Delicate Magic ► George Weasley

eighteen. record keeping

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

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

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

She scribbles it down and she continues to face outward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good afternoon, Dinah, Iola."

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

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

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

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

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

"Me?"

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

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

'Young Super Star Nothing More Than A Fraud?'

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

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