Reading Between the Lines [Ili]

[Nathaniel Wright]

Nate stood across from his cousin at the base of the moving stairwell, her back to the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Why are you even still writing that trash?" he scoffed at her, talking about her gossip pamphlet.

She put her hand on her chest in mock offense, "Trash? Nathaniel, have you never heard the saying you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" She scoffed at him.

"You shouldn't want to keep spreading lies."

"Who said they were lies?"

"It's gossip. Hearsay, if you want to get into terms we're more familiar with."

Sophie scoffed again, "You're such a killjoy," she waved her hand at him, "Why are you saying something now?"

"Because we're about to graduate, we're in the last half of the year, and you need to start taking things more seriously."

"Start? As it would have it, I'm already being offered scoops on places in Diagon Alley," she tossed her hair over her shoulder, "I'm practically a professional."

"What do you mean? What are you getting tangled in?" Nate's brows drew down, somehow more serious than before.

"You're going to get wrinkles frowning like that."

"Sophie!"

He'd started this conversation by demanding she leave him out of her gossip because she'd written about seeing him and Iliana around the campus together again. It wasn't like he was trying to hide anything; he was trying to be more open about it, but he did not want Sophie's grubby gossip talk all over it. Especially since she had made some unnecessary comments about how maybe Iliana would dislodge the stick from his ass.

Sophie put her fingers to her lips, "As I said. Professional. And pros don't give away their sources," she was clearly enjoying aggravating him.

[Iliana Tsankova]

Iliana hadn’t meant to overhear.

Really, she hadn’t but Nate’s voice carried just enough edge to it that it caught her attention before she even rounded the corner. And Sophie’s… well, Sophie never exactly lowered her voice. Ili slowed just slightly as she approached, catching enough to piece things together—the gossip column, Nate pushing back, the unmistakable thread of him trying to draw a line.

Not hide her.

Protect them.

That realization settled warm in her chest. By the time she stepped fully into view, she didn’t hesitate. Iliana moved right up beside him, slipping her arm through his without a second thought, her touch easy and familiar as she gently tugged his attention away from his cousin. “I thought you were going to wait for me?” she said lightly, tilting her head up toward him with a soft smile that didn’t quite hide the knowing look in her eyes. Only then did she glance over at Sophie, her expression polite but not oblivious. “Hi, Sophie.”

There was no awkwardness in her posture, no attempt to step away or create distance. If anything, she leaned a little more into Nate’s side, comfortable, claiming the space beside him without making a spectacle of it. “I couldn’t help overhearing a bit,” she added, her tone still calm, though there was a quiet firmness beneath it. “And for what it’s worth… I don’t think he’s being a killjoy.”

Her fingers curled slightly against Nate’s arm, a subtle grounding gesture as much for him as for herself. “There’s a difference between sharing stories and… deciding what parts of people’s lives get turned into entertainment.” A small pause, then a softer breath. “But,” she added, glancing back up at Nate briefly before returning her gaze to Sophie, “I also don’t think this is something worth fighting over in a stairwell.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against Nate’s sleeve, a silent I’ve got you. “And,” she finished with the faintest hint of teasing slipping in, “for the record, I don’t think a little less ‘stick’ would kill him.” Her lips curved just slightly, clearly aware of the comment and not entirely disagreeing; but there was warmth in it now, not criticism. Then, gentler, quieter, meant more for Nate than anyone else: “You don’t have to argue this alone.”

[Nathaniel Wright]

As soon as Iliana's hand found his arm, something in Nate's posture shifted. His shoulders dropped a fraction from the rigid line he'd been holding, and he looked down at her, the hard set of his jaw easing just slightly. "She made it clear she wasn't going to linger," he muttered, by way of explanation, though it came out less like an excuse and more like an admission that he'd needed the out.

Sophie's smirk widened, sharp and satisfied at the visible shift in him. "Well, hi, Iliana," she said, fingers waggling in a little wave, not a trace of shame anywhere on her face.

Nate adjusted his hold, pulling Iliana properly against his side with an arm around her. It was a quieter thing than it might have looked, less staking a claim and more just steadying himself. Having her close settled something in him that had been wound too tight.

"I wasn't going to have this conversation at all," Sophie said airily, gesturing at Nate as though presenting evidence. "But someone wouldn't leave it alone. And if either of you thinks you're going to tell me what to write," her eyes flicked between them with a clear warning, "what's in that column now is considerably tamer than what it could be."


Nate narrowed his eyes at her, and then Iliana's voice shifted, the warmth threading underneath the teasing comment about the stick, and he flushed. A quick involuntary thing, the tips of his ears going red first. He didn't say anything to that, just glanced down at her with a brief, unguarded look that said you're not wrong before he pulled it back. Her last words landed differently, and he was quiet for a beat. "I know," he said, lower. Then, because Sophie was still watching them both with that insufferable gleam: "She just has an extraordinary talent for making me want to pull my hair out." Sophie stuck her tongue out at him, and he pointed back at her. "And you're not getting away from the other part of this. You said you have sources in Diagon Alley. Actual sources." The lightness left his voice entirely. "That's not a gossip column thing, Sophie. That's not school anymore."

"Is it not?" She tilted her head, performing innocence. "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

"You're going to get yourself involved in something that isn't going to care how clever you are when it goes sideways," he said, and there was something under the words that had nothing to do with thinking he was wiser, just that he knew things about the people who operated in those circles that she didn't, and that knowledge sat uncomfortably in his chest every time she opened her mouth about it. He didn't get a chance to say anything further because Sophie opened her mouth and he moved faster, reaching past her to pluck the small notepad from where it floated behind her shoulder, the enchanted pen stuttering mid-sentence.

"Hey —You can't actually do anything with that, you know," Sophie said, crossing her arms. "Ask Iliana, she'll tell you. It's not against the rules."

He let her finish, unmoved. "As your cousin, I have more reason to keep this. Because I know you'll come for it, and we can have this discussion somewhere other than the stairwell." He glanced down at the notepad, then back up at her. "I'll give it back once we've talked properly about whatever you're getting involved in."

"You're such a prick," Sophie said, her foot hitting the floor. He tucked the notepad under his arm, entirely unmoved. Or at least appearing to be.

Nate turned to Iliana, "Sorry about this. I only intended it to be about the column, but I'm sure you understand why this getting out to other people is a bad idea," he said it through his teeth with a sidelong glare at his cousin as she grabbed her things and stomped off, threatening him a few different ways as she did. It was their fathers he was concerned about. His father would blame him for not being responsible enough to stop her if he knew it was happening, and he didn't even know what his uncle would do to Sophie. He'd certainly been kinder to her than his father had been to him and his siblings, but that was because she never truly got in trouble. Just stirred the pot enough for others to get into trouble instead. "And for all her cleverness, she's never bothered to figure out the art of discretion."