Author's Note: This may well be the last chapter, unless people want me to continue into their relationship, up until it reaches the point where Sincerely, Stuck in the Past starts. we'll see.
Rory was sitting in the common room, anxiously waiting for James. Everyone else was in class, but surely James would have noticed that she wasn't at lunch. And hopefully, he would think to look up here. If he didn't, Fred would tell him to go looking for her.
She was sitting in her favorite chair, back to the portrait hole, staring into the merrily roaring fire that was the only source of light besides the windows. It threw her hands into relief, and she examined them, gray eyes flitting over the skin.
Her hands were like her mother's. They were her one feature that was not permeated with the Black looks. Her eyes, her hair, her height, he coloring, they were all mementos of a grandfather she had never met, and a father she could hardly remember anymore. Her face was that of her grandmother's, though, Sinclaire features on an otherwise obviously Black face.
It reminded her of Dia, really. The Black features on her cousin were clear and unmarred. The high, angular cheekbones, the big, wide set eyes, the narrow face, the straight nose and the pouty lips were all one hundred percent Black.
Thinking about Dia, of course, only reminded her of the problem at hand, and she jerked her thoughts away from that line of thinking. She continued her study of her hands. They were small, with normal fingers and small palms, graceful and slender. They were dancer's hands. She thought of the many times her mother had picked her up and spun her around the room in a merry sort of dance, singing in French the entire time. She remembered her favorite song, the one her mother had sung to her when she went to sleep.
She sang a little snippet of the song, her favorite line.
"On demande pas la lune…" she trailed off. She didn't demand the moon when she asked for Jamie to love her, did she? She really didn't think so. It felt natural, with all the pieces fitting.
"Rory?" came a whispered voice.
She started.
"Who's there?"
"It's me, Rores."
"Hi, James."
James frowned, though she couldn't see it.
"Why do you call me James now? Before it was always Jamie, or Jamsies or some sort of nickname."
Rory sighed.
"I don't know James. It just felt right then."
"And it doesn't now?"
Rory shook her head, fighting back tears, before remembering he couldn't see her.
"No, James. It doesn't."
James gulped before making his decision. He crossed the room in a few steps and scooped Rory up in his arms. She gasped and clung onto his shirt as he picked her up. He sat back down in the armchair, now with her in his lap.
"Rory." He took her face in his hands. "Tell me what's wrong."
Rory's breathing was speeding up. Her heart was racing. She was so close to him. All she had to do was lean in and kiss him, and then everything would be explained. But his hands and her fear held her back.
"Rory, I'm serious. Please tell me."
"James, I can't."
"Why not? We tell each other everything. We're best friends."
Rory closed her eyes, her eyelashes brushing his thumb, and unknowingly sent shivers up his spine.
"I can't tell you this, Jamie. I just can't."
James nodded his head, then pulled her against him. Unthinkingly, he kissed the top of her head. He rocked her back and forth gently as the tears started to flow from her eyes. In seconds she was sobbing into his shirt as he rubbed circles into her back.
"I'm s-s-sorry, James," she muttered.
"It's okay, love. I promise, whatever it is, it's going to be okay."
Rory glanced up at him, gray eyes wide and trusting, and he felt his heart lurch. He steeled himself for her possible reaction, sucked up all his Gryffindor courage, and leaned forward. Slowly, he leaned into her, one hand at her cheek, the other around her waist. He could hear her breathing quicken, and he smiled slightly. Maybe she wanted this too.
He paused, barely an inch from her lips, and smiled to himself. Then, using the last of his courage, he pressed his lips to hers.
It was like nothing else, Rory decided. Like nothing else in the world. It felt like flying, and it felt like being home. He gently ran his tongue along her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth, but not forcing her to. There would be plenty of time for that later. Now, it was all sweetness.
When she could barely breathe, Rory broke the kiss. She smiled at James, and rested her head against his forehead. She felt at home. She felt complete. She felt perfect, like nothing could go wrong, like nothing could touch her.
Of course, Fred chose that moment to barge in, arguing with Alice, and they instantly shot their heads up, but the secret smile that passed between them was enough.