CHAPTER FOUR

"How can you expect me

not to eat,

when the Forbidden Fruit

tastes so sweet?"

JOYCE

"OI, Joyce!" James Potter yelled at me from down the hall, and I rolled my eyes.

Turning on my heel, I faced him. "What do you need, Potter?" I saw him scowl at my intentional use of Potter instead of James, and internally cringed as well. I didn't really want to call him that, but the more space I put between us, the better.

He asked me if I wanted to walk with him to class, and I agreed, lost in thought as we walked. Ever since I had mentally figured out why we almost kissed and had apologized to James, (we were just delusional from the train ride, obviously,) I had been struggling with keeping up a strictly platonic thought process in his presence. Being friends with him again was weird, and I knew it would take me a while to get over that awkwardness.

James and I had hated each other, (or, at least, based on how quickly we decided to become friends again, pretended to hate each other,) for a very, very long time. Because of this, jumping back into the friendship ring was one of the most bizarre things I had ever done; my entire world had shifted simply by being kind to the boy.

"Sickle for your thoughts," James said, glancing sideways at me.

"I believe the equivalent saying would be 'knut for your thoughts,' Potter," I said, rolling my eyes at his attempt to turn a muggle phrase into a wizarding one.

"Yes, but your thoughts are worth much more than a knut, Joyce."

I stared at him for a moment, surprised that he would say something like that. How smooth he was always caught me off guard, and I had to constantly remind myself that James Sirius Potter was nothing more than a charmer; he did things like this for everyone. I was nothing special, and that was an unsurprisingly upsetting revelation.

"Don't try and use your charms on me, Potter," I said, even though deep down I really did want him to use his charms on me, "I'm not that kind of girl."

Because I wasn't. In fact, I tried so desperately hard not to be, especially when James and I were friends in Fourth year. There were times I didn't get to talk to him for full class periods or meals because his fangirls were surrounding him and I absolutely refused to battle for his attention.

"I know," he said, "but I can't just turn them off." I rolled my eyes at this comment.

"You're perfectly capable," I said. "Do I need to teach you how to not flirt or something?" I was sure he heard the joke in my tone, but his answer baffled me.

"You'd be rubbish at teaching me how to not flirt." he said, laughing. He laughed at me!

Slightly annoyed, I said, "What utter lies! I am perfectly capable of not flirting, in fact I rarely do flirt!"

This time, James let out a belly laugh that lasted for a good 15 seconds. "You have got to be joking, Joyce!" he said. "You are one of the most flirtatious girls in all of Hogwarts. You never seem to do anything more than flirt," I blushed at that comment, "but you certainly do flirt. You're probably worse than I am."

I hit his arm, hard. "I am not! Just because I'm nice-"

"There is a great difference between being nice and flirting, Joyce, and you are almost always flirting. I'm pretty sure I can name eight guys in our potions class alone who are in love with you, and you fuel it."

"Oh please," I countered, "I just barely started caring about my appearance, and boys never noticed me before that. Eight boys have not fallen in love with me within the space between now and when school began." We were only about a month in, anyway.

"Joyce, just because I scare them away doesn't mean you don't have suitors."

I looked at him, my eyes wide. "What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?"

All he did was throw his head back, laughing, and run down the hall to his next class.

…

"Why won't you just leave me alone, Fred?"

"Maybe because you're insane!"

Everyone heard their argument. It was very distracting, and suddenly my soup didn't look as appetizing. When Arwen started to get red in the face, I stood up from the table and walked over to her, just in time to see Fred mutter something under his breath to her that earned him a resounding slap on his freckled face. Arwen then flipped her hair towards him and stalked off, her face a fake calm. I knew that girl better than I knew myself. She was holding back tears.

I glared at Fred and sprinted after her. At least he looked remorseful.

Catching up with Arwen was, unsurprisingly, difficult. She was a runner. Eventually, however, I found her exactly where we both knew she'd go: the Room of Requirement. Surprisingly, while many knew of its existence, few people were capable of getting inside without being let in by a Potter or Weasley for a party. The Potters would tell them how to get there, but never how to get in.

But I knew, because I was freaking brilliant.

Also, because James told me, but mainly because I was brilliant.

The room looked the same way it always did whenever Arwen or I needed it: it was dark, and there was a giant couch in the middle, facing an even more gigantic telly. We loved watching muggle shows when we were upset.

Arwen sat on the couch, telly off, with her head in her hands. She was sobbing. This made me distraught, for Arwen was rarely upset to the point of shedding tears.

I approached her quietly, so as not to startle her, and put my hand on her back, rubbing in soothing circles. She looked up at me and sighed. "You shouldn't let him get to you, you know," I said, and felt her sink further into the couch.

"I know," she replied, "but Fred has always been able to get to me. I've never known why."

"I know why," I said. I think this startled her, but she needed to come to terms with the way she felt. "You're in love with him."

She shook her head and buried herself further into her pillow. "You can't just tell me how you think I feel and expect me to just accept it," she said.

"Arwen, you know full well how you feel about him; you and I both know you're just afraid of rejection. And that's okay. Everyone is. Even Fred, which makes sense since he's in love with you too."

She scoffed in disbelief. "Fred Weasley feels nothing for me but repulsion."

I looked down at her again, so worried and yet so envious. She had someone who loved her deeply, and he was right under her nose. I'd give anything for that.

"I've seen the way you look at each other," I said.

"What, with hatred in our eyes?" she said, "Because that's the only way Fred Weasley looks at me and I've never seen otherwise."

"When you don't see him, I do. When you don't notice, I do. And you didn't even have to tell me you like him because I've known since last year."

She breaks into a new wave of hysteria. "Oh, Joyce, what am I to do? I thought that maybe he liked me too but he's so cruel! I have been so close to getting over him and liking other boys, but every single time he's there to ruin any chances I have!" As she spoke, I had a flashback to my conversation with James.

" ...just because I scare them away doesn't mean you don't have suitors."

"Fred's just jealous because he wants you for himself," I said.

"No he doesn't! He's never going to care about me!"

For the rest of the evening, I just let her cry, too lost in thought to try and convince her to do anything else.

James couldn't be taken seriously, I knew that, but it was so much easier to blame him for my lack of a boyfriend than my own awkwardness. A part of me was angry at James for chasing away boys that liked me, but another part of me, that felt more dominant, was oddly...pleased.

That worried me.

…

The next day in Potions, I caught Fred looking across the room at Arwen, who was sitting next to me. I stared at him until his eyes flickered to me, and I held his gaze. I raised my eyebrows at him, only to receive a knowing smirk. I flipped him off and went back to the draught Arwen and I were making.

"That wasn't very ladylike, Joyce," Adam Dower's words were lined with sarcasm, and I knew he was laughing at me.

Turning to him with a smirk upon my lips, I said: "I hate to break it to you, Adam, but I am not a lady."

"Oh, I know," he said, "that's what I like most about you." He winked at me after that, and I felt something stir within me. I wondered faintly if Adam was one of the boys James talked to me about; the ones that liked me.

Arwen tapped me on the shoulder, and I reluctantly turned away from Adam back to our potion. When I glanced up again, however, I felt my smile falter. James was looking at Adam, a scowl on his face. I sighed inwardly, knowing that now I would have to beg James to leave Adam alone.

When the bell rang, James rushed out of the classroom. I told Arwen I'd catch up with her later and, avoiding Adam's poignant glance, went after him.

I watched him from behind as he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling tighter on the ends.

"James!" I called after him. I knew he heard me, but he kept on walking.

I yelled after him again, but to no avail. Eventually I broke into a sprint and chased after him. When I reached him, I put my hand on his large bicep in an attempt to stop him. "James," I said, out of breath, "I need to talk to you about something."

He didn't even look at me as he brushed my hand off and kept walking down the hallway.