Gryffindor wins the match, and hence the cup, which seems like a good omen for James. We meet on the far side on the lake after dinner three days later: me, with my Lightening; James with one of the ratty old brooms from the school shed; Graham, armed with a self-help pamphlet on phobias that his dad actually wrote several years ago ("He sent me a few different ones that he got published, to show off, but honestly I never even opened them"); and finally Abi, bouncing up and down with nervous energy.
It has taken some persuasion for James to agree that Abi and Graham should be told about his flying problem. Even when he admits that it would be worth telling for Graham for his second-hand experience with psychology stuff, he's reluctant to tell Abi as well. I find out, to my astonishment, that this whole security company thing he mentioned the previous month is far more invasive than I ever imagined.
"You seriously have to report anyone who finds out that you can't fly, and they investigate them?" We are sat on the wall on the edge of the viaduct, me swinging my legs over the side, James perched perpendicular to me with feet planted carefully on the paving stones. He has cast that muffliato spell I couldn't manage, so we can talk freely.
"Yep. They pass everything on to my parents as well."
"What did they find out about me?" I'm curious; I must have been found acceptable, because I'm still here, but surely they must have had some reservations; my mother does not particularly go out of her way to hide her blood purist views.
James shrugs. "They don't tell me the details. I didn't hear back, so nothing too bad I guess. I'd already decided that we were going to be mates, though; there's nothing they could have done to change my mind about that."
"So why can't you just tell them you let Abi and Graham in on it? There's no way they'd find anything wrong with them. Graham's muggleborn, and I'm pretty sure Abi had an aunt or a something-removed cousin who died fighting alongside your dad."
He stares at me. "My parents can't find out I'm going around just telling people straight out that I can't fly! They won't get this therapy business." I open my mouth to interject, but he carries on, "And don't suggest I make up some lie about how they 'found out'- they'll guess that it's to do with you because they're your best friends, and you won't be very popular any more. No, if either of them is to be told, it has to be a secret. So the fewer extras in on it, the better."
"Fine," I say resignedly, "but you can't tell Gray and expect him not to tell Abi. It's not fair on them."
Eventually he acquiesces, and hence the four of us find ourselves sat in the failing light of the grounds, Graham squinting at his pamphlet- Self Help: Cognitive Behavioural Therapy for Phobias.
"The first few pages all seem to be about identifying phobias," he says, flipping through disinterestedly. "We don't need that, we know James has a phobia."
"So when does it get useful?" I demand, jiggling my Lightening in my lap.
"Crikey, give me a chance. I'm doing my best," Graham retorts, irritated. "You do realise I'm not actually a therapist, right? And I've actively avoided my dad's psychology talk most of my life? So I probably have no better idea what I'm doing than any of you."
"Well, why are you the one holding the pamphlet and nattering away then?" Abi inquires impatiently. She grabs it out of Graham's hands, and begins to flick through it herself. However, though Abi, James and I pass it around, we're all stumped by the unfamiliar language.
"'Biologically programmed'? What does that mean?"
"Can thoughts be unhelpful? That sounds like they won't do the dishes, or something."
"'Challenging your negative thoughts.' What, to a duel? Can you duel thoughts? What are you supposed to do, hit them with a jelly-legs?"
"You're all idiots," Graham diagnoses, snatching the pamphlet back from me. "Sue, Abi- you don't even need to be here, so if you've got nothing better to do than make stupid remarks…"
"We'll be quiet," promises Abi hastily, and I mime jinxing my lips together. After a fair amount of hemming and hawing, Graham decides that the best way James can start working on his fear is by looking through the questions on page three- things like "What thoughts go through your mind when you are faced by the situation you are afraid of?" and "Which of these thoughts are illogical, and why?" He calls the meeting to a close, explaining that James can best work on these alone.
"Homework, great," comments James glumly, taking the pamphlet. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad we didn't get on to actually using these brooms yet," (I mock-grimace at him, and he pulls a face in response) "but still…"
"Do you think you can have them done by Friday?" Graham asks importantly. "And if you want to meet without these two losers to put us off," he adds as James nods, "that's absolutely fine."
James meets my eyes directly, an unreadable expression on his face. "They can stay," he says firmly, not breaking eye contact.
It is the next morning, when I am quietly minding my own business, brushing my hair and finishing the Arithmancy reading at the same time, that I have another run-in with Alyson and co. It's surprisingly easy to avoid them normally, considering we share a dorm, but when Alyson sets her mind to something there's very little any mortal being can do to stand in her way. This particular morning, it seems, she has set her heart on a cosy chat with her one dorm mate who really doesn't want to talk to her.
"Hey, Susan." As ever, Alyson's voice is deceptively mild when she demands my attention.
"Alyson. Sleep well?" I ask guardedly, observing the way Dahlia, Zoë and Brenda are lingering behind her as she stands at the foot of my bed.
"Oh, you know. So-so. You seem to have slept better than some days, I'm glad to see."
"Um…?" I respond intelligently, wondering if it would be possible to make a break for it.
"Oh, you know!" Alyson laughs prettily. "How you normally get up so early? It's a surprise to see you here at this time, really. I feel as though we barely see you anymore, don't you, girls?"
The others agree readily, and they all look at me, waiting for a reply. When I fail to oblige, Alyson continues, "So where do you go when you get up so early, Susan? We were wondering."
"Uh, here and there. You know. Go for a walk. Or whatever." Utterly perplexed by this conversation, I eye the clock on the wall. Clearly they want something, and if I say I'm going to breakfast they'll surely just follow me.
"Really? With anyone in particular? Say…James Potter?"
There it is. I sigh and close my arithmancy book with a little more force than I intend, and Brenda and Zoë both jump at the snap. "Not usually, no."
"It's just," Alyson persists, "you do seem to spend a lot of time together these days. Which is strange, because we really thought he was gay, didn't we, girls?" More nods and mumbles of confirmation.
I can read her implication as clear as if she had said it straight out. There's no way James could possibly have any kind of proper friendship with me, because it's me; the only reason they can imagine a boy spending time with me is if I'm putting out, but since James is apparently gay, this doesn't compute either. Stung, I say tersely, "I have no idea what James' sexual orientation is. We're friends."
"Oh, honey," titters Alyson. "Isn't that the kind of thing a friend would know? I'm just trying to help you out here, Susan. I would so hate it if you put your trust in someone who was just using you."
Having had about as much of this as I can stand, I slip past them and make for the door.
"I don't think you'd finished brushing your hair, Susan!" calls Brenda after me, and I hear laughter just before the door swings shut. Fortunately the common room is relatively empty, so nobody sees the ridiculous tears gathering in my eyes. However, when I make my exit into the corridor, because someone up there evidently has it in for me, James is lolling against the opposite wall, looking far too at-ease for a Gryffindor in Slytherin territory.
"Sue! Hey. I was hoping I'd catch you, there's something I wanted to talk to…are you okay?" I turn my head away, casually brushing away the tears that haven't quite fallen.
"Oh, just Alyson being…Alyson," I reply bravely. I have told him a little of what it is like to be the outcast in a Slytherin girls' dorm before. "You know how it is."
"That girl!" James exclaims, infuriated, as we begin to make for the Great Hall. "What is her problem? It's about time she grew up, and I've half a mind to help out with that."
"Don't!" I say quickly, alarmed. I smile at his concern; it helps squash the germination of those seeds of doubt Alyson has sown. "Hang on, didn't you have something to say?" I screw up my forehead, remembering his greeting.
James gives me a long, inscrutable look. "It's nothing," he says eventually, and refuses to say any more.
He's…weird, the next couple of weeks. I catch him watching me sometimes; thoughtful, considering. At first I am concerned that Abi's prediction might be coming to pass, but it really doesn't feel like a romantic interest. More like I'm some kind of specimen. He stops laughing at my morbid humour as well, and just gives me one of his strange looks instead.
All in all, I find it quite unsettling, and by the end of May I am back to avoiding him. Since he and Abi and Graham now seem to be entirely comfortable in one another's presence, this unfortunately leads to me also avoiding the latter two, apart from our shared classes. I find myself in something of a dilemma, however, in that Rose is suddenly extremely busy — exam season has arrived, and her sense of obligation to study has finally kicked in. Plus, from a brief conversation I have with her it sounds as though she's having some difficulties with Scorpius. This presents a problem because although my friends are very understanding about my need for space, it's much easier for them to casually invade that space when I am alone than when I am with other people. I try spending time with Fred and Sadie, but they are far more awkward to third wheel than Graham and Abi ever have been, and I quickly drop that idea.
James isn't stupid, and he catches on pretty quickly. However, when he confronts me and asks, "Are you avoiding me, Sue?" I manage for once in my existence to be cool, and with exactly the right amount of surprise and confusion respond, "Of course not, James! Why would you think that?" He lets it lie, but I still feel his gaze on me , and eventually I learn to put up with it, even though it feels as though our casual camaraderie seems to have been damaged slightly. Presumably at some point he'll come out and just say it, whatever it is, I muse as I practice flips on my broom.
One Thursday in mid-June, things take an exciting turn in the therapy-for-James department. We have taken to holding our meetings in the broad daylight of our lunch breaks, even though the weather is finally approaching the stage that our peers find acceptable enough to begin to join us outside. James' anti-eavesdropping spell makes short work of that issue, however, and it is decided that the risk of awkward questions if anyone should spot us gathering in the evening is too high for that to continue.
In the past few weeks, James has progressed from identifying his misconceptions about flying to ordering his flight related fears from mildest (the sight of a broomstick, which gives him an unpleasant lurch in the stomach area) to worst (having sole control of an airborne broom, which can result in a full blown panic attack and vomiting); he has learnt some calming breathing techniques, and from there he has begun to face his fears one by one in a controlled environment. On this particular day, Graham announces that it's time for him to try accompanied flying, like the time I brought him down from the school roof.
James blanches, and Abi claps her hands in excitement. "See, I knew you could get this far!" she exclaims. "Well done, James!"
"I haven't completed this stage yet," he reminds her, looking queasy but nonetheless managing a smile at her enthusiasm. "Thanks, though."
"You'll be able to take him for his flight?" Graham asks me, ever business-like. "This stage may take longer than the previous ones; he may have to be taken out several times, probably once a week for a while, before he can try flying alone."
"Quit talking about me like I'm not here!" the patient says indignantly, at the same time I reply, "Sure, that's not an issue."
"First thing tomorrow?" I suggest, turning to James.
"I guess," he says dubiously, the quickly amends, "I mean, thanks Sue, yes please."
"I'm not expecting you to look forward to it," I assure him, smirking a little bit at his relieved expression. "I mean, it's a more or less unforgiveable crime if you don't enjoy it, but I've pretty much given up on you, so my expectations aren't high."
James laughs, but Abi reacts in mild outrage. "Sue! You can't say things like that."
"Sure I can, if they're true," I retort flippantly.
"But really! I was looking up crime studies, and I came across this report on the link between emotional abuse – like being told someone's given up on you – and crime, and a lot of people don't realize…"
"Here we go again," I murmur conspiratorially to Graham, and he grins.
"…that if you – what did you say?" The normally sunny Abi is looking suddenly thunderous. There is an awkward silence, and when I look to Graham he refuses to make eye contact.
"Hang on, were you suggesting that I am committing a crime by not liking flying?" James puts in with a forced mixture of cheeriness and mock affront, in a vain attempt to break the horrible tension. Abi ignores him.
"Why have you got to be such a bitch like that, Sue?" she demands, and I flinch back as though I have been slapped. "You never support me or my goals. You just sit there and fucking whine. Is it because you're jealous? Because my aspirations are actually achievable?"
Something inside me gently disintegrates, and I suddenly feel so detached from my impending tears that it's almost easy to hold them back. "I'm sorry, Abi," I say softly, getting to my feet, looking everywhere but my companions' faces. "I'll just…yeah." I hoist my bag over my shoulder, and without a single look back I leave the circle. After only a few steps, a buzzing settles into the bottom of my brain, and I know I've breached the edges of the muffliato. With a few steps more, it's faded away entirely.
James follows me; of course he does. He catches up with me about halfway to the main entrance of the castle, but doesn't speak immediately. When he does, he catches hold of my arm, catching me by surprise so that he manages to swing me around.
"Abi shouldn't have said that," he says seriously. "She was in the wrong there – you know that, right?"
Perplexed, I frown at his feet. "She wasn't," I contradict, my voice croaky, as if I haven't used it for a week. "I should never have…I'm not…she was right."
"No she wasn't!" James is unaccountably fierce, and his grip on my wrist tightens. "If she had a problem she should have told you calmly and asked you to stop. She should never have called you a… you're not a bitch, Sue."
I remain silent, still not meeting his gaze. "Look," he tries again, "I know you think Abi is some perfect wunderkind, but she's just as flawed as you or I. You shouldn't believe everything she says, especially not what she says in anger."
Frustration flares up in me, and I wrench my arm away. "What does it matter if she's not perfect? She's a damn sight better friend than I'll ever be, so it hardly makes any difference."
"Sue – no, Susie, wait!" James follows me as I walk blindly away, and manages to get in front of me, blocking my path. "Sue, I've been meaning to say this for a while now," he begins again, and this odd remark stirs me from my stupor. Am I finally to hear why he's been acting so oddly? "I think you…I think your brain sometimes tells you things that…aren't true," he manages with difficulty.
"My brain…" I echo, but trail off.
"Yeah. Listen, I've been borrowing some of the other psychology pamphlets Graham got from his dad. Have you ever heard of depression?"
"Depression? As in, feeling sad?"
"Yeah – no – I mean, sort of. It's a, a mental illness. It makes you feel sad, and generally bad about yourself and things, when you don't actually need to."
I stare at him, uncomprehending.
"And I think that you might have that, Susie."
"No." My reply is flat and does not invite further discussion, but he persists.
"Have you heard of self-harm?"
Unwillingly I dredge my memory. "Like, cutting yourself?" Something clicks. "I don't cut myself!" I shout, outraged, and once again try to make my escape, but I am rapidly discovering a hitherto unsuspected trait that James Potter shares with Alyson Parkinson; he is impossible to give the slip once he has set his mind to something.
"No, it doesn't have to be cutting. According to the pamphlet, it can include putting yourself in dangerous situations deliberately. Sue, you jump off your broomstick for fun. You climb all over the castle roof. You climb the Whomping Willow, a tree capable of killing people, and go to sleep in it. It's like you…" he hesistates, not quite long enough for me to gather my thoughts and break in, "like you don't value your own life at all."
"LEAVE ME ALONE." Now I have found my voice it is louder than I thought possible, and heads are turning. "Just because you've read a few pamphlets, that doesn't make you an expert on how people's minds work. I'm just a shitty person, okay? Is that really so hard to believe? I'm cynical and negative and an awful friend, and that's all there is to it. So for your own good, Potter, just leave me the fuck alone."
Finally, he does.
