𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐥𝐢𝐢. gilded lily.

꧁—— ❦ ——꧂

There's a ringing in his ears. Whether it's from the deafening silence he finds himself in, or the palpable fear coursing through his blood from the ghostly seeming hand, he's not sure. There's a pool of blood in his mouth and the clang of pellets against his teeth and it's all too much. He couldn't open his mouth even if he wanted too. The hand won't let him, and the longing can't be released from its captivity. Harry is at his ends meet, and Aveline stares at him like a vulture waiting to pick from bone.

"Well?" Aveline impatiently snaps, digging her nails into flesh. "Are you going to tell me what you just called me, or are you a coward, Harry."

Harry begins to open his mouth but it feels like it's been glued together. The pressure on his jaw grows. Painful, but well deserved. It was obvious that Aveline would have been at the bottom of the lake. She is a witch who was in the school, she would, of course, have been the ideal person to be at the bottom. He wishes he could blame his error on his lack of sleep but they both know it would be a lie. He's held on to too much hope these days, too much wishing, and wanting, and mouthfuls of blood to keep that longing in the base of his throat and now he's paying for it. He thinks he's been placed in front of a panel of judges with how many eyes are on him. Aveline, obviously, surrounded by her group of friends who all stare at him in a sorts of ire, and off to the side, he can see Ron and Hermione slowly making their way towards him. Ron looks like he has no idea where he is, the confusion stamped right into his face, but Hermione, she carries a knowing look. It's pitiful, but he can tell she knew it would happen. He can't figure out what angers him more. Her knowing, or his jewel being brought to light so unwillingly.

At his silence Aveline changes her tone, "I'd like an answer to my question, Harry." It's coaxing, and it seems to do the trick.

"Aveline..." Harry begins with a swallow, and pauses when he feels a warm liquid trailing down from the corner of his mouth.

He lifts his hand and wipes it with his thumb, and his eyes widen when there's a splotch of bright red blood against his skin. He glances up at her in alarm, but she doesn't seem to have seen it. None of them seem to have seen it, and that worries him further.

"Well, I'd say it's almost comforting that you know what my name is." Aveline sharply says, burning a hole through him with the intensity of her stare. "However, I don't quite get what or who Vin is. Care to explain?"

Harry grimaces, thickly swallows and says, "It's — I thought — well —"

"Get on with it, Harry." Aveline bitterly interrupts. She looks like she's on the verge of tears, but he can't blame her. He is too.

"Aveline, I'm so sorry." Harry tells her. There's an ounce of guilt in his tone, but, for some reason, there is also an ounce of relief. "I thought you were... well... I thought you were Lavinia."