𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐥𝐢𝐢. gilded lily.

There's a stretch of silence after the confession, and Aveline seems to go through all of the emotions available to her. First there's confusion, then, recognition, followed by repulsion, and, finally, hatred. She just stares at him for a moment, and her eyes seem to darken ( which really does not help because now they do look like Lavinia's eyes, just without the stars of mischief ) and, if possible, she narrows them further.

"Lavinia." She says. Doesn't ask, or waver as she says it, just states it, because she knows. Harry knows that she knows. "Well, I look like her, don't I?"

"Yes." Harry admits. He wants to advert his gaze somewhere else but the intensity of her gaze seems to trap him in concrete.

Aveline, suddenly, gives a harsh, derisive laugh, "Well, obviously that wasn't an actual question, you prick. I know I look like her. She was my childhood best friend, after all, I don't need your pathetic confirmation."

"Ouch, tough break." Ron whispers to Hermione, but not quietly enough. Harry turns and stares at him in disbelief and Ron sputters, quickly remembering where he is and ( with a harsh slap on the chest from Hermione ) says, "Ah — stubbed my toe, tough break stubbing my toe is... Well, anyway, carry on."

Aveline stares at him for another moment. It unsettles him, how easily she looks like Lavinia and how easily she doesn't. His heart hammers in his chest, and by now, they've gained the attention of a good amount of the student body. He's embarrassed and humiliated, but he knows it's not nearly as bad for him as it is for Aveline. It feels like a punch in the gut.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Aveline asks. Her voice is suddenly much more calm, like two friends having a conversation instead of what it really is.

Harry swallows again, "Mid-August, before I left for Ron's."

Aveline hums, "You knew who I was — or, my sister, anyways, but, still, you already had a name to the face."

"I thought your sister was you because of your last name, I — I didn't know who you were until you introduced yourself." Harry admits, scratching at his wrist to soothe himself.

"You had said yes to me so quickly." Aveline says, momentarily furrows her brows and then begins blinking rapidly like she's finally put the pieces together, "You only said yes because I look like her."

Here, Harry doesn't answer. There's a heaviness hung between them. The truth and a poorly told lie. It's like the heaviness is taunting him to chose one, but both are the wrong answer. She'll see through his lie in an instant, hear it in his tone and in the way he nervously fidgets. She's figured out the ploy anyway, so what good is a lie? But, he knows the truth isn't an answer either. It'll hurt. Him and her both. To admit it out loud feels different than when it's trapped in his brain behind metal bars with no key to unlock it. And Aveline — poor Aveline, it's a truth she'd rather not hear. A speculation, perhaps, a confirmation, not so much. What becomes that of a man when faced with two decisions, both of which are wrong and fail to benefit him in the end? What becomes that, of a man, who fails to chose? Harry feels he's about to find out.

"Were you going to tell me?" Aveline finally asks in his silence, staring up at him with her first hint of hurt. "Were you going to tell her?"

"No." Harry's voices wavers. He wanted too, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. "I swear, Aveline, I wanted too, I never meant to hurt you. I'm —"

"If you say sorry again, Harry, I swear." Aveline fiercely says, stalks forward only slightly. "I'm so sick of little boys and their pathetic excuses. I look like a girl you miss? Boohoo, Potter. There are easy solutions to these problems, and it's staying away from them."