CHAPTER EIGHT

Confronting her feelings was never going to be an easy task for Dahlia. It was a challenge she had anticipated but severely underestimated. Over the years, she had built a fortress of lies and facades to protect herself, and dismantling those defences felt like trying to unlearn a lifetime of habits. The saying "old habits die hard" proved painfully accurate in her case.

Her attempts to open herself to genuine emotion—specifically, to a certain red-haired male—felt like a battle waged entirely within her. Each time she allowed a flicker of vulnerability, every time her thoughts drifted to Hugo Granger-Weasley, she felt herself thrown back to square one.

The sensations were foreign and overwhelming. The fluttering in her chest, the heat rising to her cheeks, the way her stomach twisted whenever he smiled—it was all too much. For the first time in her life, Dahlia was experiencing what it meant to truly fancy someone, and the emotions left her completely undone. She found herself daydreaming, smiling at memories of mundane moments, and overthinking every interaction.

It was during the summer of that year that things reached a fever pitch. Lily, ever the orchestrator of chaos, had convinced Dahlia to stay with the Potters for the entirety of the summer holiday. It wasn't unusual; the two girls had made a habit of spending their breaks together. But this time, it felt different.

With her burgeoning feelings for Hugo lingering in the background, every interaction carried an extra weight. Lily, of course, noticed and couldn't resist the opportunity to meddle. She engineered countless "coincidental" moments that left Dahlia and Hugo spending time together—helping with chores, playing games, or simply chatting in the backyard.

Hugo, oblivious as ever, treated Dahlia no differently than he always had, his easy smiles and genuine warmth only adding fuel to the fire in her chest. Dahlia, on the other hand, felt like she was walking a tightrope. Each moment with him was a reminder of what she wanted but was too afraid to reach for.

By the time the new school year began, Dahlia had convinced herself it was time to act. She wasn't expecting a grand confession or a fairytale ending. She simply wanted to tell Hugo how she felt, to unburden herself of the secret that had been eating away at her. Whether he reciprocated or not didn't matter—she just needed him to know.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The opportunity arose one crisp autumn afternoon in the castle's corridors. Dahlia spotted Hugo near the library, chatting with a flustered Hufflepuff girl she vaguely recognized. She approached cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest, only to stop short as she overheard the conversation unfolding.

"I've fancied you for a while now, Hugo," the Hufflepuff stammered, her cheeks a rosy pink as she stood before him, twiddling her thumbs nervously. "I was wondering if you'd consider being my boyfriend?"

Dahlia froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't been noticed yet, standing just out of their line of sight, but her heart sank as the words registered. She wanted to leave, to give them privacy, but her legs wouldn't cooperate.

Hugo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. "You're Harlow, right? You play as a Beater for Hufflepuff's Quidditch team?"

"Yes," the girl replied quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's me. I... I'm the one who, uh, almost sent you to the hospital wing during last year's match..."

Hugo laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. "How could I forget that? Your team told me you left that basket of treats after the game. That was really thoughtful."

Dahlia felt her chest tighten. His laugh, his easygoing demeanour—it was everything she loved about him, and yet, at this moment, it felt like a knife twisting in her heart.

"Well," Hugo continued, his cheeks reddening, "if you're okay with someone like me, I'd be honoured to be your boyfriend."

The sound of glass shattering filled Dahlia's mind. Her vision blurred slightly as the weight of his words crushed the fragile hope she'd been clinging to. She had been prepared for rejection, but not like this—not in such a raw, unanticipated way.

"This is why I never wanted to let this emotion in," she whispered to herself, the bitterness in her voice betraying her attempt to stay composed.

Steeling herself, Dahlia took a few silent steps backwards, her movements careful and deliberate. She wouldn't interrupt them. She wouldn't let her feelings ruin his moment. But as she turned and walked away, the hollow ache in her chest was unbearable.

By the time Dahlia reached the solitude of her dormitory, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't untangle. She closed the door behind her with a quiet click and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The silence of the room was deafening, amplifying the storm within her.

She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the cool wood of the door, and stared blankly at the ceiling. Her chest felt heavy, as though the weight of the world had settled there, and her throat burned with the effort of holding back tears. For years, she had built walls around herself, convinced that love was a frivolous, unattainable concept meant for others. And now, faced with the crushing reality of her unrequited feelings, she realized just how deeply she had underestimated its power.

Love, she thought bitterly, was far messier, far more chaotic, and far more painful than she had ever imagined.

Her mind replayed the scene in excruciating detail: the way Hugo had smiled at Harlow, the soft laugh that had escaped him, the warmth in his voice as he accepted the other girl's confession. Each memory felt like a fresh wound, reopening the ache in her chest. She couldn't blame him, of course. Hugo had done nothing wrong. He had every right to find happiness, even if it wasn't with her.

But that didn't make the pain any less real.

Dahlia pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as though trying to hold herself together. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the weight of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the universe for its cruel sense of timing. But instead, she sat there in silence, her tears pooling in her eyes but refusing to fall.

It wasn't just the rejection that hurt—it was the shattering of an illusion she hadn't even realized she'd been clinging to. For so long, she had told herself she was incapable of love, that her life was better without it. Allowing herself to care for Hugo had been her first act of vulnerability, her first step toward something real. And now, it felt as though the universe was punishing her for daring to hope.

As the minutes stretched into an eternity, Dahlia's thoughts turned inward. Was this what she deserved? Was this the consequence of a life spent hiding behind lies and facades? She had built her world on the foundation of pretending, and now, when she had finally tried to step out of the shadows, she had been met with nothing but heartbreak.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, though it was more of a choked sob. "Serves me right," she muttered to the empty room. "I should've known better."

But even as she tried to convince herself that this pain was her penance, a small, stubborn part of her refused to give in completely. This wasn't the end, it whispered. This was a lesson—a painful, brutal lesson, but a lesson nonetheless.

Love was messy. Love was chaotic. Love was painful. But maybe, just maybe, it was also worth fighting for.

Dahlia wasn't ready to embrace that idea yet. She wasn't ready to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and try again. But as she sat there, her head resting on her knees and her eyes fixed on the faint light streaming through the window, she made herself a quiet promise: one day, she would find the strength to try. One day, she would learn to believe in love again.

For now, though, she would allow herself to grieve. For now, she would let herself feel the pain. Because even in its messiness, even in its chaos, love was proof that she was capable of something more. And maybe that was enough. For now.