For years, people have speculated over why the Passage of the Fouls is named how it is. Nobody quite knows why it holds its name, but there's nothing wrong with it on the surface. Off the fifth floor corridor, there's the Ghoul Studies and Wizard Art classrooms, which are now abandoned. If you walk down it, you will eventually run into the Prefects' bathroom.
Isabella sidestepped out of the Ghoul Studies classroom, one arm tightly wrapped around a stack of textbooks while the other pulled red curls that had been trapped beneath her robes. With a sour expression, she nearly ran two first years over. "Move, little people." Bella's fingers subconsciously tugged at the scarf fastened around her throat, clearly displaying discomfort.
He was walking a bit behind her and wasn't, initially, going to say anything but watching her snark at the younger people, he found himself matching her step. "Bit rich to call them little, isn't it?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow down at her.
"They're smaller than me," she said in response before eventually tossing him a challenging glance. Bella slowed to a halt and moved off to the side of the hallway in order to search through her bag with a free hand. "I have something for you," she said and then presented a small paper bag to the boy.
"It's dittany. For your scars." The redhead awkwardly slipped her other arm around her textbooks to secure them. "To say sorry for joking about you being a little bitch for almost dying." Her red lips quirked up slightly for the first time in days, the little peace-offering a huge step toward being less of a brat.
He stared into the bag to look at all the plants, actually slightly touched that she'd have thought more plants rather than a potion or something else. "Really? I didn't really take offence to that. I kind of agreed with you. But thanks. Sure you don't want it? For your own, that is."
"It helped a little for mine," she said and touched the scarf - a new habit of hers - before tilting her head. "But it only goes so far for the type of scar I have." She seemed to look anxious as she finally set the books down on a bench. "I've been meaning to seek out help to remove it but..." she trailed off, wondering what the hell she was doing by opening her mouth about how she felt.
Isabella's brows lifted in surprise, quickly using her hand to run through curls in attempt to play it off. "You'd do that?" she asked in a softer tone. "I mean - wouldn't they ask questions?" She started to get more nervous at the prospect of coming up with a story. "I'll have to tell them I did it to myself," she said with a little difficulty.
"They would investigate," she said quietly and leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking rather conflicted. "Plus it's a scar now - so we can play it off like it happened years ago. That way the only flags risen are in regard to my mental health."
Isabella shot him a look that suggested she didn't believe him and lifted a finger to hook into the fabric, gently drawing the scarf away from her throat. She glanced down at the fabric and then back at him, the once angry scar now calmed down since he last saw it. Probably thanks to the dittany. "Uh," she said awkwardly - not used to being so kind, "you just consume some of it to heal the wound beneath the scar and make a poultice using a pedstle."
He grunted, the words familiar to him, and he nodded, "I'll do it eventually," he said, but his eyes were on the scar, "you know, it doesn't look so bad. It was a lot worse before. I doubt people would notice it if you don't point it out."
Isabella's fingers gently explored the scar, like they had now done so many times before. "Doesn't feel as great as it may look," she said, revealing what bothered her the most. "Didn't you know all of the most eligible bachlorettes have their throat slashed and still look hot?" she said sarcastically and rolled her eyes, primarily at the idea rather than him.
"Jesus, Jace. Do you even know me at all?" Likely not, as she rarely opened up. Smoothing back red hairs that dared to fall in her face, she huffed with annoyance. "I never tried to instill the idea that I was better than anyone - that was my sister's job." She eyed him cautiously, now worried that he was running back to tell Emmeline dirt on her. She knew full and well Em would love to slander her name and paint her as a whore, even if she was her sister. They had a weird relationship. "So when are you going to ask her out?"
At the question, his cheeks turned the light shade of red, and he looked away sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Now, why would I do that?" He muttered, looking back at her after a moment, "she doesn't like me and neither do I. We're just friends."
Isabella's lip curled into a smirk, her head lightly resting against the wall as she watched him get flustered about her sister. "You suck at lying," she stated casually and willed her face to become impassive. "So when are you going to ask her out?" she repeated once more, brow lifting quizzically.
The redhead rolled her eyes and leaned her back fully into the wall. "What makes you think she would say no? You seem to both flock whenever together. She obviously likes you and you clearly like her." The girl deflected his questions and promptly crossed her arms. "Man up."
Isabella's infamous smirk appeared once he finally caved and begun to probe for answers. "In a good way. She's usually pretty flippant with males. But you seemed to have caught her eye - hell, you probably see her now more than I do."
"Yes," she stated without hesitation, dark eyes finding his, "I am. I didn't have much going for me before the scar, but now... Now it's worse." The girl glanced away with a slight shrug. "I don't think I can be loved."
"I think the person who's meant to love you will overlook the scar," he pointed out, "and, by the way, you're in a gang. Everyone has scars. I doubt any of them will be too fussed. And, as cheesy as it sounds, everyone can be loved."
"Look, I'm not afraid of anything," he said making a face at her, before beginning to walk again, so not trying to escape this, "I just don't think I'm ready...and I don't even like her that way. We are friends."
Isabella simply followed, using her wand fo spell the stack of books to float behind them. "Then friends with benefits. Merlin knows that girl needs to get laid," she said with an impish smirk. "And you as well by the taste of your skills - or lack thereof."