V
V
When Thalia finally stirred, the weight of sleep clung to her like a shroud, making it difficult to discern where she was or how much time had passed. Her head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that seemed to radiate from her skull to every corner of her body. She groaned softly as she pushed herself up, her movements sluggish.
As her head lifted from the pillow, a sticky sensation pulled at her hair. She winced, gingerly touching the back of her head. Her fingers met stiff, dried blood that had adhered to the fabric and matted her curled hair. Delicately she prized the hair away, trying to brush through the individual strands and unknotting it. Finally she was able to roll over, squinting through the haze of exhaustion, she made out the time—3:00 a.m.
Her room was completely shrouded in darkness, every corner hidden by deep oppressive shadows. Her brow furrowed. How long have I been asleep? A fragmented memory floated to the surface—her last glance at the clock before succumbing to fitful slumber. It had been around 4:00 a.m. she was sure of that. The realization struck her slowly: she had slept for nearly twenty-three hours.
Her limbs felt heavy, weighted down by an exhaustion so profound it seemed to seep into her very bones. The sluggishness in her body resisted every effort to move, but she forced herself upright, shifting slowly to sit on the edge of her bed. The cold air in the room wrapped around her like an unwelcome embrace, biting through her thin nightclothes and drawing a shiver from her frail frame. Even that small movement sent a jolt of pain cascading through her body, sharp and relentless, culminating in a pounding ache behind her eyes like the incessant beat of a war drum.
Wincing, she glanced down at her hand, cradling it in her lap. The bandage, hastily applied the night before, was stiff with dried blood, pulling uncomfortably against her skin. She flexed her fingers, testing the range of motion, but stopped quickly as a fiery pain shot up her arm. With her free hand, she gingerly felt along the plane of her face, her fingertips tracing the damage.
Her lip was swollen, tender and cracked, every brush of her fingers a fresh reminder of the sharp blow that had caused it. Moving higher, her touch hovered over the bruised skin around her eye, the tightness there an uncomfortable contrast to the dull throb beneath. She could feel the faint warmth of inflammation radiating outward, a grim testament to the damage she had endured.
Letting her hands fall back into her lap, Thalia exhaled shakily, the breath catching in her throat. She felt trapped in her own battered body, the pain a cruel tether to the events of the night before.
Gingerly, Thalia pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling under her own weight as her injuries protested every movement. Each step was slow and deliberate as she padded across the room and grabbed her towel from the back of the door. The simple act of stretching caused a ripple of pain to shoot through her torso, causing her to let out a stifled groan. She paused, taking a deep breath before steadying herself and clutching the scratchy fabric of the towel close to her chest.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle, turning it ever so slightly until a faint creak echoed in the stillness. Wincing at the noise, she cracked the door open just enough to press her good eye against the gap, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. The corridor beyond was darkly oppressive, tall shadows loomed teasingly potentially shielding objects and figures in their folds.
The silence was heavy, broken only by her own breathing and the gusts of wind dancing through the eves in the attic. She waited, counting the seconds as her gaze swept the hall for any sign of movement.
Satisfied that she was alone, she opened the door fully and stepped into the hallway. Her steps were as light as she could manage on the uneven wooden floor, as though the very floor might betray her with a squeak.She kept close to the wall, letting her hand glide along its rough surface to guide her in the darkness, her breaths shallow as she counted the doorways with deliberate precision.
At the end of the corridor, she reached the bathroom door, her heart pounding harder with each passing second. She placed her hand on the doorknob, hesitated for a moment to listen for any sound, and then turned it slowly, slipping inside. Once in, she locked the door with a soft click and leaned her head against it, exhaling shakily. Safe, for now.
The bathroom was just as cold as the rest of the house, the tiled floor unforgiving against her bare feet. Delicately, Thalia began to undress, her movements slow and calculated to avoid straining her sore muscles or aggravating the cuts that had already started to scab over. Each article of clothing fell away carefully, leaving her body aching and vulnerable to the cold air.
She turned on the shower, wincing as the ancient pipes groaned in protest before releasing a stream of icy water. Thalia sighed at her own naïveté for expecting hot water in a house as neglected as this one. Muttering a warming charm under her breath, she stepped back as a faint shimmer enveloped her skin, taking the edge off the cold.
From a young age, she had discovered that the Ministry never penalized her for magic outside of school. Whether it was because they mistook her spells for her grandfather’s or simply feared following up on him, she never knew. His history as the right-hand man to a former Minister for Magic had its advantages, it seemed.
Even so, Thalia never abused the loophole, reserving magic for nights like these—when necessity outweighed caution.
The warm water cascaded over her battered body, gradually soothing her aches and loosening the tension in her muscles. Thalia let out a shaky breath as the heat worked its way into her skin, offering a fleeting reprieve from the pain. She began to gently massage soap into her skin, careful not to aggravate her injuries, before turning her attention to her hair.
Her natural caramel curls had turned into a tangled mess, the back of her head matted with dried blood. She winced as she worked shampoo into her scalp, rinsing and repeating until the water ran clear. Then she applied conditioner, meticulously threading her fingers through each strand to detangle the knots. It was a painstaking process, but one she tackled with patience, her movements deliberate and steady until her hair was finally free of its snarls.
Satisfied, Thalia shut off the water and cast a warming quick-dry spell, her body instantly enveloped in a soft heat that dried her skin and hair. Wrapping her towel securely around herself, she tiptoed back to her room, her footsteps careful and silent against the creaking floorboards.
Once inside, she glanced out the window, noticing the sky beginning to shift from the inky blackness of night to the soft hues of dawn. A pale pink stretched across the horizon, streaked with hints of orange and lavender.
She didn’t feel tired anymore, the shower having refreshed her somewhat, and the thought of another restless attempt at sleep felt futile. Knowing it would take her longer than usual to make the walk to school, she decided to get ready early. Brushing aside her discomfort, she began to prepare for the long day ahead.
Thalia dressed slowly, the crisp stiffness of her school shirt felt abrasive against her tender skin, chafing uncomfortably with every movement. Her black and gold tie seemed to tighten cruelly against her damaged larynx, each swallow or breath reminding her of the trauma she'd endured. Pulling on her tights was no easier—every brush of the fabric against her legs made her wince, the material sticking slightly to the cuts and bruises scattered along her skin.
Still, she took some solace in the layers of her winter uniform. The heavy cardigan and robe concealed the worst of her injuries, wrapping her battered body in a small semblance of protection.
Her face, however, was another matter entirely. The swollen, purplish hue of her black eye had deepened overnight, now tinged with sickly yellow at the edges. Her lip sported an ugly, jagged scab, its sharp outline contrasting with the still-prominent swelling. No amount of adjusting her uniform could hide those marks.
Without access to makeup and unwilling to attempt a complicated glamour charm—one she doubted she could manage in her current state—Thalia let out a resigned sigh. She decided to leave her hair down, letting her curls cascade around her face. The soft strands provided a makeshift curtain, partially obscuring her bruises and hopefully warding off any unwanted questions.
Taking one last glance in the mirror, she steeled herself for the day ahead, clutching her bag tightly and stepping out into the quiet house.Thalia tiptoed cautiously down the dimly lit hallway, her ears straining for the faintest sound. She paused outside her grandfather’s study, holding her breath. The room was dark, its usual flicker of firelight absent, and no telltale creak of the old chair disturbed the stillness. Spotting a folded piece of parchment left on the sideboard, she reached for it with trembling fingers.
Unfolding it, her eyes scanned the neat, precise handwriting, a sense of overwhelming relief washing over her as she read:
In London for the rest of the week. Behave. Uphold. You know the consequences.
Thalia let out a shaky exhale, her grip on the paper tightening. This was her reprieve—a chance to escape, however briefly, from the suffocating confines of the house.
Her heart raced as she spun on her heel and hurried back upstairs. Entering her room, she quickly pulled out a bag and began shoving clothes into it. Five days’ worth should be enough, she thought, making sure to include her warmer winter items. The idea of staying in the castle, with its warm water, hearty meals, and the comforting hum of voices in the Great Hall, was almost enough to make her smile.
She wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. If she returned early on Sunday morning, she could make it look as though she’d never left, slipping back into the role her grandfather expected without raising suspicion.
With her bag packed, Thalia threw one last glance around her room, ensuring she hadn’t forgotten anything, and then slung the bag over her shoulder. Determined and invigorated by the prospect of freedom, she headed out, towards the castle and her salvation.
Arriving early to the castle, Thalia retrieved the small golden key from Professor Sprout with a grateful smile. Descending into her cozy underground room, she let out a sigh as she dropped her heavy bag onto the bed. The familiar space gave her a sense of security she so regularly longed for. Despite the ache in her limbs and the cut on her lip pulling painfully with her wide grin, she couldn’t help but feel relief at being back.
Rushing into the bathroom and gripping her wand tightly she pointed it directly at her face, muttering the incantation for a glamour charm under her breath. The tip of her wand glowed softly as the bruises on her face faded, the purpling around her eye dissolving into smooth, unblemished skin. She repeated the process, layering the charm until her injuries were completely hidden. The scab on her lip smoothed over, her swollen features took on a more natural shape, and her reflection gazed back with a convincing semblance of health.
Now that she was back at school, the strict rules against underage magic didn’t apply. Here, she could use her wand freely, without fear of consequence. It was a small but necessary relief.
A sudden growl from her stomach broke the silence in the tiny room, and Thalia blinked in surprise as she realized just how long it had been since her last meal—nearly forty hours, she calculated with a jolt. The thought of food sent a rush of energy through her, momentarily overriding her exhaustion and pain.
Quickly ascending the stairs, she pushed open the doors to the Great Hall. The faint light of the early morning sky spilled across the enchanted ceiling, blending with the soft glow of hovering candles. The room was mostly empty this early in the morning, the quiet punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware and hushed conversations for the sporadic groups of early risers.
Sliding into a seat at the Hufflepuff table, Thalia wasted no time piling her plate high with fluffy pancakes and crispy bacon, drenching everything in syrup. She didn’t bother with pleasantries or hesitation, digging in with unrestrained hunger. The sweetness of the syrup and the salty crunch of the bacon were a perfect contrast, warming her from the inside out. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to slow down and relax. The food, the familiar comfort of the castle, and the quiet hum of the nearly empty hall all worked to ease the tightness in her chest. For a moment, the worries and bruises of the past days faded, and she let herself savor the peace.
As Thalia made her way to Charms, her mind wandered, still wrapped in the fragile peace she had managed to carve out during breakfast. That peace shattered abruptly when a hand reached out from behind a tapestry, gripping her arm tightly and yanking her behind it. She barely had time to gasp before another hand clamped over her mouth, muffling any attempt at a scream.
Her back hit a solid chest, and the weight of the arms restraining her sent her spiraling into panic. Instantly, her breath came in shallow, frantic gasps, her mind filling with the blaring alarms of fear. Her entire body trembled, so violently that even her captor shook with the force of it. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she thrashed weakly, every movement exacerbating her already aching injuries.
The oppressive darkness suddenly gave way to a soft glow as someone cast a Lumos spell. The warm light illuminated a pale face framed by familiar red hair, its expression twisted with worry. George. His mouth moved, but the thunderous pounding of Thalia’s heartbeat in her ears drowned out whatever he was saying.
The person holding her—Fred, she now realized—let her go, and her legs buckled beneath her. She crumpled to the floor, her body a trembling mess. George was there in an instant, lowering himself to her level and cupping her face gently in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears streaming down her cheeks as his warm brown eyes locked onto hers.
"You’ve got to breathe, Lia," he murmured, his voice soft yet steady, a tether in her storm of panic. "Try to copy my breaths. Come on, just follow me."
Thalia shook her head frantically, unable to stop the tremors wracking her body or the gasping sobs that refused to subside.
George’s expression softened, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer. "You can," he whispered, his tone unyielding yet compassionate. "You’re strong."
Taking her hand gently, he pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady beneath her trembling fingers. "Feel that? Just match it. Breathe with me," he said, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.
Thalia focused on the rise and fall of his chest, trying to mimic the rhythm. Her breaths came in shuddering gasps at first, catching on her sobs, but gradually they began to slow. The pounding in her ears dulled, the weight on her chest lessened, and she managed a deep, albeit shaky, inhale.
"There you go," George said softly, his voice filled with relief. "Just like that. Keep going."
With each passing moment, Thalia’s breathing steadied, and the trembling began to subside. George didn’t let go of her hand or her gaze, his calm presence anchoring her until the panic finally released its grip.
Once it was clear Thalia had regained control of her breathing, George’s sharp gaze flicked up to his twin. His expression, calm only moments ago, now bristled with exasperation.
"Are you going to spend your entire life being an absolute idiot?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in a manner that was both incredulous and genuinely curious.
Fred, caught off guard, threw his hands up defensively. "I didn’t realise she’d completely freak out!" he protested, his tone teetering between guilt and frustration.
George scoffed, gesturing towards Thalia. "That wasn’t just a ‘freak out,’ Fredrick! You just gave her a full-blown panic attack!" His voice rose slightly before he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Remember the plan? Find her,apologise,check she’s okay,ask if she wants to sit with us at dinner. What part of that plan involved kidnapping her?"
Fred’s face flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably under George’s scolding. "I just got overexcited, okay?" he muttered, his usual bravado replaced by an uncharacteristically sheepish tone. "We spent forever looking for her yesterday, and when I saw her today, I just... I wanted to put the plan in motion. Instantly."
George closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as if Fred’s explanation had physically manifested into a splitting headache. "Absolute moron," he muttered under his breath.
The absurdity of the entire exchange caught Thalia off guard. Despite everything—the lingering ache in her body, the raw vulnerability she had just displayed—a laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. It escaped her lips, light and unexpected, surprising even herself.
Both twins froze, their argument abruptly halted. George’s head whipped back to her, his eyes locking onto hers. Relief softened his features, but something else danced in his gaze—something warm, tentative, and unspoken.
"Well, at least she doesn’t hate us," Fred muttered, his lips twitching into a half-smile.
"Not sure I'd give that assurance," Thalia muttered under her breath, her voice laced with dry humor.
George snorted, the sound breaking the tension as he scrambled to his feet. Dusting off his trousers, he extended a hand toward Thalia. For a moment, she hesitated, then shyly slipped her smaller hand into his. George’s grip was warm but gentle as he helped her to her feet.
The moment she was upright, Thalia spun on her heel, her narrowed eyes locking onto Fred. "What is wrong with you?" she whisper-yelled, her voice barely restrained.
George snorted. "I think someone dropped him as a child," he offered with a shrug, his voice laced with mock sympathy.
Thalia elbowed him sharply in the ribs without even glancing at him. "Not helping," she muttered, though the faintest smirk betrayed her attempt at sternness.
"I was just trying to get your attention!" Fred protested, holding his hands up as if to shield himself from Thalia’s wrath.
"By grabbing me? From behind a tapestry ?" she retorted, her hands flying up in exasperation. "You couldn’t just, I don’t know, say my name? Wave? Literally anything less terrifying?"
Fred’s sheepish grin didn’t falter. "I panicked! I thought you’d just walk past, and we’ve been trying to talk to you since yesterday—"
"So your grand plan was to abduct me ?" Thalia interrupted, her tone incredulous.
Fred shrugged, looking slightly defensive. "It worked, didn’t it?"
Thalia’s jaw dropped as George groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "For Merlin’s sake, Fred, just apologize before she hexes you into next week."
"Okay, maybe not my finest moment," Fred admitted with a reluctant grin. “I’m sorry. Normally my approaches are a lot smoother.”
Thalia couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips. "Not sure that’s how I’d describe any of our interactions so far, Weasley," she quipped, shaking her head in mock exasperation.
Fred’s eyebrows shot up as he extended his arm toward her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let me make it up to you," he offered. "I’ll escort you to your next class, ensuring your safe and timely arrival."
Thalia raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "I mean, that’s the least you could do, considering you’ve made me late for Charms and gotten me detention with Umbridge," she replied, her tone teasing as she reluctantly took his arm.
"Touché," Fred admitted with a dramatic sigh, leading her down the corridor.
"How about this then," George interjected, his voice warm as he fell into step on her other side. He casually scooped up her bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "Would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner this evening? Consider it part of our apology tour."
Thalia paused mid-step, whipping her head around to look at George. The expression on his face was surprisingly sincere, with a flicker of hope that made her chest tighten. "But I don’t know anyone in Gryffindor," she said hesitantly, panic creeping into her voice. "I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to any of your friends in my life."
Fred chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his. "Oh, I don’t know about that," he said teasingly. "As you so eloquently pointed out yesterday when you screamed at us in the corridor, we usually sit with our siblings. There’s Ron, his friends Hermione and Harry, Ginny... And as you so kindly noted, the rest of them are 'brain-dead' for hanging out with us. I’m sure you’ll easily be able to strike up a conversation with them!"
Thalia’s jaw dropped, mortified by his cheeky reminder of her previous outburst. "I didn’t exactly mean it like that," she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the laughter bubbling from Fred.
George smirked, leaning slightly into her line of vision. "No need to panic. We don’t bite... much," he added, his teasing tone softening as he gave her a reassuring smile.
The warmth of a blush crept up Thalia’s neck and spread across her cheeks, the heat unmistakable. She glanced between the two brothers, feeling simultaneously flustered and amused.
“So- will you join us?” asked Fred looking at her with wide pleading eyes and a pout.
"Fine," she mumbled at last, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Dinner it is. But only because you owe me for Charms and detention."
"Deal," Fred said, grinning triumphantly.
"Best decision you’ve made all day," George added with a wink, casually shifting her bag higher on his shoulder as they continued walking.
The trio reached the Charms classroom just as Professor Flitwick was about to close the door. Thalia skidded to a stop, panting slightly, and turned to grab her bag from George. Slinging it over her shoulder, she rushed out a quick goodbye, calling over her shoulder as she slipped inside, " I ’ll see you at dinner!"
Fred grinned widely at her retreating figure, cupping his hands around his mouth as he called back cheekily, "If not before! " He chuckled when he noticed the blush blooming across her cheeks as she disappeared into the classroom.
George laughed, shaking his head at his brother. "You’re impossible," he said, though the amusement in his tone made it clear he wasn’t entirely disapproving.
Fred leaned closer to him as they started walking down the corridor. "I think this is going to be the start of a long friendship, Georgie," he murmured, smirking to himself.
George stopped mid-step, staring after the doorway Thalia had vanished through. A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. " I hope so, " he replied softly, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that wasn’t lost on his twin.
Fred raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, letting the moment linger. They resumed their walk down the Charms corridor, taking their time as they headed toward their next destination—or rather, lack thereof.
"Do you think we really need to go to Herbology? " Fred asked casually, his voice light with mischief.
George grinned, turning on his heel to head in the opposite direction. "Seems a bit pointless now that we’ve already missed the first five minutes, don’t you think?"
Fred clapped his brother on the shoulder, laughing. "My sentiments exactly."
As they wandered aimlessly back toward the Gryffindor common room, George glanced over, a small frown forming on his face. " Fred, are you bleeding? "
Fred looked down at his school shirt, where a large crimson stain was blooming across his chest. " Huh? " he said, tilting his head in confusion before shrugging. "I don’t think so... oh, wait! I was testing some Nosebleed Nougat earlier, before we roll it out for real. Must’ve gotten a bit messy."
George rolled his eyes, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. " You’re ridiculous, " he muttered.