Catch The Snitch

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 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.”