Disclaimer: The author is not directly affiliated with J.K. Rowling or any of the publishers of the Harry Potter series. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: This was written for Diandra's You/CanonCharacter Challenge. Hope it's good enough. :) I think I kind of hurried it towards the end, but that was because this is a short story and so should not be as detailed as the usual stuff I write. Haha. Anyway, please leave me a review and tell me what you think:)

Chapter Summary: Ilse didn't need him. She was fine on her own, and she knew how to count. But she didn't waste time counting the stars; they were too many. With him, though, there was just enough to light their world. Too bad she couldn't count without him.


Chapter One
Count the Stars

One hundred thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven. One hundred and thirty-eight.

Ilse Dessalier squinted at the unusually dark sky. If she just tried hard enough, she could see approximately a couple dozen more stars above, albeit twinkling a little less brightly. But even that was a far count from the five hundred and twenty-six she and James had counted several months ago.

She hugged her knees to her chest and attempted a weak smile. Every night, she counted the stars, and every night, she counted less. Either her eyes weren't keen enough or heaven's light just didn't want to shine on her anymore. Ilse would bet on the latter.

Perhaps if he comes tonight, the stars would shine again.

Just the hope—the very thought—accelerated the pounding of her heart. Stop it! she screamed mentally at herself. Ilse took deep calming breaths, forcing herself to relax. Enough.He did not spend the last one hundred and twelve nights with you, so why should this time be any different?

"Because he spent the hundred thirteenth night ago with me," she whispered to herself.And the hundred fourteenth, hundred fifteenth... She swallowed a particularly hard lump. She could go on and count back to two hundred and eighty-seven nights ago, to that night when a stranger had first kept her company.


Ilse hurriedly but carefully climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, her pillow and blanket secured under one arm. It was already past ten in the evening, and she must not get caught abound out of hours. She had seen the Head Girl return to their dormitory half an hour ago and expected the Head Boy to arrive soon, but she had been disappointed. She usually waited until both had finished their security rounds before sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room; with tonight's unusual circumstances, however, she had decided to throw caution to the winds and to proceed as planned.

She craned her neck around the gate to the rooftop to check if the coast was clear and then recoiled as though hit with a bucket of cold water in the face. There was someone lying still on the floor! She flattened herself against the wall first before mustering enough courage to peer again.

A feeling of intrusion engulfed her the moment she realised somebody had indeed stolen her usual spot, the only place in Hogwarts she'd taken for herself.What is that arrogant toerag doing here? she furiously thought, ready to storm over to where he was and kick him out of her turf.

But then he suddenly sat up, his familiar black hair sticking messily from the back of his head. She watched him in astonished silence as he roughly removed his glasses and buried his face in his hands.

He let out a choked sob.

Stricken, Ilse decided to turn back and leave him to his obvious grief. She could go back to her dormitory and do her nightly routine of melancholic musing there. She swivelled on the spot and tiptoed back as quietly as she could to the stairs.

Crack!

A twig on the floor snapped in two after she had stepped over it. She stopped in her tracks and cast a horrified glance backwards, praying he did not notice. But as with everything else in her life, she had never really been that fortunate.

James Potter was gazing at her with mingled shock and humiliation at being discovered in such a situation, his emotions magnified by the glasses he had put back on. He mechanically stood up and started walking towards her while she remained rooted to the spot.

Ilse gnawed at her bottom lip as he neared her, his large frame inexplicably frightening. "I'm sor—sorry," she had squeaked out. "I didn't mean to—I won't tell anybody."

Standing approximately a foot away from him with his face illuminated by the moon above, she could easily note how weary he appeared to be. The lost expression he was wearing was a far cry from the arrogant smirk that usually painted his face, and it was then that she remembered that Gryffindor had lost a Quidditch match earlier that day, which permanently put them out of the running.

"What are you doing here?" he had asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

She stepped back. "I—I usually stay here." Ilse glanced longingly at the spot he had just vacated, desperately wishing she was alone there and wrapped snugly in her own blanket.

He just stared at her intensely with his hazel eyes. Ilse shuddered; he looked dangerous. "I guess I'll just—I'll just go then? You can—can stay here for the—for the moment. If it comforts you." She spun on her heels and made her way once more to the stairs, but her progress was halted by the large hand that had landed on her shoulder. She slowly turned to face him again, heart thudding in her chest.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry for taking your spot without asking," James said. "You can have it back." He lifted his hand from her shoulder and took a single stride past her. She followed his hunched, retreating form with her slate-blue eyes, dumbfounded. That's it? No detention? No points taken from Gryffindor? A wave of pity washed over her.

"We can share." The words were out of her mouth before she understood what she was saying.

James looked back at her, his lips curved in the merest half-smile as he considered her. For the first time in her life, Ilse felt her toes curl and a shiver run through her, both of which she didn't think she could ever associate with fear. Unnerved, she turned her back on him and walked to what she personally referred to as her own little space at Hogwarts. She sat down on the cold marble floor, stretched her legs out and covered them with her comforter.

She heard his footsteps and inhaled his scent before she felt him sit down beside her. Her fingers played with the fibres of her coverlet, unsure of what to do next.

When she next looked at him, he had already eased himself on the floor and crossed his arms behind his head. For several moments, she simply watched him as he stared blankly at the sky.

"I promise not to ask questions."

James did not show any sign of wanting to respond to what she said, so she sighed and lay down on the floor, her brown head cushioned by her pillow.

Long minutes ticked away without any of them really noticing.

"Are you asleep?" she heard him murmur hesitantly.

"No," she replied softly, wondering what he had in mind.

He flashed a lopsided smile, the one that was rumoured to drive many girls crazy. "Can I talk?"

She was exhausted and had better things to do than listen to the most likely shallow pains of Hogwarts' golden boy. And yet she rolled over to face him—and as she did, she had the inkling that nothing would ever be the same again.


Ilse squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to blink back the tears that were threatening to fall. She should have trusted her instincts that night; she should have allowed him to go on his own way and to mind his own business! But she had been dumb. She had been lulled by the idea that there was somebody who was willing to confide in her, to treat her like a friend. And so she had listened to him lament the loss of Gryffindor to Slytherin, had listened to him blame himself for that mishap, had clumsily comforted him by stuttering that things would look better in the morning.

Expecting it to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience—for how many times would James Potter let that weaker side of him show?—she had not expected him to be there the following night, smiling happily at her.

"I had been waiting for you," he had told her. If this was how he made friends, then it was no wonder he had many of them.

And again they had talked, this time of many different things. There was something to be said about the upcoming N.E.W.T.s and what they wanted to be once they've left school, after all. The night grew deeper, and only then did he decide that it was time for them to return to their own dormitories.

"Good night," James had told her once they were inside the common room.

"Good night," she had returned, her eyes trained on the carpet. Ilse had turned around and slowly walked towards the stairs, but then James had called out.

"Will I see you again tomorrow?"

Unexpectedly, her heart jumped. "You know where to find me."

He did know. Every night thereafter, James was with her atop the Astronomy Tower, speaking of the thousand matters crowding his mind and his life. The Marauders, the evil threatening the Wizarding world and what he planned to do about it, the extraordinary lunch served that day. Most of the time, it was him who spoke, but he did press her to tell him more about herself. She couldn't; unlike him, her life lacked colour.

There was one subject, however, that James could not help but mention every night. It was the girl of his dreams, the one he swore he loved and would marry someday. Lily Evans. Ilse patiently heard him whenever he narrated how Lily had delivered her latest no and how he was in actuality making progress. Matters of the heart did not interest her the way they did her fellow students, but that did not mean she hated them. Ilse was fine with such trivialities as long as they were coming from other people and not from her.

Conversations with James were like a rollercoaster ride. There were moments when she laughed so hard that her stomach ached—that was an achievement on his behalf, considering the fact that she rarely laughed—and yet there were times when the seriousness of his face was so intense so that his features almost seemed like they were carved in stone.

One night, after a particularly long silence, Ilse had remarked on how she was having trouble sleeping as of late.

"Are you having bad dreams?" James asked, a note of concern in his voice.

She had realised her slip and bit her lip as she tried to come up with an excuse. The truth was that whenever she returned to her dormitory after spending time with him, she could not put herself to sleep because she still saw him every time she closed her eyes. She could still hear his voice, remember the way he smelled when he was so near her under his Invisibility Cloak, and feel the warmth that had spread through her when he had cupped her elbow on the way back.

When she shook her head no, he laughed and suggested, "Well, you can try counting sheep."

"I don't have any sheep to count," Ilse softly countered, her eyes fixed on the sky.

James followed her line of sight. "You're right. How about the stars then?"

"They're impossible to count. They're too many."

"No, they're not," James refuted. "As long as you don't bother counting what you don't see, it isn't impossible."

"Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there."

He chuckled. "For the purpose of trying to make you feel sleepy, we can pretend they're not there." He surveyed the heavens and pointed to a group of stars to their right. "Let's start with that, shall we? One, two..."

"...Three hundred fifty-eight," Ilse finished with a yawn. She smiled shyly at him. "It worked. Thank you."

"My pleasure," James answered with a grin. "We can do this every night, if you want."

So it was that after spending a couple of hours or so talking, they devoted the last part of their time awake counting the stars. Depending on the weather during the day, the number they resulted with at night varied.

"You know, I cannot even imagine how the centaurs can tell the future with all of those stars above," James commented in exhaustion after they had ended up with four hundred and twenty-six.

Ilse wrinkled her nose doubtfully. "I doubt the future can even be told, if you know what I mean."

"I can see mine already," James said. "Mine's as bright as the sun—and the sun is a star, of course."

She smiled, amused at how highly he thought of himself. "You're probably right," she agreed. He had it all, after all. He had all the makings of a successful life, and he did seem to have a wonderful tomorrow ahead of him.

"But I cannot definitely see everything perfectly," he continued. "I didn't anticipate, for instance, being friends with you." He glanced at her and smiled. "It was a pleasant surprise anyway, finding somebody as easy to talk to as you. I didn't think a stranger could be a friend."

Ilse was grateful it was dark; she knew that if she felt her cheeks with her palm, they would be warm. His words inexplicably thrilled her, but if they were friends like he said they were, then why didn't he notice her during the day? They were classmates in almost every class, they shared the same long lunch table in the Great Hall, and they stayed in the same common room during the afternoons. Why had he never given any indication of knowing her?

Maybe because he doesn't really know mesincehe's the one who usually talks. Sometimes I feel like I already know him too well.

Or maybe she didn't count because she wasn't bright enough for him to see her, so that the only chance for her to shine was during the night. It was when she could twinkle dimly enough to be visible.

She wasn't his sun.

But Ilse didn't mind. She may not be his sun, but she had once been his only light. That once that had sparked the beginnings of a friendship.

Once was enough.

And one night without him was enough to make her realise just how much James Potter meant to her.

She had waited until a clock somewhere in the castle had struck midnight, her arms wrapped around her knees under her blanket in an effort to keep her warm. He did not come. She wistfully looked up at the stars, silently apologising for neglecting them that night.

Dejected, Ilse had quietly made her way back to the Gryffindor common room—and saw James holding his dream in his arms.

Lily Evans.

He had been correct in foreseeing his future; he had said it was going to bright, so it definitely didn't include her.

Her blue eyes met his hazel ones, his registering surprise. Ilse wasn't sure whether it was due to his embarrassment at being caught in such a situation or due to his shock at seeing her in full light for the first time.

"Ilse," he greeted with a slight smile, and then with a wink.

It was the first time he had ever said her name.

It was also the first instance she had ever known pain.

Still, the following night, she had climbed her way to the Astronomy Tower. Ilse reasoned out that she did so because that was what she had been doing for years, but she knew that down in the deepest corners of her heart, she wanted to see if James would come and decide to stay with her again.

He did not, and Ilse cursed her own weakness.

She had been numb for most of her life, living through each day like an empty shell, devoid of strong emotions. It was her shield, her defence, so that nothing could hurt her. James had somehow found a way to penetrate that wall, and she had let him. Now that he had awaken her heart to such a passionate and traitorous feeling, she was just as vulnerable as anybody else.

There was a time when the sight of him filled her with a sense of completion, of belonging, and reminded her of all the good things in the world. Every time she saw him now, however, it was as though a knife was shredding her heart to pieces. Sitting by herself at night and gazing at the heavens, she ended up remembering all the moments they had shared and wishing they would happen again.

It was foolish, she knew. What person in his right mind would give up the light for the dark?

As the nights wore on, Ilse had quite convinced herself that she had not really known James Potter.

That was until her encounter with the equally infamous Sirius Black.

"You're Ilse Dessalier," Sirius had said, leaning his back against the portrait hole of the common room just as she was about to sneak out.

She simply bit her lower lip. Attention from anybody was what she didn't need. Last time she took what was offered, and looked how that turned out.

"James used to tell me about you. He said you were good friends."

Good friends. Bitterness engulfed every fibre of her being, and yet she remained silent.

Sirius scratched his head. "Funny. He also told me you make excellent conversation, and yet you don't even seem to be capable of uttering a single word."

Ilse just stared at him, unfeeling. What does he want?

Laughter like the peal of bells rang out from the other side of the room. She jerked her head automatically towards the sound, a strange expression of sadness and longing shadowing her face.

"I'm going out," Ilse mumbled, not looking at him. Sirius stepped aside to let her pass but grabbed her arm at the last second. She met his ice-grey eyes warily.

"You care a lot more about James Potter than you let on."

Ilse wrenched her arm free from his grasp, slid the door open and rushed out. She ran as fast she could up the stairs to the tower, to her sanctuary, as though she could forget the words that echoed in her head.

You care a lot more about James Potter than you let on.

Breathing heavily, she looked over the school grounds, feeling like all her wounds were being reopened once again. Why did that idiot have to remind her about him?

She sank to her knees and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs she knew were coming. Even when she had seen James with Lily, she had not cried. She had been hurt, but she had wasted no tears.

Now she was going to submit to that ultimate act of helplessness: crying. Salty rivers that had long been locked up started streaming down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook with every gasp of air she took.

She loved him.

It was short. It was simple. It was the truth.

And yet it made her weep.

Even now, eighty-four nights after, the tears still flowed.

"This is all your fault, James Potter!" Ilse shouted angrily. "I didn't need you before! I was fine before I met you! And then you had to show up and take my space and talk to me..." Her voice softened as she went on. "And help me count stars and make me feel cherished and teach me to love..."

I love him.

But her love clearly wasn't enough to write a happy ending. Back in the common room only hours before, a voice had called her name. She had frozen, knowing exactly who it belonged to for it was the same one she had heard in her dreams. Oh, how long she had waited for this moment!

She slowly turned to face him, finding him beaming, as was usual for him these days.

"You look pale. Haven't you been getting enough sleep lately?" he questioned playfully.

In spite of all that she'd been through, she managed a weak smile. "I haven't got anybody to count the stars with."

James looked thoughtful for a while, as though he too was reminiscing their time together. "Yes, it's been some time, isn't it? I miss those nights."

She opened her mouth to say the same thing, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He flipped it open and raised it so she could see it better.

Cushioned inside was a diamond ring.

Her throat tightened, and her insides caved in.

"It's for Lily; I'm going to ask her to marry me." James closed the box and replaced it in his pocket, his forehead now creased with worry. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Ilse could only nod dumbly, her face blank. His face split into a grin, and without another word, he turned his back on her and bounded back towards the other Marauders.

She, on the other hand, had taken flight once more to the one place where she felt safe, surrounded only by happy memories.

And because she couldn't do anything else, she cried. She counted the stars, looked back on her past, and cried again. The stars above shone brightly, almost mockingly.

Go away. Just go away.

Oddly enough, the stars now resembled the ever-present twinkle in his beautiful hazel eyes. If she just lay there and stare at them hard enough, she could almost pretend he was with her again.

Footfalls. That scent. That almost intuitive pounding of her heart. They were almost familiar, and yet they couldn't be. She must be hallucinating.

"Ilse?"