A/N: I am really bad at this whole continuity thing. And I'm sorry that I haven't updated in a while. But I don't think it will get much better soon. I'm going to Spain with my school in 14 days (I'm in ninth grade, BTW,) and so I am going to try to update as much as possible before then.

Love you all!

xSnow

Chapter Two

"Remember once, the things you told me?

And how the tears ran from my eyes?

…

Sometimes I wish we could be strangers

so I didn't have to know your pain

but if I kept myself from danger

this emptiness would be the same

I ain't know angel.

I never was.

But I never hurt you.

It's not my fault."

—"No Angel" by Birdy

JAMES

"She is so beautiful when she's angry," I thought as I tried to recover from being shot down by Joyce again. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, because I asked her out every other day, but this time she squeezed the little bit of hope that I had had out of me. It was a dull feeling, like being kicked hard in the chest. My breath was there, but there was a feeling inside me that bubbled and burned and came out of me in a crooked sort of love. An angry love. An affectionate hatred. I could never survive without her and yet I can barely breathe when she comes. As we sit there on the train and Fred asks me on a scale of one to ten how hurt I am, all I can do is look blankly forward. He takes that as his answer and stops talking.

"I'm going to Arwen's compartment." Fred tells me, a weary sense of longing in his voice. Arwen is his Joyce, I suppose. But unlike with me and Joyce, I could tell there was a mutual attraction, even if he couldn't. It was the way she looked at him after she said something biting. She wasn't feeling it anymore. Arwen didn't want to be mean to Fred anymore. She just didn't know how to do anything else.

Was that how Joyce felt about me? I liked to hope so, but there wasn't much chance. Fourth year was disastrous. I hadn't meant to hurt her like I did, but I got the feeling that she was indifferent and didn't know what to do with that feeling. That sense of desperation...it was a feeling that I had come to be too familiar with. And as Fred walked out of the compartment, I felt that there was nothing I could do to change Joyce. There was nothing I would want to do to change her. She was fantastic and made me so deliciously happy sometimes. On the rare occasion when she would talk to me, anyway. So I followed Fred to where they were, hoping to talk to her and possibly smooth over what had happened when we saw each other last.

….

"He really was fit," I heard Arwen exclaim as Fred and I approached the compartment. "He had really deep brown eyes..." I saw Fred's head perk up, the little hope in his heart thinking maybe she was talking about him. And then: "he had red hair, too. Not Fred Weasley red, but a prettier, darker red."

His face fell. But Fred Weasley was not someone to show hurt, so he waltzed into the compartment regardless. "Talking about me, ladies?" he said, fake smirk in place.

"In your dreams, Weasley," Arwen shot out just as soon as Fred's words had left his mouth.

"How did you know that you've been in my dreams? Granted, you were wearing a lot less-" he was cut off when Arwen kicked him in the shin. "Makeup!" he protested, "you were wearing a lot less makeup!" I grinned at Fred's antics as I watched Joyce hide a snicker. It was funny, she couldn't deny that.

She looked up at me, and even though we only held each other's gaze momentarily, I couldn't keep a zany smile off my face.

"Bugger!" She yelped, standing up in the compartment and banging her head on the luggage carrier above her. "I have the prefect meeting! Now! I can't be late for a meeting I'm conducting!" looking back on that, I know that I should have realized that she was talking about being Head Girl. But I tried not to think about it as I followed her through the hallway to the meeting.

She sighed. "We aren't friends, Potter," she spun around, cheeks rosy and eyes bleary, "so I don't know why you're following me."

I really wanted to wait to see her reaction when there were more witnesses around, but I couldn't help myself. "I'm Head Boy, Joyce."

Her reaction was better than I could have planned myself. She looked at me, then her badge, then my badge, then all around. She then proceeded to not only pinch herself but to pinch me as well. All the while whispering "there's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home." The finale, however, was when she said to me: "well then, tally-ho!" and walked into the Head's compartment.

There were plenty of people in the room, I quickly decided. I was used to being around large crowds, but I wasn't usually speaking or directing a meeting in front of them. But, like always, Joyce was more prepared than I was, and she directed the meeting. I mean, I said a couple things that could be viewed as important, but, as usual, I felt that I was not the driving force for how much got done. She was speedy, getting things checked off of the agenda faster than I could have introduced them. And she had an air of confidence around her that I knew was new. She was taking charge. It was really attractive.

…

Once the meeting finished, every one of the prefects left until it was just Joyce and I. I stared at her for a while, wondering if she would notice.

"You do know we aren't friends, right Potter?" she questioned looking up at me.

"I think we are," I said, finding within myself a boldness I wasn't aware I contained.

"No, we really aren't, I'm afraid," If I squinted one eye, it almost looked as though she were remorseful. "The brief friendship that we had in fourth year has long since dissipated."

"Why did it stop?" I asked, truly ignorant.

She looked up at me then, and I could see her insecurity. She didn't want to talk about it. But I knew she would anyway. "Do you want the truth or the sugar-coated version?"

"Give it to me raw."

She looked me in the eyes. "We stopped being friends because you got bored of me, James. Because I wasn't shiny enough. I wasn't new enough. I wasn't good enough for the great James Sirius Potter. I'm not an angel, James. I never was. But I never hurt you. This isn't my fault."

And she left. Walked out of the room and ran away from me. Did I really, truly make her feel that way? Like she wasn't good enough? Because she was more than just good enough! She was everything and anything and perfect. All I needed. Why didn't she think she was? Was I the cause of her insecurities? Because if I was, then I wasn't sure if I wanted to be me anymore. If all I knew was how to hurt others, then I was useless. If all I cared about was personal gain, then I was despicable.

But I wasn't.

All I cared about was Joyce.

So I chased her out of the compartment.

Please review, guys! It means a lot to me!

Love, Snow xoxo