I've never liked someone and had them like me back. My whole love life to date, such as it is, has been nothing but unreturned feelings on one side or the other. At least, as far as I know; my response to realising I'm into someone is generally to take it to the grave with me, so they might possibly have been interested if I'd had the courage to tell them. The only times anyone has shown blatant interest in me, however, I've not been feeling it.
The first time was in third year. Antonio Goyle, a year older than me, had paid me a lot of attention, but I managed to get it back to him through a chain of acquaintances that I wasn't interested, and so he quickly dropped it. The second was in fifth year; Alyson Parkinson's twin brother Thomas, of Ravenclaw, was my partner in Charms, and towards the end of the year he asked me out. I managed to let him down gently I think, but we were never that close, so it wasn't the end of the world.
I've never had to reject romantic advances from a friend before, and I really hope I won't have to now. I have few enough mates without losing one to the awkwardness of unrequited feelings.
A day or two after the party I find myself sprawled on the lawn in my free period, scribbling on some parchment and frowning thoughtfully. To avoid doing my Arithmancy homework, I am idly plotting ways that one might take advantage of an inability to fly in a kidnapping attempt, and hence how they might be foiled. For my own amusement I animate my doodled diagrams, and watch in amusement as hooded stick figures on broomsticks descend upon a quaking victim.
"Hey Sue!" says Potter cheerfully behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It's the first time I've seen him since he explained the whole kidnapping thing, as I ended up slipping away from the party without talking to him again.
"I'm not kidnapping you!" I blurt out idiotically, and then clap my hand over my mouth. James frowns in confusion, but then spots the parchment. He picks it up and examines it, while I look away, mortified.
"Sue, what's this?" he asks kindly.
"It's not what it looks like," I promise. "I was just trying to work out how someone could kidnap a non-flyer, so I could think of how to stop them."
He smiles, and hands it back to me. "That's sweet, really, but my dad hires professionals to deal with our family security- they've been through all that before."
"Oh." I feel stupid. "It's just…well, have you tried using a house elf?"
James stiffens. "My family don't keep house elves."
"Neither do mine," I say hastily, "but I just thought, you could pay one to hang around and apparate you out of any anti-apparition wards. They don't work on house-elf magic."
"I know." He considers me for a second, but then his face softens. "It's a good thought, but it wouldn't be failsafe. I probably shouldn't tell you this- it's totally against protocol- but since the house elf liberation movement really took off, some of those who claimed their freedom have begun to sell the secrets of elfish magic, enough that new anti-apparition wards have been developed, that block house elves too."
"Oh, I see."
"It's cool that you were trying to think up ways to protect me though," he adds, with a wide smile. "Can you show me how you animate your doodles?"
I show him the spell, and he masters it fairly easily, and amuses us both with little moving images of dancing house elves, and a typical muggle "wicked ol' witch" stirring a bubbling cauldron and grinning evilly. He's surprisingly good at drawing, and his doodles are quite impressive. In the panic of potential misunderstanding, I had forgotten my fears about unrequited feelings. As I relax, they come flooding back, and for a minute I detach myself from the situation to observe it. He doesn't seem to fancy me; doesn't even seem to have the potential for it even, despite what Abi might say. He's chummy and makes me laugh, but there's no awkwardly close proximity or lingering glances that I remember from the Thomas Parkinson incident. But why else, it occurs to me to wonder, is he here?
"You're looking at me strangely," he comments after a while. "What is it?"
"I'm not."
"Susie."
"Susie?"
He chortles. "It's cute."
"It's not so bad, I guess," I allow. "Doesn't work too well with my mean, Slytherin image, though."
He swats me on the nose with the witch picture. "I'm serious though. What's your issue?"
"What's your issue?" I counter.
"Sue."
"Fine." I relent. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but…what are you doing here? All the years we've been at school you always seemed to just spend time with your family, especially Fred. And now you keep hanging out with some loner Slytherin chick?"
He frowns, and looks away.
"You've not had a fight with them, have you?" I ask.
"Nah." He sighs. "Fred's kind of busy with Sadie at the moment, and I actually don't spend all that much time with the rest of my cousins. They're good kids, but, you know…wrapped up their own teenage drama a lot of the time. We eat together at meals, but that's about it."
"That still doesn't explain the Slytherin loner bit," I observe, taking this in. "You must have other people you could be with."
He laughs. "You're not a loner!" Seeing my expression, he adds, "Well, okay, maybe a little. But you're a laugh, and I need to be around people who get the whole caution thing. Pretty much the first time I properly met you, you found out more about me than most of the rest of the school who I'm not related to. And you've not done anything with that information, so…" he shrugs. "I can relax around you, I guess."
"Okay." I'm a little embarrassed by this confession, but relieved at the same time. Nevertheless, I cannot for the life of me think how to respond to it.
As if he's read my thoughts, he adds, "And now you need to tell me something deep and touchy-feely so I don't feel like such a sap."
I snort, and reply, "Yeah, I think I'll pass on the touchy-feely thanks, Potter."
He makes a face at me, and asks in mock affront, "Why Susie, are you not fatally attracted to me, swooning at my feet?"
I offer him a rude hand gesture, and he sniggers. "Come on, though. Tell me something a bit embarrassing."
"I don't want to," I whine at him. "You're the one who's all into this opening up to people stuff. It's a wonder you're still single, boys are never usually this keen to talk feelings." Why did I say that? Why? What a stupid and awkward thing to say. I just practically implied that he is, as Brenda Stayman would say, 'boyfriend material.' What if he takes it the wrong way?
"Barnthorpe. Spill."
I pull myself back to the conversation and sigh dramatically, trying to think of something. "Okay…well, even before I started talking to you, I used to kind of watch your family. Not in a creepy way," I add hastily, as his expression begins to morph into a smirk. "Just like… I find you all interesting, as a family. You're a kind of weird social phenomenon."
"Sounds pretty creepy to me," he says innocently, and I hit him.
The strangest thing about being friends with James is that the rest of his family really do seem to come with it. He may claim that they're not that close, but suddenly they all smile at me in the corridor, and Rose sometimes even waves. Albus chats to me in the common room from time to time, and Louis, also in Slytherin, has started coming to me for help on his Potions homework, having heard (evidently through James) that I take it at NEWT level. It's only third year stuff, pretty easy, and I find I quite enjoy teaching. Something to consider, that.
Rose is actually pretty fun. For all James calls his younger family "good kids", Rose, though only fifteen, seems pretty grown up. I've always got on better with people younger than me for some reason. One Hogsmeade trip, the last weekend before the Easter holidays, I bump into her in Flourish and Blotts- I've come on my own out of habit- and find her poring over a new novel by Hector Chanter that I've been dying to read. I almost don't go up and say hi, but she spots me over the top of the book and beams at me.
"I've come here especially to buy that one," I tell her, nodding towards to book.
"You read Hector Chanter?" she looks thrilled. "I hardly know anyone else who does. Did you read The Thestral's Anthem?"
"Brilliant book," I confirm, and she smiles even wider.
"Isn't it! I wish I could get Goblin Ink," she waves the novel slightly, "but I'm out of pocket money. I didn't realise it was out this month, so I hadn't started saving. It'll take me weeks to have enough, even if I do tons of chores over the holidays."
This surprises me, though I don't think I show it. I'd assumed that Rose's parents were pretty well off, since her Mum's fairly high in the ministry. Perhaps they limit her pocket money to avoid spoiling her, though. "I'll have finished it in a couple of days, I'm sure, so you can borrow it after that if you like," I offer, and her face lights up. I rarely lend my possessions to other people, but it is fairly uncommon to find a fellow Chanter fan, and I'm feeling quite uplifted by it.
"Thanks ever so, Sue. Hey, I'm meeting some of my cousins in the Broomsticks in a minute- join us!"
"I wouldn't like to intrude," I say uncomfortably, but she insists, and ten minutes later I find myself squashed up on a bench with Rose on one side of me and Louis on the other. This family is ever so pushy.
They all seem delighted to see me. It transpires that Lily, across the table from me, is also beginning to get into Hector Chanter, and shyly asks if she can read the blurb of Goblin Ink. Louis, Fred and Dominique immediately engage me in a conversation about quidditch which I struggle gamely to keep up with.
"James says you fly, Sue. How come you never joined the Slytherin team? The way this year is going we could have used you." This is Louis. Fred and Dominique jeer good-naturedly, but he insists on an answer.
"Uh, well… I don't work well in teams, I guess," I say somewhat guardedly. "Don't like having to rely on other people, you know." I avoid admitting that I have limited interest in quidditch, in case the questioning turns to what I do with my flying instead.
"You could be a seeker!" Louis persists eagerly. "They work alone a lot. Warrington's leaving next year, as well. You could try out in September!"
"Leave the girl alone!" Dominique says laughingly. "Hard though it may be to believe, it is possible to enjoy flying without particularly enjoying quidditch." Surprised by this defence, I smile at her gratefully, and she returns it, looking perhaps a little more human and a little less goddess than usual.
"Hey, I learned to whistle last weekend!" tiny Lucy pipes up. I believe she is a first year, the smallest of the family currently at school."
"That's great, Luce-goose!" James says enthusiastically from a little further down the table. "What can you whistle?"
As Lucy performs the final notes of Happy Birthday, I remark idly, "I wish I could whistle."
"You can't whistle?" James is incredulous, horrified. Then a grin spreads over his face. "What kind of seventeen year old can't whistle?"
"Leave her alone, Jamie!" Lucy leaps inexplicably to my defence. "You should get Molly to teach you," she confides, turning to me. "She managed to persuade McGonagall to let her take me out of school for my birthday last weekend, and she took me to a Muggle café for cake and taught me to whistle! She's ever so clever," she concludes admiringly.
"You're Molly's little sister?" I inquire, as another piece of the Potter-Weasley family puzzle slips into place. "How many years older is she?"
"Seven!" Lucy says proudly. "She and Mum and Dad wanted me for years before I was born. She can do anything!"
When we all make our way back up to the castle, I find myself walking beside James. "I could have used the perfect comeback about the not being able to whistle thing," I mutter to him, a little grumpy.
"I know," he rejoins cheerfully. "I knew you wouldn't though. You're too good a person."
"How dare you!" I turn away from him in faux offence, hiding a smile. "I am a mean, nasty Slytherin who just enjoys holding it over your head."
"Sure you are, Susie." There is a good feeling in the air, and seconds later when Rose crashes into us pursued by Hugo I think I get a glimpse of what it's actually like to be part of this strange, wonderful family.
The next day brings a letter, presumably from my mother, and Monday the departure of most of the school. I hug Graham and Abi goodbye, but don't see any of the Potter-Weasleys, apart from Lucy who waves cheerfully from the middle of her gaggle of first years all towing trunks. I avoid opening my letter, in case in contains a summons home, until I am sat at the bay window on the fourth floor, watching the horseless carriages draw out of the gates.
Susan,
I have not heard from you yet this term, so I assume you are staying at school again for the holidays. I will be abroad for the duration of the week- probably Madrid- so if you need to tell me anything do use one of the long distance Post-Office owls rather than one of the school owls, won't you? I'd rather not find a half dead bird on my doorstep again because you made the stupid thing fly too far.
Send my regards to Zoë Krinoshey. I saw her mother last week; she looks as well as she did in our school days.
Mother
I fold the parchment up blankly, and hug my knees. It's not that I particularly want to go home, but I have become accustomed in the last few months to my presence being wanted. The letter is a harsh reminder of reality, and I resolve to be tougher in future.
The first few days of the holiday pass in a blur. I fly, throw myself off my broom, and allow myself to be caught, again and again. The adrenaline helps me get through, helps me block the despairing self-hatred. On the Wednesday, unaccountably another two letters arrive.
The first is from Abi. It is chatty, newsy, but overall could have been addressed to anyone. Graham has signed his name in a barely intelligible scrawl at the bottom, and added some contributions from his dad who likes to feel involved (mostly strange psychology stuff- he's a muggle therapist), but the main body is all Abi.
The second is from Potter-the-eldest, which is far more surprising.
Hey Sue!
Didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you before we left. I had a look round the train, but I didn't see you- it is pretty big, after all. Hope you're having a good holiday so far!
This is going to sound kind of random, but would you like to come round and hang out at mine sometime this week? Basically I mentioned you in front of my mum, and she got all excited- she's always going on about how she wishes Al and I made more proper friends outside the family- and wants to have you round for tea. Not that I wouldn't like you to come round! But I know you have issues with social situations. So, yeah. You're welcome but don't feel pressured. Whereabouts do you live? If you did want to come, you could get the Knight Bus or Dad could pick you up if it's not too far. The 'rents insist that I say: don't apparate unless you're totally confident, because splinching is very nasty.
Let me know!
James
I am in my nook on the roof when the handsome tawny owl delivers the letter, and I read it I something of a dream-like state. He has no idea I have stayed at school for the holiday; it occurs to me that such an idea must be quite foreign to him, with his swarming family, and I feel more isolated than I ever have in reaction to James Potter.
I don't answer either of the letters. I do intend to, and the reminder that either or both of the senders might wonder at my lack of response niggles at me, but instead I do what I do best and avoid. Once I nearly get as far as writing a polite decline to the invitation to visit the Potters, citing my aforementioned social problems as my excuse, but the dishonesty is acid in my mouth, and I throw the barely started letter in the fire.
Saturday rolls around, the day before the school's return. I try to read, but I am restless, and having finished Goblin Ink earlier in the week I am stuck rereading familiar stories which cannot hold my attention in this mood. I visit the kitchens five times in the course of the day, and each time Pibbin looks more concerned, pressing steaming mugs of hot chocolate into my unresisting hand.
("Miss Sue would like chocolate sprinkles, perhaps? Or sugar sprinkles?"
"Maybe Miss Sue would like to try Pibbin's syrup sponge? It was intended for the Professor's table this evening, but if Miss would like some…"
"Marshmallows! These are the for certain the way to cheer Miss Sue up."
"If only Miss would smile…")
And then it is Sunday morning, and I stay in bed all day, curtains drawn around my four-poster. I drift in and out of sleep, awaking at some point to the sound of Alyson and the posse clattering in, still loudly catching up. They ignore my curtained bed, for which I am profoundly grateful. Evening comes almost without me having noticed I haven't eaten anything.
I don't intend to skip all my lessons the next day, but having not eaten in a day and a half I am feeling rather ill, and entirely lacking in motivation to do anything in particular. I send my apologies with a reluctant Zoë when she comes to pick up some books at lunchtime- our mothers did go to school together, so there is that faint, lingering loyalty there- and settle back to sleep again, blotting out the world.
I am awakened suddenly by a crack, and in the dim light I see the unmistakeable silhouette of a house elf. On closer inspection, he is revealed to be Pibbin.
"Miss Sue has not been to the Hall or the Kitchen today," he announces. "Miss is ill? Pibbin has brought soup."
"Thanks, Pibbin," I murmur, taking the soup gratefully (chicken, by the smell of it.) "I am ill, yes. I could definitely use some soup though. What time is it?"
"It is twenty one minutes past six," he proclaims. "The other Misses and Masters of Slytherin House are all at dinner. Nobody to comfort Miss Sue in her illness."
"Oh, it's okay. The soup is really all-"
I am interrupted. "Pibbin knows what to do!" The elf disappears with another crack, and I have barely taken three spoonfuls of soup when a third rends the air. Pibbin has returned, and with him is another familiar figure.
"Sue! You're…where am I? Pibbin, have you brought me to the Slytherin girls' dormitory?"
"Pibbin has brought company for poor sick Miss Sue," Pibbin explain, sounding highly satisfied. "Master James has already eaten. He shall cheer Miss up." And with that he is gone again.
"You're ill?" James seems bewildered, as well he might be. "I was just…and then Pibbin showed up…I'm in your bedroom." This seems to strike him more fully than before, and he backs away, almost tripping over some belonging or other of Brenda's. "I'm sorry, Sue. House elves don't always…I swear I didn't mean…"
"Oh, sit down and shut up," I manage at last. Of course Pibbin would bring me one of the people I was especially trying to avoid.
"But," he tries again, "if anyone sees me here it could be pretty bad for you; you know, rumours and that."
"Do you care about rumours?" I demand, sitting up slightly.
"No! But-"
"Well. Neither do I. Now I believe I told you to sit down, and shut up." He obliges, perching on the end of my bed and peering at me anxiously as I calmly eat my soup.
"You never answered my letter," he observes eventually.
"No," I agree.
"If you didn't want to come, you could have just said." He speaks gruffly, but it occurs to me that he might be offended, and I feel bad.
"Sorry. I just…communication. Not my strong point."
He laughs a bit at that. "Tell me more, Ravenclaw." There's another silence for a while before he makes another attempt at conversation. "How was your holiday, anyway?"
I consider this for a few seconds. "Uneventful." I can tell this won't satisfy him, however, so I make a sudden decision. "I was here all week, so I doubt I could have made it to yours. Not that good with with long distance apparition yet. Otherwise, uh, I'd have liked to have come."
He examines me, but does not show the surprise I assume he is feeling. "Why didn't you go home?" he asks eventually. "Graham and Abigail did, didn't they?"
I swallow down a defensive retort which rises in my throat. He's still watching me carefully, and although I know I could just downplay it- after all, though it's not common, I'm not the only one to stay for holidays- I am aware that I don't want to. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it's a kind of battle going on in my head; my instinct to push away, always push away, fighting an unquenched human desire to share. To forestall the tears that I can feel rising, I give in to the latter. I reach into my bedside drawer and pull out my mother's letter, which I couldn't quite bring myself to burn, and hand it to James.
He reads it in silence; it doesn't take long. Then he looks up. "You don't get on well with your Mum?"
"She's not…it's not her fault," I say disjointedly. "She never wanted a kid. It was my dad who…but he died when I was little. She's a bit of a pureblood snob, which is totally stupid since I'm pretty sure we're not even completely pure blooded, and she hates that I wear muggle clothes and read muggle literature. I have to go to the library in my town secretly because if she knew she'd definitely take away my library card. She used to try more when I was younger, to do the mum thing, but it was always such an effort for her, and after a while I stopped letting her." To my horror, I feel tears threatening again, burning the corners of my eyes like onion juice. I turn my head away but to no avail; James is beside me in a second, and awkwardly puts an arm round me.
"Next holiday you can come and spend the whole thing with us, if you like," he says quietly, and that is the last straw. I sob into his shoulder, and he holds me as though I might break. After a few minutes my noisy weeping subsides into the odd sniffle, and I feel the familiar despondency begin to flood me again, but James is still there, rubbing my back reassuringly, keeping it at bay.
I am about to attempt a dry comment, when muffled sounds begin to float up from the common room; the return of the dining Slytherins. I stiffen at the distinctive tones of Alyson Parkinson, and the odd peace vanishes.
"Suddenly," I say, "I very much do care about rumours."
"Right. I'd best be off then." James gets up, makes for the door, but then stops when the noise begins to grow. Footsteps on the stairs?
"The window," I hiss, and with his help I post a wriggling James through the small window and out onto the grass. Absurdly I begin to cry again at the stress of it, and James looks torn.
"You shouldn't be alone," he tells me, crouching outside, feet level with my face. "I'll send Rose. Louis can let her in." With this parting promise bestowed (and protestingly refused) he heads off around the edge of the castle.
The approaching footsteps must have been for another dorm, for nobody enters until Rose slips in perhaps fifteen minutes later.
"You okay?" she asks uncertainly, hovering at the end of my bed, and I manage a sort of smiling half shake, half nod of my head. I pat the quilt next to me; honestly I'd rather be alone right now, but it does occur to me that James could have a point. I've been alone for a week, and a fat lot of good it has done me. Perhaps what I really need is a distraction.
"Hey, did you read Goblin Ink?" enquires Rose, suddenly animated, gesturing to the book on my nightstand. I smile genuinely and reach over to grab it, nodding.
"It definitely lives up to his previous ones, no doubt about it," I assure her. "You can borrow it now, if you like."
"Oh, yes please!" She bounces with excitement.
"The style's a little different from some of the previous ones," I warn, as she tucks it into the pocket of her robes. "It's brilliant, but don't expect it to be The Thestral's Anthem or Salem all over again."
"I've not read Salem yet," Rose admits bashfully. "I only discovered him at Christmas when my Aunt gave me Anthem, and since the school library's not great for fiction I've only managed to read that and Seven Witches."
"I've got them all- you can borrow them if you like," I say generously, and her face lights up.
"Oh, Sue!"
She stays with me until almost curfew, and it's astonishingly easy to talk to her. She chats about her holiday, and the stupid things her cousins got up to ("Fred took baby Roxy flying! Nearly dropped her fifty feet! I thought Auntie Angie was going to kill him!") and I drink it all in. In return, I tell her about travelling all over Europe when I was younger, which she seems enchanted by, having never been further afield than central France. I am light, buoyed up by her companionship, when I walk with her to the exit so she needn't brave the Slytherin Common room alone. As I turn back, I suddenly realise with absurd amusement that I am absolutely disgusting; I had barely noticed it in my semi-catatonic state. Cheerful in my solitude for the first time all week, I head off for an evening shower.
