Chapter 6 – The Only Exception

Maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul
That love never lasts
And we've got to find other ways to make it alone
Or keep a straight face

And I've always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable distance
And up until now, I had sworn to myself
That I'm content with loneliness

Because none of it was ever worth the risk

That first summer was bliss.

The seeds of romance, so angrily restricted for such a long time, were finally free to blossom. No longer in denial about their feelings, hiding behind a guise of anger and hatred, and now with a more liberal understanding of the state of their relationship, openly defined as what it was, Sam and Janey found a sense of comfort around each other. By no means did that mean it was easier though.

Perhaps they moved too quickly; perhaps it had been too early and too big a transition. Rose and Scorpius had the right idea. Even though theirs was an entirely different story altogether, the estranged couple overcoming different boundaries to those faced by their friends, they were taking things slow over the summer. Slower than they were used to.

Sam and Janey, in contrast, fully dived into their relationship. At least two years of spiteful arguing, a hasty and unexpected first kiss, two weeks of near-constant snogging and very little emotional depth verbally explored, and they were all of a sudden an official couple?

It had not been the way Sam had wanted to approach things. Two weeks prior, he hadn't even really known how he felt towards Janey, and now she was his girlfriend. He'd have wanted to handle things in the way Rose and Scorpius now were with their newly reformed 'almost' relationship—they were re-getting to know each other, enjoying the playful, fun side of a relationship, no labels, before re-assessing where they stood after the summer and moving forwards from there. One step at a time. Gentle, slow, and easy.

But James had been right. Janey was a special case, and if Sam wanted her to comfortably open up about herself, which he did, then he needed to prove to her how committed he was. He needed to be fully hers. There could be no 'testing the waters' for the summer and then re-assessing where they stood in September.

No, he was Janey's now, and she his. Official. Serious. Committed.

No working up to it, no 'wooing' or dating in the loosest sense of the word. They were together.

And still, of course—as he knew he should get used to when it came to Janey—Sam didn't know what that really meant.

How would them being 'together' affect the dynamics of their already pretty passionate love affair? Would they talk now—would they actually get more emotional depth? Would they do stuff together? Alone? Sam and Janey had only ever been together in group situations (aside from their more recent exploits). Would they now have to do couple-y stuff? Go on dates and such? Would Sam have to buy her flowers? Take her out to dinner?

Would Janey even let him do that kind of romantic couple-y stuff?

Or would it be more of the same thing? Just… snogging. Which he very much enjoyed—of course he did—but then, if that were the case, what was even the point of them being officially together?

Sam supposed that meant they just couldn't snog other people anymore.

Not that he wanted to—(or even had the choice).

Sam felt a lot of pressure. It was all moving too quickly. Like their whole sordid romance, it was too urgent, too rushed—like they were running out of time, like it was now or never. But maybe that was true. Maybe Janey was worried, and he too, that if they didn't seize the opportunity whilst they could—they didn't harness that passion as quickly as possible—it would just fizzle out. It would be over before either of them knew it.

Maybe, just maybe, that's all they were even supposed to be, Sam thought sadly. Just a wild flurry of passion and nothing more.

But Merlin, wouldn't it be worth it anyway?

Janey slept the whole train ride back to Kings Cross. Curled up along one side of the carriage with her head resting in his lap, Sam felt blissfully content as he absentmindedly ran a hand up and down her arm like he was stroking a cat.

Rose, Taylor, Gwen, and Albus all looked disgruntled at being squashed up on one side of the carriage, whilst Janey peacefully stretched out over the other, Sam himself pretty much pushed up in the corner. But nobody complained. Least of all Sam.

"She's the heaviest sleeper I've ever seen," Taylor said, half out of endearment and half out of irritation.

"At least she doesn't snore," Rose mumbled, garnering a glare from her best friend.

"Why is she even so tired? That's so unlike Janey," Gwen mused.

All eyes suddenly looked to Sam.

"What?" he asked in confusion, his hand abruptly stopping his stroking.

"You wore her out," Rose accused, snorting with amusement.

"How?"

"We don't want to know details," Albus groaned, "but believe me, we can take a wild guess."

Janey let out a sort of groan of protest then. Sam immediately recommenced his stroking. Janey, if she was indeed a cat, would have purred. Her head was warm on his thigh, not uncomfortable like he'd thought it might be after a while, but kind of reassuring. Familiar, almost, although God knows Janey's head had never been anywhere in that region before.

"She's very tolerable when she's like this," Albus pointed out with a wicked smile.

"And very endearing," Taylor added.

"Mhmm," Sam agreed without even really thinking about it.

Everybody looked at him curiously, Rose with a sort of shy, knowing smile.

Sam blushed. He guessed it was weird for them to see him and Janey so openly affectionate. Well, him at least—it wasn't like Janey was really contributing much. But she was, he realised. She wouldn't have ever curled up with her head on his lap before. She wouldn't ever have looked so blissful and comfortable in his presence.

They were so used to seeing nothing but hatred. Nothing but arguing and yelling.

To be honest, it was weird for Sam too. Janey was his girlfriend—a statement he was still struggling to wrap his mind around. They were affectionate now. Well, not that they'd had much time to be. They hadn't even been officially together for twenty-four hours yet, and during that short-lived period of 'dating', they hadn't even been alone together, making the most of their time with the whole gang before summer separated them all and everything changed.

Sam hadn't even kissed her yet.

But after the train journey, he realised, they would be forced to separate. They had spent almost every day in each other's company since returning from Rosewood (after the rocky first few days), and even though they were now an item, fate would be ripping them apart from each other.

Sam suddenly started to panic internally. Would that be a problem? Would that already create difficulties for their fresh new romance, complicating it before it even began? Janey might get bored, he feared. She might forget, after having some distance from him, that she even wanted to be with him. It could all be purely circumstantial—this 'fancying him' and whatnot. Distance could perhaps lessen her affections for him. Distance could force her to realise that she had made a mistake in agreeing to be involved with him.

The train gave a sudden lurch. Janey stirred, still only semi-conscious, groaning in protest at the violent disruption, before nestling her head further up Sam's thigh. Sam ran a soothing hand from her elbow all the way to her shoulder, and then, even though it was difficult for him to bend quite like that, managed to plant a kiss atop her head.

He was sure he could see her smile.

And so he smiled too.

"Do you have a phone?"

"What?"

"A phone. You know—a mobile phone?"

"Oh," Sam mumbled. "Well, yeah, I think I've got some old, crappy one lying around from when I was younger. I never really used it though. I mean, why would I? I could only have been ten, it's not like I even had people to call or—"

"Sam," Janey interrupted.

Sam obediently fell silent.

Janey looked hesitant, shy even, as she asked, like a true Muggle, "Can I have your number?"

The two of them were stood alone amongst the bustling hordes of people on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. They had said their goodbyes to all but each other, their close-knit group of the past month suddenly wrenched apart. Sam felt hollow at the thought of returning to his family. Or, rather, at the thought of leaving Janey behind.

He didn't even know where she lived, Sam realised, feeling like the worst boyfriend ever. He didn't know the slightest thing about her family, or her background, or where she came from. How easy would it even be for them to see each other over the course of the summer?

"I, ah, sure," Sam said. "I don't… actually… know it though," he admitted.

Janey just shook her head, laughing gently. "Alright, fine, I'll give you mine and you can text me. Or, you know, whatever," she said dismissively.

Sam smiled too. "I will," he promised, despite not really knowing how he would go about that. It was all well and good him having a mobile phone and a Muggle family, but he was severely out of touch when it came to Muggle technology. He had barely used his phone, and he had certainly never gotten around to actually texting anybody. He supposed he would have to ask one of his siblings. Or even his mum.

"Do you have Facebook?" Janey asked as she hastily scrawled something down on a scrap of parchment.

"Err…"

"I'll take that as a no," Janey teased.

Again, Sam felt out of touch. "Why would I have Facebook?" he retaliated, not even entirely sure what it was. Some kind of social media website, he knew that. But, again, Sam was so used to the wizarding world that he hadn't fully immersed himself in all this up-and-coming Muggle stuff.

"So you can change your status to 'in a relationship with Janey Davington," Janey replied like it was the most casual thing in the world, a playful edge to her voice.

Sam's heart seemed to skip a beat, his face lighting up. She was acknowledging that they were in a relationship. It was real—it was actually happening.

"Besides, everybody has Facebook," Janey scoffed.

"I guarantee not one of our friends has," Sam said. "In fact, I guarantee not one of them even has a computer. Or a phone."

"Yeah?" Janey asked, still scribbling. "That's no excuse for you though. I'm assuming you have both."

"Well, yeah, but when I got to eleven I was shipped off to Hogwarts, wasn't I?"

"So?"

"So aren't you supposed to be thirteen when you're allowed Facebook?"

"Only if you play by the rules."

Sam smirked. "Which I'm assuming you don't?"

Janey looked up from her scribbling, her eyes twinkling. "Absolutely not."

"So you were… how old when you got Facebook?"

"Ten."

"Of course," Sam said, nodding to himself with amusement. "And the reasoning being…?"

"To keep tabs on my enemies."

Janey had such a perfectly straight face, and a casual demeanour to accompany it, that Sam wasn't sure whether she was joking or not. "I'm, err, I'm not really up on what this Facebook stuff is for, but I thought it was more along the lines of, you know, keeping up with your friends."

"Well," Janey said sweetly, "none of my friends have Facebook, do they?"

Sam frowned. "Well, no, not from Hogwarts. But what about your old Muggle friends? Your school friends."

Janey's expression was suddenly stony, her entire being looking incredibly uncomfortable. Sam was startled, not really sure how what he'd said had struck a nerve, but he sensed there was a story there.

Eyes glassy, face pale, Janey swallowed a lump in her throat. "Text me," she ordered, shoving the scrap of parchment into his hand.

"Why can't we just use owls?" Sam asked in confusion, still caught off guard by her sudden change in attitude.

"Too messy," Janey insisted. "My dad will flip."

Her dad, Sam noted to himself. Did that mean she only lived with her dad? Was there no mother in the picture? Divorced? Absent? Dead?

"Janey, where do you live?" Sam suddenly asked, aware that prying into the state of her family might be a bit too much.

She blinked in surprise. "London."

"London?" Sam repeated in shock.

Janey nodded. "Why—where do you live?"

"Nottingham," he said sheepishly.

"Nottingham?" Janey repeated in shock, just as Sam had. "As in, like, up North?"

"It's not 'up North,'" Sam said irritably, "it's the Midlands."

Janey didn't look any less perturbed. "It's still in the bloody middle of nowhere! That's like, what, three hours away?"

Sam felt slightly uplifted by the fact that Janey seemed to be put out by how much distance would be between them. "We're magical, Janey," he reminded her gently.

"So?"

"So we can travel instantly."

Janey looked sheepish at the reminder, perhaps embarrassed by her overreaction. "Right, yeah," she mumbled.

Sam still felt uplifted. So she wanted to see him then?

"Well," he gulped, that temporary feeling of lightness now heavy and grounding, "I guess we… should go." He knew his family would be eagerly waiting for him somewhere on the platform, and as much as he didn't want to depart from Janey, he knew he must.

Janey's eyes, if he wasn't mistaken, seemed full of sadness at such a declaration. "Yeah," she gulped too. "Yeah, you're right."

The two stood awkwardly on the platform for a while, Sam still tightly gripping the slip of parchment, neither of them looking at each other, wondering exactly how to say goodbye. A friendly nod of the head? A hug? A kiss, even?

Janey was scanning the crowds. Her gaze landed on something, or someone, and her face fell.

Sam immediately turned to where she was looking, but Janey grabbed at the front of his shirt, drawing his attention back. "What?" he asked in a panic.

"Nothing," she hurriedly replied. "I just, err… I just…" Whilst Janey struggled to think of a lie, Sam glanced back towards where she'd been looking. Janey grabbed him again, so forcefully that it actually hurt his neck. But before he could comment, or protest, or cry out in surprise, she hastily kissed him on the cheek.

Sam was blissfully surprised.

"Bye," Janey burst out before Sam could begin to form any reaction. And just like that, she was gone, hurling her trunk behind her so forcefully that it crashed into some unsuspecting passers-by as she hurtled through the hastily departing crowds.

Sam watched her go with an air of amusement, desperately craning his neck to see where she went. But the crowds were thick with families reuniting all around. He caught a glimpse of a tall well-dressed man. Incredibly well-dressed, he thought in awe—surely the only man on the platform in suit and tie. Was that Janey's dad?

But Sam knew he shouldn't pry. Instead, he focused his attention back to the tiny bit of parchment he was still clutching. He unravelled it tenderly, revealing an eleven-digit number, an 'x' scrawled beneath.

He smiled, that warmth filling him once more. Grinning from ear to ear, slipping the parchment into his pocket, Sam hauled his trunk up from the ground, disappearing into the crowds to find his family.

She left in an instant, not sparing a second thought for me. She loved me, she said, but she couldn't be with him anymore, and I watched as my family fell apart. He didn't even fight for her, didn't even say he was sorry, or beg to be taken back.

Being Daddy's little girl, I stayed with him, and watched a new woman come and go every other week. My life was put on hold, my problems were not relevant, and my mother rarely made the effort to see me anymore—I was just the result of the awful mistake she'd made in marrying my father.

Finally, he married again, and I had a maternal figure in my life once more, but it was never the same. I was beginning to get difficult at this point, beginning to get fed up of being constantly pushed around. I had thought my parents' relationship perfect. I had never seen anyone as in love as I thought they'd been, but I was wrong. I resented my stepmum, but my dad adored her, naturally, and I was pushed aside to make room for her.

You can't begin to imagine the joy they felt when my Hogwarts letter came...

"Daddy's not here then?" Janey said sarcastically.

"Mr Davington is occupied," the man responded with sympathy. "He sends his regards, but he won't be returning for a few days, I'm afraid. He has business in Edinburgh."

"Whatever," Janey dismissed, rolling her eyes. "And the step-whore's unavailable?" she asked, suddenly nasty.

The man looked taken aback, though not by Janey's brash attitude. "No, Miss Davington," he said in surprise. "Lady Marlowe no longer, ah, resides within your household."

Janey's eyes widened. "What?"

"Lady Marlowe—"

"Oh, stop it," she ordered impatiently. "He's not even here. Talk to me how you would—how you always have—when he's not around. I'm 'Janey,' and she's 'Sadie,' 'whore,' or 'crazy, evil bitch.'"

The Davingtons' driver gave a polite nod of his balding head, struggling to suppress his smirk. "Very well, Miss"—he hesitated, then smiled—"Janey."

The blonde girl nodded in approval, sharing the smile.

"Sadie and your father are no longer 'together,' as it were. She moved out several months ago, but I thought—I assumed—your father had informed you of this?"

"Ha," Janey scoffed. "Daddy doesn't tell me anything, least of all concerning her. Although I am very interested in this revelation," she muttered as her eyes greedily lit up. She looked to her driver excitedly. "Ding-dong the witch is dead?"

He smirked at her choice of words. "Indeed. They filed for divorce in April, and she moved out almost immediately."

"For any particular reason?" Janey asked sweetly.

"I believe your father was unfaithful. He, ah, took a 'lady friend' on the yacht without much discretion."

"Excellent."

"You'll be pleased to know he's going all-out on preventing her access to any of your commodities."

"Meaning?"

"She won't be getting any money. No shares of the property or any of yours and your father's possessions."

Janey's already greed-lit eyes widened once more. "Well, my day certainly just got better," she gleefully declared. "And about time too. That monster should only have been a two-month fling in the first place."

"Your father cared very deeply for Lady Marlowe," the driver said humbly.

"Oh, please," Janey scoffed. "He didn't even know her middle name! And stop calling her a lady. She wasn't a lady—she didn't even have the title—she made that up. Everything about her was fake." She looked him pointedly in the eye. "Everything."

"Even still, they had a long marriage."

"A mistake from the start, in my opinion," Janey criticised in a low voice. "He should have known, after the mistake of my mother, that marriage wasn't for him. The Davingtons don't do marriage. God knows I won't," she muttered.

Her driver stole a glance at something in the distance. "The young gentleman," he said knowingly, "who accompanied you off the train."

Janey blushed.

"He's…?"

"A friend," she said fiercely.

"I see."

"But I don't want my dad to know," she said quickly, looking to him with wide eyes. "That Sam is… my friend."

"I see."

"Good," Janey gulped. "And Daddy is going to be gone for—how long did you say?" she asked, hastily changing the subject.

"He'll be back on Thursday."

"Okay."

The Davingtons' driver took hold of Janey's trunk, and together the two departed the platform to where the car was parked. Fortunately, living in London anyway, the drive would be short. Janey thought of the vastness of the house she'd be returning to. Though nowhere in comparison to the size of Hogwarts castle, it would feel impossibly large, she knew. Large, empty, and quiet, nothing but her own solitude to welcome her to her supposed home.

She slammed the car door a little too aggressively.

"Your father isn't a reflection of all marriages," the driver piped up quietly as they began their journey homeward bound.

"What?" Janey snapped in confusion, angrily staring out the window at the bustling London streets.

"Your father's… failings," he said delicately, "as a married man, are not an indication of what is destined for you."

Janey was almost put out by such impertinence, even though she considered her family driver—Albert, she thought his name was—to be one of the few friends she had outside of Hogwarts. If not the only one. "Excuse me?"

"Janey—"

"Call me 'Miss Davington,'" she said frostily.

"Miss Davington," he politely corrected, "your father's commitment issues are not hereditary, per se. His lifestyle choices needn't be mimicked by yourself."

"I don't mimic my father," Janey yelled. "It's not him. It's us. It's in our blood! And besides, I've no interest in deviating far from my family's failings. In fact, I'm going to be the only smart one—I'm not even going to set myself up for failure."

"No marriage?" he enquired.

"No marriage," she confirmed, spitting the word like it was something dirty. "You want to know what happens when the Davingtons get married?"

"What?"

Janey continued to glare out the window, stubbornly folding her arms. "They get divorced."

The first day on her own struck Janey deeply.

A pitiful six months she had been married to Sam. It was shameful, embarrassing. Even her father, with his two failed, laughable marriages, had exceeded her own. Twice. By a huge margin. What kind of marriage did that make hers, barely a blip of her father's shambles of a marriage?

A joke.

A mistake.

And yet, part of Janey, though she'd reveal it to no one but herself, couldn't find it within herself to regret even a single part of it. Not one second, no matter how desperately unhappy they had both supposedly been. Because she knew, honestly and truly, that she had never been as happy as she had been in the brief period of time she had been able to call herself Mrs Samuel Tyler.

Not that she had ever called herself that, she thought in disgust. She had hated being referred to as 'Mrs'—it made her feel old—and she'd not even taken his surname. How could she, when she was so renowned by her maiden name?

Just as well, she thought. That, at least, made one aspect of her divorce slightly easier. She would be, as she had always been, Miss Janine Davington. And she knew now, as she always should have known, that she would remain as that for the rest of her life.

Marriage had been a mistake. Marriage had sent both Sam and Janey over the edge, no matter how glorious and fleeting that euphoric wedded bliss had felt at first. And she should have known. Oh, how she should have known.

But Janey had been selfish, she acknowledged. She had so desperately wanted to be married to Sam. Not for the wedding, as he'd snidely insinuated only a month ago now, or the gossip, or the magazine cover.

But because she had deeply, soulfully, loved him.

And she still did.

Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by Paramore's 'The Only Exception.' Italicised extract in the middle is from Chapter 72 'The Truth About Janey' from Rose and Scorpius: A Forbidden Love.

I hope the jumps between present and future aren't too confusing. I'm writing the story chronologically but throwing glimpses of the 'future' in every now and again just to provide a bit of dramatic interest. Sorry for teasing!