Chapter 35
Complication #35: Sometimes the ground falls out from underneath you – what you reach for shows where your priorities lie.
I shed James' Invisibility Cloak, wondering how this is somehow my first visit to the seventh year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. Really, you'd think we would've realized snogging on a real bed was preferable to desks ages ago.
James grins next to me. "Welcome to the Lion's Den."
The room looks almost exactly the way I'd expect it to, and it's almost comical how easy it is to pick out which bed belongs to whom.
The farthest left bed is an absolute mess, and there's all sorts of odd Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products everywhere – that one obviously belongs to Fred.
The next one is James' – if nothing else, the fact that he has the Huxley jersey I gave him for his birthday hung on the wall next to his bed is a dead giveaway. The rest of the wall around his bed is cluttered with various photos.
Next to that is Alec's bed. There's a photo frame on the nightstand that's face down; I can only imagine that it's a picture of him and Dom. Which makes me wonder why he hasn't gotten rid of it yet, if they're supposedly broken up now.
Then comes Simon's bed, which is a perfect contrast to Fred's. It's neatly made and all his belongings are in his trunk. The only evidence that it's Simon's bed comes from the Beater's bat sitting on top of his trunk.
The other two beds presumably belong to the other two seventh year Gryffindor boys – I have no clue who either of them are, actually.
I walk up to James' wall of photos. He's got a huge variety of them – from family gatherings to pictures of him and his friends to Quidditch matches. My eyes stop on a magazine clipping.
THE WIZARDING WORLD'S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS
Number 1, James Potter: Yes, ladies, the eldest son of Harry Potter is officially of age. And he's fit as hell. A Keeper both on and off the Quidditch pitch, if you know what I mean.
"Conceited much?" I ask, stifling a laugh.
James sees what I'm looking at, and has the sense to look embarrassed by it. "Fred found it in Roxy's Witch Weekly and put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it. I've been trying to get it down since September."
"Fine then," I concede. "Since you didn't put it up yourself, I'll refrain from taking the mickey out of you for having it hung on your wall."
"Can we get back to the real reason I brought you up here, instead of you judging me for the things I have hung on my wall?"
"And you're sure none of your roommates are planning on coming up here anytime soon?" I confirm. We've made it this far, and I'm not trying to get caught anytime soon.
"Well I just locked the door, so even if they do come up here, we've at least got a few minutes to figure out an escape plan."
"Good enough for me." I sit on James' bed and lean back on my elbows. "Come on now, Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor."
"I hate you," he mutters, but the fact that he's on top of me and kissing me only a few seconds later suggests differently.
As the kiss deepens, he wraps an arm around my waist and rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I shudder as his teeth graze my bottom lip. I keep waiting for this to get old – for kissing him to no longer feel like the first time, but it hasn't yet. I'm starting to doubt it ever will.
I hear a distinct tapping noise, and immediately jump away from James. I'm in the middle of planning the best hiding spot – under his bed is bound to be disgusting, but it'll have to do – when I realize that the sound isn't coming from the door, but rather the window.
James lets out an exasperated sigh, before going to the window and opening it. A rather large snowy owl drops a letter into his hands before flying away.
He sits back on the bed next to me and pulls the letter out of its envelope. As his eyes scan the letter's contents, a number of unidentifiable emotions cross his face. It's almost as if I can feel the aura of the room shift as a frown forms on his lips.
When he finally says something, his voice cracks. "It's – my dad. He got hit by a curse out in the field, and they don't know – he might not make it. He's at Mungo's now. Mum wants us to come home immediately."
And then I watch as the strongest person I know crumples in front of me.
Even though I'm pretty rubbish at dealing with other people's emotions, my reaction is instinctive. I move closer to him, pulling him into me. His hands find my shirt, gripping it like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. No noise escapes his mouth, but his shoulders shake slightly as I gently stroke his back, run my hands through his hair, anything I can think of to provide him any sort of comfort.
After a few minutes like this, James starts to speak again. He doesn't move from his position against my chest, so his voice is slightly muffled. "We fought before I got on the Hogwarts Express. I don't remember how I ended the conversation, but it wasn't nice. And now it could be the last thing I ever say to him."
I want to be able to say something to him that'll make him feel better, but I'm not sure there's anything I can say in this situation. I don't want to promise him that it'll all be okay, because I don't really know if it will be. So we sit in silence.
Finally, he pulls away from me. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks completely broken. I thought I'd seen every emotion this boy was capable of – I've seen rage, I've seen arrogance, I've seen moodiness, I've seen it all – but this is a totally new one.
It somehow takes away my ability to breathe.
"Come with me," he says.
"What?" There's a number of things he could mean by that, and I'm not sure which one it is.
"Come home with me. I can't do this alone."
I start at him for a moment. This doesn't quite seem like the right moment to take a friend-with-benefits home to your parents. "Are you sure? Don't you want, I don't know, one of your cousins? Like Fred, or Dom, or – "
"No. I need you. Please."
He looks at me, and the pain clearly evident in his eyes leaves me with no option but to agree to his request. Seeing him like this breaks my heart.
"Okay."
And so I follow him from Gryffindor Tower to Professor Longbottom's office. Neither of us make an effort to say anything to the other the entire way there – to make small talk while walking at this point would feel odd.
Professor Longbottom, upon seeing us walk in, instantly gives James a hug and offers condolences. Al, Cecile, and Lily have already left, apparently. James returns the embrace half-heartedly, and I can tell that he's trying not to fall apart again.
When Professor Longbottom lets go of James, he notices me standing behind James and gives me a puzzled look. I don't know what to say to him, or how to explain my presence.
"She's coming with me, Neville," James says, and his tone makes it clear that there isn't anything Professor Longbottom can say to change his mind.
Professor Longbottom nods and doesn't question it, before walking to his fireplace and holding out the bucket of Floo Powder for each of us to grab from.
James goes first, shouting for 'Potter Manor' before going up in a burst of green flames. I follow shortly after, and almost land on James as I stumble out of the fireplace.
I look around the room – the same room we'd celebrated the New Year in just a few months ago. The room's slightly different now; there are frames hung back up on the walls and a few decorative items sitting on the coffee table. I suppose they'd hidden any breakable items when they decided to give a bunch of teenagers free reign of their living room for the night.
There's a pop in the other room, and Mrs. Potter comes around the corner.
"Oh good, James, you're here," she says, slightly out of breath. "I just took Al and Cecile and Lily over to Mungo's, so they're all there now."
James nods, and I realize that Mrs. Potter can't see me from my place behind James. Otherwise, I'm sure she would've commented on the unknown girl that had just Floo'd into her fireplace with her son.
James realizes this too, because he takes a step to the side. "Mum, this is Abby."
I notice that he doesn't give me any sort of descriptor. Although to be honest, I really wouldn't know what to call James in relation to me either. 'Friend' doesn't quite seem to cover it anymore, but we're also not technically anything more than that either.
"Hi, Mrs. Potter."
A look of recognition passes through Mrs. Potter's eyes. I can't help but wonder what he's said to his mum about me. "Please, call me Ginny. It's lovely to meet you, dear," she finally says, before looking back at James. "Come on, let's get to Mungo's. Take Abby on Side-Along since she won't be able to get out of the house without it."
With another pop, she's gone. James grabs my hand, and I almost immediately feel the familiar sensation of being squeezed through an incredibly small tube.
When I open my eyes again, we're in the busy reception area of Mungo's. We follow Ginny onto the lift and up to the fourth floor. When we reach a room at the end of the hall and Ginny opens the door, the sight that greets me is hard to comprehend. Al, Cecile, and Lily are all in chairs, sitting around a hospital bed.
Lying on that bed is the same person pictured in countless History of Magic textbooks and Chocolate Frog cards – but now, he looks like a totally normal person. He looks like he could be asleep, if you didn't know he'd been cursed.
James' hand finds mine. I should be concerned about what this looks like to his siblings and Cecile, but I can't find it in me to care about that right now – not when I know just how much James needs this.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze; I can't make anything better, but I can be here for him.
We stay at the hospital until visiting hours end. The Healer on duty reassures Ginny that he'll notify her if anything changes overnight. Everyone's on edge, because we all overheard that same Healer say something to a Medi-Witch about the first 24 hours being the most critical – that if he doesn't wake up in that time period, the probability that ever will drops dramatically.
When we all get back to the Potter house, everyone's oddly quiet – something completely unheard of for any of the Potter/Weasley clan, who are some of the loudest people I've ever met.
"James, get Abby settled in the guest bedroom closest to yours," Ginny says, as she heads to her own bedroom. Lily follows her, apparently choosing to spend the night in her mum's bed instead of her own.
I follow James upstairs, and he shows me to the room next to his. It's all red and gold – the bedding, the curtains, the area rug – all of it.
"This is what you get when you let a whole family of Gryffindors decorate a house, apparently," James comments, and I can sense that he's trying to lighten up the moment. The amusement, however, doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, wait, I'll be right back."
He disappears into his own bedroom, and comes out a few minutes later holding what appears to be one of his T-shirts.
"Figured you wouldn't be too keen on sleeping in that," he says, gesturing to the dress I'm wearing.
I take it from him, and I notice that it's a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey, likely from a previous year. "Thank you."
"Goodnight, Abby." And with that, he's walking back to his room.
"Goodnight, James."
I change into his shirt – which still faintly smells like him – and climb into the Potter's guest bed.
I should be knackered after the day I've had today – it feels like it's lasted ages, and it's hard to believe that just a few hours ago I was teasing James about a Witch Weekly article. It's like the whole world has shifted in a matter of hours.
But instead of being exhausted, I'm wide awake. My mind is reeling, and I just can't get comfortable in this unfamiliar bed.
So I eventually find myself getting up out of the bed, and walking out into the hallway. I think about going to James' room, but he's had an even more eventful day than I have and I don't want to disturb him if he's already asleep. Instead, I find myself walking downstairs – I'll get a glass of water or something, and hopefully that will calm me down some.
The stairs go straight into the living room, which is fully bathed in pale light from the full moon. I'm oddly drawn to the collection of picture frames on the fireplace mantle – the ones that weren't there when I was here a few months ago.
It's easy to find James in some of these pictures. There's one of him as a toddler, flying around on a toy broom with complete reckless abandonment, looking completely content as a figure that I assume to be Harry Potter chases after him, trying to make sure James doesn't fall off. I can't help but smile – he hasn't changed a bit, really.
"Can't sleep either?"
I jump at the voice, and turn around to see James standing at the bottom of the stairs.
"No," I admit. "So I came down for a glass of water, and got distracted by – " I trail off.
"I was a cute kid, yeah?" James tries to lighten up the moment again. "I'm going to make a cup of tea, if you'd like one."
"Yeah, that'd be nice."
And so a few minutes later, we're both cradling mugs of hot tea, and James sits down on the couch. He inclines his head toward the space next to him, signaling for me to sit there.
I sit next to him, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. The weight of his arm around me is oddly reassuring.
"I just don't know what to do," James finally says, and I can tell that his mind is reeling. "I just – I wish I hadn't been such a shitty son for all these years."
"Arguing with your dad doesn't make you a shitty son, James," I try to reason with him. "It just makes you a completely normal teenager."
"I just – I've always been worse to him than Al or Lily. I've always resented him for the fact that nothing I can ever do will live up to him saving the world, and I – I don't know why it took me until today to realize it, but he didn't have any control over what he was born into either."
I consider that for a moment. "It's not too late to apologise to him."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he's still here. He's unconscious, but that doesn't mean that he can't hear you – there's all sorts of Muggle books on that sort of stuff. People still being able to hear in comas and all that."
James is silent for a moment. "Yeah, maybe."
And we sit like that, with my head against his chest, even after we've both finished our tea and James has sent the mugs flying back into the kitchen.
It's strange, that something so innocent as sitting like this feels like the most intimate thing we've done. I'm not sure what to make of that.
It makes me realize that I just might be in love with him.
It's nothing catastrophic or groundbreaking; the world doesn't shift under my feet with this newfound realization. Rather, it's like when you suddenly feel your heartbeat against your skin – it was still beating when you weren't paying attention to it, it's just suddenly become more obvious. I think I've been falling in love with him without even noticing it happen.
And then he has a hand on my cheek, tilting my face towards his as he leans down to kiss me.
It's nothing like our normal snogging – heated and passionate and impatient. This is softer, slower, more tender, and his lips taste vaguely like chamomile. And holy hell, barring all of the trauma that got us to this point, I really wouldn't mind staying like this forever.
A/N: Well, this was an absolute roller coaster of a chapter.
Sneak peek of chapter 36…
It takes me a few moments longer to come to terms with my sudden realization from last night. And naturally, the first thing I want to do is go yell at James: I told you so. I knew from the start that there was no way a situation like this could end smoothly; someone always has to develop feelings.
But, of course, that would require telling James why I'm right, and I don't think I have the courage to walk up to him and offhandedly tell him that I may or may not be in love with him.
Not to mention that this point in time – when his dad's in the hospital – is probably the worst possible time to have that conversation anyways.