~James' POV~

1. Flying high, flying home

The sky surrounds me, capturing me in an embrace and I let it take me in, daring me to fly as high as I can. And I let out a scream, long, clear, as I let the emotions out, they fly in that wind with me, but whenever I take to this sky, they are left behind, and my freedom is absolute.

Hogwarts is just ahead, and I call out the command, as we begin to make formation to land. And I head for the ground, 100 miles an hour, laughing as I watch them watch me. The people who don't know me, their eyes are full of worry that I'll crash, that I'll die. I hear a couple cries for me to stop, but I don't. The people who do know me are waiting for me to make my entrance, they know the show I put on, the mask I paint.

I feel the adrenaline roaring in my ears, and common sense is also thrown to that wind, and I speed, the ground coming towards me, faster, and faster, and I feel my heartbeat, my pulse, and I close my eyes, head titled back, as I enjoy the rush, and with a sharp turn, I let go of my broom, eyes still closed, and do a flip through the air, legs flying, in oblivion, with no help, or anything, and I land on bent knees, hand reaching up and catching my broom.

The crowd becomes alive, screaming my name, laughing with me, chanting Potter over and over, they love the act, they love me, and I feel their eyes, they watch me in awe, and I can't help the smirk that slips onto my face. I feel the crowd's emotions and I feed on them, they make me stronger, they make me happier. I was born into this crowd, and I have grown to know how to control it, the thousands, all looking up at me as I look down and observe them.

Arms are thrown around my neck, skinny, small, and lips press into mine, Sheila's lips. She is proud she got to be with me, and she is proud to see the people watching on, that she got to begin this year. We started dating before summer, it is something that just happened, and though many may think her lack of character and more prominent features may have something to do with our relationship, I liked the fact that she was funny, she could make me laugh, and she never asked once why I did something, she never made things hard, perhaps it wasn't healthy, that our relationship was so one sided, but sometimes you need someone who won't ask, who doesn't really care.

Her lips are desperate, asking for a response, unsure of herself. And I give her the response she wanted, lips moulding into hers, as I take control of the kiss. My tongue darting across her bottom lip and she smiles at the gesture.

It is a public display, and we are both only doing it because their watching. Because all eyes are on us.

I pull away, and put my hand over her shoulder as I walk towards those stairs, they are big, grand, and I feel the happiness sing through me, I am okay, I am here, with my friends, my family, and I don't need to face the world, just this small sliver of it. And I can handle that. I have walked up these steps a thousand times. The first time I was only 5 years old, and my dad wanted me to see my future, I had been begging him for years, and he let my totter up each step, falling down the slippery stairs more than once before I mastered it, but never once did I cry, in fact every time I fell determination would brighten my eyes, and when they offered to help I would shout no! And try again.

People surround us, the crowd surging up those stairs, laughing and pushing at people, trying to be the first to enter. But I stay ahead, allowing Sheila to get lost in that crowd, somewhere behind me, and I place both of my strong hands on each of those doors, the wood cold beneath my fingertips, and I push, and they creak open, slowly, as the memories flood in, and I can't help the feeling of excitement, a year ahead of me, and this time I am again determined to do something, but maybe not something like walking upstairs, no, I want to get to know a girl, I want her to get to know me.

And the crowd runs forward, feet hitting the marble floor, and they chase each other into that large empty, entrance hall, the chandeliers hanging high above us lighting the room, and making it alive. Paintings hand on the tall carpeted walls, and thousands of stair cases and corridors lead off of this magnificent room.

And I feel my friends, their hands on my shoulders, laughing, Fred Weasley, John Prewett, Lorcan Scamander, Lysander Scamander, Frank and Archer Longbottom. All Gryffindors, clapping my back, eyes alight with joy, happy to be here, excited for what this year will bring, and in this moment we are all one, all going into 4th year, all ready to create a legacy worth remembering. To make our mark on this chapter in history.

And I grin back at them, mirroring their excitement.

Everyone is heading for the great hall, leaving me in the dust, my friends follow the current of people, and they now I will follow as well, just at my own time, my own pace.

And I stop and look back, at the empty carriages, the students surging past me, and I see, one carriage is not empty, not vacant. And it makes me turn and cross my arms over my chest, leaning casually against one of those tall doors I just pushed open, and I watch the person, I have watched her grow, with me, her and V were instant friends, and though we only met in second year, and that was catastrophic, I still feel as if I know her, as if I know her well.

She sits, the moonlight washing over her, and making her look unreal, she looks like a goddess bathed in that light, as if she couldn't actually exist. Her eyes are looking at this castle, observing every well-known feature, and taking in the familiar aspects, and I can see the tears, like liquid silver, not slipping onto her prefect skin but filling her eyes with an emotion I can't quite place. And they sit on her lower eyelashes, but never tip onto her check; there they tremble, with the wind, like her breath. She does not feel the cold, or perhaps she does, beneath her awe, her look of wonder is not for me, as most peoples would have been, she simply is inspired by an old building, and it fascinates me. That someone so beautiful can have a mind so talented, so one of a kind.

Her hair looks like the sun, I have always loved the way it catches the light, the different shades of gold and bronze making it look other worldly. Her eyes are green like the sea, not stormy like earlier today, but calm, and so enthralling I feel like I could drown in them, in her sea.

Her robes fit her form, and I can't help but admire how much she has developed this summer, her hips fuller, her breasts more prominent, and she is taller by an inch and a half, her cheek bones are now high, and they look like they could cut me if I touched them, as if they could draw blood, and they are not flushed like they were before, they are white, they are ghostly, but she is not transparent. Her skin is clear, and light, the freckles more visible, and she no longer has the simple blemishes of pimples, she seems to have grown from a girl, a child into a woman, into a masterpiece, and I get the strange urge to want to paint her, and capture the way she looks, so serene and incredible, I can't stop looking, trying to memorise each detail. Many years that we have known of each other's existence, and yet only now am I struck by her true beauty, and I want it, in my hands, her in my arms, I want to write her letters, to tell her how incredible she truly is, but I don't dare break this still.

Earlier today, when I lied about not knowing her name, it was because I wanted to hear that voice, to hear the way she said my name, the way her words seemed to encage me, and the way my charm slipped off her. I remember when we met in second year; I remember the way she had looked at me.

Her eyes were bigger, wider and more afraid, not sure what to expect from me, she has always been quick to judge, but she only judged me after I opened my mouth, not before.

"I'm Rose, and you are James Potter right?"

I remember how surprised I was that she was so upfront, and that her voice was so mature, she sounded innocent, even then I wasn't a good person, but she didn't know and how the way she said my name seemed to set me a flame, and I felt the need for her to say it again, and again, and again.

I remember nodding, ducking my head, I was nervous, but I wouldn't let her see it,

"That's me name, Daisy,"

I remember how she ground her teeth together in anger; I have always been able to get her mad in seconds, in less than a minute. And I know that I was cocky, arrogant, that I still am. I remember even then pretending to not know who she was, pretending I had no idea, that I had gotten it wrong,

"My name is Rose, not Daisy,"

I ignored her, and sent Veronica a small smile, Veronica is the one who introduced us, leading Rose to the Gryffindor table and saying "James I have someone I'd like you to meet,". I remember seeing her, her hair messy, clutching a book to her chest, breath quick, and hoping I didn't notice.

"Your friend didn't hear me, V, I said Lily,"

I tehn stood, not bothering ot finish my breakfast, and I walked away, leaving her in the dust, only stopping to call over my shoulder,

"See you around, Lily,"

I remember how it was the only flower I could think of at that moment, on second thought perhaps it was a metaphor, for my future, for our future, my grandfather, the original James Potter fell in love with a quick tempered Lily, perhaps it is my fate to also fall in love with a flower. Flowers are beautiful, they grow, and bloom, and wilt as they die, but a rose, it has thorns as it grows, and before it wilts it opens and its walls fall down, as you see the kindness beneath each petal, a secret behind each leaf. I just hope that flower won't wilt as quickly as Lily did, dying for my father before she could finish her life, before she could live forever.

Sheila has found me again, and kisses me on the cheek, having to stand on her tip toes,

"What are you looking at?"

I don't take my eyes from the beautiful girl, no woman, that sits in that carriage, hair fanned out across the seat, as she tilts her head back looking at the stars, but out of the corner of her I, she sees me, but I do respond,

"I am looking at the flowers, aren't they one of a kind?"'

She looks at the grounds in front of us, and there is a flower garden, with a large assortment of beautiful plants in full bloom, shining under the moonlight, shining like she is, they also do not look real.

"Yes" She says, "They are beautiful, which one is your favourite?"

And I hear her question as if from far away,

"The Rose, the Rose is my favourite..."

~Rose's POV~

Potter does a back flip, perfectly flying through the air, and catching his broom in one of those strong hands as he lands. I hear the people shout in happiness, in wonder, and my stomach does a flip of its own as I see Sheila rap her tentacles around him, lips pressed to his, and I look down, away from the spectacle and busy myself with making sure I have everything, both cages, with both animals, my trunk, my back pack, me.

And when I finally do look up the show has ended, and he is walking towards those great doors, leading us all to the front step, and I watch his muscles flex as he pushes them open, and the crowd goes forward, excited to be back, and wanting to get food in their stomachs, and air in their lungs, and sleep in their bodies.

He lets them go onwards without him, they glance at him as they walk by but only his friends, and relatives approach him, and over the many heads bobbing in the crowd I lose sight of him.

V breaks the awed silence, with a "Thank god,"

And Dom just grumbles under her breath about how the only good thing about being back is the food and the boys. But I ignore both comments, taking in the sight before me.

I have envisioned Hogwarts over and over during the summer, sketching it, painting it, drawing it, but never, never enough, never perfectly. What I like about Hogwarts is the way it never changes, the way you can count on its perfection that it won't fall down during the summer, or gain weight, gown an inch or cut off its hair, it won't magically stat wanting to know me, and it won't break my heart.

Though in the papers I did read they were adding an extra wing. Something about how all the new classes and students needs more space, along with adding 3 more floors, but over the 4 years I have been at Hogwarts, renovations have become common, since the war, everyone in the wizarding world, from any country wants to go here, and it has become more difficult to get in with all these interested people, especially for muggles, but it has also increased the diversity levels, which I do appreciate. The building off all the extra rooms and space upsets me; I like knowing my home, and having an extra wing added, more floors, is like someone building a garage without asking me where or how, or what colour I'd like. But at the same time I want to explore, and see every room, memorise every floor.

There are lanterns lining the large structure, and lights shine out of the millions of windows. There is a large stair case, that leads up to those opened doors, it is a creamy marble, lined with stone, which has exactly 25 steps, and is wide and inviting and makes me feel like a queen, or like royalty, and this is placed in the direct middle of the castle, with a huge railing. The doors are 15 feet tall, stretching on and on, a dark, black wood of mahogany and black oak, it has a dragon carved into each door, encrusted in jewels and stones, that make it seem to come alive, with large knockers, of metal that are circular, forged in the dragons breath, it also has huge brass nobs, that must be cold to the touch. And their engraved in the middle of the doors is "Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry". These doors must be 6 feet wide, and can fit quite a large amount of people, and the crowd flowing into them, is almost dispersed.

V grabs my hand,

"Me and Dom are going to go in, and see Lucy and Rox, kay? Take your time?!"

I nod, a smile on my face, "I'll take my time,"

And they hurry inside, running up those stairs, and avoiding the crowd, skimming around it and disappearing within the castles walls and into that grand entrance hall.

I watch the crowd dissipate, and disappear, and my heart is thudding loud in my ears, tears of joy trapped in my eyes, as I look at that castle, that world, and I feel someone watch me, but I don't look his way, his eyes are not familiar, and I am just getting used to being a subject under that gaze, that seems to paralyze me, he is taking me in, each detail, each flaw, and I feel as if I am naked, with no barrier or protection, no clothes to hide beneath, no words to dive under, and I feel as if he can see the purple splotches that line my body, beneath the fabric, his gaze is not demanding, he does not expect me to return it, but it is sincere, in the silence that hangs between us, I feel as if he is right next to me, no one has ever looked at me like that, ever analysed me like that.

But no blush flushes my cheeks, the moment does not need it, it does not require attraction, or words, it requires a human responsibility. I feel responsible for that gaze, responsible for the way he is looking at me, as if I am his. But I am not, so I feel responsible for making sure I am not, I am responsible for not letting him affect me, responsible for not becoming an object that he can get, like he gets everything, so I resist, and continue to admire the beauty of the cliff, the gravel pathway that the vacant carriages line up to that castle.

But then his gaze changes, it goes from sharp and owning, to more reserved, more of a distant study. And out of the corner of my eye, I watch Sheila talk to him, and him respond, eyes not leaving me. And then she takes him by the hand and leads him away, away from me and the moment breaks into a thousand pieces and I can't pick up one.

I sit there for what feels like hours, days, but it is only minutes, across the lake the boats soar nearer and nearer, and I should go in before they arrive, before the house elves come down to the carriages and take our luggage to our new dormitories.

I step down, onto the ground I have missed and I walk towards those stairs, hand gently touching the railing, skinning the surface, warm beneath my fingertips, warmed by the thousands of hands who just touched it, my fingers on the cold door knobs, right where Potters hands were moments ago, eyes trained ahead. The entrance hall is spacious, but beyond it the roar of the crowd can be heard, the great hall, where we eat our meals, and have our dances and I am drawn to the voices, to the people, to my home. And I walk towards it, and I stand by its door way, looking, watching in. I watch and I breathe and I let the moment be captured in my mind, trapped in my head, I stand alone, in the middle of the broad entrance, back straitened, hair slipping down my back, robes falling of my shoulders and pooling around me.

And I raise my eyes, my lips parting in amazement, in true wonder, and my breath is taken, stolen from me without my consent. And I feel the emotions choke me, and I struggle to not laugh, or scream or shout, to tell everyone here I am, didn't you miss me?

The sky above is night, charmed to look like the outside, and candles float in the air, thousands of them. There is the head table, where the teachers talk amongst each other, Professor McGonagall, as headmistress, sitting in the middle of the long mahogany table, sipping her glass of white wine and watching on, looking at everyone and soaking it all in.

And then the house tables ,for the four houses, Slytherin, closest to the doors, with green banners and a silver snake, its fangs dripping with poison, and from its table do the pair of ice blue eyes watch me, waiting, hoping I'll look back, I don't.

The Hufflepuff table is next to it, to its immediate right, yellow and black shines through and above it, no one from there knows who I am. And then there is Ravenclaw, beautiful blues and bronze paint it, and from it Veronica looks at me, waiting for me. And then next to it, is Gryffindor, red and gold, oranges as well, blind me, and from it Potters eyes glance up at my form, standing by the door, and he expects me to look at him, and so I do.

The sea meets the sun as our eyes collide, my green, blue, and his hazel, gold, and then he looks away. And I walk, the long walk across that large room, past the head table, and I walk past the Slytherins, not my house, the Hufflepuff, I am loyal but never honest, as much as I dislike lying. And I stop before I reach the Gryffindor table and I turn and I walk to the seat V saved for me.

I am Ravenclaw, not because the hat said so, but because I want to learn and because I don't want power, I am not honest, I am not brave but I value knowledge, I crave it, I live for it, and I would like to know everything, knowledge is the only power I seek, is the only truth I look for, it is the only bravery I understand.

And as my legs swing over the wooden bench and take my seat, with the blue table cloth matching my blue tie, and the eagle watches over me, its beak a beautiful copper, the dishes before me are empty, the food has not yet appeared, the plates are etched with blue on its rims, and the forks are bronze. As I observe I feel that caged feeling I have had till now, all 3 months, at Mercy's Orphanage, on that street curb waiting, reading V's letters, and crying myself to sleep, I am now free, this room, this seat has unlocked my cage.

V sits next to me, eyes inquisitive,

"You did take your time,"

I glance at her, but continue looking over the room,

She sighs, and raises her eyebrows, asking me a question that brings my cheeks a flame, and gains my full attention,

"You want to know who else was late?"

I pretend to not know what she is talking about, maybe I was mistaken, maybe someone else came in, and ask,

"Who? Anyone I know?"

Raising my eyebrows right on back at her, and she tilts her head, calculating, V is brilliant, her mind is intense, hard to understand, but I have mastered her deception, after all friends now each other better than anyone does, and we are practically sisters,

"No, I didn't think you knew him, but maybe I'm wrong,"

I bite my lip, and glance down, and then back up, my eyes meeting hers,

"Who is it?" I ask, impatient, and hoping she won't say the name I think she is thinking of,

"James Potter, my cousin, he was late too, Sheila had to go get him,"

"Sheila, his girlfriend,"

She stresses the word, as if not sure I know who Sheila is, and making sure the word sticks with me.

There is an accusation in her voice, a daring way she looks at me; she is asking me a question she doesn't want to say aloud, so I say it for her,

"Do you think he's cheating on her, this early in the year? Come now V, he's horrid, but not that bad,"

She looks down, and then back up, her eyes meeting mine,

"You'd know,"

I pick up my dark blue napkin, with the embroidery on the edges, placing it on my lap, thinking up an answer, and I decide on the truth,

"I wouldn't, I don't know him, he watched me watch the castle, and she came and they left, together, we didn't say one word to each other, if you want, you can go ask him, I'm sure he knows why,"

She nods, she knows me well enough to know when I am lying and when the truth is ringing out.

Then she looks me in the eyes and says,

"He's been awfully interested in you all day, James may do things I don't understand but neither you or me is a fool,"

I giggle; I can't help it, and push her in the arm,

"You think I know why he is acting so weird? I have no idea, about anything, especially Potter,"

She laughs with me, and the serious look is gone, "You're right, you know nothing, but I love you for it,"

I gasp and push her again, appalled, but humoured by her upfront nature,

"Okay, fine, I love you too,"

There is a silence, the 1st years are streaming in, eyes wide, hearts in their throats, praying and excited. There are so many of them, it reminds me, of when we all went there, and the little stool is brought out, and so is the old worn hat.

"I missed you,"

I lean into her, my hair falling into my eyes, and I let it, not caring that it rubs against my skin and makes it itch, I am sicere, and honest, it sums up all of those 3 months, that were forever,

She pulls me closer, and smiles into my hair,

"I missed you too…"

And I am home. I feel that last breath, trapped in my lungs, the last bruise, the last hope fade and I am free again, I am me again and I breathe in the air, the happiness, and the dreams. I breath it all in.

And as I watch the evening roll by, barely able to pay attention to anything, the speeches, the school song, the sorting, the feast, the food that passes my lips, the laughter in the air, Potter deciding to stand on top of the Gryffindor table and show off his gymnastic skills, causing me to put my head in my hands, the stumbled tired walk up to my dorm, and everything blacks out.

But as I close my eyes, and the world slows, and the long days comes to an end, and closes, before my eyes take me miles away to the dreams my mind has already had waiting in line, I think, and my hands slip over the warm sheets, the silk and cotton soft on my fingertips,

Home.

I'm home.