chapter 6: awkward body games all over town
it's a catalogue of modern mistakes
her words and legs wrapped around each man
-bastille, oil on water

recommended listening:
oil on water by bastille
BITE by troye sivan

excerpt from bound for company by Nora Finnigan

For a long time, Rose Weasley was the only person I could totally honest with. And in the times I was not, it was because of the mess within my own head rather than her actions. For a long time, I think I was more honest with Rose than I was with myself. Now, I truly understand that honesty is the best policy. And maybe sometimes I am too honest, but I'd rather be known as such a person than to ever be called a liar. Because lies only breed more lies, and getting caught within a web of such again isn't something I would like. I just wish I knew then what I know now.

end excerpt

.

October 22, 2022

I awake the next morning in just a t-shirt and knickers. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing, but I do not wake up alone. They're pressed against my back, arm slung over my torso, holding me close, forearm partially covering the Chudley Cannons logo on a t-shirt I do not own. I try to turn over, slow and undisturbing; the person stirs, breathes out, but does not wake up. I look up at the black and yellow curtains around us, shut for privacy. On my back, I turn my head as the arm tightens and loosens. I stare at the slope of his jaw, then the way his forehead wrinkles as he dreams, then his tousled hair, then his complexion in the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I think I finally understand the love poems my mother would sometimes read Jane and me in place of bedtime stories. If I weren't already been on high alert, the thought would've shocked me awake.

As I sit up, James finally wakes. The tiredness in his eyes, the way he scratches his head, how he instinctively puts his hand on my back; it all causes me to compose a poem all my own.

I cannot have feelings of romance for James Potter.

"Are you ok?" He asks quietly.

"How did I end up here last night?" I whisper, too afraid to ask the question I need an answer to.

"You found Rose and me at the party, talking really fast about absolutely nothing, but you seemed sad. Rose thought it was best I took you back to your room, but when we got back to the common room you begged me not to let you sleep alone. So I took you up here." He sits up, his hand never leaving me. "I hope that was ok."

"So we didn't…"

"Nora, Merlin, no. Do you really think I would — "

"No! I just… I just don't remember. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize; it's ok. I'm sorry you worried."

We look at each other for a moment, and then he moves to get up, his hand leaving a cold, lonely space. He peaks through the curtains, and then draws them open. I see a couple of empty beds, and one with its curtains shut. James moves to pull on a shirt and trousers, and I finally notice his only wearing pants. I watch his back move as he stretches before pulling on his shirt. He is thinner than I realized, and I have to stop myself from thinking about how my thighs look outside of pants. The sunlight from the window surrounds him in light, and I resume my poem. I stare at my hands.

"Thank you for taking me here. Thank you for not leaving me alone. Just… Thank you." I look up again, and he's looking at me. sunbeam, daydream, i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please. I would like to think of this as the moment I fall in love with James. I would like to be able to pinpoint it. I would like to be able to tell a definitive story, but that's ambitious of me. It's far too soon. I'm getting ahead of myself, as I always do.

"Of course." He sits next to me on the bed as I look down again, hyper-aware of my pale, bare legs in the morning sun. He rests his hand on mine.

I want to tell him. I want him to know. I want to share this moment with him. I wonder if it would be selfish to thrust this upon him before he's even had breakfast. If he doesn't feel anything for me, which is more than likely the case, then I do not want to guilt him into it.

I need to talk to Rose.

I cannot tell Rose.

I cannot have feelings for another of her cousins.

"Are you ok?" He asks me again, sincere.

"Just your normal hangover daze. Nothing to worry yourself over. I'm not a huge fan of not remembering a night. I must've drank far past my limit."

"Need some potion?"

"No, but thank you." The words almost get stuck in my throat. I wonder if James is like Rose — she hates being thanked too much. "I think I should ride this out, you know? I should punish myself for taking it too far." I get off the bed, and try to make myself forget I'm not wearing any pants. My clothes from last night are folded neatly upon the trunk at the bottom of James's bed, and it makes me want to cry. I'm getting ahead of myself again.

"Nora, are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, I just — " I stop myself. No, I cannot tell him. I don't think I will ever be able to tell him. "I just need to go to my bed, and go back to sleep. Thank you, James, for taking care of me last night. Sorry if I cut your night short. Sorry to have burdened you."

"I'm here for you whenever you need me. Don't punish yourself too much for last night. You are nowhere near a burden to me." He looks away as I pull on my clothing. I leave before he can turn back around. I think things are different now.

.

One hand picks at the edges of an uneaten sandwich as the other hurriedly writes down everything inside of me. I'm trying to understand how this all could have happened, how I could having these feelings for James now. I do not want them to be a distraction from the pain that is Louis with Anna, but I have to wonder if that might be a good thing. Because if it is just a distraction, then I don't have to worry about it too much.

James is goodness. He is quiet and kind, but has a loyalty to those he loves and a fierce need to protect them. If James were not Rose and Louis's cousin, Albus's brother, liking him would be so easy. The poem from this morning plays on a loop in my brain, and so I write it down. I think maybe it will help.

sunbeam,

finally feasible to daydream.

i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please.

knobby knees

knock into me

as i sleep.

I tear out the page, crumble it up, and put it beside me on the table.

Rose sits next to me after I've written an entire page describing the way James's hand felt resting on me. I shut the book quickly.

"Secrets secrets are no fun," she sings.

"But sometimes they're necessary."

.

October 23, 2022

Rose doesn't sit with me at lunch today. There is a tension between us that we have had yet to experience. Until now, we didn't have secrets.

James is sitting quietly next to me. It is a particularly dreary day, and we both sip soup as we fill our notebooks. I peak across the table to see him drawing me again, and I choke on a warm carrot. His eyes dart up as I make a strangled noise, but I swallow the bit before he has the chance to try and save me. I give him two thumbs up and a forced smile.

I write my poem for him again and again and again.

only beneath sunbeams,

does it become feasible to daydream.

i want for your skin to mingle with my own, please.

i'll learn to love the way your knobby knees

repeatedly knock into me.

i find comfort beside you as i sleep.

I smile at it; it feels complete. Then I tear out the page, crumble it up, and put it beside me on the table.

"Not happy with your work?" James says, never looking up from his version of me. I wish I could look like that. James makes me look so beautiful and interesting, like a mystery someone would want to unravel.

"Does it ever hurt to be honest with yourself?" James is not a distraction from Louis and Anna. James is goodness. James is the kind of guy I always thought I would have feelings for.

James looks up. James looks into my eyes. James looks just over my shoulder.

Someone clears their throat behind me.

I turn to see Howie.

"Hello, Nora," he says with a small smile. "Mind if I join you for a second?"

"Sure," I say, looking at James. James just looks back to his notebook. I remember a flash of the party: Howie and me by the sidelines, his hand on my shoulder, his smile wide, his demeanor interested in whatever silly thing I had to say. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm ok."

"So you know how there's a Hogsmeade trip just before Halloween?"

"Yes," I say because I do know. And I don't know what else to say because I do know where this is going. I may have never been asked on a date before, but I still know where this is going. And part of me wants to stop it before it happens because James is right across the table. And a bigger part of me doesn't stop it because James is right across the table. Maybe it's a good thing if I just take the option of James away before I get too attached.

"Well, I was hoping you'd like to go with me," Howie says, and looks to his hands for a moment. He looks back up at me. "As a date."

I look at James, and it seems as though he hasn't even heard the interaction. I look at Howie and his small smile, his shaved blonde hair, his bright eyes. I try not to take too long.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Great!" His smile grows. "I can meet you in the Great Hall before we head down there, or maybe at the Three Broomsticks for drinks."

"I have to run some errands with Rose for the weekend, so maybe at the Three Broomsticks." I don't want to say that I don't want to spend the whole day with him, but I do not want to spend the whole day with him. I think I could like a boy like Howie; I just don't right now.

"5 o'clock?"

"Sounds lovely, Howie."

"Amazing." He keeps smiling, and moves to go sit with his friends. Franci and Lenny look at me at the exact same time, and I wave and smile, laughing a bit. I turn to James who is finally looking up from his notebook and at me.

"Howie, huh?" He isn't holding his quill anymore.

"He was very nice to me at the party, even though I was talking his ear off about — something. I don't remember." I take a sip of my soup so I don't have to look at James.

"Do you like him?" James picks up his quill again, but doesn't dip it into his ink.

"I could."

"So you don't like him."

"I don't know, James," I put my spoon down and look at him. He's looking at Howie and his friends. "No, I don't like him, but I also don't know him very well. I figured I could take this Hogsmeade trip as a way to get to know him."

"Ok." James dips his quill into the ink, and instead of adding more detail to my hair as he was doing before, he turns to a blank page.

.

October 29, 2022

"I can't believe you're going on a date with Howie," Rose smoothes down the tight red dress on her body, turning to see how her butt looks in the mirror. The errands I told Howie about are actually just me being kinder to Rose than usual as she tries on dresses for the Halloween festivities tonight. She wants to be the devil to my angel. I want to tell her it's a cliche costume, but I still feel bad about keeping a secret from her, so I lie and say I love it. The lie tastes like asphalt on my tongue.

"Why? He's nice."

"He's a skinhead," she drawls, and pulls on the long, sheer sleeve of the full, white dress I'm wearing.

"He isn't a skinhead, Rose. He's still got hair, it's just very short and blond."

"We should get body glitter for your neck and your arms to show beneath the sleeves — oh, does this have a slit?"

I kick my leg out, my bare shin in the air for just a moment. "Why do you not want me to go on this date?"

"I didn't say that." Rose looks away from me and back to her reflection.

"You didn't have to." I start to change back into my day clothes.

"Nora, you just got your heart broken." In my peripheral, I see her stop all movements.

"No, I didn't. I got a little hurt by a boy I wasn't even with. Please, just be happy for me."

"Ok."

.

Howie stops me outside the Hufflepuff common room. Before I can ask him what he's doing, he kisses me swiftly and softly. I kiss him back, but it's with much less enthusiasm. I do not know if he notices.

He bids me goodbye after we enter through the barrel lid, and his friends whisk him away and up the boys' staircases. I find James sitting on the long sofa, sketchbook in his lap, the page blank. He stares into the fire. I sit down next to him.

"Have fun tonight?" he turns to me.

"It was fine," I reply. No matter these feelings, I am still comfortable around James because he is still James. James is goodness. His quiet presence always brings comfort to the never ending conversation in my mind.

"Just fine?"

"I don't think I'll like him how I wanted to." I pull my legs onto the couch, and rest my chin on my knees.

"Well, that's your problem. You're looking for it instead of just feeling it."

"Just feeling it has never worked out for me."

It is quiet. The groups recounting their Hogsmeade day begin to dissipate, and James draws the shadows beneath my eyes. Soon, it is just us and the dying fire.

"I never answered your question," James says suddenly, closing his sketchbook.

"What question?"

"From Sunday, at lunch. You asked me if it ever hurts to be honest with myself." I don't say anything. I don't think I need to. "It does, actually. It hurts like hell sometimes. Because some of the truths of my life are hard, whether they be my fault or just the collateral damage of being born into my family. There are some days where I'd rather not be honest with myself. Then I remember that dishonesty only leads to more dishonesty, and so I promised I'd always be honest with myself and the people around me. Though, lately, it's been hard to stick with it."

"Why? — If you don't mind me asking."

"I think that's another talk for another day." James rises, and turns to me. "The point is: yes, sometimes it does hurt. But that doesn't mean you should lie, especially to yourself. If you can't be honest with yourself, you can't be honest with anybody."

"Ok. See you at the party soon?"

"I don't think so. Goodnight, Nora."

"Goodnight, James."

.

At the party, Howie approaches me by the punch. I am the kind of drunk that more affects my body than my brain. I've pulled it back from last time; I will remember this night.

"I had a good time today," he says quickly. His hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders are stiff.

"Me too," I say because I did. I had a good time. I had a good time with someone I'd like to call a friend. I watch Louis and Anna laugh together on the sofa, so when Howie leans in to kiss me, I kiss him back. When I close my eyes, I try not to imagine Louis or James kissing me the exact same way. The kiss is a lie lie lie.