sun. Right there in his arms. He swallowed his pride and his urge to tease for that split second, shielding her from everything bad—including herself.

"Aw, you're so fucking sweet I could eat you right now," she smiled, turning until their noses brushed.

"In front of your parents? Get a grip, blondie," he gasped mockingly before nudging toward Celeste's grave like they were talking about her daughter in some twisted way.

"Don't do that. It's creepy," she slapped him weakly, but she was smiling, and that's what counted.

Still, George had so many questions about tonight because, honestly, Nova left a huge mess behind and explanations were necessary to know if Aurors were about to send her to Azkaban. But how could he push her? She looked so fragile.

Nova leaned back into his arms while they both gazed at Celeste and Louis. There was a sense of accomplishment in letting them witness this. Their daughter—a wild, maniacal, love-fearing girl—was now in his embrace. It was poetic, even if he wasn't sure what poetry meant for people like them.

What a fucking responsibility to have. He wouldn't have parents chasing him down, warning him how to treat their only child, making him promise not to break her heart. But he was all she had in this moment.

Somehow, that felt terrifying. He could feel the fear rising up his spine with the smallest movement. It burned in his skin. If he wasn't enough for this, what would happen? If he messed up, would this truly break her?

No matter how confident George was, when it came to Nova there was always that glitter of insecurity—that she'd reduce herself to ashes just to not feel, and it would be his fault for letting it happen.

"Georgie?" she murmured after a while, as time froze around them.

"Yes, blondie?" He sighed, pulling himself out of his misery.

"I don't want to go to therapy. I'm not ready." She was... crying?

No. Not a loud sob or a breakdown. Just a few tears slipping down her face with a lingering smile on her lips. Her voice cracked slightly but didn't break. She said it firmly. Determined. Genuine.

And George's life was good. Dangerously good. At least for now. Because while wiping away her tears, he took some of her pain too. The burdens. The guilt. All the shame and self-destruction.

It was all there, in the palm of his hands, wet and stinging. And he was grateful for how fucking good his life was. He realized some children are simply born with tragedy in their blood, and he wasn't one of them.

So silently, he gazed at Celeste and Louis's tombstones and, in hope they could hear his thoughts, he promised to take care of their daughter since they couldn't anymore.

…

Chapter 28: Take Blame

January 21, 1994

George Weasley was truly the perfect boy. Annoyingly beautiful in his confident way. High grades and a fierce imagination. Taller than almost anyone on earth. Sure, he could trim his hair a little bit. A diamond earring would look very good on him.

Other than those little adjustments, he was truly perfect. And kind. And sweet. And caring. And snoring so fucking loudly Nova was about to suffocate him with a pillow.

How could someone sleep with this noise in their ears? It was agonizing! He needed to get his nostrils checked, because it was truly not normal for a human being to snore like this—she was about to end this misery forever.

But that wouldn't be fun. So Nova accioed a quill from his desk and started tickling the skin between his lips and nose. Delicately. Gently. Trying not to burst out laughing immediately.

And he started making weird expressions. Raised a hand to scratch the tickled spot. She kept going. Again. Again. And again. Until the snoring stopped. His eyes were still closed, and he looked so peaceful.

Oh! Right! Nova was in George's bed. Yes, don't ask the details, but she only remembered falling asleep in his arms in the graveyard and waking up a few hours later to him tugging her under the sheets.

Nothing happened. Not even a goodnight kiss. It was so natural and casual and felt so right that she forgot to snap at him for the gesture. She didn't hit him, nor did she overthink it. She fell asleep again before he started snoring.

And now she was seeking attention. Why the fuck wasn't he waking up? She kept tickling his skin with the quill to the point she almost wanted to carve it into his closed eyes out of irritation.

"George?" she whispered, feeling a rush of adrenaline crawling up her spine. "Georgie? C'mon, I'm bored and hungry and hungover. Wake up!"

Taken by surprise, Nova found herself being pushed until her arse hit the floor with a loud thump. It all happened so fast that she didn't even prop herself up immediately. She remained there in a contemplative state.

This fucking rat! If this was how every morning would start in a possible relationship with George, she wouldn't have it. He was a risk to society. No wonder he never had a girlfriend. This was no way to treat a lady who was gently (?) trying to earn a bit of attention.

And now he was awake. Now he was peeking over the mattress with sleepy eyes, vivid and beautiful, that he rubbed before looking at her in every little detail.

"What are you doing down there?" he frowned, his rough, sleepy voice making her fume with rage.

"Planning how to kill you," she snapped, crawling back under the sheets until she fully covered her face.

"Blondie?" He tugged the sheets down like it was his fucking right. "I believe I deserve it, but why do you want me dead this early in the day?"

"Don't know. I'm sure I'll find a reason soon enough," she shrugged with a defeated sigh, staring at her beautiful and flawless hands.

The cunt dared to chuckle softly, making himself so comfortable it seemed he was about to fall asleep again. It was only fair. It was Sunday, and they'd had a pretty intense night. They were already late for breakfast, and the castle was probably the quietest without the two of them around making chaos.

Whatever was unspoken had no place in this room. There was something magical about the fact that, no matter what she did, George was in no rush to force her to talk.

She had exposed one of the deepest secrets she ever held. Celeste's curse was something she willingly ignored. She thought about it only once a year during the check-up at the New York clinic where the most famous mind healer worked. Other than that, she never acknowledged the issue.

But she shared it with George? Why the fuck was it so easy to talk about these things with him and not about... well... this... whatever this between them was. The feelings. The doubts about whether it would remain only this. A platonic relationship with no foundation. With nothing real.

Maybe it was better to leave it like this. At least there was no fear and jealousy and all those bad emotions that ruined most relationships. And there were no expectations either. Because she was free to do whatever she wanted, and so was he. No one would suffer that way. It was better than—

"You're doing it again, Nova," he murmured, cutting through her thoughts like a dagger stained with honey. "Come back in the room, please."

She blinked quickly and took in her surroundings. She looked down, and there he was, lying on his side, cheek pressed firmly into the pillow while his arm rested underneath. And he was looking at her with that gentle reassurance—something only he was fucking good at.

Pressing her lips into a thin line to suppress the cheesiest, most disgusting of smiles, Nova lowered herself until she mimicked his position. There was just a breath of space between their faces. She could see her own reflection in his soft eyes.

It was so gentle. So slow and defeated. She didn't even recognize this calm in herself. Never embraced it, always mistook it for dumbness. But it was clear that only with him could she appear this fragile without being scared.

Because, honestly, Nova had done pretty ridiculous things since arriving at the castle. She had embarrassed herself more than once. And in all these moments, it was always George who witnessed them.

She was on top of a fucking tree, and he caught her. She was covered in glitter, and he hurt himself to keep her from hitting the edge of a brick arch. She had been drunk more times than she could count, and he had always been there for the hangover. She had cried, desperately, and he had wiped her tears.

At this point, Nova didn't look like the crazy one in the couple because, let's be real, it takes utter madness to handle all this and never complain—not even once.

"Your room is a mess, by the way," she teased, caressing his jaw, cheek, and forehead, as though touching fresh paint, afraid to ruin it.

"We could fight, so you'll clean it out of frustration," he smirked, his hand resting on her waist under the sheets.

"Or we could fight until I choke you to death. How's that sound?" she chimed, lowering her touch to trace his neck with sweet tenderness.

"Please do, blondie. Only the thought makes me hard already."

Fuck! She pressed her palm to his face because she was blushing at his words. And the tone he used? So confident. And deep. Still roughly asleep and... criminal, honestly, that he was able to do that.

And then he started laughing like a baby. That kind of pure, genuine, angelic laugh stiffened under her hand until she let him go, hoping her blush was gone. So annoying. So loud. Why was this boy so fucking loud? And yet the only sound she liked lately?

Somehow, between being disgusted and amused, they found themselves facing each other again. Now it was his turn to trace her features. His touch was feather-light. And burning slowly. The most pleasant touch she had ever allowed someone.

She slipped one hand between her cheek and the pillow, the other playing tenderly with the gold chain on his neck—which was a gift from Angelina, and she was about to bathe him in gold just to stop seeing that one anymore.

It was so peaceful like that. Just them, teasing each other. Being fragile if needed. Pushing the other to the edge. But never leaving. Always here.

But then it happened. The second they locked eyes, Nova saw his soften, with some sort of regret? Or maybe shame. Guilt, most probably. Either way, she felt it in the air. It was changing. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Fuck, I'm going to ruin this with a stupid question," he gasped, lying fully on the mattress and covering his frustrated face with his hands.

"Well, you lasted longer than I expected," she sighed, defeated, raising herself until her back rested against the headboard. "Go on. Ask."

"No, no, I can handle it," he murmured, gripping her wrists to force her down again. "C'mon, blondie, let's get all sweet and cheesy again like Fred and Padma."

"Forget it. You ruined it already, so might as well ask." She crossed her arms, avoiding his gaze—worried and fluttered and amused and curious. All sorts of things.

Of course George couldn't enjoy the moment. It was only fair after what she had pulled last night, and the night before, and the night before that. Wow, how could he live with all the questions since she arrived at the castle? Truly remarkable.

So yes, Nova was growing irritated, because she liked that silence and being seen by him and playing with that fucking necklace even if it wasn't hers. But she couldn't ignore that look in his eyes. He resembled a wounded puppy. An abandoned little thing thirsty for answers.

And, let's be honest, it was the least she could do since he was always there for her. If the price of being found in every remote corner of the world and being taken care of was just answering, then it was something she could manage.

Nova relaxed slightly, because it was clear he wouldn't talk unless he was a hundred percent sure she was comfortable with the whole situation. She melted under his gaze and held it for a while until he took several deep breaths to prepare his long monologue.

"Okay, so, hear me out. That man at the museum, Alaric," he murmured, tugging at his lower lip with his fingers.

"What about him?" she said dryly, only now realizing she was wearing an oversized T-shirt of George's—she looked good in everything, it seemed.

"Well, I couldn't help but notice there's a little resemblance between him and you," he whispered, almost scared to be heard. "Do you think there's a chance he could be your real father?"

Oh...

Wait! What? Nova tilted her head, fixing her gaze on a blank spot on the wall opposite her. She blinked quickly, reliving her whole life and trying to summon an image of Alaric in her mind.

And, surprisingly, nothing came up. Not a clue. Not a memory. Nothing. She had nothing to overthink. Nothing to consider. Was it really that easy? To just have the answer right there in your head? She wasn't sure if it was normal, but it didn't hurt, so it must be good.

"George? Are you implying that, because he's blonde and I'm blonde, we must be related?" she snapped, wondering at what age he had fallen off some very high slide.

"Pff, of course not. There's a whole bunch of reasons why I had this assumption in the first place," he chimed, stretching across the bed like she wasn't there.

"Oh god, you're lying!" She widened her eyes and looked down at him, utterly amused. "You do think all blonde people are related! What the fuck is wrong with you? That's racist."

"What? Don't you dare, Nova. I am not." He sat up, extremely serious and—oh, okay—now his bare chest was perfectly on display. "I was just—well, um—fuck! Forget I said anything."

George's back clicked against the headboard, and he was all offended, irritated, flexing muscles and clenching his jaw. He was so childish and at ease and ridiculous. His mere presence was like the purest alcohol, smoothing her softly and lighting her up inside.

The most remarkable thing was that Nova scanned him, head to toe under the sheets, and... she always scolded Matt and Tim when they acted this infantile. It resembled her mother so much, and she didn't want to handle it. She was always tired of it. Always had been.

Now... well, George was something different. Another kind of show. Another kind of mockery-offense. He was looking everywhere in the room. Chewing his lower lip like a maniac. Arms crossed as if to shield himself.

She wasn't sure whether to slap him in the face or fuck the life out of him. It matched the situation perfectly. It matched her perfectly—in her madness, entirely.

This must be his way of showing something was bothering him. A thought. An idea. Something pressing so hard in his mind it stripped away his confidence and made him insecure about speaking. It was dangerously funny to watch. But extremely difficult to witness without feeling guilty.

"George?" she murmured, letting their shoulders touch. "What's all this about?"

The second Nova gripped his wrist to undo his arms, there was a flinch. Somehow, he hadn't expected her to do it. To touch him. To understand his struggles. It was subtle, the way his breath changed for something so simple. Something he usually did to her. And now she was doing it to him.

Fuck it! Nova swallowed her pride, forcing herself not to look unbothered. How could she, when George melted at the realization she wanted to talk about it if it mattered to him? And her heart fluttered with guilt, desperate to wash away his insecurity about not being listened to.

Maybe this was how he always felt. Giving too much and never expecting the same amount of care back. Maybe he was just as complex as she was—if that was even possible. The mere idea of him feeling neglected felt like a dagger twisting violently inside her chest.

"I just had this hope that Alaric could be your real father because, honestly, I can't fathom someone living without parents," he murmured, gesturing in frustration. "And it bothers me that the one thing you want, I can't give you. I can't bring them back."

And George looked at her like there was something in her so fragile and already broken but so easy to fix with tape—not placing it perfectly, just trying to hold it together. It was there. All in his soft eyes.

This boy should be prohibited from speaking. When he parted his lips and words came out with that unwillingly poetic tone, it did something to Nova she couldn't control. It triggered a nerve hidden far behind her brain that lit up the purest emotions she often forgot to claim.

"Stop worrying about me," she groaned, burying herself under the sheets. "Some people had it worse. Look at Potter. He's the one you should feel sorry—"

"Don't do that, Nova," he snapped, raising the sheet just enough to lock their eyes. "Don't downplay your experience just because someone had it harder. Pain is pain. No matter the amount."

Who the hell allowed this boy to call her by her name? Truly, it was criminal. Extremely illegal if you asked her. It had never sounded so pure, so intentional. It happened so rarely that when it did, she couldn't hide the fluttering of her heart. Just intoxicating. Every letter he spilled. He should be in jail for making her like this.

"Do you feel pain too?" she murmured, looking up at him in all his fucking naked glory.

Ah! Now Nova was the one who should be arrested for speaking. Because there it was—a flicker of sadness in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched and he swallowed. Maybe the truth, maybe a tease. It was all there and lasted only a second—so brief she believed she hallucinated it.

It was impossible to believe George might feel pain. The most fucking happy, at-ease, unserious, down-to-earth person in this castle had doubts and insecurities and something eating him alive. Who dared cause him pain? They'd better be ready, because she was about to jinx them to death.

Even if it was a professor. No matter. Actually, let's hope it was Trelawney so she'd have an excuse to cause trouble in Divination class. What if it was Angelina? She didn't seem the type, but whatever—Nova would kill her if she was the reason behind George's pain.

But he wasn't saying. Not yet. He was thinking about trusting her with this, and Nova understood. Honestly, it had taken her so long to trust them all—it was a miracle he was even considering it. She didn't deserve that trust. She'd pushed them away more than once. So she didn't press.

However, the second his lips parted with such determination, the door burst open, and Nova's first instinct was to hide under the sheets, making herself so small in the hope no one would notice her lying with him. Don't ask why. It was a body reflex.

"Guys, you can't believe what happened in the Great Hall!" That was Padma, followed by someone else's steps. "Why is Nova hiding?"

There were some sounds. The door closed again. Something got thrown at George—some sort of bag, probably with breakfast in it. And the motherfucker didn't even care to give her something to eat. He just made himself more comfortable.

This was no good. Well, Padma, Parvati, and Fred were well aware of this... situation? Relationship? Obsession? Whatever it was called, they already knew. And yet Nova didn't feel proud of everything she had done so far. Everything that dragged George into this spiral of shame for handling her craziness. It wasn't fair to him.

"Are you hiding because you skipped our birthday, or because you're in bed with George?" Parvati's voice was so close she was probably a mere inch from the mattress.

"Both?" Nova murmured slowly—very slowly, dangerously slowly—pulling the sheets away from her face.

"Huh, bitch," George scoffed, halfway into a toast.

When the room came into focus, she frowned exponentially, because why the hell was no one finding this weird? Parvati was adjusting her ponytail in the wall mirror. Fred was casually folding a T-shirt with a half-asleep expression. Meanwhile, Padma was playing with a kitten in her arms.

Even George was perfectly at ease. Everyone seemed to find it normal—her being so close to him, under the sheets, not making jokes nor being obvious about it. This was weird, right? It should be. But it didn't feel exactly like it.

Until... wait!

"Padma, what the fuck is that thing?" Nova's eyes went wide, and she unwillingly crawled closer to George.

"Isn't he cute? Fred brought it for my birthday. We're sharing a pet. We're like, parents. Can you believe?" Padma was whimsical, walking around like some fairy in a forest.

"Ew, that's disgusting," she gagged—and oh, George's arm was wrapping around her shoulder, sliding down to her waist to bring her closer, all while he stayed focused on eating.

"Don't listen to her, darling. Ash is beautiful," Fred smirked, taking the kitten into his hands. "She's just jealous because she and my brother can't take care of a fake plant, let alone a pet."

Almost like reading each other's minds, Nova and George raised their middle fingers, complete with a loud eye-roll and groan of irritation. She buried herself under the sheets again, but didn't force him to remove his arm—no, she made herself small against his chest.

And he was breathing so heavily. Truly, it was medically disturbing. She focused deeply, feeling every inch of him. Every breath. Every moment. The way his abs flexed when she poked his waist gently. And his heart—honestly, it sounded like a heart attack.

But he was so calm. Nova wished she could stay calm the way he did. So unbothered. So at ease. She wondered how much strength it took to act like that and maybe, from the little scene before they were interrupted, swallow the pain effortlessly and just go on with your days.

"Anyway, the psycho glitter prankster miscalculated, and all the glitter fell on Professor Snape in front of everyone," Parvati interrupted the lingering quiet—probably taking a second to watch her so close to George.

"And guess what? You two have been blamed for it," Fred added, almost relieved for some reason.

"That's ridiculous! We were here being all cute and sweet the whole morning," George snapped harshly. "I'll tell everyone that—"

"NO, YOU CAN'T!" Nova shot up from the sheets and pressed a hand to his bare chest.

Silence. Tense silence filled the room. She was almost breathless, nervous, her heart pounding quickly, and she was sweating. She looked like she'd just finished a marathon. More insane than usual.

The look on George's face was heartbreaking. He was soft and probably offended. She could feel the disappointment burning in his skin. The same skin she had caressed. Kissed. Devoured. He was melting under her touch, and not from sweetness—he was growing sad.

Fuck! She hadn't meant it like that. Well, yes, she didn't want anyone to know about this because... honestly, it would be ridiculous. She had insulted him multiple times. Humiliated him. And maybe spread some fake rumors around. But they were in the middle of a prank war. It was all justified.

Also, he was supposed to be Angelina's boyfriend. That girl needed someone to help her now, to live her relationship in peace without worrying about her parents. Everyone in the castle knew they were dating.

That's all. Well, deep down, so deep it was almost impossible to perceive, Nova knew it was wrong. In every scenario where she and George were together, it ended so beautifully she didn't want to risk it. She didn't want to gamble on him.

"I'll talk with Snape and solve this, okay?" she murmured before crawling out of bed to fish her clothes.

The air was ruined. Padma and Parvati were exchanging worried glances. And Fred couldn't stop silently communicating with his brother from two opposite sides of the room. Forget it! She rushed out without giving an explanation.

Through the common room, the hallways, and the stairs, she wasn't really thinking about where to go. She was just walking frenetically, tripping over, then making sure no one saw her, and kept pacing.

This was a conversation for another moment. She was supposed to corner George when both were drunk and tell him she didn't want anything serious. That she liked this platonic relationship. That she couldn't bury it if she messed up.

Unwillingly, she had slapped this truth in his face, and his eyes grew like a wounded puppy again. Fuck! She never wanted this. She was just thinking about jinxing someone that might hurt him and now? She should jinx herself!

Was this shame maybe? Well, not directly about being seen with George but... it was just... fucking fuck! He can do way better than her. That's it. She said it in her mind. There's no turning back now.

Honestly, he could. He's so kind, sweet, caring, smart. And she was too in her own way. Emotionally? He deserved someone who could open up easily without necessarily being drunk or on veritaserum.

He deserved a girl who would rush to him at every inconvenience instead of running in the opposite direction.

This realization has been in Nova's heart for days. She'd been ignoring it as much as possible, but it was there. Always had been. He deserved someone better than her. Or... maybe... yes! She could become better for him.

Wow, okay, that's a big plan. Not something she could do alone, but she could try. The main problem remained because—how could she become better? She was already the smartest, most beautiful, attractive, funny girl on the planet. So that meant only one thing was missing...

Fuck! She needed to learn how to communicate and express emotions. That was so fucking scary Nova had to stop her maniacal walk and press a hand on the nearby wall to survive this nightmare.

"Are you okay?" A male voice forced her to turn and—oh, it was just Nico with a C.

"No. Yes. It's complicated," she waved him off, briefly recomposing herself.

"It always is with you," he smiled gently, stepping forward.

From this mere arm's length of distance Nova could see a light. An answer. Nico was perfect for learning how to communicate feelings. He was always doing so—after sex, during meals, while she studied. Basically, he was the human version of feelings. A slut of feelings.

He could teach her. She could learn. She surely wouldn't ask a therapist for this after what happened last time. Whoever had a degree in something should get it checked out. They had no clue how to handle people. They truly let basically everyone into mind-healer university or wherever they studied.

But Nico? He was a master at it. He grieved perfectly. He was always so bright and smiling and wasn't scared to say how he felt. And he wasn't afraid of rejection. He was a ray of sunshine in a castle of teenagers who could barely ask each other to the Yule Ball.

And still, she was struggling because, honestly, how much could she talk with this boy before he snapped? How many buttons could she press before breaking his heart? Again? No. She couldn't do this. He didn't deserve that.

"So, met someone recently?" she murmured, chewing her bottom lip and balancing awkwardly on her feet.

"Um, yes actually. A girl from Beauxbatons. She's very pretty. A fairy, like most of her classmates," he said with his usual blank expression.

"Oh... wow, should I be jealous? I think as something close to an ex I should be, right?" She frowned, tapping a finger on her chin, trying to summon some sense in all this.

"No, you shouldn't. I'm not jealous of Geo—"

The expression on Nico's face shifted in a split second. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched. The way his body froze in place was eerie and extremely funny. Why act this way just by saying George's name? Apparently she wasn't the only one getting affected by him.

However, the moment she batted her eyelashes, something changed again. At the bottom left of Nico's white shirt, blood poured and stained, almost becoming the only color in sight.

It lasted only a second until his body fell to the floor with a loud, sharp thump echoing in the empty hallway. A hooded figure replaced the spot Nico had been—the dagger still raised mid-air.

Nova didn't have time to react before a powder was thrown in her face, and then she fell unconscious.

Chapter 29: The Map

January 25, 1995

Sadness had never been strong enough to overcome Padma and Parvati. Somehow, they always managed to smile in the most difficult moments.

They had each other, and that was enough to handle a bad fall, their parents' divorce, low grades, and stressing over boys.

Not that Padma had to complain. Her relationship with Fred had never been better. Actually, nothing in her life had ever been better than having him. They were even parents to a beautiful kitten.

Meanwhile, Parvati was secretly (not so secretly, since everyone knew) visiting the Durmstrang wing more often than not. Ready for commitment? Not now. Not until the right person arrived. But she could have fun with the wrong one in the meantime.

All this, though, was only good to share when they were all three together. With Nova too. Because, deep down, she was now the third sister. Different hair color and temper, but the love was there.

However, Nova was dealing with her own things again. She disappeared. Again. And Padma didn't ask. Parvati didn't ask. This morning, though, they couldn't bury it anymore. They wanted to know everything that was happening with George.

"So? Where's my friend? Left her corpse somewhere?" Padma murmured during lunch in the Great Hall.

"Yeah, had to dig for miles to fit her long legs," George smirked, working deeply on a chocolate muffin.

"But you do love her legs, don't you?" Parvati elbowed him gently, growing irritated that these two were still insulting each other mercilessly.

"Ugh! Shut up," he snapped, even if a lingering blush was visible on his cheeks.

Oh, those two were insufferable. The Patils shared a quick glance to confirm there was more than they let on. Emotionally intended. Because physically? It was very clear what was happening.

Padma tried endlessly to steal the information from Fred but, like at this moment, he was eating calmly and reading the Daily Prophet. He never got in the middle. Never grew curious. Just let it be.

It was part of his charm, honestly. Fred could witness the most scandalous scene ever and not flinch. Not rush to tell someone. Not until the people involved were already talking about it too. It was equally attractive as it was irritating.

"Are you meeting her today? Do we need to cover for you again?" Parvati wiggled her eyebrows multiple times, hoping that was enough of a clue that she knew. They knew. Everyone knew.

"Um, no. Haven't seen her since the other morning when you burst in during our cheesy moment," he said dryly, sipping his tea quickly. "Thank you, by the way. Couldn't choose another time, huh?"

"Stop pretending she isn't sneaking into your room every night," Padma snapped, growing irritated they wanted to keep it a secret.

"I think I would know if she was in my bed. She isn't exactly that small to go unnoticed," he spat, unwillingly setting the teacup down a little too forcefully, staining his hands.

Padma and Parvati frowned at each other. Then looked back at George, who was muttering all sorts of things under his breath while cleaning the mess. They turned again to one another, growing concerned, scared, already on the verge of crying.

It all broke under their eyes the second Fred and George's minds clicked to the same terrifying idea. They looked at each other—an exchange of glances that could've lasted approximately five minutes.

Shifting from confusion, sadness, realization, denial, anger, confusion again. Padma and Parvati felt this hole widening in their hearts just imagining something happening to Nova. Not a mere hangover. This time it felt thicker in the air, more real.

"Fuck! Not again!" George shouted, and from there no one else spoke.

Ravenclaw dorms, nothing. Gryffindor dorms, nothing. They checked the Marauder's Map, nothing. Nova wasn't in the castle. Taking very little precaution, they rushed to Hogsmeade, following the same plan—split up and launch the blue fireworks in the sky if someone found her.

Padma and Parvati, though, stayed together. Too scared to face this situation alone. And they looked everywhere. Pubs, library, stores, pubs again. Nothing. No tall girl with platinum-blonde hair insulting men for no reason. Nova wasn't in the village.

While they waited for Fred and George to return, they allowed themselves a cup of tea, even if they drank only half before growing too sad to even breathe. Their last chance was one of the twins finding her before it was too late.

Two hours later, nothing. They checked the clinic, the museum, the graveyard. Asked around, nothing. And when they returned to the castle, dinner was about to end. They checked the Marauder's Map again. Nothing.

Now, sitting on the Clock Tower courtyard, it felt like the right moment to actually panic. And Padma and Parvati didn't waste any time before bursting into tears on each of Fred's shoulders.

"It's our fault. We shouldn't have let her be alone for even one second," Padma murmured between heavy tears and a sore throat.

"I swear, when we find her, I'm putting a Muggle GPS on her body," Parvati snapped, channeling anger more than sadness.

"Well, that would've been useful a few days ago, don't you think?" Fred said dryly, probably already planning to buy one in central London as soon as possible.

They could feel he was sad too. The way his heart was pounding resembled a very close heart attack. Padma was well aware of how fond her boyfriend was of Nova. Like a sister, nothing to do with Ginny, but with Nova it was different. Platonic soulmates of some sort.

All of them felt like this. Somehow, between an insult and a joke, they had become codependent on this maniacal girl. Part of a family they built around her since she lost hers. Even before knowing she didn't have any.

What did they gain from this bond? Worries, irritation, and anxiety because apparently she wasn't able to not get hurt, kidnapped, or disappear. She was like a child they had to take care of, but she didn't want to be controlled. Reckless and bold and irresponsible.

However, they had so much fun with Nova. During meals, there was so little time to eat because, most of the time, they were laughing too hard. And she was smart. Helped them all with homework and essays without complaining.

Yes, she was a mess, and there were days she wasn't in the mood, so trying to talk to her would result in being insulted. They didn't mind. As long as she wasn't enclosing herself in a little bubble, it was good to hear her voice—even filled with venom.

Her friend Tim was right. Being with her was like Stockholm Syndrome: she was abusive and aggressive and rude and bold. Okay, maybe we're jumping off-topic now. But the point stands.

Padma and Parvati regretted nothing. If they got the chance to start the year all over again, they would've chosen Nova. Without question. Without hesitation. Call it a punishment from the universe—they couldn't imagine now a life where she wasn't with them.

Some more than others, apparently. George was pacing in front of them with such boiling anger that the Patils were scared he might commit murder to the first person who dared approach. His hazel eyes had never darkened so much.

And then it was there. The last piece of realization clicking in his mind like a lightning strike. It took a second, and he stopped pacing, staring blankly in front of him.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouted and punched the tree with such force they could swear he broke a bone.

George kept going. Raging. His knuckles started bleeding as he muttered all sorts of words under his heavy breath. Padma and Parvati stopped crying because, honestly, he looked the most devastated of them all.

They had never seen him like this. He was always calm, like Fred. At ease. Planning strategically without letting emotions consume him. This was a scene they never thought they would witness. Never happened. Never should've.

Fred approached and tried his best not to get punched too. But when George's hand truly cracked and he started feeling the pain, forcing himself to stop, it was the moment everything broke in front of their eyes.

The twins hugged. Fred took his brother under his arms, and George looked so little, defenseless, young. Just a boy. Not a white knight nor a savior. A boy who had lost the girl he liked... or loved, maybe? The Patils weren't sure, but it was intense. More than a mere crush.

"I—I can't—I don't know what to do," he sobbed into his twin's uniform, gripping it to keep from falling to his knees.

"We'll find her. I promise you," Fred murmured, allowing himself just a tear to be the strongest one now. "Nothing will happen to Nova. We won't let it happen."

If Padma hadn't thought this was rather inappropriate, she would've taken a picture of those two. So fragile like never before. And it was clear they didn't act like this often because both were pretty awkward about it.

Parvati crawled closer to her sister, and together they calmed down. They had to be strong too. They had to be like Nova. The girl who lost her parents and faced it alone for the longest time. She hadn't succeeded in healing, but she tried. She was strong. Now they had to be. For her.

It took George almost ten minutes before calming down completely, and the state of his hands... well, they rushed to the infirmary without listening to his protests. It was horrible. Very bad. And from the look on Poppy's face, it was maybe even worse.

The nurse laid George down, and the Patils took a step back to give her space to work. Fred, though, was gazing further down the room with a puzzled expression, so they followed his line of sight.

A lot of Durmstrang students and a few Beauxbatons were there, all around a bed or scattered nearby. It wasn't unusual but, since George was being cared for and they had nothing else to do, it took a second before they all approached.

"Hey, what's happening?" Parvati murmured, resting a hand on one Durmstrang boy.

"Oh, it's Nico. He's been stabbed," Niko with a K said—yes, that's Parvati's secret affair right there.

"What? Who did it?" Fred frowned, carelessly pushing people until he stood in front of the wounded boy. "Nico? Was it Nova? Did she stab you?"

That was insane thinking. Padma scoffed, approaching closer too. Well, yes, Nova could've had a little mental breakdown, but she would've used her wand or her hands. She wasn't one for weapons. Or at least, she never appeared to be. Was she? No, impossible. Maybe... no! She wasn't.

However, the second Nico's eyes blinked and took in the surroundings, something must have lingered in his mind because his expression shifted—shocked. Completely in fear. So handsome, by the way. No idea why Nova broke up with him to be with George. This boy was sculpted by the gods above.

Anyway. Focus, Padma. Nova is in danger.

"He took her. I couldn't—I'm sorry," Nico managed to say before drowning in tears and groans of pain.

Fred's expression was something utterly terrifying. Defeat washed over him without warning. He took several steps back, and Padma followed. Parvati was in complete shock, which Niko with a K noticed, guiding her back within her friends' circle. No one dared to talk. This was too real.

Someone had stabbed Nico with a C and taken Nova.

Nova was gone. Someone had taken her.

The killer, maybe? Someone dangerous and not afraid to take a life now had Nova.

Once Poppy was done healing George's hands, they all stood beside his bed. They told him, and it was only worse. He didn't shout nor grow angry. He remained blank, like all of them, not sure what was next.

One thing was Nova having a mental breakdown and rushing away. Even if they didn't find her, she would've come back. Now she couldn't. She had been taken away. Probably dead already. Or deeply injured. Alone in some room they couldn't find. They couldn't save her.

"All right, let's go," George snapped, crawling out of bed, nudging them to follow him—now more determined than ever.

"Where? Do you have a plan?" Padma murmured, trying to keep pace—fuck those long legs.

"Yes," he said firmly, guiding them toward the third floor.

"Can you elaborate for us, mate?" Fred chimed in. "We still can't read minds, you know."

Without warning, George slowed his pace, turning to them while still walking backward down the hallway—the signature pretentious smirk high on his face.

"I'm going to do the most stupid thing we've ever done in our entire lives," he tilted his head slightly, starting to shrug his shoulders slowly, "ask an adult for help."

Finally! About time! Padma and Parvati were tired of playing detectives. They didn't have enough strength nor knowledge to handle stressful situations like this.

However, the fact that it was George proposing this felt a little funny. He hated all adults, all authority, everyone with a title. If it were up to him, most of the time, he couldn't stand someone over the age of twenty around him.

That truly showed how worried he was. They all were, coping in their own way. But George's fear brought out the best in him. If only people could channel their emotions in this mature way, problems would always look so little in comparison.

Through the Marauder's Map, it showed Dumbledore was in McGonagall's office with her, two other men, and the therapist, Dorcas Meadowes. George didn't hesitate. Didn't even knock on the door. He burst in, uninvited and careless of looking disrespectful.

"Who took her?" he snapped, scanning the room with such determination that Padma and Parvati made themselves small behind him. This would end badly.

"Oh, Mr. Weasley, about time. We were wondering when you'd arrive." Dumbledore's whimsical tone never broke, not even in delicate moments.

The headmaster gestured for them all to sit down on the two couches near the fireplace. Needless to say, George remained standing firmly, shoulders narrowed. A completely new boy from the one who had sobbed into his brother's arms just an hour ago.

Silence. All the adults were looking at him with a sense of guilt. Regret. Not sure what to say or do. The Aurors didn't flinch. They remained near the window with arms crossed and stiff postures. They surely weren't the ones to talk.

Neither Dumbledore, seated behind the desk, nor McGonagall, just behind him, parted their lips to explain. No. They were expecting something to happen but not brought by them.

It was the therapist, Dorcas, who sat beside Padma and looked at them with a softness they couldn't recognize. The last time they had seen the woman, she was all fury for what Nova did to her office. Not now. She was calm and exactly how a therapist should be.

"So? Are you going to tell us what's going on?" Fred was the first to snap, more harshly than intended, but it was needed.

"The person who killed Nova's parents took her," Dorcas said dryly, looking down at her hands.

"Thank you, we got that part of the story already," George spat, balancing nervously on his feet. "Any idea who he is? Where she is? Or are you just here drinking tea and hoping she'll appear out of nowhere?"

The air never felt thicker. Padma glanced quickly at the professors, and they were, yes, impressed and shocked by the twins' tone, but not surprised nor ready to scold them. They remained there as support rather than as real authority figures.

Silence again. What the fuck? Now the Patils were growing angry too. Truly, it was disturbing. Such a delicate situation, and they were all worried. Somehow no one trusted them with this information.

It was George again who snapped. He walked eagerly until he was facing Dumbledore, only the desk between them. And then he... melted. He didn't shout nor punch something. His shoulders relaxed, and his voice broke.

"Professor, I'm going to say something that might sound rude, but there's no other way to put this," George murmured, gesturing awkwardly.

Padma, Parvati, and Fred glanced at each other, unsure of the plan to follow. They had no instructions on how much they were about to share with them nor what type of help he could offer besides calling some dumb Aurors to go look for Nova.

"I'm fucking tired," George sighed in exasperation. "I don't know how to help her if I don't have the full story of what happened to make her like this..."

The desperation in his tone came out without warning; no one expected him to feel so drawn into the situation—now they were beginning to understand that it wasn't just about Nova. Whatever she felt somehow affected him too.

"I've read her school records thousands of times, and I can't find a fucking reason to justify why someone wants her dead," he snapped, beginning to pace around the room, almost looking psychotic. "Something must've happened, and I can't figure out what it is. How am I supposed to protect her if I don't know what the threat looks like?"

Even though everyone was well aware of George's feelings toward Nova, they never imagined they ran so deep—they thought it was just teasing and occasional sex, but watching the clear worry on his face was overwhelming.

He hadn't been this invested in something for a very long time, maybe only in the twins' illegal prank business or his family's well-being in general—but even that had never brought this much chaos into his life, enough to make him long for quiet.

They were made for each other, perhaps as a punishment. They were friends, a little more than that. A little less than lovers. They spoke a language all their own and communicated with the smallest expressions.

Two teenagers who were scared to love one another and still couldn't bring themselves to stay away. Better to get hurt by the other than by anyone else.

Ugh! How cheesy this was becoming by the second. If she were here, Nova would've already gagged loudly, ruining the melting atmosphere.

"I might not have been completely honest with you, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, sensing the tension growing. "When I asked you to keep an eye on her, I should've told you why."

It happened all so fast. The shift. George sat back on the couch, and it was the therapist's turn to talk. For real now. There was no reason to hold back after the headmaster gave a nudge of permission.

"You have to understand, Nova's behavior isn't well regarded by everyone. From what I've been told, here at Hogwarts you fancy her craziness. At Ilvermorny, it was different," Dorcas explained so slowly everyone was about to jump out of their seats in anticipation.

The story the therapist shared next almost made Padma and Parvati sob and the twins melt into their seats—this side of Nova wasn't a surprise; they knew about the curse. But they never thought it was this articulated.

The first time Nova realized she had to be responsible for her parents was at seven years old, when Celeste was in a depressive episode, spending her days doing nothing but sleeping—she forgot to pick up her daughter from school.

When the teachers noticed little Nova patiently waiting at the school door, fairly sad to have been forgotten, they decided to walk her home. And once there, no one answered the door for hours, until her father came back from work and dryly apologized before cooking dinner.

That wasn't the first time—it happened over the next two weeks. But the teachers didn't have that much patience, and by the second day simply told Louis to come pick her up directly from the building. The keykeeper would let him in to get Nova.

And he did. He got off work, stopped by her school, took her home, and cooked dinner. Not once explaining what was happening with Celeste, even ignoring the whole situation—maybe believing a little girl wouldn't notice her mother's absence. But she did.

When Celeste was in the middle of almost-drugged happiness, she would often keep Nova home—even when she didn't want to—and take her to play at the park, go shopping, eat ice cream even in freezing snow. Anything her mind could come up with.

The teachers warned that too many absences would force Nova to repeat her last year of kindergarten—she didn't want to. She was already dreaming of an extraordinary life for herself, and that didn't include a bad academic record.

However, Celeste never cared. When she was happy, she wanted everyone to be—despite what they actually wanted to do or feel. Nova enjoyed that time when she was little but quickly understood it would only be followed by another depressive episode.

That was her life—stuck between being forgotten and being made the first priority. The confusion in her mind outgrew itself, shifting into rage, depending on how Celeste and Louis were behaving.

If Nova woke up one morning and her mother was still sleeping, she would be wrapped in rage all day, anticipating the long list of things she'd have to do—taking care of the house, groceries, even grading her mother's students' essays.

But when Celeste was happy, it wasn't much better. That meant Nova had to follow her all day through whatever crazy ideas she came up with, trying not to let her hurt herself—like she was the mom in the situation, growing irritated at every childish action she witnessed.

With Louis, it was easier. Knowing he wouldn't have any emotional reaction allowed Nova to express herself with such intensity—she could unleash her deepest feelings in any way possible, and he wouldn't blink once.

"Fuck. That's messed up," Fred muttered, looking down, feeling as guilty as her parents should've felt.

"Yes, indeed." McGonagall sipped some water, repressing the urge to cry after sharing such a delicate story. "Poor girl doesn't even know how to act like herself anymore."

If the big puzzle of Nova that George had been building in his mind wasn't already scattered into millions of pieces, now it was clicking together all at once—fucking hell! That explained everything.

How she felt emotions so deeply and expressed them so intensely—Louis' fault, for never setting a boundary.

Not being able to enjoy it when others acted childish—Celeste's fault, for making it a problem in Nova's life since she was a kid.

And, most tragically, her fear of trusting someone, of being forgotten in an instant—both her parents' fault, for neglecting her far more than they ever should have.

"I know we might find her behavior fascinating. In this castle, we've seen more concerning things than a girl acting a little mental from time to time," McGonagall sighed, defeated. "But in her old school, it wasn't like that—people didn't actually enjoy her shows."

"From what we saw, everyone loved her there." Fred furrowed his brow, remembering all the people they encountered on their trip to Chicago—no one seemed to hate Nova.

"No, trust me, there's a long list of restraining orders that say quite the opposite," Dorcas chuckled softly before pulling out a piece of parchment.

They thought she was joking, or at least exaggerating slightly, but no—there was actually a long list of people who despised Nova enough to report her to the American Aurors without hesitation—some even included death threats if they didn't stop her immediately.

What Hogwarts students might see as silly pranks or mild rudeness was considered severe bullying at Ilvermorny—enough to prompt transfers if necessary. Apparently, people there were more sensitive than Hufflepuffs.

"Do you think someone might want revenge on her?" Padma almost shivered in fear at what could possibly be happening to her friend—hoping it wasn't too late.

"Wouldn't you want to? Imagine walking into class every day and having someone humiliate you in front of all your peers, completely disregarding your feelings," Dorcas stiffened.

"Yeah, tell me about it." George rolled his eyes before smirking. "Professor, let's be honest now, Nova isn't that bad—I think she even holds back sometimes."

"Exactly, people at Ilvermorny should really learn to lighten up a bit," Fred shrugged—he, too, didn't understand the fuss.

McGonagall slipped a sequence of moving photographs in front of them—the first showed Nova pranking a boy, the second showed him lying on the floor, and the last showed him being carried out by healers.

She explained the boy had an obsessive crush on her—to the point of waiting outside her classes, sitting behind her at every meal, staying as close as possible. He never managed to speak to her before, thanks to Matt and Tim always flanking her.

The two boys acted like bodyguards most of the time—except when they were teasing or bickering with her—but no one else could get close to Nova without their permission.

Except this one. He memorized her schedule and managed to get exactly three minutes alone with her in the hallway, while Matt and Tim used the boys' restroom after lunch. It was barely enough time, but he used it as much as he could.

McGonagall explained it lasted only a week before Nova grew so irritated that she pranked him in class—exposing his crush and jinxing him so harshly he fainted. He never recovered. He spent the rest of his school years hiding from everyone, as his classmates bullied him relentlessly because of Nova.

"Well, this is getting darker by the minute," Fred said dryly, bracing for worse—and he was right.

"We never told her this, but the Aurors have reason to believe that boy killed her parents," McGonagall whispered, anxiety growing in her voice. "But they can't find him anywhere in America."

Now able to see the full picture in his mind, George stood up abruptly, his heart shrinking at every mental image of what might be happening to Nova right now—he needed to find her, fast.

He had said it to himself before: he was no white knight, and she was no damsel in distress. They both lacked the flair of a storybook romance. But the annoying best friend of the hero played a big role in every story, right? Maybe he could be that—for now.

Almost like reading his mind, the white knight in the moving portrait behind Professor McGonagall appeared in the frame, announcing that Nova had been seen in the hallway of the seventh floor at last, before disappearing completely.

Fucking portraits—couldn't they have said that hours ago instead of enjoying dinner together? George was seconds from casting a freezing spell on every portrait in the castle to force them into silence for the rest of their endless lives.

"The wards outside the castle haven't detected any movement—she must still be here." McGonagall's shoulders tensed exponentially.

Padma and Parvati took a look around. The Aurors were drained. Heavy under-eye bags could be seen from miles away. Dorcas' job seemed to be done. She explained the mind process behind all this and now drank her tea in silence.

Dinner had ended already. Students must be in their common rooms by now. The hallways would be empty besides the prefects. And it was Dumbledore who broke this intense silence by standing up.

"We'll search for her, and you're allowed to do so tonight—as long as you remain inside the castle," he said gently, waving to dismiss them.

That was all they needed. Fred guided them all toward the kitchen and asked the elves for food. While eating at a table reserved for this type of situation, George opened the Marauder's Map, and they all fixated on the seventh-floor hallways like she could appear out of nowhere.

Inside the castle only the prefect patrols were in sight—groups of two. They recognized all the names. It resembled watching a movie with the hope the main character survives at the end, but there was no clue she would—Nova's name didn't appear for an hour, and they decided to move somewhere else.

After half an hour they were sitting on the fifth floor with the map spread in front of them. A prefect patrol passed by, threatening to take points from their houses for being out of their dorms, and Fred was only waiting to show Dumbledore's special permit. It was remarkable—truly one of the best feelings.

"Who's this?" Parvati pointed at a name walking up the moving stairs.

"Gabriel Hilton? Never heard of this kid." Fred frowned, lowering to see better.

All cramped around the map, they tried to remember if he was a prefect. Or a student. A Quidditch player? A Durmstrang? Too American of a name to be Bulgarian. Or British, for that matter.

However, just before they could print the name in their minds, he disappeared. One second he was standing in the seventh-floor hallway, and the next he was gone. Into a void. Gone forever.

There was a communal gasp, and they all pressed their backs to the wall, sitting down against the bricks. Defeated and hopeless. George kept the map on his lap, fixated on where the name had been just a second ago.

"That thing must be broken," Parvati snapped with a roll of her eyes so deep she could almost gaze at her own brain.

"Hey! Don't disrespect the Marauders!" Fred elbowed gently—or rather harshly, considering the weight of the moment.

"Maybe there's a room that the map doesn't show. Is that possible?" Padma murmured, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

"I'm not sure, it's never happened before." George's eyes sparkled with some sense of desperation, but he was calm, still in control of his body. "A room that doesn't appear? A room that doesn't exist even if it's there?"

"Well, this school had a basilisk under a bathroom and we had a werewolf as professor. An enchanted room would be the most normal thing, don't you think?" Padma scoffed faintly, unwillingly giving them the last piece of the puzzle.

They looked at each other for a split second. It was hope. If they had drunk the emotion potion George forced on Nova at Christmas, all their hair would've been bright yellow, almost blinding. There was hope. They could find her.

A room that disappears. A room that exists only when you stand in front of it. An enchanted room was, indeed, more normal than everything else that had ever happened in this castle.

And sometimes, against all logic, they hoped to find Nova safe and unharmed. Next time, they would put a Muggle GPS on her. Ten of those, if necessary.

Chapter 30: Only Pain

January 25, 1995

There are people in the world who are deathly scared of challenges, diagnosed with a fear of them, and forced to deal with that anxious feeling in their stomachs their whole lives—some, when too stressed by a new situation, walk away before even having the chance to prove themselves.

Not Nova. Since she was very little, she had enjoyed that thrilling sensation deep in her chest every time she had to do something she'd never done before—a challenge was her only reason to live.

The most insane idea that had ever crossed her already insane mind arrived at fifteen—she asked Matt and Tim to plan to kidnap her, at any given moment, without warning, and to act like they actually meant it.

Needless to say, they didn't take it seriously at first, spending a whole year doing it as a mere prank—often with silly masks or bursting into laughter in the dim light before even managing to take her away. Just imagining it made them piss themselves with amusement.

But Nova sat down with Matt and Tim, asking them to take this request seriously. She was eager to see what her body would do in this type of situation, to test if all her knowledge was useful for something.

When they actually started kidnapping her from time to time, she never managed to escape once—not even hitting them before being dragged away, nor freeing herself from ropes or other ridiculous traps her friends put her into.

But now, while slowly waking up from unconsciousness, sensing a silk blindfold over her eyes and a metal chain around her wrist, Nova couldn't help but giggle softly—this time, they had really outdone themselves.

"Very funny, guys," she shouted, starting to sit up, feeling a wall behind her back. "You were right, I can't defend myself from a kidnapper."

From the way her voice echoed in the room, Nova sensed it was almost empty, if not completely. She touched the floor delicately—wet, cold stone, like a dungeon maybe, or a graveyard.

"Matt, I swear, if you don't free me now I'll tell everyone about that time I caught you jerking off to Tim's pictures." She was starting to grow irritated—this prank wasn't funny.

A rough movement came from her right, then her left—not loud or creepy, just a brushing sound that warned of someone else nearby. But she still couldn't place her surroundings—no, this wasn't a fake kidnapping.

Nova swung as much as possible, but it was useless. The chains were tight on her wrists and seemed pinned to the lower part of the wall, making standing up impossible—there had to be a way to free herself.

Her mind rushed through thousands of past scenes while being locked away by Tim and Matt, the worry of what was about to happen growing with each thought—was the killer of her parents here to finish the job?

Nova moved her legs roughly, gripped the chain as hard as she could, almost hitting her head on the wall while trying to turn around or do anything to free her sight from the blindfold—this was impossible.

"Try using your hands," a voice cut in—husky, deep, amused even.

Fuck! Why hadn't she thought of such a simple solution? Nova almost considered leaving the blindfold on out of embarrassment for acting like a maniac instead of just lowering her face toward her chained hands and freeing her eyes.

When she did so, the dim lights fortunately didn't hurt as she had anticipated, and it was much easier to take in her surroundings—but when she noticed who was in the room with her, that familiar warm wave in her lower stomach appeared again.

"Shit! Don't faint now," Matt sighed. There were stains of blood on his face, his back against the wall, legs wide open on the floor—he was chained too.

"Bro, don't tell the girl what she can or can't do," Tim sneered, knees up to his chest, a scar on his beautiful cheek. He looked visibly tired but still utterly handsome.

"She's my best friend, I can say what I want to her," Matt snapped, narrowing his eyes before gazing at Nova. "Tell him I have your permission to treat you how I want."

"Don't shout at my girlfriend, you cunt," Tim managed to grab a little rock resting at his side and threw it toward his friend—that gesture alone made both laugh like kids.

Fucking hell! Not only had she been kidnapped—for real this time—but of all the people in the world, dead or alive, she was stuck with the two dumbest and most unserious wizards ever to walk the earth. Things couldn't have gone worse.

Nova scanned the room slowly—dark, no windows, and no sight of outside life. It looked old and utterly creepy, like no other place she'd ever been in. And trust her when she says her best friends had fake-kidnapped her in the most disgusting basements in Chicago.

There could be an escape plan—the door was just in front of her eyes. Other than that, nothing. A black room with no objects, no purpose, except for their bodies chained to the walls. Empty and cold, even though the air had no space to enter. Something enchanted. Something magical pressed at every breath.

She could escape. Through the door if she was fast enough.

But remembering the past, she knew she wasn't able to run a mile without needing a break, and judging by the sound of her stomach, there wasn't enough food in her body to make any physical activity possible.

Annoying as it was to admit, Matt and Tim were crucial to survival right now. They had the strength and abilities to fight someone and, while they dealt with it, Nova could easily save herself—better them dying than her, right?

"Can we talk about serious matters now?" Tim smirked, scanning Nova slowly. "What picture of me was Matt using?"

"Oh, suck my dick," Matt snapped, throwing the little rock back at him, a weird heat rising in his cheeks.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Tim teased, leaning forward as much as the chain allowed—almost forgetting he couldn't move, like his brain reset itself every five minutes.

"Guys, shut the fuck up," Nova shouted, and they obeyed instantly, startled by her authoritative tone—that gaze was almost deadly. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

The two boys seemed to only now fully understand where they were. They gazed around the room, then quickly looked down at their chained hands before exchanging one of the guiltiest expressions she'd ever seen on their stupid faces.

"Man, I actually thought that guy had some candies for us," Tim tilted his head until it hit the wall behind him, lost in whatever passed for thought.

"We should've known that chocolate bar he gave us was poisoned," Matt scoffed, scratching his cheek. "It tasted horrendous."

Nova couldn't believe her ears. The people who were supposed to help her escape, come up with a plan, be the muscles of the operation—had been kidnapped all the way from Chicago with... food? Fuck! She was about to murder them before the real killer had the chance.

"You brain-rotted dickheads!" she shouted, wrapped in rage. "How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers when I'm not with you? I go away for a couple of months and you're already putting yourselves in danger!"

The fury was so strong in her veins that she cut her wrist slightly, trying to break the chains with her barely-strong arms. She started gripping, planting her feet against the wall, using the maximum of her body weight—she even bit the metal for a second before remembering how awful she'd look without teeth. Impossible.

Tim started whistling softly, an old song the three of them had written in middle school, the one they used to fill silences. He was completely unbothered by the whole situation, by the fact that someone could easily step inside and kill them all—his eyes on Nova and how beautiful she still looked after all this time apart, probably.

Meanwhile, Matt seemed more puzzled, maybe actually realizing how extremely stupid it was to get kidnapped. He tapped his chained hands on the floor, following his friend's beat—he too was looking at Nova, but only to make sure she wasn't about to hit her head hard against the wall.

After countless attempts to free herself, even hurting her arms and slightly scratching her forehead on a sharp edge of the chains, Nova simply gasped in defeat before sitting with her knees up to her chest, hiding her head in them.

Things weren't supposed to go like this. They never did. She was healing somehow. Finding a routine. Wake up, have a mental breakdown, get drunk, let George save her. She had even considered learning how to communicate feelings for fuck's sake! And now she was about to die. It was all for nothing.

What the fuck went wrong? Why wasn't it easy? She wished she could redo this school year, never engage in the bet with George, and just enjoy it. Everything. Every kiss. Every moment under the sheets. Every tease and word.

But still, whoever had kidnapped her would've done it anyway, because she could sense it wasn't a Hogwarts student. No, she felt that tight grip in her stomach that warned the worst was about to happen—this was it, the moment to see the face behind her parents' murder.

Part of her felt faint at the thought. After all this time growing up in hope of catching the killer, it was happening. But that could also mean dying to do so. Was she ready to die? It was something she had never considered before.

Her life was shit. No, truly—it was criminal someone was allowed to live like this. Yet she still loved it somehow. All the anger and sadness and plot twists and her friends, oh Padma and Parvati were like sisters. And Fred? Remarkable! The brother she never thought she'd need (don't tell Matt and Tim about this).

And fucking George! He had tried so hard to keep her safe. And she still didn't know why he was in pain. There were still so many things she wanted to do with him. Mostly about the bet, others too cheesy to even name.

No! No matter how sad and pathetic her life was, Nova wanted to live. She always had. Never doubted it. So let the killer come—he'd better have a very good aim because she wouldn't go down without a fight.

Almost as if reading Nova's mind, the door swung open with an eerily slow movement, revealing a tall figure wrapped in a black robe. From the little she could see outside, the place looked familiar. A hallway maybe. It resembled Hogwarts too much.

It lasted only a second before the man stepped in fully and immediately closed the door behind him, using a spell, probably locking it to avoid being interrupted while killing them all—was this the end? Better play her cards right if she wanted to survive.

"I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time," the man said dryly, slowly removing his hood under their not-so-scared eyes.

Perfectly cut brown hair. Gold, glowing eyes. Narrow shoulders. A sharp jawline. A tattoo high behind his left ear, adorned with earrings of all sorts. Wand firmly in hand, and one of the most serious gazes they had ever witnessed together.

This wasn't possible. He was... no... he couldn't be him... of all people... no... this was a nightmare... he was... he...

"Who the fuck are you?" Nova snapped venomously, scanning him head to toe—no clue who he was.

"You don't remember me?" He furrowed his brow before gazing at the two boys at his side. "Is she joking? You know who I am, right?"

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, looking contemplative and extremely serious. He was scrambling through his mind to find a reference to who was standing in front of him. The only conclusion he could reach was that the man was probably their age, if not younger. Nothing else came to mind.

However, Nova took her time. She could swear she had seen his face somewhere before—maybe not in this confident look, without the robe—but still, nothing came up. Not a single encounter with him during her whole life. Was she losing memory, or just about to faint again from the overthinking?

"Guys, c'mon, it's obvious," Tim rolled his eyes, instantly growing mischievous. "He's the guy that kidnapped us, duh!"

"Ohhh right," both Matt and Nova nodded with blank expressions—had the dumbest man on Earth just delivered the simplest and most rational answer?

"What—no—fuck!" The boy raised his arms in exasperation before resting them on his hips. "Second grade? You three embarrassed me in front of the whole class?"

If it were humanly—or wizardly—possible, Nova could swear she felt steam escaping her ears from how hard she was trying to remember him from Ilvermorny.

Maybe he was that boy who cheated on a test and got the same grade as her? She was so mad she enchanted his quills for the entire year so he couldn't even spell his name right. No, that wasn't him—that boy had blonde hair, if she remembered correctly.

Fuck! What if it was that boy she blackmailed when she found out he was having a scandalous relationship with a professor? That boy gave her so much money that she was able to buy an extremely expensive wardrobe. No, it wasn't him—he wasn't bothered about it; he was thrilled someone else knew about his secret.

She was missing something. There was no way to remember all the things she did in just second grade, especially since that year her mother, Celeste, was having one of her extremely delicate moments—one week sleeping endlessly, the next rushing her daughter to the craziest activities.

"Sorry, can you be just a little more specific about what we did to you?" Matt chimed in, genuinely not recalling ever having seen this guy anywhere.

"Ugh! I can't believe this! How many people have you traumatized to not even recognize me?" The boy looked deeply into his robe pockets; the scene alone shifted the whole dramatic, tense atmosphere into something more amused.

His tongue peeked between his lips, his eyes fixed high on the ceiling—goofy and certainly not as intimidating as he wanted to be. This was probably his first kidnapping, and it showed.

After literally two long minutes, he finally produced three pictures that floated magically in front of their eyes—a young Nova jinxing him while Matt and Tim were bent over laughing right behind her.

That still gave them no clue. It was in their school schedule to act that way at least once a day, but she could see something deeper happening in that moment—yes! She was recognizing it now, her brain finally working as usual.

It was subtle; maybe no one noticed at school, not even her best friends, but that morning an owl had come to her dorm informing that Celeste had been taken to a Healer for an injury after flying around the city on her broom—she'd hit a tall building and lost consciousness in front of Muggles.

Nova had felt extremely guilty because she was supposed to be with her mother. Louis had asked her to skip school that day and make sure nothing happened to her. The fact that she refused and Celeste got hurt made her angrier than usual.

But of course she couldn't just talk about the problem with someone, nor go to the hospital and be close to her mother. No—she had the brilliant idea of finding someone to blame for it, and apparently that boy had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Oh right! You were that prick who followed her around school," Tim snapped, feeling a light bump on his head—the illumination of understanding the situation for once was making him fuzzy.

"Yeah, John Griblon," Matt said, but when the boy shot him a killing gaze he realized that might not be it. "Jake? Lucas? Scott? Simon?"

"Gabriel Hilton," the boy said, taking a deep breath, probably fighting the urge to end their lives before having the chance to explain why he had kidnapped them.

The three exchanged confused glances. That name wasn't ringing any bells either. They remembered that day, but beyond that—nothing. Where did he go after? Did he transfer? They didn't recall seeing him again in the hallways.

Nova felt a wave of real, consuming guilt this time—stronger than ever. She'd never considered that her actions might have been so harsh that someone would actually have a reason to hurt her and the people she loved. Maybe it was time to change—more than she ever planned to.

"I've got to be honest, it was really hard to find you," Gabriel paced around the room slowly. "When your father told me he would fly you far away, I never thought he meant to this forgotten fantasy castle."

"What? You knew Louis?" Tim's eyes widened in shock as he tried to get Gabriel's attention, sensing he was approaching Nova—no one could get that close to her without permission.

"Yeah, I did, actually. And sorry for the little incident—I only wanted to scare you off a bit," Gabriel said, kneeling in front of her. "But my machete slipped past their bodies—it was involuntary. Do you think that would hold up in court?"

Almost like magic, the final piece of the mystery behind her parents' death clicked into place in Nova's mind—it was all her fault. If it weren't for the chains, she would've already smacked herself in the face.

This boy had been so hurt by what she did to him that he'd actually killed her parents—without blinking. Not with a spell, but using all his rage to slice through their skin, to watch the blood pour from their bodies, to be the one to end a life. From the glimpse in his eyes, it didn't even seem like he regretted it.

He probably kidnapped Nick too—that would explain the same method: dark, abandoned place, metal Muggle chains, silk blindfold. Gabriel must've seen it in some book and stuck with it like it was a serial killer's signature.

But for what? Just for a silly little prank she pulled on him years ago? Out of all the drama queens she'd encountered (herself included), this boy was the most over-the-top. He could've just broken a girl's heart like most others do when hurt—not kill someone.

This was all her fault: the careless way she treated people, the way she humiliated them without a second thought, how rude and dismissive she was, never taking others' emotions seriously. If grieving wasn't hard enough, this was only making everything worse.

"All right, we get it—you want revenge. But don't you think this is a little too much?" Matt raised an eyebrow, silently glancing at Tim to come up with a plan before it was too late.

"No, I don't! Because of you, everyone bullied me for years! I couldn't even get to class without someone teasing me about my crush on her!" Gabriel stood up, clearly ready to deliver the villain monologue he had practiced and rehashed.

"And so what? I'm in love with her too, but I never killed her parents," Tim sneered, looking down at his chained hands. "Weird way of flirting, man."

"I'm not trying to be with her—what the fuck is wrong with you?" Gabriel's expression was a mix of disgust and confusion. "Is this how you act in dangerous situations? Teasing and joking like we're at some sort of party?"

"Yes," the two boys said in sync—deadpan, as if this really were just a casual chat.

But Nova wasn't paying attention to the bickering anymore. Her mind was stuck on everything she had done that led someone to become this mentally broken, to do something so deeply wrong. He had killed her parents, kidnapped Nick, and was probably about to silence her friends forever.

There was no way to undo the past, except maybe sending owls to all of Ilvermorny—if she managed to survive the night. But right now, the only one who deserved an honest apology was the shattered boy in front of her. And it would be so embarrassing if she said those disgusting words just to be killed right after.

"Ugh! Sorry, all right?" she gasped, exasperated, catching everyone's attention. "I was having a bad day and took it out on you. It wasn't personal. So, I'm sorry or whatever."

Silence fell so heavy it was almost tangible. Nova stared at the wall beside her, feeling the eyes on her—no one believed such words could escape her lips, not even her own friends. When had she ever learned to apologize? She was now the scariest person in the room.

"Damn, that's big," Matt whispered. "I lost my bet with Lexi—you do know the word 'sorry.'"

"Oh, shut up," she shot back venomously before locking eyes with Gabriel. "Are we good now? Can you let us go?"

The boy looked completely conflicted. Probably he didn't expect this kidnapping to shift from revenge to reawakening his feelings for Nova. Killing her parents might delay their first date, but maybe she'd get over it at some point.

Without warning, he knelt in front of her again, searching for something in his robe. It was easier to find this time. He guided her chained hands toward him with an extremely annoying, amused smile.

"Nova, will you marry me?"

The gold ring he was about to slide onto her finger glinted in the dim light. Matt and Tim groaned in disgust, wishing they could find the silk blindfolds and put them back on so they wouldn't have to witness such a horrendous scene. At this point, better to let him murder them.

"What the fuck? Of course not, you psycho ass!" she snapped, her expression razor-sharp. "Do you think I can be with such a horrendous, cruel, ugly person? Have you seen me? What makes you think you even have a chance?"

Well, if she didn't die tonight, she'd start treating others better. Not him, though. He killed her parents. It was only fair to hurt him one last time before becoming a whole new person.

"And just so you know, that robe doesn't suit you at all. I can see your outfit beneath it, and trust me, you're bringing shame to kidnappers everywhere," she snapped again, her words tumbling out faster than she could control. "Who the fuck takes so much time explaining their motives before killing someone? No one would have heard our side of the story anyway."

Gabriel was trembling, the ring still clutched in his shaking hands while his eyes narrowed, giving way to a few tears that were about to slip out. Nova kept insulting him with some of the most original words her friends had ever heard.

She pointed out how fucking emotional he was and how ridiculous it looked for a man to act this way just from being rejected. Then she said it was fair though—she complimented herself, acknowledging how hurt someone must feel not to be with such a hot, smart, loving—hot again—girl.

The words spat out more venomously when she finally remembered him from school—teasing him about how he couldn't finish a sentence without stuttering, about his ridiculously low grades, and how he couldn't sit on a broom without falling off.

"JUST SHUT UP," Gabriel cried in fury, gripping his hair violently and pacing nervously. Scared. Boiling in some very strong emotions.

That's when Nova understood her mistake. This kid was emotional as fuck! This was no way to treat him. Like all villains, he wanted to talk and would endlessly before killing someone. She had to be smart about this, put away her own emotions and focus on getting out of here unharmed.

"How did you find me?" she murmured after a while, raising her legs to her chest until she made herself almost invisible.

There it was. The villain monologue taking place again. Gabriel seemed to calm down slightly, even if still breathless and probably planning to kill them anyway—at least he got a glimpse of glory in sharing his side of the story.

"That's funny. Because I didn't even try to. Someone responded to the letter I left at your house at the funeral," Gabriel said, now pacing in a more dramatic way. "This boy, George if I recall correctly, pleaded with me months ago to meet for a coffee. He was so curious about you and wanted to ask me a few things."

Oh...

No...

This... this isn't... it can't be... Nova's breath caught in her throat. She could feel her heart leave for good. Her skin burned and she couldn't feel her lungs working properly. This can't be possible.

"Then I kidnapped Nick in the hope you'd come alone, but then I saw how many fucking friends you have. Truly, someone like you should be alone for the rest of their lives," Gabriel said next, hands behind his back to emphasize his words.

Again, Nova's fault. She looked down, careless of seeking comfort from Matt and Tim. It was all her fault. Well, George too—because why the hell would he answer a letter she hadn't even opened? She took it with the others letters and forgot about it. She wondered what was written there.

"Honestly, it was all your friends. When I got here I stopped in a pub where this ginger boy comforted me. I lied, saying I just lost my parents, and he talked about you. The blonde girl that's having a hard time copying—"

What? No! Fred was exposing all her grief to a stranger? This was not possible. She trusted him. She trusted George. They promised not to tell anyone. It was a secret. But they did. If Gabriel was telling the truth, they did.

"Then two girls were there the night after. Told them the same thing and they were talking about you again," Gabriel stopped an arm's length away. "Truly, your friends revealed almost everything. Your prank war, you disappearing to your parents' graveyard, the fact you still bully people."

No... Padma and Parvati wouldn't. Oh! The betrayal. This was a nightmare. At this point she was looking for the dagger he had stabbed Nico with just to end her life. Yes, now she wanted to die because the pain was too strong.

"You should get new friends; yours can't keep a bean in their mouths," he smirked, all proud of himself.

This was irrational thinking but... Gabriel was right. If she was here, about to die along with Tim and Matt, it was all their fault. Well, she had eighty percent of the blame, but still, they had done so wrong.

"Too bad you're dying tonight."

Gabriel stood in the center of the room, pointing his wand at her. A green light started forming at its tip—an Unforgivable Curse was about to hit, and she didn't even notice. She just froze in place, absorbing the realization that nothing about her life had ever been true.

All her friends. Love. Grief. It was ending. And Nova embraced it because, in the end, even if she survived, what was out there? George had sent that letter, invaded her privacy, exposed her to Gabriel. And then Fred, Padma, and Parvati had only given him more information.

What was out there if not betrayal and pain? Sadness and loneliness? A little dramatic, maybe, but there was no way to fight this. She was destined for this—to die because of her sharp tongue. Everyone had warned her since she was little, and she never listened. She closed her eyes and waited for death like an old friend.

It all happened in a second. The boy collapsed to the floor with a loud thump, unconscious. Her eyes darted to the door, where four figures stepped in, wands drawn—the ginger hair glowed unmistakably.

Gabriel was chained. Double-chained. And it took Nova more than one blink to understand that, behind the door, it was indeed a Hogwarts hallway. She had been in the castle from the start, in a room she had never seen before.

It would be the perfect fairy tale to say Nova was happy to see them all—Fred, George, Padma, and Parvati. But she wasn't. She allowed them to unchain her hands and then do the same with Matt and Tim.

George checked for injuries. She could hear his voice like an echo far away. She stood, and everything felt blurry, like a fever dream—or rather, a nightmare.

There was a tornado of emotions. Fear, sadness, betrayal, grief, guilt, and more, crashing over her with such force she could feel nothing. She shoved everything back, and with a body reflex out of her control, she rushed into Matt's arms and started sobbing.

She wished to disappear forever. This was all her fault. Her parents had died because of her. Nick was kidnapped because of her. And Matt and Tim, the only people she could apparently trust, had almost died because of her. This was a pain no amount of time could heal.

Behind them, Dumbledore appeared with the American Aurors. She refused to even glance at them, patting Matt's chest to silently ask him to leave. He understood and guided her outside.

She didn't want to listen. Or talk. Or see Gabriel's body being taken away. She didn't want to live now. All that filled her mind was the wish to find a wand and use an Unforgivable Curse on herself—if that was even possible.

"Nova, wait!" It was George's voice in the hallway, but the steps belonged to everyone.

"I think she needs a little bit of time alone," Tim said, surprisingly mature and serious.

"Get the fuck out of my face," George snapped, and then his hands reached forward, but Matt turned, using his body as a shield.

She made herself small. So small she was becoming one with him. She couldn't bury it. It hurt so badly. So harshly. The guilt, sadness, regret, betrayal. It was all there, and she could barely breathe under the weight of it.

"Trust me, man, it's not the right moment," Matt murmured over his shoulder, pressing her tighter to keep her safe.

"What does that mean? I just saved her! I get the right to talk to her!" George snapped and, even if she couldn't see him, the frustration was clear in his voice.

"You're also the reason she was kidnapped in the first place," Tim said, taking place beside Matt. "Answering a letter without knowing who sent it? Mate, I'm dumb, but not that dumb."

There was a murmur, some gasps. Nova tried to push herself off to listen. She didn't want to. It hurt, and it would only be worse if she locked eyes with all of them.

"No, wait! That was months ago, it was for the bet—I didn't, it's not..." George whispered, and it sounded like he was pacing back and forth.

"Nova? Please talk to us." It was Padma, her voice torn, already sobbing.

"Guys, honestly, you all messed up. If that boy was here, it's all because you shared Nova's life like it was your right to," Matt said calmly, his warmth grounding her. The only one she could trust.

"Yeah, you shouldn't talk to strangers. It's the first thing they teach in kindergarten," Tim chimed in, and she could feel him close too.

"This is stupid. We didn't do anything wrong. It's not fair," Parvati snapped, boiling with rage. "Don't you try to put the blame on us!"

"It's not all on you, but part of it is," Tim said, angrier than ever. "She'll talk to you when she's ready. In the meantime, she's coming with us."

Silence. Heavy silence. Nova could only breathe hard and try not to let her sobs flood the hallway. More steps approached—it seemed the professors and Aurors were closing in.

It was so tense she couldn't feel her own heart. Her spine was about to crack. She shivered against Matt, unable to think straight. Too many things were happening—all around her and inside her. She couldn't think. She mustn't, not until she was alone.

"We need to ask you some questions," one Auror said, just an arm's length away.

No... no... This wasn't the time. She couldn't do this. She wouldn't. She could barely breathe. It was all her fault. Fuck! Why wasn't there a button to turn off emotions and stay numb forever? She couldn't. She wouldn't. Please. She just couldn't.

"Fuck off, man," Matt snapped, turning again to shield her from everyone. "You're on the list of people who can talk to her when she's ready."

"This is not how the law works, kids," another Auror stepped in, firmer.

"Huh, like that ever stopped us before," Tim chuckled arrogantly. "You'll hear from my lawyer for the shitty job you did protecting her."

It happened so quickly. In one split second, Nova was walking, still pressed against Matt's chest. Just a few meters down the hallway, she allowed herself one look back. Just one quick glance that broke her for good this time.

Padma and Parvati were in Fred's arms, all of them with tears streaming down their faces. George was blinking rapidly, never looking away. He was shattered. He was breaking just as much as her.

Good. They all deserved this after their betrayal. Right now, it hurt and she wasn't thinking straight, but she was sure they weren't worthy of trust anymore.

This was where she belonged all along—between Matt and Tim. The only ones who had never truly put her in danger, or at least, no more than she ever allowed them to.

This was good. They were hurt. She was in unbearable pain. The killer had been exposed. She would feel guilty for the rest of her miserable life. This was good. This pain was good. It was what they deserved.

It was what she deserved after being the reason her parents weren't here anymore. It wasn't good. And she would not be good. She had lost too much. She would never be good. There might be something out there—but not now.

Now, it was only pain. Pain that burned and consumed. Pain that was all she deserved.