Full Summary: Their story was incredibly cliche. The studious, sarcastic Abigail King is teamed up with the arrogant, trouble-making James Sirius Potter, who has always been her enemy, to be Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts. But neither is happy. James is constantly fighting the image of his heroic parents, while Abigail struggles with the painful reality of her family's situation and past. The more time James and Abigail spend together, the harder they have to try to hate each other. They can't quite understand why they seem to know the other more than anyone, helping each other through the rough times they face. But in the end, it's really quite simple. Hate can turn into love easily, and James and Abigail are about to understand this twisted logic.

Disclaimer: The characters of Harry Potter are owned by J.K. Rowling. The content and ideas of this story are owned by peace. love. randomness - peacelovebooksx107 and randomrayyxx3 respectively. The song "In My Place" belongs to Coldplay.

Chapter Four: In My Place

"I was lost; crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed…"

Morgan Finnegan

As usual, it was Abigail, Molly, Dominique, James, Fred, Mitchell, Ryan, and I sitting together in our section of the Gryffindor dining table in the Great Hall. I looked over at Abigail with complete envy. For what seems like forever, she and James have argued at almost every meal. Always. For the past three days, they have been at complete silence when together at the Gryffindor table. It seemed there was some sort of established cease-fire that the rest of us were unaware of. If only Fred Weasley could learn something from James…

Breaking from my thoughts, I focused back on my breakfast and tried to ignore Fred Weasley, who was currently talking my ear off, trying to make himself look incredibly cool.

"Yeah, I know, it's pretty amazing that I'm quidditch captain this year. It is highly unusual for a beater to be captain…but we all know how great I am at the sport, am I right, love?"

Turning to glare at the boy sitting next to me, I faltered slightly. Fred Weasley has been bothering me since my first year, convinced we're meant to be. The most annoying thing about it is I could never tell whether he was serious or if he just enjoyed making me feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. To me, either option made me angry. The first is because he was an arrogant prat who tried too hard to get girls. The second is because he's a prick who likes to tease girls. Either way, I've hated him since first sight, especially since we have nothing in common. He's the quidditch star who loves the attention and getting the girls. I was the bookworm who put her studies up there with friends and family. Because of our differences and the way he treated me, he would always be the boy I despised. But looking at him now, I did not see a boy, but a man. And it shocked me slightly. He was no longer awkwardly lanky and medium height with bad acne and a nose slightly too big for his face. He was now tall, muscular, and (though I hated to admit it) pretty flawless. Fred Weasley was attractive. What the hell?

I shook my head, as if trying to shake myself from a trance, and saw Fred staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face.

"What?" I asked reluctantly.

"Oh, nothing," he replied, his smirk growing, "It really is nothing. But please, do continue. People stare at my incredible looks all the time."

Glowering in annoyance, I turned back to my sunny side up eggs and tried to ignore the bloody prat sitting next to me. If only Fred Weasley's personality was the same as his good looks…

Abigail Evelyn King

Have you ever been surrounded by complete silence and thought that the silence itself was louder than any noise ever could have been? That's what it felt like not bickering with James Potter. I was relieved our feud had quieted down a bit – for the sake of Head Duties and prefect meetings we ran together going smoothly. But it just didn't feel right. I just couldn't seem to get through the day without James Potter. I mean, arguing with James Potter. Without our fights, nothing seemed to feel correct. Everything was off balance.

That would change soon enough.

Molly was sitting to my left, and Potter was at my right. I figured if we were going to try to cooperate, we should be able to manage sitting next to each other. Both of our movements were stiff and uncomfortable. Seeing that I was still having a hard time with this "no fighting" nonsense, Molly mumbled to me, "Just wait a couple more days, Abigail. Maybe by then you two will have adjusted…" I shuddered at the mere thought of more days like this. How would I survive? Then, in a louder voice, Molly said, "Pass me the jug of cocoa will you, Abigail?" She always had a sweet tooth in the morning.

Grateful for something to change the focus of my thoughts, I reached over Potter's plate to the cocoa. But when I picked up the jug, it was scalding hot. Immediately I dropped the jug and my arm snapped back.

Into Potter's face.

So in addition to spilling scalding hot cocoa on both of our laps, Potter was clutching his nose, shouting profanities at me.

"Oh, get a grip, Potter," I spat, rolling my eyes. Of course, I would never admit to him that my thighs were burning. I'm talking second degree cocoa burns. I got up and started mopping up the table with some napkins.

He got up to do the same, still keeping one hand clutched to his nose. "You're a right klutz, King," he snapped at me.

Putting on an innocent tone, I said, "And who says I didn't mean to hit you in the face?"

Potter slapped down his sopping napkin and turned to face me. "You know what, King? If you spent half as much time being more careful as you do being a bloody nuisance, then maybe things like this wouldn't happen as much!"

"And waste all these special moments we have together?" I shot at him, sarcastically. "I don't think so!"

At this point, I should have realized that the majority of the Great Hall was watching our little spat. Fred decided to butt in. "Erm, guys?"

"Shut up!" Potter and I said in unison.

I continued. "Maybe if you stepped out of your little bubble, Potter, you would realize that not the whole world really cares what you think!"

"Guys…" Dom said nervously. We just ignored her.

"My bubble? Well, Your Highness, you should realize that not everyone will cater to your every need! I'm sure you've always been treated like the center of attention at home, princess."

Now that struck a nerve. Call me a bitch, princess, anything – fine. But bring up my home life? "Don't pretend for a second that you know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, really?" he said in his self-righteous attitude.

"Ugh! You sodding –"

"Guys!" Morgan shouted.

"WHAT?"

Our heads shot to Morgan, both breathing heavily. All she did was lift a weak finger, gesturing behind us. Slowly, we turned our heads, revealing a truly frightening sight.

"You two," said Professor McGonagall, through tightly pursed lips, "will accompany me to my office." She stepped back and gestured to the doors. "Now."

I numbly got up, barely noticing Potter do the same beside me. Looking around, I realized that everyone was looking in this direction. In that instant, I felt ashamed. After most of my fights with Potter, I usually felt anger, self-importance, and maybe occasionally, victorious. But shame was not a feeling I was accustomed to.

As I followed my headmistress out of the Great Hall, I could practically feel the Head Girl badge burning a hole through my robes. Soon the Great Hall blurred away, and I was standing in McGonagall's office.

She sat down at her desk with an angry flourish. "I do not even want to think about what just happened. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Potter spoke up first. "We're sorry, Professor."

"Yeah, it won't happen again," I added.

"The pair of you have been saying that to me for six years," she said. "But this year it is different."

"Professor?" I said.

"I was hoping that I wouldn't need to give you this speech," she said, "but apparently I was wrong. The behavior and language that I heard in the Great Hall was not that of Head Boy and Girl standards. I received much speculation after I nominated you both for the Heads positions. After all," she said, raising an eyebrow, "it is no secret that the two of you don't get along." I felt myself blush. "You are Head Boy and Girl. This school expects you to be its student leaders. The school needs you to stay in your place, as its Heads, and continue to lead the way you should."

I truly did not know what to say to that. I looked at Potter from the corner of my eye; he looked just as stunned as I was feeling. What are you supposed to say to that? My headmistress basically just told us that we were doing a crap job as Head Boy and Girl and that we needed to get our act together. But how am I supposed to do that with the guy I hate?

James Sirius Potter

Disappointment.

I think that disappointment has to be one of my biggest fears. And considering the meeting that King and I had just had with Professor McGonagall, I was scared shitless. But that's the thing about disappointment, isn't it? When someone is disappointed in you, you don't really get mad. You don't really get scared. You just get more disappointed. In yourself.

Disappointment wasn't exactly a foreign thing to me, though. Being the son of Harry Potter, it comes often. When people first meet me, all they can do is anticipate all the great things that I could do. I'm Harry Potter's son, aren't I? I should be able to do great things.

But after a couple weeks of me, people realize that I am nothing special. I am disappointing.

But as much as I'd like to think that disappointment had no effect on me anymore, it felt the same every single time.

"The school needs you to stay in your place," she had said. Great, so now not only was I letting her down, but I was also letting down the school. Letting them down because I wasn't being a good Head Boy. Something I'd wanted for six years.

Walking away from McGonagall's office, I felt that sink in my stomach - the uncomfortable feeling of displeasure. I couldn't even bother to care about the throbbing in my nose anymore.

Abigail Evelyn King

Shame.

That sneaky little emotion. It can eat away at a person like nothing else. But for me, shame was just the trigger feeling. For me, shame brought on guilt. Guilt about what I had done to make me feel ashamed. And then I would feel angry that I'm getting myself so worked up about it.

Quite the rollercoaster.

I looked over at Potter, seeing the thoughtful expression on his face, trying to distract myself. He was obviously thinking as hard about this lecture as I was.

But all I could think about was how McGonagall didn't think we were doing a good job. Now it was about more than just a stupid boy, his stupid ego, and his stupid possibly broken nose. It was the fact that something that I had wanted for six years – being Head Girl – was being jeopardized because I was too absorbed in my own issues.

I had to be a good Head Girl.

I had to do it for me.

I looked down at the Head Girl badge on my chest. The constant reminder that I had responsibility. The only real responsibility I've ever had in my whole life. Even at home, Uncle Matt was so ready to take care of me. To show me the kind of love and responsibility that a parent should show his child. Uncle Matt proved that he could be there for me, even when my parents couldn't. But that specific responsibility – that of a parent to a child – was something that I would never really see for myself. It was something Uncle Matt would never be able to show me.

Being Head Girl, being able to see the miraculous concept of responsibility right in front of me, was something I had always wanted. And now that I had it, I was doing a sodding bad job of it.

So, I was going to change this.

Not for McGonagall.

Definitely not for my co-Head.

Not even for my fellow classmates.

No. I was going to do this for me.

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