He huffed a growl of frustration and then grabbed her hand, not giving her a chance to pull away before he was dragging her down the corridor and into the girls' loo. That he wasn't supposed to be in there wasn't anything to him at the moment. Instead, he marched her right up to the mirror and stood behind her.

"Look in the mirror. T.J.," he said, his voice firm but soft, "just look up. You're not seeing yourself as you are. The burns, yes, they're still there, but they aren't that angry, shiny, red anymore! Look, T.J. Look past what you think is there. It's not as horrible as you think. No one in school snickers about it; I swear that to you. 

"I've heard girls talk about your eyes. They don't talk about them being ugly. Didn't you ever notice when there was the spat of charms where girls were trying to get two different color eyes because they were sure that it would get boys to notice them. Because boys notice. The eyes. I mean, not many because you won't look up enough. And who is brave enough to tell you? Clearly, I'm idiotic enough," he added with a short laugh.

"You've become so convinced that you're worthless and ugly and unlovable, you can't even see it, T.J. You can't see that you're beautiful. So, just look. Don't look with the plan to see the scars, but look at what I see," he nearly begged, his hands on her shoulders as he looked at the top of her head in the mirror.