A/N: The chapter's song is Sandcastles by Beyoncé.


Chapter 14: Show me your scars

Saturday, October 7th

James' apparent stroke has morphed into a brain death by the next morning.

I really wanted to say I didn't notice it; that I wasn't paying any attention to him. And for the first several minutes of the luxurious breakfast offered by the venue, I did just that, faithful to my resolution and firm in my goal of keeping on avoiding him. I maintained my eyes and focus elsewhere as the remaining guests filled in the large area where the meal was being served, prattling excitedly about the rehearsal dinner and everything fun that was arranged for the following hours. I confirmed with Cassandra that the order for Lizzie's uncle who had the food restrictions was indeed correctly adjusted by the kitchen staff; I messaged the decorator back and forth about when she'd arrive with her team to finalise the welcome party's decor; I checked over and over again if all was going according to plan so far.

And I made myself thoroughly busy until I just couldn't anymore. So when my gaze eventually finds him of its own volition, the sight gives me pause, just like it did the night before when he stuttered so much I forgot to flee and only stared at him as if he was having a stroke.

At the moment, the apoplexy seems to have evolved and all brain function has come to a striking halt, because James sits next to Remus on his designated best-man chair looking like there isn't one drop of life left in his body. His shoulders sag, his usual golden skin appears oddly ashen, and his beautiful hazel eyes shine no light as they fixate on the empty plate in front of him. Only his hair looks the same, perhaps even more untamed than normal, as if he had repeatedly rubbed it on his pillow during a long sleepless night.

His appearance, and whole demeanour, is so in contrast with everything I've ever known of him, and every trait he's always held dear (good looks, good energy, good mood), that I can't help but not avoid noticing him. That, this absolutely bizarre behaviour from the groomsman, is the reason I tell myself as to why I keep stealing glances at him throughout the rest of the meal. As such, what I do notice is his lack of eating but forced laughter every once in a while when one of the lads says something that's meant to be funny; his lifeless eyes but fake merriness whenever Sirius addresses him; his presence during the entire thing but also complete disengagement from his surroundings.

It's so perplexing that I'm stunned nobody's commenting on it. I peek to my side where Cassie and Marley shoot wedding-planning-related questions to each other non-stop, then across the large table where Sirius and Lizzie are being their usual loving selves to one another, and lastly to Peter and Remus. I know the former will likely be none the wiser, but Remus is normally very observant. I try to catch his eyes, or take note of a frown or strange face he might be sending his friend, but nothing. Remus doesn't return my stare, neither does James.

There, it's another item to add to the list of James' current baffling attitude: whereas he has always made a tradition of never letting his gaze stray away from me, he doesn't look at me once the whole time we sit for breakfast. I know I'm being discreet, ensuring that neither he or someone else will find me staring at him, but that never stopped him before. In the time we shared in the past, he'd always have a way to meet my eyes, whether inside a room full of people in between us or when I was set on ignoring him or even if it clearly made me uncomfortable; he would always look at me.

Now, it's like I don't exist.

In normal circumstances, I wouldn't find that fact too peculiar considering we all know James already got what he wanted, which was taking me to bed, so in theory he should be done with me and, therefore, no longer interested in looking at or interacting with me. Him not ogling me and overall pretending I'm not even there was to be expected. I had already predicted that I'd have to endure his casualness and flippancy, knowing he just didn't care about me.

Yet, that doesn't really explain his actions the previous night.

If he meant to ignore me this weekend, as he's doing at the moment, why did he tell me he wanted to talk in the first place? Perhaps to smooth things over and try to prevent our awkwardness from ruining the wedding, but then again, the only one being awkward had been him. If his intention last night had been to charm me into forgiving him and going back to what it used to be before we slept together, why did he act the exact opposite of it, as if he didn't know how to speak with me anymore? Why would he appear to be so out of sorts when I'm the one who got hurt and he was supposed to be the chill badboy who successfully got another notch in his belt? And why did he bolt when I told him to leave me alone when he's never been one to listen to me, the many times I've asked him the same thing before?

His present indifference to me doesn't account for the rest of his strange demeanour, either. Not holding my gaze is one thing; looking like he wished to be anywhere but here is a completely different story. Is it possible that something else is the issue? Maybe this has nothing to do with me, maybe he's struggling with something of which I'm not privy. That's indeed much more likely, and yet his behaviour in the kitchen is still a mystery.

Struggle or no struggle, issue or no issue, why would he bother to reach out to me in such a fashion, and literally plead me to talk to him, after all this time? Again, I'd understand if he had tried to play it cool, and convince me to be a good sport and let go of my resentment toward him, but that's not what he did at all. For the first time I can ever recall, I was the one under control, acting level-headed about the situation, whilst he seemed not to know what to do with himself.

Was he just nervous that I might jeopardise the celebration by openly hating his guts or was he ashamed of what he'd done?

Did he regret it?

It's that last thought more than anything that makes my head spin and my senses bristle to attention. This isn't by far how I imagined our (hopefully limited) interactions this weekend to go. I expected nonchalance and carelessness, even friendliness; I anticipated him pretending that it was all water under the bridge and that we should still be good mates, or in the worst case scenario, that he'd treat me like an old conquest, back to his flirting game and teasing banter. What I absolutely did not expect was apathy. Or his weird anxious vibe from yesterday.

What the hell is going on?

It's all very confusing, and all these questions plague me as I try to swallow the delicious food before me.

I can't figure any of it out and, even if I could, I have more important things to do with my time, so I let it go for now in favour of finishing my breakfast and meeting Cassandra and Marlene outside to go over what needs to get done in the next few hours.

Between the first and second meals of the day, an array of options will be provided to cater to every guest and their preferences. For those younger and with plenty of energy to spend, a biking trip through the wide meadows and woods around the property and horse surfing at the seashore are available, while a spiritual yoga class in the gardens of the venue will be offered for the older but still energetic invitees. Alternatively, ceramics and origami lessons are to be taught in the same pavilion that hosted the rehearsal dinner, in case someone's too tired to partake in any kind of exercise.

Thus, after deliberating with one another for a minute, each of us sets off to supervise the different activities, as to guarantee everything will flow without hiccups. Organising the guests and what option they choose goes without delay, and so we separate to lead everyone to their destination. As the fittest of the three, - because although I'm miles away from having Lizzie's physique and vigour, I'm certainly in far better shape than Marlene and Cassandra, combined - I'm in charge of overseeing the most strenuous programmes. Given that the biking trip is the most intense of them all, it's also the shortest in matter of time, only an hour and a half of touring the vicinities of the mansion; for that reason, I'll be joining those that want to do the trail, coming to check on the horse surfing group in the beginning, before I depart, and after I'm back from cycling.

My decision, perhaps, might have also been influenced by the fact that James has resolved to head to the ocean, and I definitely don't wish to watch him for the next several hours.

Rather efficiently, if I may say so, I steer the two groups to their different settings, chatting quickly with the instructors and wishing everyone fun, and to call me if they need anything. After confirming that the horse surfing is afoot, I return to where three of Lizzie's cousins and Regulus' boyfriend await me to go off into the woods. Our guide is a triathlon athlete that the wedding planner hired to spend the morning with us. With a short explanation about the path we'll be covering, the young woman mounts her expensive-looking bike and leads the way.

It's less arduous than I'd envisaged. The track is pretty unobstructed and there's barely any steep routes, so our small party completes three leaps in a little over sixty minutes, ending it sweaty and relatively out of breath, but otherwise very proud of ourselves. I for one feel much better than what I did earlier, the endorphin working wonders to restore me and give me renewed energy for the task I have ahead.

I say goodbye to the people who accompanied me in the journey and thank the guide once more before making my return to where the sea air blows.

It's an odd activity, horse surfing. The first time Elizabeth had mentioned it to me, after having read about it in a brochure of a hip emporium she often patronises, I confess I had no idea what she was on about. I had never heard of such a thing before. Once she explained what the whole concept was, I remember tilting my head in scepticism; was that a thing people would actually enjoy doing? Wasn't it just a bit too yampy?

Now that I see it play out in real life, it still comes across as quite a strange combination of two entirely distinct sports, but an entertaining one nonetheless. At least everyone involved seems to think so.

There are four horses in total, ridden by the instructor, Remus and the other two cousins of Elizabeth. Attached to the saddles, long ropes connect to four surfboards where Lizzie's uncle, Regulus, Ted Tonks and Fleamont Potter stand as they cruise through the short waves at the shallow part of the ocean. It looks like a hell of an exercise, to maintain balance and always move your body the right way forward, but not very gnarly at that. And the loud laughter floating around the group paints a perfect image of a programme well picked.

Who would've thought?

Way to go, Lizzie.

Enjoying the view, I take my time to join them. As I stay a few feet behind everyone, I can observe the four pairs gliding across the shore, horses strutting back and forth with the boards following swiftly after them, splashing water everywhere. Regulus and Ted do a good job at keeping upright, but the older men fall every thirty seconds. They don't seem to mind it, immediately getting up and back to their surfing attempt. Also observing from a distance, James and Sirius' teenage cousin Dora chuckle at the flimsy scene in front of them. Feeling safe for not having been spotted yet, I allow my eyes to zoom in and lay where they always want to.

James appears to be a tad more revived now, posture more relaxed than it's been the past twenty four hours since we arrived at the country house, but his vitality is still far from what I got used to seeing on him. His laughter is not as obnoxiously powerful and infectious as it once was, his presence not as commanding as before. He looks better, tanner and awfully fit in his loose white t-shirt and swim trunks, and still not his usual self.

I watch on and, because I'm looking in his direction, I see the moment Dora angles herself away from him and suddenly snaps her eyes to the sea. Following her gaze, I find Remus, who sits quite clumsy on top of the horse, trying his best but visibly struggling to hold on. I twist my neck back to her and there isn't a flicker of doubt that she looks at the man with something particularly akin to longing. Intrigued by this development, I pay closer attention, this time to the girl rather than to the infuriatingly gorgeous bloke next to her. Who, as if attuned to what's going on, turns to look at the teen at that exact instant and catches the path of her eyes, too.

His instantly narrow.

A second later, Dora swirls back to James but it's too late. He all but scowls at her and what follows is a quick exchange of hissed words between them, James appearing to be more than a little put out with the seventeen-year-old lusting after one of his best friends, a man almost double her age, and the teenager blushing up to the roots of her bubblegum-pink hair at being caught.

With a steady arm encircling her shoulders, James drags Dora away from the seashore, all the while talking low and shaking his head as he proceeds to give her an earful. It does appear as if this is not the first time they go over the topic.

The situation is beyond amusing, and James' reaction is so protective in such a brotherly type of way that I can't stifle a smile of my own. Poor girl; having a crush during your adolescence is always difficult, having one on a much older and unattainable guy must be even worse. Remus, for his turn, remains blissfully clueless to what's happening, riding the animal in all his unskilled, fumbling, professor-like build, having no idea he's the object of intense coveting instead of the two younger and hotter men, Lizzie's cousins, who parade their bare torsos and boyish energy around. Even James would seem like a more probable target to the girl's infatuation, with his more obvious attractiveness and extrovert personality.

And still, Dora hasn't spared any of them a single look. She appears oblivious to the other two boys, and to James she only shows the sort of affection suitable for a sibling. It's Remus she clearly wants; after the pair walks away, I still notice her occasionally taking glimpses of the sweet man hanging by a threat on top of the horse.

Not for the first time it strikes me how funny attraction works. Unlike the pink-haired teen, I've never considered Remus in a romantic way, despite our matching nature and disposition. Regardless of the fact that we surely would make sense together, the bloke and I never once entertained the possibility. And here, against all odds, I see a girl who's all bubbly, bouncy and so very vibrant enticed by the mildness and tenderness of Remus' character. Whereas poor me can't erase James from my own infatuated mind, no matter how hard I try or how much time passes. And what's worse, after witnessing him act so attentive and affectionate with Dora when no one's looking, I feel my heartstrings pull and my soft spot for the git grow in spite of my determination to never allow that to happen again.

I sigh as the sudden feeling assaults me, making my chest flutter for all the wrong reasons. I shake myself off, moving from where I've been standing for the past ten minutes, smoothing the strands of red hair that have escaped my ponytail and readjusting the climbing shorts on my tights. As soon as I step in where the group hangs, I feel more than see James' eyes leaving Dora and at once zeroing on me. Only because I'm keenly aware of him do I pick up on that, and when I let my own gaze dart in his direction, he quickly averts his, focussing on Sirius' cousin once more.

Unsettled as I only am wherever James is concerned, I busy myself with speaking to the instructor. According to him, all went well and everybody's been having a good time. It looks like it, so I stick around for another half an hour, watching the bemusing outlook of the strange activity, always making sure I'm never in James or his father's way. When the former goes ahead to take Remus' place, I hurry to fall into step with his friend, being joined by Regulus who is also apparently done with his surfing endeavour.

- Crikey, this was something! - Remus exclaims with a grimace, though he also laughs.

- Tell me about it - Regulus agrees, coming to a stop next to me. He flashes me a grin, and it's a stark contrast from the last and only time I've seen him, at the Potters' gala, when he couldn't be arsed to be a smidgen cordial with the people to whom he was being introduced.

I return the smile.

- I'm glad you guys enjoyed it. It was all Lizzie's idea.

- Ah. Well, that settles it, then. The woman is indeed a good choice for my brother, the wedding may proceed!

Regulus says it in a lightly dry tone, arms opening in mockery, and we snicker with his theatrics. I guess he has more in common with Sirius than I once thought.

And I guess first impressions are not all of that. People are more than what they look like to the naked eye.

We chat friendly for another twenty minutes, until everyone's finished with the programme. The last ones are James and Dora, the former who's performed flawlessly as a knight, to nobody's surprise, and the latter who fell on her bum countless times because she just couldn't keep her eyes to herself. Remus, bless his heart, saw nothing, engrossed in his conversation with Regulus right by my other side.

When the last two at last get out of the water, they come to join the rest of the group that's been waiting for them in the sand. Before I can blink and say anything to officially wrap up the activity, James thanks the instructor, says goodbye to the circle, looking everywhere but at me, and closes a hand around Dora's wrist, gently pulling her to follow him as they leave the beach, and all of us, behind.

This time I do catch sight of Remus pursing his lips in disapproval; the motion is brief but I still see it. Despite his obliviousness to Dora's interest, I now know he has noticed James acting strange. And something tells me he's not at all shocked by it. It's almost like he's seen it coming, his friend's blatant avoidance, although he's not happy about it.

It only further plagues me.

In the handful of occasions in which I've met with Remus since my fallout with James, fourteen months ago, he's never once hinted at knowing what went down between his friend and I. Our chats never verged that way, naturally, but he also never behaved in a manner that suggested any kind of acknowledgement of the situation. He never tried to gather more intel or ask my version of the events, because if James told him his, he certainly was curious to hear mine too. On the contrary, he never mentioned his mate nor attempted to convince me to go back to our regular meetings at the pub.

I had been grateful for that, and of course did my own part to never allow our talk to steer in any direction that might have involved James. At the moment, though, I regret being so adamant in not including anyone but Cassandra in the whole affair, or at least for not having tried to gauge how the others felt about it or if they knew anything else. Back then, I saw no reason for that, but now, with all the weirdness going around, I wish I knew more than what I presently do.

I walk back to the castle-like house with Regulus and Ted shouldering me; Remus is one or two feet in front of us, and seemingly in deep thought. I keep an eye on him, in an effort to read him better than what I did with his friend.

When we reach the gardens, we run into the group who had participated in the outdoor yoga class - Sirius, Lizzie, her mum, uncle and aunt, Marlene, and Euphemia Potter. They must have just finished the programme and preferred to stay longer outside, enjoying the mild October sun as they lounge in the mats under a huge willow tree.

We make a pit-stop by them, conversing pleasantly about the eventful morning. Everyone seems in a great mood.

- Sirius, have you seen Dora? - Ted Tonks asks when there's a short lull in the chat. - She and James left before us, they must've gone through you guys on their way to the house.

- Uh, yeah, they walked by a few minutes ago. Dora said she was gonna join Andy and try to catch the end of the ceramics lesson.

- Brilliant. I'll go join them, too.

He leaves, taking Regulus with him. I'm pretty sure the class will be done and dusted by the time they meet the girls, Peter and Cassie there, but I let them go. I'm rather absorbed in watching Remus and, when I notice him exchanging a meaningful look with Sirius at Ted's mention of James leaving us earlier, now also the groom.

Both appear to give more significance to their friend's premature departure than the rest of us. I squint at them and once more wonder what the hell is going on.

As I do, something else grabs my attention.

Euphemia Potter.

Subtly but unmistakably staring at me.

Before I can think any better, I return her gaze fully on, and what I find there is yet another reason to make me feel unsettled. She doesn't say nor try to convey anything with her eyes; she just keeps on looking at me, a mixture of wistfulness and sadness colouring her features.

Jesus Christ.

Why is everyone acting so goddamn weird?

Why is it all going so differently from what I had expected?

Why am I feeling everything but reasonably angered and forcibly disinterested about the whole thing?

Sensing my heartstrings getting once again tighter, I change tactics.

- Actually… - I open my mouth abruptly, attracting everyone's attention to me. - I just realised the ceramics class must be over by now. They're probably not gonna find anyone in there. I'll go and let them know.

Waving half-heartedly to the small circle of people, I hastily retrace Regulus and Ted's footsteps back inside, relieved that I managed to extract myself from the claustrophobic atmosphere that the shadow under the willow tree had become, and found something useful to do with myself. I march intently to the Pylewell Pavilion but cross my targets halfway there, walking towards me.

- The class was already over - Ted explains and I pretend to be surprised by it.

The group keeps going, Peter giving an enthusiastic wink as he passes me, except Cassandra. She halts next to me.

- Hey, babe. How was the biking tour?

- Really cool - I answer distractedly, looking around the atrium. I watch everyone's retreating backs, Dora, Regulus and Ted amidst them, but there's one person unaccounted. One that had also left to go after Andromeda, but who's no longer present. My eyes travel from the large hall to the ceiling-high windows that offer a good view to the gardens, and to the side terrace of the mansion. I turn again to Cassandra when I don't see anything. - And the art lessons?

- Cool, too. - Cassie frowns. - What are you looking for, Lil?

- Nothing. Just, er… Where's everyone heading to?

- To their rooms to wash up before lunch. What time is the decorator arriving?

The lady had told me she'd be here right after lunch. For the afternoon, we had quieter activities planned. Making use of the remarkable infrastructure of the country house, the guests were offered complete access to their spa treatments before the welcome party that evening. That included all sorts of massages, sauna, mud baths, aromatherapy, herbal body masks, and salt scrubs; all services included within the venue's amenities. To those who still wanted to relax before the big event but didn't fancy having strangers touch them or products being spread on their skin, - mostly the men, the silly geese - a slow-paced brewery tour would take place in a near-by farm; an expert guide would depart in a rented minivan at two o'clock and take the interested guests in a round across the location.

This time, the girls and I weren't joining in. We had a lot on our plate as it was, with all the organisation regarding the following evening and morning.

In my opinion, the distraction is more than welcome.

- Around one thirty. How about the kitchen night staff?

- A bit later. - My best friend pairs a tentative smirk with wiggling eyebrows. - I have some time before I need to get down to business, so I was thinking…

I grin, already guessing what she's about to say.

- Yes?

The smirk blossoms in her face.

- Hot stone massage!

This time I laugh, mildly jealous of her availability. God, a relaxing massage would be everything right now. I can painfully feel my neck muscles strain with the tension of the past hours; wedding and James-related.

- You sneaky bastard - I snort, pushing Cassandra out of the way, gentler than I should have and would like to. She cackles at my pout, sending me hearty eyes. - Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just because I can't enjoy myself doesn't mean you shouldn't either. Now, let me through, I need a bath as well.

- 'Kay, babe. I'll go find Marley first. Meet you at the door a quarter past twelve?

- Yep, sounds good.

We say our goodbyes, Cassandra still shooting me cheeky grins, certainly trying to make me even more envious of her luck. I chuckle, giving her the finger before paddling across the atrium toward the staircases. Before I get there, I look through the windows one more time, and then I see him.

I hadn't at first because of the angle at which I was. Now, closer to the edge of the farthest window, almost by the corridor that leads to the west gallery of the mansion, I can spot him diametrically to my diagonal. He stands all the way by the corner of the terrace, facing the woods and not the entrance of the place, so far removed that nobody would be able to see him unless they were exactly in my position, craning their necks to catch a distant glimpse of the end of the patio.

It's obvious that he chose this very specific spot so that no one would find him.

He supports his body on two forearms that brace the ledge, head hanging low. I can discern a cigarette loosely trapped between his left fingers, coming up now and then to his mouth. I watch long enough to see him finish the fag, put it out, weave a solitary hand through his messy locks of hair, briefly raise his head to look ahead to the green in front of him, and reach back to fetch another cig and light it up.

Whatever improvement I had detected on him by the ocean, during the horse surfing, is long gone by now. Once more, he looks defeated. Tired. Miserable.

I hate it.

I hate it so much that an insane impulse overcomes me, urging me to go after him and shake him until he tells me what's the matter. Shake him until he gives me that characteristic crooked smile he used to give me, and that I haven't seen in so damn long. Shake him until I can forget all the wrong he did to me.

Then shake myself, because this is utterly ridiculous.

Could I be any more pathetic?

Gritting my teeth, I look away and ascend the stairs that take me to my bedroom.

Another scalding shower is what I need to get rid of the image of James all alone in that balcony, sad and subdued, out of my frazzled head. It doesn't really work, but I've learned to still forge ahead even when I can't get over him.

I've had fourteen months of practice, after all.

So I slowly towel myself off and get ready, dialling the decorator's number as I step outside to wait for Cassandra. In under ten minutes, she joins me with Marlene and we stroll together to the dining pavilion, deliberating the entire way about our tasks for the next few hours.

Lunch is a quiet affair. Everyone is drained or starving, so limited conversation is heard during the meal, as we'd all just rather take it easy from now on until the grand event later tonight. I'm content in only engaging with the girls and Sirius, and when food is done I pop swiftly by my suite to fetch my large purse with the bridal binder. I meet the decorator by the mahogany entrance doors of the property at one thirty sharp, at once leading her and her team to the saloon that will host the welcome party.

Usually, in a big wedding like this, such a grandiose party would take place after the ceremony, an occasion in which the celebrated couple would already be, officially, husband and wife. The traditional rite, ergo, would generally be conducted Saturday morning or afternoon, with the celebration following suit that same evening. However, Sirius and Elizabeth wanted this weekend to be anything but traditional.

They sustained that their end goal was to extend the commemoration and have more time with everyone during the three days. I suspect it had more to do with going against the current and spicing things up, regaling their nuptials with an appropriate je ne sais quoi that would distinguish it from all the other weddings of the season.

Either way, as it is, the big party will occur before the ceremony, receiving with open arms all two hundred invitees on this Saturday night, while the formal procedure will come to pass the next day, late-morning, succeeded by a bottomless brunch for the rest of the afternoon. The guests are invited to stay as long as they please, since the country house is supposed to be ours until midnight.

That being said, there is plenty to do in order to ensure that tonight will go flawlessly. We're not decorating for twenty people anymore, but for hundreds. The saloon destined for the event is five times the size of the pavilion where the rehearsal dinner was held, and the decor team has only half of it prepared when I get there.

I stay submerged in whimsical florals, pampas grass, drapery, lanterns and incense, and zodiacal ornaments, until the sun goes down. It's past six o'clock when I finally make my way back to my bedroom to get myself ready for the long evening. My hair and make-up artist has already texted me three times by the time I've showered and dressed in my black gown. When I finally let her in, she doesn't try to hide the disapproval in her face at my tardiness, and I can only shrug apologetically.

At seven thirty I'm exhausted but beautiful, and so I march by myself to where Marlene and Cassandra wait impatiently for me, at the corner of the grand saloon.

- Lily Jane Evans! Fucking finally - Marlene greets me less than sweetly, making haste to grab my arm and drag me along with her as she speeds off. She walks and types in her phone at the same time. - People are already arriving. Let's fucking go.

We take our separate places, in perfect position to welcome the guests as they storm in. The groomsmen stand by the entry, saluting everyone after they park their cars and go inside the mansion, and leading them the right way.

I recognise in total fifteen faces, maximum. The rest, I've never seen or heard of in my entire life; I bet they must all be members of the London high society, of which I'm certainly not a part, and somehow linked to Sirius or Lizzie's families, or to their notorious jobs. Everybody looks wonderful and the atmosphere is charged yet exciting. I wish I was a little bit less tired, but I make the best of it anyway.

Taking turns between dancing with the bride and groom, and my girlfriends, and going around the saloon to randomly greet the invitees and see if they have everything they need, I barely see the time pass. By now, I'm an expert at knowing how to act normal while masterfully avoiding certain things. Keeping an eye on the Potters, for example, is something I'm very good at, which translates into me fulfilling all my duties as bridesmaid and not crossing paths, not even a single time, with any of the three. And so the first hours of the night slip past me, in between genuine fun and the ever-present knot in my stomach.

After a long stretch of bouncing and twirling to particularly well-chosen upbeat songs with Cassandra and Lizzie's only female cousin, I'm in dire need of a time-out, so I step away from the dancefloor and stride toward the cocktail bar. I order The Lizzius, which I'm honestly considering asking Elizabeth and Sirius to sell the recipe's rights so that the drink can be officially commercialised because it is fire, and hover by the outside layer of the dancing crowd. I look around, as usual in search of the target from which I must retain my distance, and easily find him chatting with Remus on the other side, close to the rotating food table.

They talk in each other's ears for a beat before Remus pulls James in for a tight hug. They stay in the embrace for longer than men usually do when they're showing affection to their mates, and I find it sweet. Too sweet.

Maintaining my casual glances to the room in front of me, and the surroundings, I make myself appear easygoing, not really focussing on anything as I sip on the cocktail, while at the same time I steal glimpse after glimpse of Remus and James' interaction. Their conversation goes on for a long time, and it looks rather serious, but before I get lost in all the scenarios my mind is so good at conjuring, I notice Dora lingering only a few feet from them, a hesitant expression on her cute face.

She obviously wants to engage with Remus, but the only problem is that James is right there. She certainly does not want to be on the receiving end of another scolding by the brother-like figure of her cousin's best friend. She seems to be considering her options, hanging back as if waiting for James to just up and leave Remus alone, when she would finally be able to make her move. Wrangling her hands by her waist, she tries to appear inconspicuous but she's very bad at it, surely not as experienced as I am at staring at the object of our fancy without making it too obvious.

I pinch my lips in an attempt to stifle my humour. I shouldn't find her predicament that amusing but I do. I quite remember being her age and falling in love with a different guy every fortnight, from older friends of Petunia to TV celebrities and classmates. Although it generally fades away within a couple of months, it still can be very taxing, and if you don't have a solid self-esteem, it can do a lot of damage when it's not reciprocated.

Well, to be fair, I guess when you're older the same still applies; vide my woeful case.

But she doesn't seem to account for all the consequences of her ill-timed infatuation, appearing ready to do something about it tonight, if James would just do her a favour and piss off. She stares and stares, blatantly willing James away with her fierce eyes. I chuckle when that appears to be the case, only for the man she covets to trail after his friend when James starts moving, and the poor girl's face falls as if someone had kicked a puppy in front of her. I shake my head as I laugh, pitying the teen, and I suppose it's the distraction that renders me less sharp, because I'm decidedly not as discreet as I usually am when I swirl my head to track the movements of the two blokes and my eyes suddenly lock with James'.

It lasts only a millisecond; it's more than enough to make my body jolt with the electricity that connects our gaze.

I guess that hasn't changed. The heat between us is still palpable, even when none of us seems to want it anymore.

What also hasn't changed is James' perspicacity; after melting me with the intensity under his hazel, his eyes shoot to Dora, as if knowing exactly what her intention had been, and that I had caught on that as well. His jaw tightens, if of annoyance at her for not having given up on her crush or at me for becoming aware of it, I have no clue, but he doesn't look my way again. He just stares at the ground and keeps marching, Remus behind him. They proceed to turn to the left, taking one of the exits of the room, and disappear from view.

Once more, I'm distracted enough that I don't notice that I have started walking too, encircling several people in my haze and, in the process, catching a faint but clear piece of conversation.

- Where are the lads going?

The voice belongs to Marlene, but I can't see her yet. There are a few bodies between us, but even without sight I recognise the person who replies as Sirius.

- Probably outside, for a fag. James, I mean. Remus must be only accompanying him.

- I really thought James had stopped smoking.

- He had.

- So he's officially back at it, then? That's such a shame. I remember he was celebrating a year without smoking, not that long ago. Now, everywhere I look he has a cigarette in hands.

My friend huffs, more aggravated than I would expect from her regarding this particular subject, as if she's personally invested in James' well-being and the state of his lungs, and a long pause follows her words. One that would give me plenty of time to walk away if I wanted to but I don't, instead faltering in my footsteps just before their line of vision, waiting until Sirius finally speaks again.

He does it slowly, and with an unmistakable tinge of bitterness.

- I guess this weekend was just too much for him. Being here again with- with… you know. He needed some kind of release, something to help him hold on, and I guess he found it in a pack of fag.

This weekend's too much for James? It's his best friend's wedding! How can he be anything but overridden by joy? And how come Sirius acknowledges it as if he's not in the least surprised by it, similarly to how Remus reacted when witnessing James acting so strange by the beach?

And being here again with whom?

Not wanting to be spotted eavesdropping as the people in between us begin to move, I leave them behind, missing the rest of the conversation to go around the dancefloor without an express destination. I wander, drink clenched tightly in my fingers, trying to digest what I heard.

Replaying Sirius' words in my head, I'm sure I'd also be bitter if my best man was threatening to fall apart at any time, yet my interest lies on the why of it rather than the groom's feelings. Why does James need a release? Why would he need help holding on?

What the fuck is happening with him?

And, really, most importantly, being here again with whom?

Outlandishly, my brain immediately supplies me with one answer: me. The reason for his inane behaviour this weekend is me, seeing me again, having to interact once more with the woman with whom he once trifled, needing to face head on the repercussions of his dickhead move. That would certainly provide my earlier questions with a credible explanation; he did regret what he did. He is ashamed of how he behaved with me. And that's why he can't hold my gaze, and stay near me for more than five minutes, and enjoy the wedding as much as he should.

It doesn't take me long to reject the hypothesis.

That's absurd; of course I'm not the cause of James' mysterious dejection. Even if he, indeed, regretted his actions and felt ashamed of them, that's not enough to completely undermine his character. It would explain him asking me to talk last night, - perhaps he did intend to apologise, I'll give him that - but that's about it. Being embarrassed to be in the same room as me again is a far cry from needing a pack of fag to hold on after a year without it just because I'm here.

For that, James would need a stronger motivation, such as actually caring for me. But he doesn't. He can't.

Not after fourteen months of silence. Not after driving me away, very clearly on purpose, and never once trying to correct his wrongdoing. Not after erasing me from his life as if I meant nothing at all.

It's been too long for him to still be hung up on me, and on what happened between us all that time ago.

You're still hung up on him, a treacherous internal voice reminds me.

It's different, I think back.

And he did try to call right after the fact, didn't he? The voice keeps going, insistently. You blocked his number, didn't you?

That doesn't matter, I counterargue to my inner self. He could have reached me some other way. Through any of our friends, or simply coming after me. He never did.

And even if I were to accept the ridiculous notion that he, by some miracle, had been calling me that night to apologise, or that he did care for me, it doesn't change anything. His alleged feelings for me don't make up for what he did, and for the fact that he broke my heart in a most cruel way. Even if he's still hung up on me, and his entire forlorn demeanour this weekend is because of me, it shouldn't matter anymore because what's done is done. Our time has passed, the page is turned.

It's all over.

Are you sure of that?

I am.

I have to be.

Otherwise, it would-

- Hello, dear.

With a startle, I spin on my heels towards the voice. In my (once more) distracted daze, I ended up by the groom's family side of the saloon. Staring at me as I turn around is Euphemia Potter.

The second to last person with whom I'd ever want to be face-to-face, just the two of us.

Great.

- Hi, Mrs Potter - I reply politely, promptly swallowing my tension.

- Euphemia, please.

I offer her a half-smile at this. Her face is nothing but a canvas of affability and I force myself to return it as much as I can manage.

- Are you enjoying the party, Euphemia?

- Oh, certainly, dear. You girls did an amazing job. Especially you - she adds, winking. - The decoration is perfect.

I ignore how her praise makes me beam. I stick with the friendly but distant stand.

- Thank you, Mrs Po- Euphemia. I'm glad you like it.

- I do. How about you? Are you happy with the result of your hard work?

- Yes, I am. Definitely. Lizzie told me earlier it's exactly how she'd envisioned it, and that's all that matters, isn't it?

The older woman nods in agreement, and we fall silent.

Attempting to avoid the awkwardness, I pretend to be admiring the general splendour of the place, a small grin in my lips as if I'm completely at ease with the situation. In the meantime, my mind races to find another topic to bring up, to reach the quota of cordialness required from a bridesmaid, before I can excuse myself and leave.

Before that happens, Mrs Potter speaks again.

- You look lovely, Lily. This dress fits you like a glove.

A flush instantly paints my cheeks red.

- Thank you, Mrs P- Euphemia. You look great too.

She smiles again, but it's somewhat sad now. She looks at me, and the wistfulness is back to her expression.

- You're such a good girl, Lily. It's such a shame that… - She hesitates, and I feel myself holding my breath for some reason. Shaking her head, she resumes, voice lowering only for me. - It's a shame you're not around more often. At some point, not long ago, I was convinced you'd be walking the corridors of the manor with a much welcome frequency.

I blanche at the directness, and what she seems to be implying, and she chuckles lightly. She adopts my subterfuge and looks around us, aloof for a moment, and I don't know if that's it or if she's just gathering her thoughts. I'm in such a state of flusterment, I don't do anything, I just stare at the woman.

After a few seconds, she returns my gaze. But she's not smiling anymore; her face is completely serious.

- I suppose there's only so many mistakes one can make until there's no way back. A shame, really. - She enlaces my elbow with a soft hand, squeezing it once. - I do wish you all the best, dear.

She smiles one last time and then drops my arm, whirling to go back to her assigned seat at the groom's family's large table.

It's a marvel that I make it back to Cassandra and Jenny, Lizzie's cousin, in one piece. This day has taken such a toll on me, I don't even know how I'm still standing. The whiplash coming from all sides, from everyone - Remus, Dora, Sirius, Mrs Potter, James - is just too much for me to handle. It's already bad enough that I have to suppress my own feelings, bottle them down for the greater good of the wedding, I now have to deal with all this cryptic shit going around James and his feelings. His behaviour during the weekend.

It shouldn't bother me. I shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter anymore.

But it does. It just fucking does. I can lie to everyone I want, but I can't to myself. I still care. I'm still under his magnetic force field, because there's just something about James that I can't erase. No matter the sandcastles of our foundation, our lack of true friendship, I fell in love with him a long time ago and I still haven't recovered. No matter if he walks away, or I do; no matter all the broken promises and hidden scars.

I still love him.

But despite my brain's crazy hypothesis and whatever the signs of the past twenty four hours are trying to point at, I know he doesn't love me back.

I know he never did.

Because you don't hurt someone you love like that, like he chose to hurt me.

So, in the end, nothing has changed.

I stay in the middle of the grand saloon, bracketed by my personal guard dog and countless strangers, until the party is over. I wait until the last guest is gone, and the night staff comes in to clean up the mess. I hang with my fellow bridesmaids until the plans for tomorrow are all settled and no stone is left unturned.

I don't see James anymore, and I don't look for him.

After there's nothing else to do, I walk to my suite, face a fortress for the sake of my two best friends. I bid them goodnight and the door's barely closed behind me when I finally cave in.

The tears fall, and so do I. I sit on the floor, the cold wooden surface supporting my back, hands steadying me by my sides on the ground.

The odd sensation of a smooth paper surface alerts me to it before the wrinkling noise hits my ears. I pause in my crying to bring to my eyes the envelope that almost got buried under my crumbling body.

Sniffing, I open it.

Lily,

I know there's a big chance you won't open this, and will never read the words that took me the whole day and night to muster, but I'm going ahead anyway. I suspect this letter is more for my own benefit than yours; you of all people know how egocentric I can be. There're so many things left unsaid between the two of us, things I've had plenty of time and opportunity to tell you but never did – and, seeing last night's pitiful display, I don't think I'll ever have the courage to do it looking at your face. So, adding cowardice to the long list of my shortcomings, I've decided to write to you instead. Even if you never read this; even if I'm aware nothing will change; even if I know that this won't make anything better. I guess among all the wrong I've done to you, the only one I can right is the truth of my feelings. It's the least I owe you.

I've never been one to fall in love. With so much else in life, that never seemed to be something very relevant to me. And to be honest, I was just too comfortable in my safe, predictable little routine. Meaningless flings, careless nights-out, bros before hoes. You know the drill. I was happy that way and genuinely thought I didn't need or want anything else. Because of that, I never saw you coming on that unsuspecting Friday night of June. I was just utterly blind when you came along. So I fought against it, against the unexpected feelings you awakened in me, simply because I didn't know any better. I didn't know what else to do, I didn't know how to act except the way I had already been doing my entire life. This might sound like bullshit, just an easy way out to explain my awful behaviour, and perhaps it is, but there's really nothing else I can say for myself. I've told you all sorts of lies, and I've played all kinds of games, but the reality is that it didn't take me long to realise that there was something there, something between us. Something I wasn't ready for. I wasn't ready for you, Lily, it's the plain and simple truth. And so I fervently denied my feelings until it was too late. I closed my eyes and followed my gut instinct that told me to run away from it, from you, as fast as I could. The night I ruined everything, I barely remember leaving that room. I was on autopilot, my entire body in some sort of trance, frozen, lifeless. I remember looking at you asleep in that bed and thinking my chest was going to burst. It was a horrible feeling, one I never had before, one I didn't know how to deal with, one that made me panic. And leave. I left you, and everything that was new and important and scary, behind. I followed my old ways out of that room and away from you before the pit in my heart would grow even larger; and when I saw you leaving Lizzie's house later that night, I think a small part of me died; the only part in me that was good. I didn't realise what that meant until I was back inside my apartment, and that that odd sensation that seemed to be tearing my insides out was fear. Because I already knew I had destroyed us. That I had thrown out everything we had built together, and turned whatever future we could have had together into ashes.

I knew it was too late, then, and I know it's too late now, as well. Seeing you again this weekend has ripped my heart apart, because I'm once more faced with all the ways I have failed as a person. I know I deserve it, and I know I don't deserve you, but I guess I couldn't stay silent anymore. In the worst case scenario, I hope this gives you closure. I hope that this letter, along with my tardy and unwelcome confession, gives you some sort of satisfaction. To learn that I'm fully aware that I'm a scumbag, and that I'll have to live with the knowledge that I fucked up everything for the rest of my life, and that I'll always regret losing you. I hope you find a decent man, and when you tell him about your exes and the stupid men that once broke your heart, you'll get a warm feeling, knowing that in the end you're better off without me, and that I'm the one left miserable, alone, and without the best thing I've ever had. I know it won't make up for what I made you go through, but at least you will have as consolation the fact that I've never regretted anything more in my life, and that I'll carry this with me long after you've forgotten all about me.

I won't ever forget you, but I hope you forget me. I hope you're happy, and that I haven't done any irreparable damage. In any case, despite suspecting it doesn't matter at all to you anymore, I need to say it at least once: I'm so truly sorry for everything I did to you, Lily. It was done out of fear and weakness of character, but never for a lack of love. Know that.

Forever yours,

James


A/N: Who doesn't like a confession letter? Just ask Jane Austen lol

Can't believe we're almost there! I'll try to post the finale somewhere next week :)