𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗸, harry potter

˗ˋ 59

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE
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-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH SHE TIPS
OVER THE EDGE

. . .

"I think most people actually think you are insane." Harry murmured his reply to Aviana's question as they entered the boys' bathroom again. Their shared detention had run later than usual that evening, and he couldn't help but think that it was so because of their shared infractions over the day.

He had actually feared for a moment at the end, when Umbridge only stopped him from writing and called him over to his desk to examine his hand, that she was going to keep Aviana there all night. He had waited outside, around the corner, and not more than five minutes later she too had been released.

"I don't actually care what other people think, believe it or not, Potter." Aviana's instant reply came as she, once more, began to root around her bag for that magical little pot of balm that seemed to be able to ease the ache on their hand after each detention. "And certainly, if they think I'm insane, then it works in my favour. If they stop talking about my dad murdering some muggles and start worrying about me murdering them, then I'll maybe be able to have some peace of mind."

"Aviana..."

"Yes?" She asked, briskly, hardly even bothering to wipe the blood away before she was slathering salve over her hand. "Oh, I'm not actually going to murder them, I'm sure you're aware that I'm not related to the murderer, only the wrongly-convicted one." She told him. "See, it all works out just fine. People will stop staring at me like I'm some dirt on their shoe and start worrying if there some dirt on mines. I'm sure you understand that."

Harry, stunned to silence for a moment, nodded slowly. He could hardly believe how quickly she was talking, and how her focus seemed to bounce everywhere all the time. "Hermione doesn't think you're coping well. She wants to write to Sirius."

"Quite frankly, I don't care what Hermione thinks. I am coping perfectly fine." Aviana continued to rub balm onto her hand. "And, should I suggest, that I don't actually think Hermione has any understanding of who I actually am nor actually cares about how I am coping nor what my best interests are. I think she cares about you and how I am consistently egging you on, but she is smart, so I think she would be well aware that if a man, who I have only known to be my father for a couple of months, told me what to do, then I would very well not do it and in fact do the opposite."

"That was a lot of words." Harry blinked. He watched her, how she seemed to be fidgeting where she sat on the sink counter, pulling bandages out of her bag and wrapping them, quite tight, around her hand. "Are you sure you're okay - this isn't about her wanting to talk to Snape, is it?"

"You think Snape is going to scare me?" Aviana was all but laughing, and, well, Harry already sort of knew that - she obviously found the matter humorous as soon as it was brought up, when Umbridge ushered them in for their detention and informed her she had scheduled to meeting. "That man was almost made my godfather - not Sirius's choice of course, but before William chose Lucius he was in the running. He doesn't scare me."

"Yeah, but-"

"But what, Harry?" Aviana asked. She looked a little more scattered than usual and it disarmed him. "What is she actually going to do, except try and give me more detentions? She can go to Snape all she wants, but what will he actually do? Recommend to send a letter to my parents? Do you think she'll slip a note to the Dementors to push through the bars of William's cell or actually manage to find my mother, who is in hiding in France? There is nothing left for that woman to do."

"She could have you expelled. She already tried that with me."

"Yes, but that was for the breach of an age-old law that was put in place for the safety of wizard-kind." Aviana replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If she wanted me expelled, she would have to go to Dumbledore, and then she would have to explain that she, first of all, was rattled by a teenage girl talking back, that she was consistently abusing her power and using medieval, illegal methods of punishment and obviously she's too bothered about wanting to shag Fudge to tell him that she's fucked up, so what can she do!"

Silence fell, all of a sudden. The volume of Aviana's ramblings had slowly grown louder and louder until, when she stopped, and the lack of her words made the room feel empty. And Harry could only stare at her, because all of a sudden she wasn't this constantly-put together image of a girl rebelling against what she deemed to be unfair treatment, but rather someone entirely fed up of how, in her wish to try and anger a teacher who had not a singular good intention, she was slowly losing grip of her control over anything at all.

Aviana had everything thought out. Hermione might be academically smarter than anyone else Harry knew, but Aviana was so aware of everything that was going to happen or could happen that somewhere along the way of her having it all figured out, she was left with nothing at all.

Frustration was written plainly across her features, well, of what Harry could see, because her head was tilted towards her lap as her uninjured, unbandaged hand was fiddling with the ring on her pinkie finger of the hand that was.

"Aviana." Harry repeated, softly this time, shock woven intricately through his tones. She looked up at him, and somehow that disbelief didn't grow when she looked up at him and tears, pretty, delicate tears had beaded in the corner of her eyes.

"My hand hurts." Aviana sniffed, rather pathetically.

"I know." Harry swallowed, nodding. "I know." He stepped forward, ignoring all the pain in his own had as he reached for hers. "You've wrapped this way too tight." He said, gently, beginning to unravel the bandage.

"I know." She nodded, using her free hand to wipe away the tears. "I know." She repeated, a half-hearted, wholly self-deprecating smile appeared on her face.

And Harry didn't quite know how to gauge just how much he wanted to hug her.

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