Loving Him

by RubyE.A.Gem

I remember everything. The beginning and I remember the end. I remember his eyes, the way they danced like flames, and how the gold flakes would catch the light. I could lose myself in those hazel orbs. I remember his laugh how it was contagious, and how he understood me better than I did. I remember how we went to the end of the world for each other, and we would do it all again.

11. The Stars and him and I

~Rose's POV~

Chapter 11: The stars and him and I

"Where are you going?"

V's voice is interested, it comes from her bed, where she lays surrounded in open books, parchment and finished quills, a cup of cold coffee sits on top of a pillow, perched precariously.

"I have a project to do…."

She arches an eyebrow, and glances at her watch, eyes daring me to tell her the truth,

"At this time?"

I giggle, and grab my book bag, slinging it over my left shoulder and shake my head,

"I thought we already established that you aren't my mother,"

She giggles back and gets out of bed, her hair a rat nest, and as a true friend, I can't help but appreciate how relaxed she looks. Her arms cross over her chest and she shakes her head again and again,

"Someone's gotta be your mother crazy,"

I shake my head, eyes rolling, "Like hell they do,"

She laughs and walks in front of the door, eyebrows arched,

And where do you think you're going young lady"

I pretend to get really serious, and tilt my head acting as if I am thinking,

"I'm going to illegally party all night, and come back in the morning with zero recollection of what just happened, and by then I should be mentally prepared for your lecture, mom"

She rolls her eyes, hands going to her hips,

"Just remember curfew you idiot, and by the way, if you ever get the guts to read that letter, tell me how it goes, and don't let it get to you, promise me you won't let it get to you…"

A silence seems to descend, and I can hardly breath, I can hear the blood rush in my ears, my heart leaping out of my chest, my mind being blown, and without warning the memories hit, like a brick, like a avalanche, and her voice, so soft, so kind, so scared. I remember the first time I saw her at the old willow tree, hiding behind its big branches from the bad people, I had hid and I had seen her, hunched and eyes wide, she watched me and I watched them, and she said come inside child, and ever since….

I remember the way she would nod when I talked and nod when I whisper, and nod when I read, and she would nod when she slept, I remember the way her hand curved around that old tapping cane, I remember the way she taught me morals, and values, and things about life, I remember how she told me about the magic school, the school of dreams, she said she never made it to it, but then she said one day I would.

Her voice was always raspy, but it was kind, the only kindness I really knew before V showed up, before Scorpius came along, before Hogwarts.

"Rose don't make mistakes" "Rose sit up straight" "Rose, don't make mistakes" "Rose sit up straight," "Rose, hide from the gutter," "Rose remember why you're here" "Rose don't go outside, bad things happen outside" "Rose remember…" "Don't make mistakes"

And then I blink and her wrinkled face disappears and it's just me and V, V who is watching me come back from the past with her eyes curious, the V who was there from day 1 here, the V who hit John McCullum for me in second year when he slapped me, the V who was always there.

"I'll tell you the minute I open it, I promise…"

She nods, and then she searches my face and steps out of the way to let me by, and as I go she grabs my wrist and turns me slightly to face her, her eyes pierce into me,

"Rose, I know that if you go where he asked you to, or go at all that it's crossing a line, a big line, and that Sheila cannot find out, you know that right?"

I look down at her hand, the way it slips around my wrist, the way it seems to be an anchor, keeping me in place, keeping me safe,

"V, it's a project not life or death, so there is no harm…"

She watches me intensely,

"I believe in the ripple effect, that one action can cause a thousand others, one action Rose, and that means any action…."

And on that doorstep, with one foot out and one foot in, I have a choice, and I take a deep breath, and count to three… One, she's right, of course she is, two, it's just a project, I hate him, three, no harm…

I lick my lips and force a smile,

"Don't wait up for me…"

The steps are hard beneath my feet, and they seem to go on and on before me, I can see the top in the far off distance hiding from me, there in that small doorway, I can see the moonlight creep in and I watch its rays haunt me, call me, asking me to come closer.

Its late, dinner seems so long ago and Fridays are so very busy, that sneaking away from it all, V's wandering eyes, and Dom's love sick heart, the way Scorpius stares across the room at another Potter, not the one with the golden eyes, but the one with the emeralds that never gaze back.

Up these stairs, I am far away from the bustle of life, the constant way the world turns, the classes, the homework, the stress, the friendships that are growing and igniting, and the romance that seems to be too brave for all of our young hearts. The way Scorpius watches Albus, Albus watches the world, and Rose W. watches them. I can't help but want to tell Scorp that Rose asked for him, but I don't dare, and so the stairs climb above me, as I go in circles, the shadows bouncing off the walls as I go onwards.

This morning, as I went down to that great hall for breakfast I got a telegram, as in delivered the muggle way, at Hogsmead, with my name on it, McGonagall gave it to me. And with one quick glance at the address I hid it in my pocket and ignored it all day, but the parchment is now heavy by my side, as if burning me through the fabric, a warning sign, telling me to read it, to dare to glance, to dare, and yet I fear it.

The steps climb on above me, and my feet take each one in stride, climbing higher and higher, away from the world, my steps are so soft I can hardly hear the quiet putter patter of my shoes on the stone, the timid sound of my hand running along the wall, guiding me upwards, the scrape of my nails sends a chill down my back. The glow of the dim light of the lamps is eerie, and causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, and my breath to come quick. It casts shadows across my face, into my eyes, reflecting the world in them, reflecting the fear.

I can feel eyes on my back, and yet no one is watching me, I can feel them follow me, in Hogwarts with all the moving pictures I always feel like I am being watched, as if I am trapped, never truly alone. The doorway is lit in moonlight, as the stars reflect the suns brightness in all shades of silver and grey. The stars have always fascinated me, they too dare me to open that letter, and they too dare me to take the next few steps onto this tower. The North Tower is considered one of the tallest in all of Hogwarts, out of bounds and yet I am sure he somehow bent the rules, for us, no, for him.

I stand in the doorway and I watch the beautiful sight before me, the wind roaring past me, making my lips turn slightly upwards, the wind does not make me cold, but alive, the tip of my nose getting red, the tips of my ears rosy.

The wind reminds me, and pulls me back in time, his hair is white like snow, like the snow falling around us, he is one with it, laughing at something I said, I realise I can't remember what I said to make him laugh, but I remember being proud I had, this was just after his grandfather passed away, he had been so sad, because the public had rejoiced as if it was a good thing, the Potters had rejoiced like it was a good thing. I remember him running out of the great hall when he got the letter, hand over his face, eyes wide with horror, I remember running after him, into the boys bathroom, for once not giving a damn it was off limits, and into it, and I wrapped my arms around him and said, "It'll be okay, not today, but one day I promise, I'll make everything okay…."

I remember it was just weeks before winter break, and he was so looking forward to spending Christmas with his family, his dad was always away on business, he'd promised to be home this Christmas, I remember how I took him to Hogsmead, and bought him warm Butterbeer and after I took him to our special place, hidden just behind the Three Broomsticks, was a snug little alley, that was covered in beautiful tapestries that Melisandre, an old woman with a kind smile, and a big heart sold them for 3 sickles. I remember how it began to snow, and I threw snow balls at him and I said something that made him laugh and I felt so proud, so happy, so relieved, and there was a wind….. Like this wind…

What had I said?

I blink and the snow disappears, the terrace is large, expanding before me, it has a turrets top, like those medieval castles, that acts as a railing or banister between me and flying. I want to fly, suddenly the wind does feel cold, and my pocket feels a little too heavy, and I go to reach for the letter, but then I second guess myself and wrap my arms around myself, stepping over the thresh hold, the wind is beautiful, the stars remind me of an endless galaxy and I can't help but be blown away, whoever could have the power to create something so beautiful, or was it not a who but a how, was it not even real, It looks far too extraordinary to leave behind. It blankets me, wrapping me up, pulling me in, I am trapped in their light. I want to count them, everyone, every single glowing jewel that smiles down at me, but there are simply too many.

That's what I like about this world, the one with the thrilling magic, they don't destroy their environment, they don't have electricity to block out the stars, they don't have fossil fuels to cloud our atmosphere, our air, and they don't have machines that kill our planet. Instead they have spells that can grow back, that can fix, and that can replant, recreate, and refocus.

I got another letter this morning, the hand writing was cursive, strong, elegant, it too dared me to live, it too dared me to climb, it too dared me to look him in the eye, well here I am, on the top of the world, the wind in my hair, the door flung open, the stairs stretching on behind me. The letter had arrived by an owl, beautiful and all white, with black on the tips of its ears, when I got it I had felt everyone seem to watch, I remember how I thought, that even his owl had eyes that seemed to be liquid flames. It had said,

~You want to learn the stars, do you want to see them up close, go to the highest tower at midnight, and take a chance this Friday night, I promise no promises~

-J.S.P

I walk across the terrace, my eyes searching the darkness, it seems to dance with me, making my blood rush, the wind is cold in my hair, dancing it in the breeze, throwing it around, I have no idea how long I stand there, and eventually I step closer looking down, the ground seems like miles away, small below me, and I feel like a giant, hovering above it all, above everything.

The night sky captivates me, as if the stars and I are one. And then I feel the eyes, they are soft, they are kind, they are honest and they are real, and I can feel the way they bring me close, the way they hold me in their arms, the way they are saying it will be okay without speaking a word, and the time pasts and I don't say a word, and neither does he, neither of us dare to, this moment is too perfect, this moment is too fleeting.

My voice is soft and quiet in the still, it sounds like the wind, floating across the space to him,

"How long were you standing there?"

The shadows respond, with a whisper, a call, a summon, but I don't move, that voice is like velvet, like silk, not rough like cotton but perfect, deep, mysterious, controlled but smart, as if it always knows exactly what to say, always what to say. It asks me a question; it asks me a dream,

"Would you believe me if I said forever?"

I shake my head, my hair making a soft swishing sound, back and forth, I know he notices the movement, the way my hair slips over my shoulders, the way my hands wrap around myself, trying to stop the shivers. His voice comes at me again, running towards me like a hurricane, and yet somehow he is the eye, he is the calm in every storm, he asks me again, his words make the shivers increase,

"What's wrong with forever?"

I shake my head again, back and forth, the movement is less forced, more natural, more human, and my voice is timid, and honest when it replays,

"Nothing lasts that long,"

His gaze seems to multiply, and his voice holds a daring tone, daring me to prove him wrong,

"Some things can…."

I swallow hard, and I don't turn, my back still faces him, though I can imagine his figure, the Gryffindor uniform unkempt, the slight upturn of his lips, his eyes dancing and yet the flames are still, the way he would be leaning in the doorway, relaxed, unafraid, always unafraid, the way his hair would fall into his eyes, blending in with the shadows, the way his hands would look like art work, the way his cheekbones would look like nightmares. When I do answer, this time I am asking the question as if he were before me, my voice is not as timid as before, demanding, quiet, but straight to the point,

"Like what?"

I hear the soft caress of fabric against fabric as he moves in the still, and I try not to hang onto every second of this moment, his voice is beautiful, like a painting it mesmerises me,

"Love, respect, legends, kings, ministries, worlds, words…"

A pause, I can hear his hand run through his hair, the quiet slip of each soft strand of hair going through each callused finger, running over his skin, then he continues,

"They can't be forgotten, sometimes when I can't sleep at night I like to think that one day I'll make a big enough dent to become forever, like my father did…"

I seem to be shaking my head again, I can never seem to agree with what he says, with anything he says,

"Not even your father will last forever, he'll become a legend, and then a ghost, and then legends will be forgotten, and the people who forget won't even remember why they did, what they did…"

He sighs, the sound mirrors the wind, and I wish I could see it, him, it all, everything. His voice sounds like a dream, a bad dream, where you know it is far too good to be true, and it is enticing, it is drawing me closer, and yet I don't turn, I can't face him, and so he speaks,

"Forever can last on in books, in the pages we write, in the love we give, in the respect we have for each other, for anyone,"

I lick my lips and close my eyes, the darkness seems to swallow me, the stars seem to dance with me, a slow waltz back and forth, the rhythm lost in the wind, and my voice caries with that wind,

"And what do you Potter, know about love, or respect,"

He chuckles, as dark as the night sky, as light as the wind running through my hair, as hot as the fire that burns through my veins, as cold as the snow of winter,

"Nothing, and you, mademoiselle brilliant, tell me Ravenclaw, do you know?"

The wind takes my sigh, soft, and in its turning air away from me, and there is a pause and then I answer, with just a light hint of anger, of distaste,

"More than you do,"

I wonder why he watches me like he does, why he asked Veronica all those questions, why he wanted to know my name on the train platform, why he liked the way I yelled at him, why he didn't like Scorpius, I can't help but wonder, I like when I understand things, when I understand the world, but I can't seem to ever understand him, and that mystifies me. It mystifies me why he has everything and yet isn't satisfied, and that he somehow is so shallow that there is nothing to see, and then sometimes, in moments like this he is so very deep I am afraid I might drown, and slip under, in his eyes, in his arms, his words.

His words are honest, their what he believes, like that he is like me he speaks what he thinks, he says what he wants, he doesn't give a damn if it offends, destroys, or starts a rebellion, and yet again I am lost because around a crowd he is so very careful with what he says, how he acts, refined, perfect, and yet here, alone, he says what he means, there is no barrier, no filter, no damn given. And so I have no idea what to expect.

What he says seems to move me; each word is very matter of fact, very isn't it like this? It is convincing, he's good at that, convincing,

"Are we not too young to know what love means? Or are we too old to remember that respect is necessary? I have a family that saved the world because they loved each other, now you can choose to believe that or Rita Skeeter who writes that they saved the world because they had some kind of weapon…"

I find myself breathless; he seems to be so very able to take my breath away with a just a few sentences,

"James, you can't save people with love if you don't have the bravery, the power, the brilliance, the guts to do it, love is just another factor in everything. And yes, we are far too young to understand something as big as love, or as huge as respect… And I know more because I was never told that love is the weapon, I was told that love is the sacrifice…."

Another chuckle, a shiver running up my back, I can feel his eyes on me, drilling holes in the back of my head, daring me to face him, I don't turn, his voice reminds me of silk, and velvet, of a sickly sweet syrup coting and beneath it something hard, refined, real, something I want to get to know, but what he says causes me to want to hurt him, to rip away all the lies and talk to him heart to heart, not that he'd know where his heart is, or where it is located, merlin, he is so blind he can't even see where mine is, or whose it is,

"What makes you think that? Because you've had such a hard life, coming to the greatest wizarding school as a city girl from London, you were given the gift of being here, and gods aren't you lucky with that incredible mind of yours, as you too learn to climb to the top, right?"

My teeth grind together, loud, and I can feel the fire, the shiver replaced by a burning hatred, yes, an emotion I hardly ever feel, and yet more and more often he seems to be able to get me that mad, at him and at me, and my voice is raw, enraged,

"Don't you dare pretend to know anything about me, or my life you bloody idiot. You think my life is easy? You think you know me?"

I turn around, staring at him in utter rage, my chest rising and falling with anger, my heart rate quick, my eyes wide, he is hidden in the shadows, his eyes piercing black gold, as if asking me to fall into them, to drown in them, he blends into the dark, a gold chain standing out on his neck, fine, expensive, and a red jewelled lion head hangs at the end, the Gryffindor symbol, his initials carved on its roaring teeth. He wears all black, and therefore he is the darkness, that I fear, that I want to run from, and his relaxed posture mocks me, his eyes of liquid copper call me. He gracefully leans on that wall, hair messy, hanging into those eyes, a hand in his pocket; the muscles of his arm stand out in the shadows, each rise and fall traced by that enthralling darkness. His hair is one with the darkness, causing him to look like the devil himself, his teeth white pearls gleaming between parted lips, gleaming at me.

He stands up and steps out of the darkness, watching me like a hawk, a predator and for a moment I feel as if I should be scared, that gaze is so electric, so uncontrollable, and so honest. He licks his lips, a soft motion, and his hands raise from his sides in a wide gesture, as if he is holding up the sky, extending to their full length in both directions, and so he raises an eyebrow, eyes hard with flames I cannot seem to look away from, lips in a smirk that is legendary, and maybe, I can't help but think that face, that mind, those eyes, might just last forever.

His voice is like ice, but it makes the fire start to burn inside of me, it dares me, it asks me, it wants me, and that, that scares me, he looks like a god his arms seem to encompass the world, his eyes seem to burn me alive, and I feel my heart pound a quickened beat to me,

"Enlighten me…."

I swallow hard, I see him follow the motion, he knows he makes me uncomfortable, scared, nervous, angry, mad, happy, observant, or maybe he doesn't, maybe he just pretends to as he pretends to with everything else. Maybe he genuinely wants to know how my mind works, how my heart works, but I cannot seem to gain the courage to let him in,

I clear my throat and look away,

"We should get started on the project…?"

He watches me, the way I turn my head, the way I look away, the way my vein pulses with each quickened breath, after all its just us, me and him, with the sky, on a high tower, far away from everything, everyone, the world is far beneath us, his voice reminds me of a falcons screech, in the early dawning mornings, outside of the orphanage, I always looked forward to its early morning call, as if saying, here I am, as if saying I will wake you every morning, of every day whether you like it or not.

That voice keeps going, and I try not to drown in it, to get lost in it,

"A part of the project is getting to know each other, and that means if I say you're a city girl, you say no, and tell me exactly what you are, I'll go first, I'm just a guy who was born with a silver plate, and everything I've ever had was fed to me, all I had to do was open my god damn mouth, right Rose? You put it best,"

I remember how I yelled that at him, the boys in the dormitory watching on, him so very close, towering above me, he wasn't angry, he wasn't even mad, he had brushed every cruel comment I had said right off, and as he said it now, I couldn't tell if I should laugh, or apologize, or run and hide.

He mocks me, and yet he does it with so much integrity, so much bloody righteousness that it seems as if he is conducting a sermon. I look into those eyes, the flames are low, just sparks, just smoke, he sees me watch him, and I see him watch me, but all alone, we can watch each other more openly, but the wide alone feels far too big, and the stars above seem to be judging our every move, so I take a breath in.

"No, I'm not from the city; at least I don't think so, my parents and I…. We don't talk much about where I'm from, or at all, and you? James, where are you from, where were you born?"

It's a lie, almost all of it. I've never met my parents, seen their faces, sometimes I like to imagine what they look like, do they resemble me and I them? Or do we look nothing alike, would I notice them if they were walking by me on the street, or even more importantly would they notice me? I don't know where I'm from, sometimes I like to think its some distant foreign country, because that sounds cool, when I was little I would tell myself I was a princess of a far off land, that had to be sacrificed for the greater good of the people. But honestly, I doubt it. But James doesn't need to know me, and the way his eyes hang on every word, makes me question why I lied, but that single quick, heartbeat of insecurity is gone, after all only the girls, and Scorpius know who I am. And I fear even them knowing, I fear trusting, so why would I want to trust the fools incarnate before me?

He ducks his head, eyebrows scrunching together as he examines me, his voice is like the dawn, as the sun comes and warms the world, taking away all the cold, and for a moment I think he knows I'm lying, his eyes seem to say, "Really Rose? You'd think I'd believe that?" But he doesn't say anything on it; he just speaks, a voice that never seizes to amaze me,

"I was born in Venice, my dad and mum, they travelled a lot back then, a lot less now, and if they do it's with the family, not just us, but everyone related to us, sometimes I think I'd like it to be just us… I've been to Venice, it's beautiful, but it's not home…"

I stop myself from stepping closer, his voice is so soft, so breath taking, for a moment I wonder if he can sing, but more than that I wonder what is home? But I don't dare ask, and I study the ground instead, I seem to always find the ground,

"When I got your note this morning I thought that you must be crazy to want to go here after hours, and then I thought you were challenging me, wondering if I'd show up,"

He smiles, genuine, and that is like the dawn of time, if I could just memorise the way his lips tilt, no, Rose, pull yourself together, you just need rest, and sleep and some common sense, in that exact order. His voice is humorous, laughing as he speaks,

"And here you are, don't worry Ravenclaw I didn't doubt you for a moment,"

I chuckle with him, lips turning up and I lean against the tower, the stone is cold, but his gaze keeps me warm, keeps my cheeks warm,

"You did get permission right?"

I arch an eyebrow and so does he, and he grins, wide, happy, and shakes his head laughing,

"Aww, Miss Perfect can't be late past curfew, can't break a rule or two?"

I scoff, tossing my hair over your shoulder, and look scandalized, my sarcasm dripping off of each word,

"I'd like you to know I am very good at breaking the rules, but this year we are prefects, and that means we need to step up our game, and focus,"

He is full on laughing now, head thrown back, teeth shinning like stars in the night, and he isn't the darkness I realise, he is the light, he is the reason that Veronica is always so happy over the breaks, is always so loud, so full of a joy, a joy that only he seems to be able to possess.

His voice is mocking, pocking fun at me,

"You sound like McGonagall,"

I place a hand over my heart, and throw my head back, trying to look love stricken,

"Oh you mean your 'love'?"

He smirks, and shakes his head softly, but walks over to the telescopes anyways, his stride careless, elegant, strong, masculine. He adjusts the lenses and peers through it as he peers at me, and I follow his gaze, up to the stars, and he seems to become lost in them, and so I turn away, my back to him and I take out the letter that was sent to me early today, and for a moment I wonder why, but with Potter here I feel safer, as if whatever it holds can't hurt me as much as it would normally, "Alright Rose you can do this, you can do anything, right?" I whisper to myself, murmuring encouragement, and I feel his eyes glance from the skies to me, as he hears the taring of parchment and the seal to envelope is broken and I open it, looking inside,

And so I read,

Dear Rose Nadia BlackThorne,

The orphanage wanted to inform you that a family of four has requested the adoption papers for you, to take you into their care as a foster family until you reach the age of eighteen and legal adulthood. Now they understand your situation and how you are an honours student on full scholarship at some elite boarding school, and they completely approve of this situation, but would like to meet you this Sunday and get to know you. So I do suggest if you want a family, happiness and a worth-while life you get yourself a train ticket and come down to London for the weekend. As well they couldn't be happier that your school is free, though they do want physical confirmation of this,

We expect you on time,

Liza Carter

I reread it, and then I read it again, my breath quick. A family, the idea is preposterous, and yet I can't help but imagine it, and I want to scream, to smile, to run but I stay, my eyes wide, my hands shaking. I can feel a single tear trace my cheek and I wipe it away, a smile on my face, and I can't seem to stop smiling. I clutch the letter close, and I forget the world, my imagination running before me like a wild horse, daring me to run after it, images of someone hugging me, waving me goodbye, kissing me goodnight seem to come out of smoke before me,

"Whoever wrote you seems to be awfully good at making you smile…"

His voice is inquisitive, and for a moment I had forgot that he was here, standing, observing,

"They aren't good at it normally, but today… It…."

He cocks his head, and an eyebrow,

"Does that mean that something happened, something good?"

His voice is comforting, quiet, young, oh so very young,

"Maybe…."

He smiles as soft as his voice, as soft as the wind,

"Then maybe it is all worth it, in the end, right?"

I smile up at the stars, the paper clutched in between my fingers,

"Maybe…."

There is a long pause, that seems to stretch on and on, and then he speaks, jokey, humorous, and I can't help but let the smile spread like a wild fire on my face. His voice is like lightning, and he laughs as he says it, eyebrows arched,

"Are we having a civilized conversation?"

I feel the blush spread across my cheeks, and bite my lip, my smile seems to be contagious as he smiles back, I shake my head in defiance, raising my chin,

"No!"

He walks over, each step making my heart pound,

"We are having one, an actual conversation without you wanting to kill me,"

He is close, towering over me,

"No, and I still want to kill you Potter, don't get your hopes up,"

He shakes his head, bumping my shoulder with his, the action is playful, the simple contact makes me want to gasp but instead I am laughing, it is all so silly, up here, away from everything it seems so perfect, too perfect, and the brief contact makes my heart rate speed up,

His voice is funny, a slight chuckle beneath each word, a slight hint of temptation behind each syllable,

"I think we are,"

I shake my head, laughing,

"I think were not!"

I giggle, and then I smile, wide, not half, not fake, not forced, real, and it seems to light up his face, his eyes, he seems to become alive as he watches me smile, really smile, and I can't help but want him to hold me, to tell me it will all be okay, right here, right now,

He isn't smiling anymore, he's watching me, eyes alive, he looks so serene, so calm, so shocked, I wonder what shocked him, and then he opens his god damn mouth and my world crumbles, because how was I to know that this was the first time, of oh so many times, that we would stand here, on this terrace, with inches between us, and the world below us forgotten, how was I to know that if I had only told him to not say anything, to keep quiet, everything would be so different, but I wanted to hear what he had to say, I wanted and how was I to know that one day I would need it, him.

His words hit me like a train, like a bullet, but I'm not dying instead its making me want to fly, and want to climb higher and higher, and maybe today, every day we will fly, but me and James maybe this is flying, right now, right here,

"I think I like the way you smile…."

I stop and stare at him, my eyes following him, and he steps closer, the gold of his chain seems to be like the sun, and so he continues,

"I think I'd like to see you smile more often…."

My chest is rising and falling, but his eyes stay on mine, and I feel like the only girl in the world, and there is a million and one things going through my head, but one of them is that he should step closer, that he should dare, just this once, that no one would know,

His voice sets every part a flame, every word is like a bullet, a stab and yet I have never felt better, then here, and that's the strange thing I don't understand, what is he doing to me?

"I think that your smile is a reminder that there is good in the world…"

I stare into those eyes, those beautiful orbs that I could get lost in,

"Oh James, what are you saying?"

He smiles, soft, so very young, so very transparent,

"I'm saying you're beautiful, I'm saying that I have no idea what I'm doing, but maybe, maybe we should dare…"

I can't take my eyes from him, from that face those eyes, everything, and I feel that fear, that coldness in the darkness, and it seems to tell me that maybe this is a cross road, that maybe this could tell the rest of my life, and I need to choose, choose what's right and not for me, but for everyone, Sheila, Veronica, Scorpius, me, James. And I can almost see it, it's almost possible, and just for a heartbeat I believe that it could be us, somewhere, everywhere, in Venice, that he could show me the world.

But it's gone, because the better part of me, the smarter part of me realises he is just a boy, a boy that sees a pretty girl with a nice smile, a boy that has never even known what love is, that suddenly wants to get to know the pretty girl and take her places, when he himself doesn't know where he is going.

And I don't know him, I have no idea who he is, what he's done, what his life is like, and I hate him, I hate him for thinking I would say yes, for thinking I am that cheap, that easy, after 2 weeks of barely knowing each other and he wants me to be on my knees begging. But at the same time I want to say yes, I want to forget that I should be making every day count, thinking through every move. I wonder how fast it would take him to get disinterested in me; I can almost see him counting the days, and me counting the hours, would I even last a week? And then someone knew comes and I am thrown out the window.

I know his reputation, the things he has done, the way he treats people, I'm not blind, Sheila and him hardly talk to each other, how quickly does it become an act, and I hardly noticed him over those three years, but I have seen all the girls he has gone through, all the many, many girls he has left behind.

And I can see the wheels turning, and there is regret on his face, regret he had said anything, and his voice is not so sweet when he speaks, instead its cruel, and it makes me feel small, and the ground is not far away because I am not a giant anymore, and he finishes his sentence, and crushes it, whatever it was,

"Dare to stay out all night, then your reputation really would be ruined, what would Sheila say? Do you think Scorpius would beat me up? I'd bet 5 galleons he would…"

There is a pause, a quick moment, and then my hand is moving through the air like a bullet, and this one will hurt and I slap him, the famous James Potter right across the cheek, he wasn't expecting it, and laughs cradling his face,

"Merlin Rose, that civilized conversation thing lasted like 2 seconds tops,"

I turn away, rolling my eyes,

"UGHHH, don't you merlin me, you bastard, now shut the hell up and study the stupid sky so we can finish this and go inside, okay?"

He chuckles,

"Alright princess whatever you need,"

I seem to be growling, or flexing my fingers, I wonder which one, maybe both,

"Don't make me hit you again, I swear I will!"

He puts his hands up, eyebrows raised, laughing as he backs away in defence,

"Oookaayy!"

I roll my eyes and go to the telescope and he goes to the next one, shaking his head, lips upturned, but deep behind the masquerade I see regret, just a glimpse, and I must not have seen it, and yet it felt so real, the moment, his words.

"What do you see?"

I ask after what seems like forever, the hours slipped by, it must be around 2 in the morning, and yet there is still adrenaline pulsing through my veins, every moment with James Potter seems to be an adventure and a new experience I don't want to have, it breaks the still, and when he answers it is as soft as the wind, and as kind as the light, and as mysterious as the fire,

"The universe and hell it's big…"

I'm sitting on the ground, my legs crossed, my body forming a knot, my robes used as a blanket, keeping me warm from the elements of the night, I bite my lip as I ponder what emotion Venus is letting off, as it is tilted 23.5% on its axis, I roll my eyes in annoyance,

"Potter?"

He glances up, raising an eyebrow,

"Hmm?"

I sigh and run a hand over my face and then take a deep breath,

"When an inner planet is tilted to the right but less than 90% in fall, with the new moon what emotion is it letting on?"

He licks his lips, grinning,

"Does Miss Brilliant not know? Oh no, whatever shall we do?"

I shake my head, scoffing,

"You know what answer or forget it,"

He chuckles, sighing,

"Someone has attitude issues…!"

I roll onto my stomach, burying my face in my hands,

"JAMES!"

He licks his lips again, "Yes? Do you want an answer now? Alright, calm down adorable, it means that until the next new moon war will be less, because blood lust will be underpowered by the lack of moonlight to guide attacks, at least the ancient roman gods apparently thought so, and the emotion stream lined would be honesty and integrity, for these 29 and a half days until the next new moon, got it? And since Venus is on the inside-"

I finish his sentence,

"It would be a stronger more solid emotion because it is a solid planet with a core of iron, or pixy dust, so our future would encompass things that are more team involved, such as the Quidditch game coming up, as a small thing, or affect bigger things like the vote on the forgotten one's next week Wednesday on if they should be left alone if they are under the age of 20…."

He nods, his smile falling for a moment as he is reminded of the upcoming fate,

"Exactly, but for something more personal, like results for this project we can monitor our team work, how often we have sessions, if it is more often than next month or the month after and so on…"

I nod, scribbling down notes next to the carefully drawn graphing's,

There is a silence again and then he speaks, his voice warm like the sun,

"I always thought studying the stars was just astronomy…"

A silence, I don't glance up, he continues,

"Do you know what the brightest star is?"

I feel my eyes dip close, and open them rolling my head side to side to wake me up, the unfinished star charts lay on my lap, next to them is the scribblings to what our futures are corresponding to the constellations,

"No, but that's what the project is here for, learning and all that,"

A silence, I wonder if he heard me, so it is my turn to continue,

"But I bet you think you know Potter,"

He laughs, so soft I can hardly hear it,

"That I do Miss Black, it's called Sirius, I was named after it, and before me someone else was, someone who will live forever, and you also got to share his name, didn't you, Black?"

I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face, rolling back onto my back, propping myself up with my elbows,

"One doesn't choose their last name; it is simply coincidental that together they form his name, nothing more,"

He shakes his head, a steady, powerful movement, that looks like it could cause an earthquake,

"I don't believe in coincidence,"

"Well I do…"

"Does that mean you believe we were destined to meet, that it was written in the stars?"

I roll my eyes, stretching as I lie down on the cold stone ground, surrounded by scattered papers, and illegible scribblings as I wrote down everything he documented and saw in the heavens,

"Nope."

He chuckles again, I seem to want to hear more, more of his laugh, but I stop the thought as it comes. Another silence, another pause, as minutes fly by and we admire the still between us,

Eventually he speaks up,

"What is your favourite shade of blue?"

My eyes slip open, he no longer stands by the telescope, but leaning against the terrace with his head tilted towards the heavens, eyes upturned, he watches me watch him.

I look to the sky that shines above us, and I ponder the question, what does he mean,

"I think that it is irrelevant to the project,"

He tilts his head; the moonlight makes him look like a ghost, all silvers with gold eyes, and a gold chain that seems to tie him to earth, chaining him down,

"Entertain me, after all you are a Ravenclaw, Black, what's your favourite shade?"

I bite my cheek, and think, I look up to the sky, my head tilted back like his, and I watch the beautiful stars above us, the beauty of each light, and how with that light you can see the darkness of the blue, I love the way it is almost black, I love the way it seems dangerous, and yet mysterious, like it has a secret, like it has a thousand secrets,

"Dark blue, like the darkness above us, it captivates me,"

He closes his eyes, his hair falling out of his eyes, as the wind rushes in between us,

"It is beautiful…"

He's beautiful, like the sky he is untouchable, he is too far away to ever be able to get, he is one of those peoples that can't be real, that is too prefect to be real. Where are his flaws? He continues, his voice like a melody, sad and breathless, beautiful,

"If you could get that sky, what would you do with it?"

I giggle, soft, mystified, mystical, shaking my head I look at the stars, the blue, the beauty of it all,

"I'd lock it in a bottle, and admire it on special occasions,"'

His lips tilt up,

"Would you ever take it out?"

I close my eyes letting myself be bathed in the moonlight,

"No, well maybe, if it was just me, just me and the heavens maybe I would wrap myself inside it, like it blankets us now, and I would hold it close and breath in its fresh air, and admire it…."

He nods,

"One day I'll capture that sky for you…."

I giggle again,

"And put it in a bottle?"

He nods again, his eyes look at me, honest, real, as if he is dead serious, and that makes me want to laugh even more, he ducks his head and keeps talking,

"Yeah with a quirk and everything, and I'd send it to you, all wrapped up, and I'd watch you smile, that smile that's like liquid gold, priceless, not even the heavens deserve to see that smile,"

"And you do?"

It slips out, before I can catch it, and regret saying it, but you can't take words back, you can't erase them so I watch his head tilt,

"Who said anything about me not?"

And there again, we are reaching a boundary that line Veronica was talking about, that rule that I cannot break, and so I stand, brushing off imaginary dirt, eyes on the ground, eyes as far from his as they can be,

"I should go inside,"

He shakes his head, and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging, not that I notice,

"Afraid of the dark, or me?"

I glance up, quick, my eyes finding his,

"A little bit of both,"

He sighs and he looks honest,

"Stay…."

I think for a moment, that twice in one day is far too many times for my liking, and so I say what he said, just in different words, in different ways, I tell him the boundary, I tell him the limit, and in the words is laced a sorry, a quiet, non-existent apology,

"And dare having my reputation ruined? Breaking you and Sheila up? My friends hating me? Scorpius disowning me? And you forgetting me the second someone more interesting comes along? I'd rather not…."

He detaches himself from the wall and steps closer, I feel myself step back, his words run through me like a tidal wave, washing away common sense, but a wall is built as soon as they leave me empty,

"I don't believe there is anyone more interesting than you, and trust me I've met quite a variety…"

"I don't doubt it, what is truly disgusting is that you're proud of that,"

He shakes his head, eyebrows coming together in confusion, genuine confusion,

"Why do you care so much about what other people think?"

"Why do I care? Why do you care?"

He looks down, eyes darting from mine and coming back honest, real,

"Because it's all an illusion and I fear them seeing through it,"

I tilt my head,

"IS this an illusion, now, this moment?"

He shakes his head again, for what seems like the millionth time,

"No, it's a secret, a lie, a little bit of a flirt, a little a bit of a dare…"

I take another step back, away from him, away from it all,

"A flirt?"

He licks his lips; I can't help but watch the movement,

"You're blushing…"

My eyes tare away from his, and I go the door way, and turn back, he doesn't look at me but at that sky,

"What's the lion mean?"

His hand goes to the necklace, wrapping around it, the rubies glint in the light of the moon, in the light of his eyes,

"It's a secret and I don't trust you to keep it,"

I watch him, and shake my head chuckling,

"Who the hell are you James Sirius Potter?"

He looks at me, eyes that shine like gold, that are gold, and then one bats closed in a sly, smooth wink, that dares me to take the temptation, who am I to resist, but I am already on the other side of the doorway, safe on the other side, another boundary between us…

"I'm someone who will last forever…"