A/N: Okay wow guys I am reeeeally bad at updating. You'll just have to bear with me. I don't even have a good excuse except that I've just forgotten to update. But here it is, and I promise I'm trying to get better. I would suggest you go back and read the last two chapters; that's what I had to do before writing this one. It's been so long I'd forgotten. Sorry guys.

Love,

Snow

Chapter Three

"You walk right up and

You ask me to dance,

then you walk away."

—"Ribbons," Ingrid Michaelson

JOYCE

I was so pathetic. Why did I run away from all of my problems? Why did I run away from James when he...when he...stood there. And watched me. And acted like he cared! Acted like I meant something to him! I never had been good with self esteem. I could not see why anyone would care about me, yet alone the most attractive person in our school. It was a rare emotion. Because of his apparent caring, I was left with a lack of knowledge of what to do. It caused a riff in my relationship

with James because all that we could do was hurt each other. I had liked him a lot in fourth year. I was in love with him for all of fifth. It took a long time for me to be me again. To wake up and be happy and not cry at the thought of him.

Arwen told me I didn't need him. Every day, she told me that I was good enough to her and that I was better without him, anyway. But looking back on it, I never believed her. Even though he said things to me that made my body shake and looked at me like I was scum, I still fell. So deep that I couldn't get out. So fully encompassed by all of him that I couldn't be happy just watching.

"Joyce?" I heard Arwen's voice down the hall. I almost got to her. I was so close. And about 30 feet away from her, I was pulled into a compartment.

"Joyce."

I chocked on air. "James."

He was so close to me that I could smell him. He was so welcoming that I almost fell into him. But I knew I couldn't. Be strong, I told myself. But it was more difficult than I had ever thought it would be. I was shaking, and he probably knew it. He probably knew that I was putty in his hands; that the last refusal had taken most of what I had in me.

"I wanted to talk to you." He breathed out the words, his breath hitting my face.

I closed my eyes. "We have nothing to talk about." My voice was soft, silky.

"You and I both know that's not true." He looked determined.

"James, I told you. You left me. We were friends; sometimes I fooled myself into thinking we were more than friends...I don't think I could put myself through the cycle again." I tried again in vain to pull my arm away from his, but he seemed hell-bent on holding on to me until he felt like this conversation was over.

"Then let's stop the cycle. Let's make it work this time. Let's be friends, Joyce." It was the eyes that got me, really. The hazel eyes.

The sigh I let out echoed through the silence. And then I uttered words I had never planned on uttering again.

"Okay, James. Let's be friends."

"...and now we're friends again, I guess." I waited for everyone's reactions. Arwen's mainly. Rose and Dominique enjoyed their cousin James, and so the thought that we weren't feuding anymore would likely come as a relief.

"Well," Arwen said, "at least you'll both survive the year. I can't imagine that would happen if you weren't friends." She smiled when she finished. That was how I knew it was okay. That's how Arwen tells you she's fine; that she approves.

Dom and Rose just nodded at Arwen's words, and that was the moment I knew this was final; the moment I felt like I couldn't get out of it. And the deepest part of my soul knew that I would be in love with James again before the end of the month, if I even lasted the week. And of course it would be hopeless, because Arwen had, by saying that it would be odd to have feuding Heads, told me the reason for James's insistence. He just wanted an easy year. Or at least easier than it would've been.

My friends and I talked of things of little consequence for the remainder of the train rideJ though the whole time, I felt in my stomach a hurt. I had gotten my hopes up again. And this was all I needed; the reminder that James was only doing this for selfish reasons.

He just wanted an easy year.

"Miss Stevens, may I speak to you please?" I looked up from my plate of food from the feast. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stood above me, her pointed hat straight and her hair pulled into a tight bun. I automatically said goodbye to my friends and walked with her, though my stomach protested. Hunger was a part of it, surely, but I felt as though it was mainly upset because of McGonagall. Whenever the Headmistress asked to talk to me I felt as though I was in trouble, even though I knew I wasn't.

"I can assume you know where we're going, Miss Stevens?" she asked.

"The Head dorms, I assume?" I replied. She nodded at me, and then we were off.

She led me through corridors and passed several paintings and portraits. Finally we landed in front of one that was made up of a beautiful field of wildflowers. There was a girl twirling in the background, her pink skirt billowing around her.

"Guinevere," McGonagall said expectantly to the girl in the field. She stopped spinning and sashayed closer to us.

"Hello," she said to me sweetly, "you must be Head Girl this year. I've already met the Head Boy." Her eyes seemed to glaze now, her cheeks reddening as she giggled, "quite the flirt, that James Potter. You'll have fun with him." She winked at me cheekily as McGonagall tutted her dissatisfaction.

"I'll leave you in Guinevere's...interesting care. Enjoy your evening, Miss Stevens."

Once McGonagall left I looked up at the portrait. "What's the password?" I asked.

"There isn't one," Guinevere said, a lilt to her voice that reminded me of Luna Lovegood. She giggled again. "I can't just forget your face! Or James's for that matter." she giggled again at mention of him as she swung aside, allowing me entrance to what would be my dorm for the year.

James was already there, a book in his hand as he sat on the couch. His rectangle shaped spectacles were resting low on the bridge of his nose, his hair messy and eyes scanning the pages. I didn't know what he was reading, but he didn't notice my entrance until the portrait shut behind me, the noise somewhat like a slam. Instantly the hazel of his eyes were on mine. Hazel met crystal in a moment of silent contemplation. He simply looked at me, and I returned the favor, somewhat dumbstruck. I felt that familiar stirring inside my chest that I only felt with James, and my heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.

He was the first to break the silence. "The Lord of The Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien," he said as a an explanation. I nodded and smiled.

"I love those books," I said. "I read them as soon as Arwen told me the origin of her name." Arwen's father had a bit of an obsession with the novels, and her name sprung from it. I felt it ironic that she resembled the elf, long soft waves, intelligent eyes.

James laughed. "Yes, after growing up with a knowledge of the books I was quite amused to discover her name. Fred has taken to the books quickly, not surprisingly," he winked at me then and I felt my cheeks burn. And then he was laughing at his own comment and I was laughing along with him even though it wasn't even that funny and we just laughed for what felt like hours and it was beautiful. Somehow I found myself collapsing onto the couch next to him and falling into him.

And then the laughter stopped and he looked over at me, a glimmer of a smile on his face. "You know," he said, out of breath and hesitant, "you," he leaned closer, "are so," he was closer now and suddenly I was leaning into him and I knew what was coming and I wanted it, "beautiful." I could feel his breath on me know, our mouths millimeters apart. I leaned in, and—

"HELLLLOOO HEAD'S DORM!" Fred Weasley called as he jumped through the portrait. Instantly, James and I jumped apart and I ran up the stairs to the left bedroom that I assumed was mine.

As I closed the door, I cradled my head in my hands. What had just happened?

JAMES

I cursed under my breath as Joyce sprinted up the stairs. Turning to Fred, I pulled at my hair. "What the hell, mate?!" I yelled at him. "How did you even get in here? The portrait is only supposed to respond to me or Joyce!"

Fred smirked. "The girl in the painting is easily persuaded," he said as he winked at me. I let out a long sigh.

"Don't you see what you just did, Fred? It will take me weeks to get that close again! Why did you have to ruin that?"

Fred at least had the sense to look apologetic. "I'm sorry mate. I didn't know that I was going to be walking in on an almost snog-fest," he grinned at his own comment, "if I had, I would have for sure brought a camera."

That was enough. In a fit of rage, I launched at Fred and tackled him to the ground. We rough housed for a while before I wasn't angry anymore, just disappointed.

"I really am sorry, mate." Fred said in all seriousness. "If I had gotten that close with Arwen I'd probably be just as upset."

I racked my hands through my hair again nervously. "I was so close...I don't know if it'll ever be like that again. As soon as she heard you she ran away like a spooked horse..."

Fred patted my back. "I know mate, I know."

Joyce ignored me for a whole week. I had a feeling she would; the awkwardness between us was just too thick. I wanted to talk to her about it but I felt like we were too far apart now, as though almost being so close had pushed her further away than she had been before. As I let that fear grow, it became harder to do my job as Head Boy and even harder to focus on my studies. I knew everyone had noticed, and I knew that no matter what, I couldn't be helped by anyone but Joyce.

The worst part to her, I knew, was that we were partners for Potions. Professor Slughorn (somehow alive in his very old age,) thought that it would be good for the Heads of the school to be partnered together. The problem was, for Joyce, that this partnership would extend to the entirety of the school year. I was giddy at the prospect, but I knew she wouldn't be.

One day while we were brewing the Draught of Living Death I found myself staring at her for probably longer than acceptable. She kept working on the potion but she spoke. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." She looked up at me, laughter in her eyes. I just smiled back.

I knew this meant that it was okay; that she was easing back into my life again. We talked for the rest of the class, the conversation amazingly easy and smooth. She was so easy to talk to that I almost forgot how many times to stir the potion.

After class, she walked with me to lunch. "Hey I'm sorry about how awkward that was the other night with Fred. Gosh, that was a mistake," she laughed at herself and I felt my heart sink, "let's just forget about it."

I tried not to feel the sting as I replied. "Oh yeah, no problem Joyce. I totally agree." Lies, lies, lies, I thought to myself. We went on as if nothing had ever happened, and I couldn't decide if it was good or bad. Mainly I just felt numb. Why had she leaned in if she hadn't felt the same?

All I knew was that I would never understand women. But being friends with Joyce was better than being nothing with Joyce. So I let myself breathe and tried to be content.

I tried and failed to keep in my affection for her. I couldn't go back to snogging random girls in broom closets because I wasn't sure it would distract me.

No matter how hard I tried, nothing could rid her from my mind.

She was wrapped around me too tight.