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41

THE WEIGHT OF SMALL THINGS

MUSICAL MOOD FOR THIS CHAPTER:

MOONBEAU - LIKE THE NIGHT

"I was puking my guts out half the night… talking about you."

"Bless you, Elizabeth Evangeline Woodley." Katie hugged the stack of shiny magazines to her chest before letting them spill out around her in a sea of glossy paper and shocking headlines.

"You're welcome," I said as I pulled my legs underneath me and picked a chocolate from the massive box that stood between us. "And never call me that again."

Katie ignored me as she rifled through the abundant gossip buffet in front of her, pulling out issues that caught her eye. "WitchStyle 1999?" She petted the slightly creased front page of a particularly gaudy volume that boasted a picture of a midriff-flashing Britney Spears like it was a fragile cat. "Seriously? Where did you get all of these?"

I shrugged, feeling quite smug about myself. As it turned out, generations of Hogwarts students seemed to have used library books as convenient covers to conceal their gossip magazines and, in anticipation of my best friend's birthday, I had started to collect the old issues whenever they had fallen out of some book until I had amassed quite a seizable stack.

Outdated print media of questionable quality might have been trash to most people, but to Katie they were pure gold.

"If you're already that excited about a bunch of old magazines, wait until you see this." I produced the card - the card - from behind my back and presented it to her like it was the holy grail, which it kind of was, and Katie's reaction was worth even the endless minutes I spent pressed against a sweaty James Potter.

"NO!" She shrieked, her eyes darting over the personalised messages Hey Hey Hippogriff had written on the back of the card for her, her lips ghosting along to the words. "No. Way. How much dark Woodley magic did you have to use to get this?"

I shrugged. "Just had to sacrifice half of my soul. And a bit of my spleen. It's nothing."

Katie flung her arms around me to pull me into a bone-crushing hug and I grinned into her bed-head curls, feeling all warm and fuzzy and a little proud of myself. Despite everything - all the horrible things that had happened lately, all the threats and the Fauxlantis - this moment felt like it had used to, back when it had just been the two of us, sitting in Katie's bed and eating the muggle sweets her mum had sent her, indulging in decade-old celebrity gossip.

Katie released me again to peruse the card once more and I ran my hand absently through the spilled magazines, spreading them further apart to reveal the scandalising covers. I wasn't really looking at them, though, until a familiar dishevelled mop of hair caught my eye and I stopped momentarily, my fingers hovering over the issue. I pulled it out from underneath the others and turned it towards me, frowning at the lankier, younger version of James that took up almost the entire page: he looked like he was ready to punch someone, which was entirely at odds with the flashy headline across the top that read 'I KISSED A POTTER AND I LIKED IT' and then underneath 'Read all about James Potter's first kiss in the exclusive interview with Sofia Navarro, the Spanish beauty who turned the oldest Potter boy's head."

"What's wrong? Oh…"

I snapped my head up at Katie whose eyes had dropped to the magazine in front of me. "I remember reading that when it came out, actually."

"That's mortifying," I said, looking back down to the scowling James on the cover; he looked like he was barely older than twelve and, even though this had happened years ago, I felt sorry for the boy in the picture. It was awkward enough to kiss someone for the first time; I couldn't even imagine how it must have felt to have that someone then go to the press and spill every sordid detail to the entire wizarding world. "Who would do that?"

Katie sighed and pulled the Witch Weekly towards her to flip to the interview that went on for four pages. "A thirteen-year-old who kissed an internationally famous boy and got loads of attention for it? I don't know. James is in loads of these. Like, a lot."

I frowned at the mass of colourful images around me, now more attentively, and noticed the many smaller headlines that were crammed around the margins like '10 things you didn't know about the Chosen One's children - Number 6 will shock you' or 'Party Potter - All about James's wild night out'. Sure, I had come across the occasional front-page article about James and his family before, but I had never noticed all these smaller things; the bits and bobs that commented on their lives in an almost careless fashion, like all of Britain had a right to know. And James had told me - more than once - and I had still thought that he was kind of joking about it; that he mostly liked the attention and the admiration that got him on a Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelors list before he was even out of school.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Hm? Yeah, sure." I tore my eyes off the magazines and flashed a smile at my best friend, hoping that I looked somewhat convincing despite the knot in my stomach. It was Katie's day and I wasn't going to let anything interfere with that, even my own guilty conscience. "Let's go down to breakfast. The boys are probably already waiting for us."

Lupin had let us go early, which was very unlike him. But no one had pointed this out to him, of course, and so Katie and I were ambling up the sun-dappled grounds towards the Greenhouses for once instead of running up the sloping hill. A little ahead of us, Vala and her friends had branched off towards the path that led back up to the castle, though their progress was even slower than ours as Demeter Notte seemed to have difficulty navigating the soggy ground in the tiny heels of her shoes that got stuck at regular intervals.

I hadn't talked to my cousin in a while, which was nothing out of the ordinary, really. We barely had any classes together since our OWL year and, despite the sort of amicable greyzone that we had established this year, we clearly weren't friends. But it still felt a little weird that we hadn't even so much as run into each other lately.

There was a sudden burst of voices that echoed down the slope and I snapped my attention back to the cluster of glass houses that glittered brilliantly in the late morning sunlight. A group of people had spilled out of Greenhouse 8, shoving each other and talking loudly, and Adina Singer and Morgana Evensong surged forwards in a sudden rush, furiously fluffing up their hair. We usually never made it to Herbology before Professor Longbottom had dismissed the seventh years and, honestly, I wished we hadn't.

It was too easy to spot James in the middle of the crowd, shaking his head at a grinning Augustus Cotton while Genie Patil gave him a playful nudge from behind, and I felt the immediate urge to hide behind the nearest tree. Also, I wanted to fist my hands into his rumpled uniform shirt, which was alarming enough to stop me dead in my tracks. Cardiac arrhythmia was a real medical condition, wasn't it?

"Seth?" Katie's hand slipped into mine and I squeezed it briefly before taking a few very much not casual steps backwards. There was no way I was voluntarily running into James after the shag nook incident last night. Overthinking the entire thing in my head instead of sleeping had been quite enough, really.

"You go ahead." I sighed and slid the straps of my backpack off my shoulder. "I have to pretend to look for something in my bag."

"Love," Katie said in that gentle tone that was well-intended but not very helpful and I quickly shook my head before she could persuade me to stop acting like an awkward 13-year-old.

"Look, Sam's already waiting. I just need a minute."

She studied me for a moment, probably contemplating if I was silently crying for help, but I smiled reassuringly and she finally nodded, allowing me to hang back to rummage through my backpack until the seventh years had quit the field. After three pathetic hours of non-restful sleep, avoiding James Potter was all I could do to give my poor vital organs some respite.

"Lizzibeth! Angel! Light of my life!"

Or not.

Freddie Weasley was marching towards me, all sparkly eyes and handsome smile, and I had barely even looked up from my bag before I was pulled into a hug to put all other hugs to shame. His long arms had circled around me, pressing me so firmly into him that my face was squished against his broad chest and then he actually kissed the top of my head.

"OK, that's enough you weirdo. Let her go." I heard a gravelly voice and Freddie loosened his hold on me enough to allow me to take half a step back. As if this entire scene wasn't already odd enough, I watched James coming up behind his best friend, hands in the pockets of his uniform trousers and a scowl on his face that rivalled even the one of his younger self on that unholy magazine cover.

"Go and be salty somewhere else, you miserable blighter." Freddie had released me from his embrace by now but one arm was still resting easily around my shoulders as he turned to face his cousin. Now that he had reached us, James looked unusually pale - unhealthily so - and there was something off about the way he squinted at the buttery rays of sunlight as though they were deadly laser beams about to scorch his eyeballs.

"Hey," I said and my eyes caught on the distinctive dishevelled-ness of his appearance: the red and yellow striped tie around his collar that was oddly crooked and his hair that did have all of the usual messiness but none of the swagger. "You look - um -"

"Like shit, Seth. He looks like shit. No need to be gentle with him." Freddie patted my shoulder and James shot him a glowering look.

"Cheers mate, can you fuck off?" Unlike Freddie's light-hearted teasing, the words came out harsh and surly and James seemed to realise it too because he immediately groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"What happened?" I asked even though I should have just invented some lame excuse and gotten me and my supersonic heart out of there as fast as possible.

"Slughorn." James shot me a dark look and then leaned against the tree next to him with the grace of a wet sack of sand. "Slughorn happened."

"Oh…" I felt a minuscule pang of guilt for leaving James to his own devices yesterday evening, but truly there was nothing I could have done to save him after he had fallen out of the hiding spot he had dragged me into against my will in the first place. Barging out after him would have only made the whole situation worse. "How long did he hold you hostage?"

"Midnight, I think?" James screwed up his eyes and Freddie sighed as he let his arm slide off my shoulders.

"Our boy was drunk off his arse when he came back to the dorm."

"What?" I snorted, though more out of incredulity than amusement, and James grimaced as he pushed himself off the tree again, moving close enough for me to catch a whiff of acetone.

"He made me drink Bourbon with him and showed me awkward pictures of my parents as teenagers." He shook his head like he was trying to physically rid himself of the memory and, this time, I really did feel guilty. It sounded like his night had been worse than mine.

"I'm sorry."

"Ah, it's alright." He shrugged and slipped his hands into the pockets of his uniform trousers. "I might have vomited into Nev's favourite Mimbulus mimbletonia a little, though."

I laughed and he grinned, which was almost immediately followed by a wince because, apparently, any movement of his facial muscles was unbearably painful. Unfortunately, it still made me want to do that shirt-grabbing thing, which was frankly distressing.

"You know," I said in a half-hearted attempt at straightening out my thoughts, "I was mildly upset that you didn't get into any trouble, but maybe this is worse."

"It is. Definitely." The grin was back on James's face; a little more tentative than usual but no less effective. It seemed entirely impossible that he had ever looked at me this way without causing my stomach to twitch. "I can't believe you wanted me to get into trouble."

I shook my head at him and his stupid endearing smile. Maybe there really was a club I could join; like a self-help sort of thing to snap me out of this. "I should have taken those points from you when I had the chance."

"After I sacrificed myself to save you? How can you be so cruel, Woodley?" His voice scratched and his dimple showed and it was a whole show.

Good Merlin, I had to stop this. He had to stop this.

"You practically flung yourself in front of Slughorn's feet. Why would you do that?"

Freddie snorted and James pressed his lips together and shook his head, looking anywhere but me as he tousled the back of his head. Flecks of sunlight were dancing on his face, making his skin look a little less grey and a little more rosy, almost like a faint blush.

Which was ridiculous, of course.

Because James Potter didn't blush.

"Yeah, Jamie." The grin on Freddie's face was one of gleeful mischief as he put a hand on his best friend's shoulder like they were sharing a hilarious joke. "Why ever would you do that?"

"I tripped." James cleared his throat and then looked over his shoulder to where a group of seventh years still stood huddled by a tree like an abandoned flock of sheep, waiting for their shepherd to lead them home. "We should go. Can't be late for Charms." He turned back to me, squinting against the sunlight. "I already lost us five points yesterday."

I bit my lower lip because I really didn't want to smile at this. Losing house points was supposed to be a punishment and not a cute joke. "What, really? I'm sure you didn't deserve it, Potter."

He laughed, then winced, and then they were off, finally, and I loosened a shaky breath.

Adina Singer and Morgana Evenberg had sandwiched me. From the moment Katie and Sam had gone off to Divination and I had taken the stairs to the west wing, they had been there on either side of me, marching me all the way to Arithmancy like my personal honour guard. They even harassed Yash Patil and Candice McNair into giving up their usual seats next to me so that they could flank me all through Professor Sinistra's lecture on the merits of the Agrippan method. Only when I had told them that I was going to spend my free period in the library had I finally been able to shake them off, though the strangeness of it all remained.

"They still think I'm invited to James's stupid party." I sighed and let my head drop to the side to where Katie was basking in the sunlight, sleeves rolled up and the buttons on the bottom of her shirt undone. It still wasn't warm enough to get through the day without a sweatshirt, but lying here, in the soft grass in the balmy afternoon sun, I could feel the giddy promise of summer in the air.

"Just for the record," Katie said to the cornflower blue sky, "so do I."

I snorted and shook my head, directing my gaze up as well. In the distance, a few puffy clouds had crept into view but they seemed harmless enough. "I think I would know, Kat."

"Really?" I could see her head turn towards me from the corner of my eye and I knew the exact look she was giving me, even though I refused to acknowledge it. To my best friend, the world was an Ambrosia Tinkertabber novel - an enemies-to-lovers trope-fest full of sexual tension and too many convenient shirtless encounters of which - yes - James and I might have admittedly had one or two, but, unlike in the world of unrealistic romance, it didn't mean we were meant to be.

"Yes. No creepy magical wrist tattoos or sacrificing your first born to a demon lord or other fun shenanigans."

Katie snorted and rolled over on the scattered magazines that covered the ground around us. "I was so looking forward to a good sacrifice."

Somewhere in the distance, a group of fourth years broke into applause and I watched absently as Professor Hagrid motioned students to come forwards one by one to look at whatever was hiding at the edge of the forest. It was most possibly unicorn fowls; they were a cheap crowd-pleaser. "The Fauxlantis looks good."

"You're so smooth," Katie said and I snapped my head back to her just in time to catch the knowing grin that pulled on the corners of her mouth.

"Shut up." I laughed and swatted at her hand, but she caught it in hers and held them both up between us, pressing her fingertips against mine.

"What happens when it's finished? I mean…"

"I have no idea." I frowned at our joined hands, pushing against Katie's fingers in turn while another bout of applause carried up from Hagrid's hut. Apart from the ominous note, my blackmailers had been suspiciously quiet and a small part of me was starting to hope that maybe I would never hear from them again; that I would come out of this unscathed. Maybe it had all been an elaborate joke that had gotten out of hand. It wasn't entirely far-fetched considering that I had already been left stark naked and wandless in the bathroom this year. "I really can't think about this."

Katie's hand squeezed mine and I closed my eyes until the swell of panic ebbed, melting into the lazy patter of water that was lapping against the edge of the Black Lake.

The T-shirts had paid off; never mind that mine was the flashy equivalent to a six-year-old's birthday party and definitely didn't match my over-the-top pair of glittery wide-legged trousers. Sam had tried to salvage what he could but none of our amateurish renderings of Katie's name came even close to the shimmery perfection of his design.

Regardless of the abysmal artistry, however, Katie was chuffed to bits.

"This is the best birthday, you lot." She looped her arm through mine without letting go of Tarquin's hand, tangling us together in an awkward constellation that was not ideal for navigating the throngs of people that trudged down the relatively narrow path to Hogsmeade. "I can't believe you made T-shirts."

"Mine is the best, though, right?" Sam turned back to grin at Katie and Hector bumped his shoulder into him in mock-indignation which sent him stumbling to the side a bit. He reached out and grabbed Hector's arm for balance and then his hand slid down, slotting together with Hector's like a lock clicking into place. I could see the muscles in Hector's shoulder tense, even through his T-shirt, his gaze dropping to Sam's hand in his like he was afraid he would crush it; like he was scared he would let go. But he didn't and their fingers intertwined and everything was good for a moment.

"Oh, I can see Henry," Katie said and I felt her arm slide out of mine as Henry pushed through the crowd towards us, handsome and smiling and looking only at me.

"Hey!" He reached out and I stupidly thought he was going to shake my hand rather than pull me into a hug, and so I accidentally ended up poking his stomach. It was mortifying, but Henry took my awkwardness in stride and didn't make a thing out of it, which was sweet and kind and perfect.

"You lot look great," he said easily as though I hadn't just tried to shake his bleeding hand like I was Janet from Accounting at an office wine-and-cheese-mixer. "Happy birthday, Katie. Seventeen is the best."

"So I've heard." Katie beamed, her head dropping against Tarquin's shoulder, probably smearing a bit of the glitter on his shirt into her hair, and I finally felt some of the tension slip from my shoulders. Henry was nice and my friends liked him and I didn't have to worry. I didn't have to over-analyse this; he was here, at a concert in Hogsmeade teeming with Hogwarts students, and there was no ambiguity, no uncertainty. He was here because he wanted to be.

"You look fantastic, by the way," Henry said quietly as we fell into step behind Hector and Sam, his head tilted towards me, leaning down a bit so that his mouth was closer to my ear. I looked up at him - at his blonde hair that fell into his eyes - and he was grinning back at me like I had just done something extraordinary.

"It's the T-shirt, isn't it?" I said and he laughed and then his hand brushed against mine - tentatively, like a question, yet clearly not accidental - and, when I didn't pull away, he took it.

For a second, I waited for the agonising tightness behind my navel, for the thousands of strange thoughts that would turn me into a nervous wreck, but it was OK. Holding hands with Henry was nice, really really nice, and I couldn't help thinking that, maybe, it really was this easy.

The final beats of the song mingled with the rumbling of thunder in the distance, drowning ultimately in deafening applause. I clapped along, feeling overheated and sweaty and happy. Bodies were pressing against me from all sides; the atmosphere was charged with giddy excitement that intensified with every new song, every familiar melody, and I was standing here with my friends, dancing and singing along terribly. Next to me, Hector had wrapped his arms around Sam from behind a few songs ago, grinning at me when I had caught his eye, and, even though the glitter on our T-shirts had started to crumble away and someone had sloshed butterbeer over my shoes, my heart felt completely full.

"We've never managed to play an open-air concert in the UK," Hayston Ryes' voice rang out over the massive crowd which was immediately trailed by earsplitting cheers, then another clap of thunder. "But we've gotten this far." He laughed as Brixley McGilly played a charming chord progression on his guitar, launching more cheers and a few squealed professions of undying love.

"I think it's time for the finale, what about you, boys?" he said, leaning close to his microphone so that he could be heard even over the applause that refused to die down. The anticipation was almost tangible - crackling in the air like the flashes of lightning in the sky - because, while nobody wanted the night to end, everybody had been waiting for this.

"There's one more song we want to play for you tonight, but we'll make it special." Hayston's voice trailed off into the noise. "We need support for this one."

The shoving intensified; arms reached towards the sky in a sort of offering, like people were hoping to be picked up from where they stood, shouting themselves hoarse for the chance to be chosen. There was a surge towards the stage, like a reckless tidal wave rolling over the audience, sweeping us all along, and I stumbled before I felt steadying hands on my waist. Henry was close enough that I could feel his warm body pressing against my back but his grip had loosened, like he wanted permission to touch me, and I leaned against him a little.

"Katie Banks?" My best friend's name sounded foreign as Fate said it into the microphone, his accent soft on the 't'. "Where's Katie Banks?"

There was an uproar, a tangle of shouts, but I barely noticed as Katie turned around to look at me, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"Katie?" Hayston called out and I grinned at her, mouthing 'happy birthday' when Tarquin grabbed her arm to raise it above their heads, just as Hector and Sam began to shout and point at her until the people around us began to catch on. "Get her up here, will you?"

The crowd obeyed, pushing her forwards, making way until one of the security guards lifted her over the barrier and onto the stage.

"Did you do that?" I could feel Henry's breath next to my ear, his voice low. He was still behind me, his hands on my hips, and I somehow knew that if I turned my head just a little, we'd be close enough to kiss; that he wanted to. But I couldn't miss this. Not for any boy in the world.

The purple spotlights turned Katie's sequined skirt into a whole light-show and the glittery clips in her long hair sparkled like genuine stars, like she was glowing on her own. My best friend looked like a rock star - like she belonged up there - deserving all the attention in the world.

"Are you ready, Katie?" Hayston spoke into the microphone but his head was turned towards her, a dazzling smile spreading on his handsome face when she gave him a nervous smile, then the thumbs up. "Awesome. This is When She Walks."

A peal of thunder mingled with the first beats of the familiar song, much closer than it had been all evening, but all that didn't matter anymore when Katie began to sing. A delighted roar rippled through the audience, because, of course, nobody ever expected anything from these sorts of things, but Katie was incredible. Just like I knew she would be.

The drizzle had started during the last chorus; tiny drops swirling in the air, pricking on my overheated, sweaty skin like needles, but I didn't mind. The rain felt cool and soothing, even as I stood a bit aimlessly in the middle of the buzzing post-concert crowd, not sure how exactly I had managed to lose my friends so quickly. People were swarming around me, surging towards the path that led back up to the castle, and I looked around, trying to find Katie and the others in the bustle, but it was useless. There were just too many people, too much commotion to even disentangle individuals from the crowd.

I was in desperate need of a shower; the glitter on my top had actually begun to melt, most of it now clinging to my arms and most probably my face like some sort of fancy alien rash, but I couldn't just leave. Not when I was kind of sort of on a date.

Suddenly, lightning flashed dramatically across the sky, followed by an impressive clap of thunder. The crowd moved with a violent lurch, dragging me along until I managed to find my footing, but there was no room to swerve. Instead, I just blindly ran into the person behind me, full throttle.

"Alright, Woodley?" James grinned down at me as though I had not just ploughed into him like every ridiculously clumsy teen film heroine. What was even worse, however, was the bright red smudge of glitter our impact had left right in the centre of his crisp white T-shirt.

I had actually smeared gooey glitter on James Potter like a gross disco snail.

Super.

"Shit, I'm so sorry." I didn't really think it through when I tried to wipe the sparkly slime trail off with my hands like a massive weirdo. I must have looked like I was groping him - very badly.

"Woodley, it's fine." James laughed as he grabbed my hands with his, pulling them down until he was holding them in place between us. And suddenly, just like that, we were sort of holding hands. "So, Katie was brilliant."

Something behind my chest wriggled - like one of Professor Hagrid's mutated giant grubs - though it couldn't have been my heart; I was fairly certain that that had stopped a while ago.

"Yeah, she was." I tried not to focus on it; on the gentle press of his fingers against my palms like this was a thing. Good Merlin, why didn't he let go?

Somewhere behind him, a cliché group of Gryffindor Quidditch players kept shoving each other as they passed by, gazes flitting to us and Ryan Kastner, who was the laddest of all Quidditch lads, ruffled James's hair in passing.

"Oi, mate!" James shouted over his shoulder, sounding exasperated, "straight to bed, yeah? All of you! I'll know if you don't."

Kastner saluted him like a soldier and yelled, "aye aye, captain!" before winking very ostentatiously in my direction, but James only shook his head and turned back to me. I could have done it then: casually slide my hands out of his, pretend that I didn't feel the unsettling tingling sensation when his thumb brushed against my skin. But I was useless - absolutely and utterly useless.

"Wow, Potter," I said like I wasn't losing my already limited cool over something he probably hadn't even properly registered, "your team has to go to bed at 9:30 but you're allowed to party?"

"What?" There was the briefest look of confusion on his face but then he grinned. "Are you taking me to a party, Woodley?"

"I - no…" I frowned, half-distracted by the feeling of his fingers loosely interlacing with mine and the familiar dimple in his right cheek. "You're having a party."

He was still grinning, fingers weaving between my own - slowly, methodically - tugging me a little closer in the process. "I am?"

My breath caught then - because this didn't feel unintentional anymore - and I looked down to our entangled hands. Holy Circe, I was not OK. How was this so easy for him? Like it was nothing. Whatever he thought he was doing, it had to end right there. I had to end it.

"OK, stop taking the piss, Potter." I took a step backwards, stumbling slightly as my heel caught on a discarded bottle rolling around the ground, but I refused to let this nerve wrecking thing go any further than this.

"I'm not! I swear." He laughed, because, of course, he wasn't losing his shit over vague and possibly coincidental hand-holding like an overly excited second year. "There's no party. None that I know of, at least. I can't risk having half the team hungover tomorrow."

I stared at James, forgetting to panic for a second. So there really wasn't some wild, secret party tonight. For some reason, I was stupidly relieved. "That's unexpectedly mature of you."

"Unexpectedly? I'm mature as fuck."

I laughed and shook my head, thinking for a second that I had broken the spell; that I could just step away now, pull my hands out of his like this had never been anything in the first place. But I was dumb and off my guard and so I unwittingly looked up, catching the expression on his face - how he was just looking at me, a slow smile curving his mouth, eyes catching on my lips. I wasn't braced for the impact; for the full force of my inconvenient crush to slam into me, throwing me off kilter.

I shouldn't be doing this - staring helplessly into James Potter's eyes like the delusional president of his fanclub. Bleeding Merlin, I was on a date. With someone who actually liked me. And, even though I wasn't exactly an expert, I was fairly certain that holding hands with somebody else - even if it was only by accident - was not a classy move.

It was this thought that finally made me draw back from him; enough for my hands to slip out of his and the cold air to fill the spaces between us. "I - I have to find the others."

The rain had picked up and, all around us, the crowd became fidgety. Within seconds, the languid milling had turned into a proper frenzy, bodies jostling us as they pushed past like we were an inconvenient obstacle on their way to safety.

"You mean Henry Pennington?" James had slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, smiling nonchalantly like we had not just sort of held hands for a solid minute. But somehow I wasn't convinced this time; there was an odd tension in the set of his jaw, the smile half-hearted at best. And maybe it was because I wanted to see it, to know that I hadn't half made him up - this version of him - but, just then, his casual cool mask seemed to have slipped just a millimetre.

It didn't change anything, though.

"Yeah," I said so softly that I wasn't sure he could hear it over the rushing of the rain. We were both properly drenched by now; water was dripping down James's face and the last traces of glitter on my T-shirt were dramatically trickling away like sparkly trails of unicorn snot. I tried to take a deep breath, but it just wouldn't fill my lungs.

"So, goodnight?" My words came out like a question - like I was waiting for something, anything. What exactly, I wasn't entirely sure; maybe confirmation that this was it - that we'd end this unnerving thing right there. But I had been here a dozen times before, thinking that I could just walk away, hadn't I?

And maybe - just maybe - I wanted James to tell me to stay.

He frowned underneath the wet streaks of hair that stuck to his forehead. His mouth was slightly open, like he was about to say something, but then, between two heartbeats, his gaze flickered over my shoulder and he pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Goodnight, Woodley." He did that awful noncommittal salutary nod thing with his head then; like I was just that random sixth year who had tutored him for a while and who he now had to vaguely acknowledge in the hallways to not seem like a complete tosser.

But we were good at this, weren't we?

At least I didn't have to think about all the what-ifs and maybes and almosts; all the things that could have been but never would. I didn't have to think about him.

And I didn't.

Not when he walked away.

Not when I watched him leave for a heartbeat too long.

Not when Henry came up behind me. Not when his arm slid across my back and I turned around and smiled at him.

No, I wasn't thinking about James Potter at all.

Katie's arm was wound firmly around mine, her auburn curls dark and weighed down with rain. I leaned into her a little, listening to the gentle rise and fall of her voice as she hummed the chorus of When She Walks, the sound mingling with the rushing of the rain.

We had progressed only slowly like this; running short distances before taking shelter underneath the awnings of shops and cafés to renew our rubbish protection spells, soaked to our bones and splattered with mud. None of it was very effective, though, especially since we had reached the edge of Hogsmeade and the road up to the castle was wholly exposed to the elements. But wasn't the torrential rain or the cold or the dirt that made me feel weird and edgy: reaching the heavily protected Hogwarts grounds also meant having to say goodnight to Henry and, while I hadn't ever gotten this far on a date, I had also seen enough quirky teen rom-coms to know how these things usually ended.

"Another round of Impervious then, yeah?" Hector said as he wrung out the bottom of his jeans jacket, splashing his shoes in the process. He was one of those people who were handsome enough to pull off being drenched from head to toe, which made me even more uncomfortably aware of the fact that my half-up hairdo had turned into a sad, sloppy mess and that mascara was probably running down my cheeks.

Henry was so lucky.

"So, that's as far as I can go?" He arched an eyebrow at me after frowning at the sparsely lit road ahead and I nodded, ignoring that Katie had buried her fingernails into my underarm like a belligerent cat.

"The grounds are doused in protection spells. Like, aggressively."

Henry chuckled softly, looking briefly down to the ground before back up at me again. "So…"

It was only one word, but I knew what it meant; what it implied. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to do this.

"Hey, um-" Katie's arm unwound from mine so suddenly that I almost lost my balance from the loss of support. "Let's run to Kram's and then take it from there, yeah?" She had taken Tarquin's hand, looking from him to Sam and Hector in such a painfully obvious attempt at nonchalance that I almost laughed.

"But that's just a couple of hundred metres away…" Sam frowned in honest confusion, which made Hector snort and Katie groan with barely concealed frustration.

"Sam. Please don't make this awkward, OK?"

Obviously, it already was. In fact, absolutely nothing could have been more awkward than this. Having your friends huddle only two houses away with the specific purpose of waiting for you to kiss your date, pretending they weren't hovering like overbearing parents was the pinnacle of awkwardness, really. But I appreciated their lovable if slightly creepy commitment to getting me snogged nonetheless. I had no game and I needed all the support I could get.

"So…" I said once Katie and the boys were out of earshot, racking my brain for something useful to say, but Henry was expectedly capable, which made up for my incompetence

"This was great," he said, taking a step towards me. "You're great, Seth."

"Thanks. I mean, you too!" I blurted, much too loudly, which probably would have sent most boys running. But Henry just smiled as he took another step closer - close enough for me to see the bluish specks in his eyes - and his hand brushed along my cheek, pushing back the wet strands of hair.

I exhaled slowly, allowing him to lean in, and then his lips pressed gently against mine. But I had closed my eyes a second too late and something felt strange all of a sudden - was I supposed to tilt my head more? Henry's other hand grasped my upper arm and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice in my head, telling me that this should feel different. Because I wanted to want this - him.

But I couldn't.

I didn't.

My reckless heart was in a frenzy, panic pooling in my stomach like lead, and I stumbled backwards, inelegantly breaking the kiss.

"Seth…" Henry stared at me, his forehead pulling into a concerned frown. "Are you alright?"

I blinked at him, then tried to smile through the mess of thoughts that kept tangling up in my head, dragging me away to the sound of fireworks and rumpled light blue sheets and the rustling of moonlace. "Yeah, sure!"

"You - you're crying." He sounded horrified and I reached up to the corner of my eye, surprised to find it wet. I was crying - on a date, while kissing a cute boy - and I hadn't even realised it.

Obviously, I was a total catch.

"Oh God." I quickly wiped away the tears like that would make this any less terrible, smearing my shiny eyeshadow all over my face in the process. "I'm so sorry."

"So, um, the kiss…" Henry trailed off, his expression still apprehensive as he searched my face, and I quickly shook my head.

"Oh no, it was fine, really!" I spluttered in a desperate attempt at salvaging this, but even as I said it, I knew I was only making everything worse.

Henry nodded slowly, his eyebrows arching lightly as a bitter smile curled his mouth. "Fine."

"That's not what I'm supposed to say, right?"

"Not really." He snorted, but the sour look on his face faded a little then, turning into a more genuine smile. Not a happy one, but real enough to make me feel even shittier than I already did. He had done nothing to deserve this. Henry had done all the right things at the right time.

He was the right boy.

I was just the wrong girl.

"I really wish I had met you before." The words came out before I fully realised what I was saying. I wasn't even sure what I had meant to say in the first place - before what?

Henry frowned, but then comprehension seemed to dawn on him and he shook his head, pushing out a breathy sort of laugh. "Right. So I didn't imagine it."

I stared at him, heat flooding my cheeks. "What?"

"I - I saw you with him." His words fell heavy like the rain, leaving a dense silence in their wake, and, though it wasn't specific or anything, I knew; of course I knew. "I'm an idiot." He shook his head again, dragging a hand through his wet hair, and I felt the guilt coiling in the pit of my stomach like a poisonous snake.

"No, you're not." I sounded desperate - pleading even - because I wanted this to not feel awful anymore; to tell him that he was wrong, but I couldn't.

I couldn't because of stupid James Potter.

"If it helps, I really don't want to like him. Like, at all."

He looked up at me then, a wry smile tugging on his mouth. "It does a little."

"I feel horrible." I shook my head, fighting the mad urge to cry-laugh hysterically. Here I was with the probably nicest boy in all of England who had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to be with me, and I could only think about bloody Potter. "I wish it wasn't like this."

"Yeah, me too." Henry stubbed the tip of his trainer against the asphalt, kicking at imaginary pebbles. "So - um - your friends are very poorly pretending they're not watching my painful rejection and I think it's time for me to go."

I turned my head to glance over my shoulder, and, sure enough, all four of them were standing underneath the hardware shop's canopy, bodies angled away from us so awkwardly that it was obvious they had all been staring just a second ago. Tarquin was even pretending to study the street sign at the corner like an overzealous tourist.

"Have I already said how sorry I am?" I bit my bottom lip and Henry snorted.

"Will you be alright?" He arched an eyebrow at me, looking at me with honest concern that I didn't deserve. But I nodded anyway and even made my lips curve into a smile.

"Yes. You?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. Then, with a small nod of his head, he took a few steps backwards. "Save me a dance at the next wedding." It was barely a second in which his body suddenly seemed to implode into itself, and, just like that, I blinked and Henry was gone.

I was sitting on my bed, legs folded underneath me and slowly falling asleep as the rain thrummed a wild pattern against the window, relentless as ever. With Katie's bed still empty and both Bernice's and Ursula's curtains drawn, it felt eerily alone in the room and, more than once, my attention strayed from the book in my lap to the flickering candle on my nightstand. The day felt too long and too scattered to allow my mind to settle; like constantly changing clusters of thoughts that made it impossible to sort through without wanting to scream into my pillow.

Not even Spellbound in Stratford could distract me from that.

I sighed and tossed the book to the side before leaning back against my pillow, not caring that I was probably getting it wet. I had used a drying charm on my hair, which was never as good as a blow-dryer, and it had left my hair tangly and ruffled and still partially damp. But it was good enough for tonight; good enough to read smutty romance in bed while I was waiting for Katie to come home so that she could tell me about all the romantic birthday-surprises Tarquin had prepared for her and I could tell her in detail about how I had cried while kissing Henry.

Right after it had happened, in the pouring rain and with all of my friends giving me those knowing, smiley looks, I hadn't had the guts to tell them what I had done; how I had managed to screw this up so phenomenally with a boy who might have actually liked me. But now, sitting in my bed, with absolutely nothing to distract me from my raging thoughts, I selfishly wished I had told them; that Katie knew. Because, even though it was her birthday, she would have stayed in with me, probably reading me passages from the most terrible Ambrosia Tinkertabber novel until I fell asleep.

The wind picked up suddenly, hurling raindrops against the window so that the pattering turned into proper knocking, like knuckles rapping on the glass, and I sighed as I disentangled myself from my blanket to check whether I had closed the windows properly before. Accidental dorm floodings were not uncommon with rickety, 1000-year-old windows and I wasn't keen on having to explain myself to the cleaning elves. But before I even reached the window, something moved behind it - something larger than an owl - and I yelped in shock as I stumbled backwards, almost landing on the floor.

"Potter?" I said, even though he couldn't possibly hear me through the glass, and he grinned and raised his hand like we had just casually run into each other in the Great Hall.

"What the…" I trailed off, still too flabbergasted to even move. Because James bloody Potter was standing in front of my dorm room window.

In the middle of the night.

In the pouring rain.

"What the bloody hell…" I hissed as I opened the window, my words immediately drowning in the rushing of the rain. James was standing on the tiled roof of Ravenclaw tower, one hand holding on to the window frame, absolutely soaked; so entirely that his hair was black and plastered to his forehead in wet streaks and his Gryffindor sweatshirt stuck to him like it had shrunk in the wash.

"Can we discuss this inside?" He said, giving me his best lopsided grin and I honest to Merlin wished it wouldn't work. "I mean, it's not that I don't enjoy hanging out in front of your window like a perv, but the rain is mildly uncomfortable."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, remembering momentarily that I was not only wearing a baggy, old sweatshirt, but also that it had a picture of my favourite childhood cartoon character sprawled across the front; it was hard to act all casual and cool with Deadalus the Dog Detective giving you the thumbs up.

Also, I had fuzzy space-buns like a bloody four-year-old.

And pimple cream on my forehead.

Fantastic.

"No! Are you mental?" I snapped, trying to very casually wipe the dots of Maggie's Magical spot treatment into the sleeve of my sweatshirt, which was really all I could do. The hair and the outfit just were what they were. "This is against every school rule."

"Come on, Woodley."

There was that stupid smile again, but I was shaking my head at him before the words even left my mouth. "Absolutely not."

"You're aware that it's pissing down, yeah? Like, a lot?"

I was still shaking my head, my mind racing to make sense of this - of James standing in front of my window, drenched, asking me to let him in. Leaving aside the fact that I should have immediately taken a thousand points from Gryffindor, it was also extremely dangerous; flying in this weather and then landing on the slippery roof. Why on earth would anybody do something so reckless?

"What are you doing here?"

It seemed like an appropriate question, one that he should have been able to answer considering that he had flown up to my freaking window, but he just looked at me, mouth opening, then closing again, biting his bottom lip. Then, finally, he shook his head, loosening a shaky breath that might have been intended as a laugh but fell short. "How was the rest of your date?"

For a moment, I only stared at him, robbed of my thunder. Because, honestly, while I had expected a lot, it wasn't this: not the sincere way he looked at me, nor the raspy tone in his voice that sounded so genuinely serious that my heart fluttered. "Are you high?"

"Good? Bad?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frowning like he was battling an intense headache. "Any snogging?"

I might have forgotten to breathe for a second before my lungs pushed a weird sort of breathy snort up my windpipe. "You are high."

"Woodley-"

I was shaking my head again, which seemed to be the most vehement resistance I could muster. For a moment, I imagined telling him; of the kiss and how I had cried, and I felt my face burn despite the cool, rain-sodden air that had slunk into the room. Obviously, this was not going to happen. Ever.

Instead, I narrowed my eyes at him, feigning nonchalance. "No, that's none of your business, Potter. I'm not asking you who you're shagging either."

"OK, harsh." He raised an eyebrow at me, the corners of his mouth twitching lightly. "And I wasn't asking if you were shagging Pennington, I - wait…" The look of amusement slipped from his face momentarily as he glanced over my shoulder into the room. "Did you -"

"Of course not, you monumental tosser!" I snapped under my breath, feeling the blush flare up again. This wasn't safe waters anymore - this was full-on high seas Titanic-iceberg-waters and I was not equipped to navigate this ship. At all.

"I'm not shagging anyone," James said, voice deep and steady, and my heart turned into a ferocious pinball in my chest. He had leaned a little closer too, rain dripping from the tip of his nose, drawing my attention to his mouth.

Morgan have mercy.

"Yeah, right." I snorted, horribly, because I was so far out of my depth that no lifeboat in the world could have rescued me anymore. "That's why you spent the night in Athena Notte's room last weekend."

Honestly, I didn't even know why I had to bring that up; why I had to make myself this vulnerable in front of the boy I tried really hard to un-like.

James ran his hand through his hair, which was perfunctory at this point considering that the rain just slapped the unruly strands back across his forehead. "I didn't."

"Sure." I wanted to laugh, but my throat felt oddly tight and my voice came out strangled, turning into a scoff. "Look, you don't owe me an explanation. You can shag whoever you want, so-"

"But I'm not!" James cut me off. His head dipped slightly and his fingers clenched the window frame a little harder. "Shit, Woodley, I…" He broke off, pressing his lips together like he had to physically keep himself from saying more than that. "Can you just believe me? Please?

I shook my head, not as an answer to his question but because I'd had enough of his lame half-sentences that didn't mean anything. I didn't know what this was - why he was doing this - but I knew that, if I wanted to avoid permanent heart damage, I needed him to leave; desperately. I couldn't play his dumb games anymore.

"Most of the rumours in this bloody castle are nothing but worthless gossip," James said when I didn't reply. "You of all people should know that."

A tense silence trailed after his words, drowning in the rushing of the rain and Bernice's soft snores, and I couldn't look at him anymore; how he was standing there, completely drenched, leaning against the window frame so that his body was angling towards me.

"I never believed any of the dumb shit people were saying about you and you can't trust me this once?"

My breaths felt hollow, incomplete; like I was drowning in the rain-sodden air. I was still staring at the stitched lettering on his sweatshirt, at the burgundy letters that were already frayed, peeling at the edges, unable to look up at him. Mostly because I didn't know what to do, what to say. He had no idea what he was asking of me.

"Seriously, Potter, why do you even care?" I finally said, because this felt safe enough; because I knew him - I knew his vague, half-arsed non-answers that took us right back to the hazy grey area that didn't need us to acknowledge the moments we had gotten too close for comfort. We had played this game before, after all, and it was just that; a dumb, meaningless game, nothing more.

"I just-" James bit off his sentence and I waited for the snort and the head shake and the noncommittal 'I don't know', like he couldn't be held accountable for anything that might have been interpreted into his actions. But, instead, he took a shallow breath and his voice dropped to this quiet, raspy thing that drew my gaze back up to his face; his frown. "I don't want you to think that of me."

"Think what?" I sounded entirely confused, even to my own ears. He couldn't just go off script like that; this didn't make any sense. None of it did. He had asked me to let him in and I had refused and he was still here, standing outside my dorm room in the pouring rain, telling me he wasn't sleeping with anyone.

James considered me for a moment, his gaze too steady, too intense, eyes slightly narrowed against the hard rain that was lashing against his face. "That I'm a soulless fuckboy."

I breathed out a mangled laugh as my heart stumbled, shaking my head again in an attempt at making this less weird - less gut-wrenching. "James-"

"Woodley, I wasn't with Athena last weekend."

I blinked, then nodded, my voice brittle and strange as I said, "okay." Because what else could I have said? What else could I have done when he was looking at me like this? When he was saying these impossible things?

"I was puking my guts out half the night..." James paused for an excruciating heartbeat, like he wasn't sure what exactly he was doing, either. But he kept looking at me, almost bewildered, and then his voice lowered to a throaty whisper. "talking about you."

I might have been shaking my head again, but I couldn't be sure. This was not fine. I was not fine. "What -" I stammered like I had exactly three brain cells, unable to even formulate a coherent thought.

"So, did you?" James asked, still talking in this raspy, tummy-turning voice. "Kiss him, I mean."

My heart was beating in my ears, too fast and too loud. But I knew how to stop this; I knew how to steer this ship back to sheltered waters. Because I would tell him that it was none of his bloody business and he would be a git about it and we would catalogue this with all the other things we never talked about, no harm done.

But then I looked up - right into his eyes that were amber, not brown, even in the darkness - and my snappy retort got tangled up in my throat. "I - yes…"

"Right. OK." James sighed, nodding vaguely, his hand raking through his hair again as he took a step backwards. "I shouldn't have come here. I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry."

I watched him take another step back, gripping his broom handle tighter as he half-turned away, and I should have let him go then. I should have.

But I couldn't.

"But it wasn't like -" I cut myself off, pressing my lips together before I could finish the sentence. But James had stopped mid-turn, staring at me.

"What?" He prompted, but I just shook my head. "Not like what, Woodley?"

Not like kissing him.

I knew it was true, but I opened my mouth and closed it again, because I couldn't do this; because this made no sense at all - we made no sense at all - and yet…

"Shit." James had walked back up to my window in two quick strides, rain dripping down his face, lacing his furrowed eyebrows as he looked at me with an intensity that pulled on my heart like the tide on the ocean. "Just… tell me to fuck off, Woodley."

He braced his arm against the window frame and leaned closer, carefully, slowly, giving me enough time - enough chances - to swerve, to tell him to stop. But I couldn't. I just stood there and waited until I felt his warm breath on my skin; until I could feel the rain dripping from his hair onto my cheeks, a thousand thoughts chasing each other in my head but none of them taking shape.

"Two words," he whispered, eyes flickering to my mouth. "I promise I won't argue."

But I didn't know what I wanted anymore; more, less, everything - the cold, dark grounds, the stuffy telephone box, the unmade bed, the shag-nook. I wanted all of it and I had never been this terrified in my life.

"Seth?" he murmured, lips brushing against mine like a question, and I didn't have the capacity to think this through anymore as I tilted my head up.

When James kissed me, it was slow and deep and so stupidly good that I barely registered putting my hands against his chest. I didn't even notice that my fingers were digging into the drenched fabric of his jumper that had soaked my oversized sweatshirt by now or the sharp-edged window ledge that was pushing into my thighs. The rain, the cold, the slightly uncomfortable angle - everything had become peripheral to kissing James Potter and I sank into him a little more as he cupped my face and pushed his fingers into my hair.

But I knew that this was phenomenally dumb - that I had been here before, naively thinking that I could handle the aftermath of whatever this was, of whatever he was doing to me - and so I tried to pull away, even if my attempt was half-hearted.

"This is a bad idea," I said, breathy and hoarse between kisses, but James just shook his head softly, pulling me even closer to him.

"Doesn't feel like it." He whispered the words against my lips and it was my new favourite thing.

"James." His name slipped in between the tugging and pushing and I already felt my last shreds of resistance dissolve when he suddenly stopped.

"Do you want me to go?" He asked, his lips shaping the words against the corner of my mouth before trailing soft kisses along my jawline all the way to my ear. I tried to focus then - on all the reasons why I definitely should have told him to leave, why I really shouldn't trust him - but I couldn't move. My stupid heart was heavy, anchoring me to this very spot and I felt any semblance of reason slip away as James pressed his warm lips against the sensitive spot behind my ear, onto my neck, my throat.

When he looked at me again, rain was trickling down his face, dripping from his dark lashes and the tip of his nose and I tried to ignore how much I wanted to entangle my fingers in his hair. It was dumb and irrational - all of it - but he was just too close this way. Close enough to feel his chest rising and falling with his heartbeat, drumming a fast rhythm against the palms of my hands.

So what if this was just a one-time thing? Something short and intense that didn't mean anything beyond what it was. Maybe it was okay that we only existed like this; not entirely but somewhat half, in between accidental hand-holding and intentional kisses.

"Seth," James's voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I looked up at him; into his eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"

There was that frown again - no arrogance, no nonchalance, but a smidge of uncertainty that even James Potter couldn't completely hide - and something ignited behind my chest, both crushing and expanding my ribcage at the same time. I couldn't breathe and I was breathing too much and, before I even knew what the bloody hell I was doing, my elbows softened, hands sliding up his shoulders and around his neck until my lips were on his.

James smiled against my mouth and something behind my navel tightened, like my body knew that I was lost; like my brain had officially bowed out of the situation, leaving my dumb heart to fend for itself.

As if the poor thing ever had a chance.

His hand slid onto my waist, pulling me into him so that my body was flush against his, so that I could feel his heartbeat, the fast, shallow breaths behind his chest. And then there was that agonising tension - that strange pulsing beneath my abdomen that jolted with every tug, every brush of his tongue against mine.

"Can I come in now?" He murmured in between kisses, breathing heavily, and my eyes caught on his mouth; his dimple. "You can even take 50 points from my stupid house if it makes you feel better, Woodley."

He was grinning - kissing me - then grinning again, and my heart was in my throat. Because I wanted this - him. So much. But he had probably done this before; flying up to dorm room windows, snogging girls in the rain, saying all the right things.

I pushed away from him then, as far as I could with him still holding me around the waist, pressing my palms against his shoulders. "Don't you have, like, a really important game tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Right." James tilted his head a little, his gaze heavy-lidded and intense as it settled on my face. The rain had eased up, but it barely mattered anymore as we were both entirely drenched. I didn't even want to think about my space buns, honestly.

"Hey, Woodley, listen. I-" He stopped himself, just as I felt his heart stumble against my palm, then pick up its pace. "Seth… this isn't just - I mean, I -"

There was a sharp knock from Bernice's bed, followed by the sound of someone fumbling with the bed curtains, and I turned my head just in time to find my roommate staggering into the room like a sloshed zombie. She froze for a second, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline as she stared at us like she wasn't entirely sure whether she was fully awake yet.

A few seconds passed in which we all just stood there, like actors who had lost their lines, waiting for the prompt, until James cracked a mischievous smile at Bernice. "Um, hey… Bernadette?"

I would have rolled my eyes at him if the situation hadn't been so absurd. Sure, Hogwarts was a relatively large school, but the Quidditch players were a manageable lot. He must have played against Bernice a hundred times already and still couldn't remember her name?

"Bernice." She did not reciprocate the smile but frowned, her gaze flitting first to James's hand on my waist, then to my hands on his shoulders, understandably struggling to fully process the scene.

I mean, I barely understood what was going on, really.

"Right, sorry." James was still grinning at her like she wasn't scowling at him, which might have worked on anyone else, but Bernice clearly was not impressed with his charms.

"Seth, why the bleeding fuck is Potter in front of our window… in the middle of the night?"

"I - um -" I wanted to drop my hands from his shoulders, but James was still holding me around the waist and so they slid down to his stomach instead. "He just… He was just leaving?"

"I was?" He said, sounding vaguely confused as he looked back at me, eyebrows furled. "I mean, yeah, right."

"So… um…" I tried to take a step back, to disentangle myself from James, but instead of letting me go, he pulled me in again, his eyes flickering to Bernice for a second before he lowered his head, focusing entirely on me.

"We're not going to pretend like this didn't happen, Woodley," he said quietly. His gaze was so intense that my heart missed a couple of beats. "I mean…" He looked back up at Bernice, darting a crooked grin at her. "Bernice saw it too, right Bernice?"

"I didn't see nothin'."

"Cheers for the support, mate."

"James…" I pushed softly against him to bring some physical distance between us, but, honestly, the attempt was lukewarm at best. "What are you -"

"We snogged," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards just the slightest bit. "Sober. Intentionally. You can't take it back."

"I wasn't -" I shook my head because I was always out of my depth with him, constantly balancing at the edge, trying not to fall. But it was too late for that, wasn't it? I had stumbled over the precipice a while ago, free falling at full speed. "You kissed me first, Potter."

The blush was inevitable at this point; even more so when James grinned, dimple and all, and then leaned his forehead against mine, murmuring, "yeah I did."

Holy Circe, that boy.

Bernice cleared her throat behind us - with emphasis - and I finally regained some of my wits, mustering enough willpower to untangle myself from James's arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, Potter."

He grinned at that - broad and a little silly - and my heart was not OK. "Yeah. Tomorrow, Woodley." He took a few steps backwards, still smiling, and then he casually climbed onto his broom to take off into the night.

"Potter? Really?"

I turned around to fully look at Bernice in her baggy Ravenclaw Quidditch T-shirt, my cheeks still burning as I was dripping water into the growing puddle underneath my feet.

"Bloody hell, Seth." She sighed and shook her head and my heart sank a little at the expression on her face. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

A/N: Whew, so that was a long one… As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

But, most of all, THANK YOU you brilliant, wonderful people who leave me reviews and let me know what you thought about the chapter. It's so amazing to know that people connect with my characters and the story and it means the world to me that you take the time out of your busy days to drop me a few lines. Just know that, without you, this story wouldn't exist… I probably would have stopped writing a while ago and never found the motivation to finish Seth's story.

So thank you for that. I really appreciate it.