Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

"If your heart was really broken, you'd be dead. So, shut up."
-Anonymous

Today is the day.

It's the day I'll finally tell Erick Tilpin how I feel. I've remembered to put on my big girl knickers, I've chugged three cups of tea to steel myself against the nerves that are threatening to make me hurl –although, all that's actually served to do is make the butterflies beat a slightly more violent samba on my ribcage –and I've rehearsed what I'm going to say to him for the last twenty-four hours.

I'm ready.

I can do this.

"You just go up to him and you say the words. The good words. The coherent words." I mumble the world's least inspiring pep-talk to myself as I round the corner of the connected corridor.

I would have no idea if anyone is saying 'good morning' or about to throw eggs at me; I'm too busy keeping an eye out for Erick as I walk. I force my hands to relax out of the white-knuckle fists they've balled themselves into and to take a deep breath. "You can do this, Elle," I mutter. "Viv agreed it sounded fine. It's fine. You can–"

I stop and feel someone run into the back of me. They say something distasteful, but I don't hear what the exact words are as I'm too busy having my heart ripped out of my chest and stomped on. I'm pretty sure it's then set on fire for good measure and the ashes are scattered prettily on a vat of acid.

Somehow, despite all that torture, the damned organ is still managing to beat furiously in my chest. It's gotten far too hot and suddenly the air seems far too thin. An inconvenient lump forms in my throat. I blink, not believing what I'm seeing. Surely, I'm dreaming? I actually slap my own cheek, but the image in front of me is still clear as day.

Seeing Erick and Vivienne standing in the middle of the hallway on a Monday morning is not an unexpected sight, it happens on a weekly basis. But seeing Erick with his hands on her hips, their foreheads and noses touching, and making goo-goo eyes at each other? That's something I've only ever seen in my nightmares.

And, the universe doesn't seem to think that's enough to throw at me this morning. My heart, too despondent even for theatrics, stutters to a stop when he presses a kiss to her lips. As far as kisses go, it's a simple thing; chaste and sweet and completely appropriate for the school corridor. But, I feel nausea threatening again and I take an involuntary step forward as if that's going to make any difference. I manage to drag my eyes off them for long enough to look around. No one seems at all concerned that Erick and Vivienne are kissing in the hallway.

Which only means one thing.

Well, no. Actually it means a multitude of things.

But first and foremost, it means that I'm the last one to find out.

It also means that the whole time I'm going over my speech to Vivienne in the last twenty-four hours –and she was telling me she thought it was great and building up my confidence and telling me I had to talk to him today –she was, what? Already…with him?

I feel sick and my eyes feel unusually hot and prickly.

Someone claps me on the back and I look over to see Nigel Aberdeen grinning at me. "It finally happened - Tilpin and Viv. Pretty great, huh, Elle?" he asks, clapping me on the back again, and then walks off with a huge grin.

I slowly drag my eyes back to Erick and Vivienne, only to find them looking at me like the corridor is the last place they expect to see me, like we don't meet here every morning since first year.

Concern floods Erick's deep sapphire eyes, but it's Vivienne's reaction that really hits home. The expression on her face says more to me than words ever could; the conniving bitch knows how I feel about Erick. She's known all these years how I've felt about him.

It's never been lost on us that a bloke with two female friends could cause some issues as we grew up. That's been the whole reason Vivienne and I have always been honest about Erick. We made a pact as second years that we will always tell each other if we started or stopped fancying him - or, in my case, fall totally, completely and irrevocably in love with him and won't stop even when I'm stone-cold dead.

Vivienne has crushed on Erick plenty over the years, and we've always laughed about it. Each time, I've reassured her that he isn't mine and if she really liked him, and he liked her, then I'll step back - and, I've meant it... At least, I've wanted to mean it. But, Vivienne has always assured me that Erick isn't her type (particularly when her type is secretly James Potter and around dropkick - fit, yes, but arsehole extraordinaire) and that she won't get in my way.

Lies.

I just can't comprehend such betrayal.

I've been blindsided. I feel like I've been kicked in the gut and it hurts worse than those period cramps where it feels like a demon child is trying to rip its way out of your uterus.

I blink and realize my eyes are tearing up. Yay. Betrayal with a healthy sprinkling of humiliation. As if Mondays weren't hellish already.

Erick takes a step forward as he ignores the person who calls out hello to him, but I turn and push my way through the throng of my peers. I can only hope to find somewhere quiet before my eyes decide to join in on the betrayal and embarrass me.

I round the corner and begin to search frantically for a safe place to hideout; I have no idea where to go, or what I plan to do once I get there.

Frantic, I push open a door and step inside what turns out to be a vacant classroom - thank Merlin! - and quickly close the door behind me. I lean against the wooden surface, shifting my weight, and let out a quaky breath.

"Gabrielle Silk?" a bemused voice suddenly speaks, causing me to practically explode out of my own skin in shock.

I peer quickly to my left, only to drink in the sight of James Potter, Hogwarts resident playboy and celebrity. He's currently perched on one of the windowsills, his black hair tousled to messy perfection, school robes rumpled and the knot to his tie loosened, with a cigarette wedged between his pointer and middle fingers.

"Of all the girls I expected to see in here, you were not on the list." He tosses the cancer maker out of the window and jumps gracefully down, with cat-like reflexes, to the stone floor. His cocky smirk turns into a frown as he slowly approaches me, his hazel eyes searching my face. "What's wrong?"

I blink and a tear actually has the audacity to run down my face. I sniff, look up at the vaulted ceiling, and try surreptitiously to wipe under my eye. "Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?"

The smirk is back. "You're certainly not the first girl brought to tears by my presence."

My tears are suddenly drying up and I'm starting to forget why they welled in the first place as I glare at him. "I imagine I'm not the first one scarred by the experience either," I reply flippantly.

He only laughs and rubs his hand along his stupidly perfect jaw. "Can't say that's been the feedback so far. But, I'll take it on board," he says with a conceding nod.

I peer around and see that we're the only ones in the classroom, thankfully. "Why are you in here, anyways?"

"Just wanted a smoke before first lesson," he states simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Speaking of...

The first bell suddenly rings and I mentally curse my bad luck. I turn to leave, but James catches my arm. "What's the rush?"

"I don't want detention. Some of us don't get concessions when they're late to class."

Being the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, James Potter is given a multitude of concessions; he gets to skip a lesson to do whatever athletic people do, he can be late, miss exams, have easier assignments, be a complete shit to the professors, and they all just wish him well for the next match.

"Ouch," James retorts, chuckling, while running a hand nonchalantly through his hair. "You wound me, Elle."

"That's Gabrielle, to you," I correct him snottily. "Now, kindly get your hand off me."

James chortles as he removes his hand, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

I'm unimpressed, quite frankly. "Who would have thought that I'd live to see the day that James Potter thought about someone else's feelings?"

"Does my cock count? Because, I think about his feelings a lot."

I glare at him, wondering where he gets the confidence to just say things like that. "You're not as charming as you think you are."

"I think, Gabrielle, that you'll find I am."

The second bell rings and I curse under my breath, which earns me a chuckle from James. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure," I tell him as I go to leave.

"Let me grab my bag and I'll walk you to class."

I frown as he turns and crosses the room in a few strides, eyeing his retreating figure. "What?"

Ignoring my question, James scoops up a worn, brown satchel and throws the strap across his torso. "Ready?" he asks once he's in front of me again.

"I, erm..."

He looks at me like I concern him for a moment, but then he's back to his sarcastically casual self. "Shall we get you out of here? Or, did you want to risk being found out by a teacher? I've got pull, but I don't know if I can get us out of detention if we're caught, just the two of us in a deserted classroom."

I glare at him and nod. "You know this from experience, I'm guessing."

He casts me a wry smirk that tells me he does indeed know that from experience and pushes the door open for me to go first.

I walk out into the hallway and am annoyed to find fellow students still milling about. And, of course, they don't fail to notice me walking out of the room while James Potter holds the door open for me. Of course, he doesn't care about their stares in the slightest; he's all but oblivious of their whispering and nudging between each other as we walk down the hallway like we just had the hook-up of the century.

"We've got History of Magic now, yeah?" he inquires absently as he wanders alongside me.

"You're actually coming to class today? You mean, there's no Quidditch emergency that will get you out of our quiz?"

James snorts. "Unfortunately." There's a pause. "We have a quiz?"

I cast him a sickly sweet smile. "Yes. We do."

I've never seen panic cross his face before, but I take a singular pleasure in it. By the way his eyes narrow, he can tell and that pisses him off. I wish I could say that I care.

"So, a question. Where are you going to sit?" he asks slowly, as though it's something we discuss every day. My step falters at the sudden realization that I cannot, under any circumstances, sit in the vicinity of Erick and Vivienne.

"You're not copying from my answers, Potter," I grit out, hurrying my feet along.

"Oi, I never said I was gonna cheat," he retorts, faking offense, easily matching his footfalls with mine. Damn my short legs. "But since you brought it up-"

I interject, scoffing, feeling my blood begin to boil. "You're so un-bloody-believable, James Potter! First, I have to deal with seeing the love of my life snogging my best friend, and now I have to deal with the likes of you!"

"Whoa, whoa. Elle, wait." I fight off the urge to correct James on his usage of my nickname. He places a firm hand on my shoulder, causing me to stop in my tracks. "What are you talking about?"

A little too late do I realize what I just said, and I find myself wishing I could grab my words, stuff them back into my mouth, and swallow them. "Never mind. It's not important..."

"Judging by the sad, puppy dog look in your eyes, I'd wager that it is important," James contradicted, nudging me in my side. "So, out with it. Who's the love of your life?"

I can't quite put a finger on the reason as to why I suddenly have the urge to spill my guts to James Potter, but that doesn't stop me from doing so. "Erick Tilpin. I've been in love with him since I was eleven."

James's face is incredulous, his dark brows furrowed and his mouth gaped open wide. "That tosser?!" Irritation at James's insult regarding Erick prickles just under my skin, but I bite my tongue. "Why him, of all people?"

"Because he's sweet," is the first thing out of my mouth, without giving it much thought. "And smart. And sensitive. And-"

"Sounds too delicate, if you ask me," James sniggers. "Who's the snogging best friend?"

"Vivienne Bloor," I answer venomously.

"Ah," he breathes, suddenly somber, while nodding his head. "I'll tell you what. You can sit by me in class, give that git something to think about, and I won't even cheat off your quiz."

"Wow. What an enticing offer," I reply, sarcasm-heavy. "Thanks. But, no thanks."

"You gonna sit in that empty seat up front, then?" James cajoles.

I frown. "I, uh..."

And really - if I do - how obvious will it be? If I sit by Hogwarts's golden (play)boy, at least it will be less obvious I'm avoiding my (former?) best friends. Sitting next to someone is a just enough cause for not sitting next to someone else, isn't it? I mean, it is James Potter, after all... But, the alternative is just so much less appealing.

James rearranges the strap on his shoulder, strolling beside me. "You've got about two meters to reconsider my offer, Elle."

"It's Gabrielle, to you," I snap irately. "And I can sit wherever I like." And wherever I like is preferably not next to James Potter.

"True. But if I'm in on it, you can really sock it to git-face."

I glare at James on Erick's behalf, if only because I've temporarily forgotten that Erick just broke my heart.

"Fine. Thank you," I accept begrudgingly.

What have I got to lose at this point?

A/N: Hello, folks! :) Hope you enjoy this first chapter of Faking It! Please leave a review with your thoughts/opinions! I always enjoy hearing from you all!

Until the next chapter,
Dev.