Chapter 7 – Somebody To You

I didn't want to settle down
But now, I wake each day
Looking for a way that I can see your face

I need to know your lips
Nothing ever mattered to me more than this

Day one of the summer holidays as a young, carefree couple, left each of them yearning for the other. It caught Janey off guard at first. She had become so familiar with that feeling of resenting Sam, and wanting to be as far away from him as humanly possible, that if felt odd to suddenly be craving his company.

Janey recognised now, though she'd be reluctant to admit it even to herself, that those feelings of resentment—that sense of anger and disgust—that she had always felt for him, had never truly been aimed at Sam. It had been aimed at herself, out of frustration at the fact that she couldn't have him. And that she couldn't even admit that she, indeed, wanted him.

She had wanted the distance because being anywhere near him, and not having him in the way she so desperately wanted, destroyed her.

And now, she thought, wide-eyed and alone in that vast and empty house on The Bishops Avenue, she had him. She had him exactly how she wanted him. Intimately. Personally. Romantically?

And yet, she didn't, she further realised, punching a feather-stuffed pillow in frustration. He was three hours away in bloody Nottingham. And probably so caught-up in the excitement of being reunited with his family that he wasn't even thinking about her or the screwed-up bit of parchment with her lovingly-scrawled phone number.

Janey suddenly lurched towards her bedside table, heart racing. Within seconds, she had hold of the sleek silver phone she so craved when she was at Hogwarts. A hurried tapping of her passcode (her birthday), a desperate trawl through her inbox, and it was made immediately clear that Sam had not tried to contact her.

Janey slumped back down onto her bed with a heavy heart, letting the phone slip from her fingers and fall onto the carpet with a soft thud. It was nearing noon that day, not even twenty-four hours after having left him on the platform so abruptly.

She thought back to her hasty goodbye with a sense of melancholy longing. She wished she had been more affectionate. She wished she had hugged him, so she would be able to memorise what it felt like to have his arms around her, and breathe in that musky scent his chest seemed to emit whenever she nestled her head into it—something she could replay in her mind as she patiently counted down the minutes until she was with him once more.

Or kissed him. Not that rushed, emotionless peck on the cheek that she'd gone with, but really, really kissed him. Maybe not quite so explicitly as they'd started to explore in the broom cupboards on the fifth floor—(no, even though Janey wasn't shy about showing affection in public, she didn't think shoving her tongue down his throat and cupping his arse was something she wanted to do in front of reuniting families—Sam's and potentially hers included)—but certainly more tender than the one she had given him.

To memorise the softness of his lips as they grazed against hers and the very slight stubble of his chin. Or the sweetness she could never be sure she actually tasted or just imagined she did.

Or even looked at him. One last, lingering gaze, a coy smile to accompany, before hurrying away.

But she had not. She had seen her driver, panicked, and fled without a single glance back.

Janey had not expected her father to personally pick her up from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. In the six years she'd been attending Hogwarts, he had probably only been thrice. What was the point of having a driver otherwise?

In hindsight, it had probably been better. To see his daughter with a boy—one whom she was affectionate with—might have riled Mr Davington. Janey was her Daddy's little girl through and through, and she always had been. And though he'd not have been dissuaded by Janey having intimate relations with boys (given his own lifestyle and the girl he knew his daughter to be), Janey felt oddly protective of Sam.

She wanted to keep him to herself, to cherish him. And maybe it was more. Maybe she was wary, having always sought her father's approval, that Sam would not fit the bill. And if he didn't? If her father disapproved, or else didn't like him, would Janey be able to dismiss it all that easily?

For whatever reason, and she had never felt that way before about any of her former flings, she knew it mattered to her what people thought of Sam. If people had disapproved of previous boyfriends (and, oh, how they had), Janey had shrugged it off, probably even agreeing with them to some point. It had never dissuaded her. Why would it? It's not like she really cared for them—in two weeks' time they'd only be a name on her list. No problem.

But Sam was different. People not liking him—not approving of him? Not thinking them compatible or well-suited? The thought made her anxious.

She was too naïve to realise why at that point.

So, yes, maybe in hindsight it had been better that Mr Davington had not been there to meet his daughter in person and potentially play witness to what had actually been a pretty un-affectionate goodbye. But the sight of her driver, well-uniformed and impossible not to notice, had sent fear shooting up through her body.

For whatever reason, Janey had not wanted Sam to know. But know what? That her family was wealthy enough to have a hired driver at their beck and call? That her dad was too occupied with his own affairs to meet his daughter on the platform in person?

Her life—her home life—she was not resentful of, nor was she ashamed, but the thought of revealing it in much depth to Sam made her feel uncomfortable.

Janey emitted an audible sigh as she replayed it all in her mind, still lying spread-eagled on that impossibly large bed. She felt lost without Sam, even though they were barely together. Only a month ago she had still been insisting she hated him. In fact, come to think of it, even two days ago she had still been trying to convince her friends that she didn't care for him!

But that, at least, Janey understood about herself. Walls up. Constantly. She would never let herself be weak or vulnerable. She would never allow anybody direct access to the parts of her that they could hurt. Nobody was getting in. Not without a tremendous amount of trust, the likes of which she had never fully found in anybody.

And Sam was slowly trying to chip away at those walls.

It frustrated Janey. He was the complete opposite of her. He was very open, very liberal with his emotions, and in some ways, it actually strengthened him to be so vulnerable—to pour himself into someone else. And he couldn't understand Janey's hostile, defensive attitude, and likely never would. It flattered her during the times it wasn't making her anxious. That he was so willing to know her on a deeper level, and not just physically use her like all those others, meant a lot to her.

But it was new to Janey, and it was too much. Nobody had ever wanted to delve beneath the surface before—never wanted to truly see her heart. It was too quick. She could not just, after seventeen years of building them up, let her walls down so easily. Nor was she sure she even wanted to.

And that only added to the frustration. Because, again, she was frustrated at nobody other than herself. She was the difficult one; she was the problematic one. It was cruel of her to snap and bite, and never let on to the truth when she had nobody but herself to blame. Why punish him for her own flaws? Flaws that she actually recognised? Acknowledged? Understood?

Janey scrabbled for the phone once more—anything to distract herself from thinking about it all too much. But the sight of the screen, devoid of any new texts or a missed call, only made her heart sink again, brief hopes abruptly dashed.

Never before had she ever pined for such interaction with any of her former boyfriends. And even worse, she thought, feeling suddenly nauseous, never before had she ever been in that position. That position where she lacked control.

Janey had always, without fail, in all of her relationships, made sure the ball was in her court. She never, not once, gave the other the slightest bit of power to hurt her. She was the dominant half of the couple; she called the shots. It was she who established at what pace they took their relationship and dictated every move. She controlled and manipulated it to be exactly how she wanted.

Because she could not run the risk of being hurt.

It helped that she hadn't ever really cared for any of these boys, but still. Short but passionate affairs is what she had always sought. Cheap thrills to make her feel wanted and desired, and then she'd break them off quickly, a few months at most. No strings, no explanations, just a quick, clean severing of all bonds, in which she'd proceed to distance herself from her former, already on the prowl for her next.

No one could hurt her that way—she would never hang around long enough to give them the opportunity. It was she who initiated those relationships, and she who broke them off. Nobody could reject her that way. Nobody could hurt her.

But that was no longer the case, Janey thought anxiously. It was she who had given Sam her number, and him she was waiting on to make the next move. She was powerless. She couldn't reach out to him—it was up to him when (and if) he reached out to her. And what if didn't? What if, upon reflection, he had realised what an awful mistake he'd made in asking Janey to be his girlfriend?

Or what if he had forgotten? What if she featured so low on his list that he hadn't even spared a second thought to her since returning home, too caught up in the excitement of his life without her?

Or what if it was revenge? What if none of it had been real and he'd been playing her this whole time? Letting her get swept up in her emotions, desperately longing for him, himself earning the upper hand, only to turn the tables on her and punish her for all those times she'd put him down?

Janey felt such a sudden and intense flurry of emotions that she very nearly scrambled off her bed in pursuit of an owl. No, she ordered herself firmly, you're just paranoid.

Sam wasn't like that. Despite their past differences, he would never be that spiteful, even if, upon reflection, he was now doubting their short-lived relationship. He was a gentleman, and he always had been. Even their dispute vis-à-vis Isabella and Henry Fontayne, in which they had both maliciously succeeded in splitting the other up with their significant other (by far the most hostile and vindictive thing Sam had ever done to Janey), hadn't been nearly as cruel as the worries Janey was currently having.

But still, that uncertainty made her uneasy. As much as Sam didn't know anything about Janey, she didn't know anything about him. It had been her who had so ungracefully thrown herself at him, after all, and she who had constantly dragged him off for a snog.

His enthusiasm hadn't meant he'd cared though. Sam was but a boy. And any hormone-fuelled, single, seventeen-year-old boy was hardly going to object to a bit of action, was he? Especially when Janey had offered it so willingly.

And yet, he hadn't. He hadn't just taken what he wanted like all those other boys. He had demanded more. He had been reluctant to engage in nothing but mindless snogging without any additional depth—he had pried, several times, into her heart. Unsuccessfully, of course, but he had still made the effort. And it had been him who had asked her out. It hadn't mattered that Janey had been, at that very moment, wearing her heart on her sleeve with the intention of asking Sam out herself, because he had done so before she even had the chance.

And it wasn't like she'd hinted at it. It hadn't been like he'd known in advance what she was planning on doing. He had made the decision by himself, putting himself out on the line even when there was a very strong possibility that she would reject him. And that had spoken deeply to Janey. That had flattered her, encouraged her, overwhelmed her.

Janey reached one last time for the phone, resolving that, if there were no new messages, she would lock the phone away and go and do something useful. Not that she was sure of what she'd do. It was all well and good having a house (arguably a mansion), as vast and luxurious as Janey was lucky enough to accommodate, but when it was devoid of human life other than her own pitiful self, what was the point?

There were gardeners, yes, a chef, a driver, several cleaners, all of whom would be somewhere about the house, but none of them were the kind of company Janey craved. At that point, she'd even settle for Sadie.

The phone, of course, was blank. Janey sighed, pushed herself up from the bed, delicately placed it back in the drawer of her bedside table, and headed downstairs. It wasn't like she had any homework or anything to do. And though Janey was not a particularly productive person, she found if she was really going to be doing nothing, she at least wanted to do nothing in somebody else's company.

But not just anybody's company—the only one she wanted to be with, whether they were doing something or nothing, was, of course, Sam. But Merlin knows what he was doing right then, three hours away in Nottingham.

Little did she know that Sam was furiously embarking on a mission to get hold of a new mobile phone, having discovered, to his great disgust, that his mother had thrown his away the previous summer without a second thought.

His family just couldn't understand his desperate need to obtain an object decidedly less impressive than a magic wand, and yet which he seemed to suddenly think was the most desirable and wonderful object one could possibly possess.

Janet?—the text read—This is Sam. Please let me know if this is working, I don't understand how to use this thing.

Janey just stared in disbelief, not daring to believe the words on the screen were anything more than a hallucination. Day one of the summer holidays was over, and Janey had just about given up on obsessively checking her phone every five minutes, when, all of a sudden, a message from an unknown number had pinged up. In a similar manner, something seemed to have pinged in her heart.

Her thumb hovered over the keypad, suddenly stuck for words. Did she play it witty, casual, friendly, flirty? Her thumbs began to tap of their own accord.

Only my really close friends call me Janet. I'd stick with Janey. She added a winking emoji just in case the intended playful tone was lost on Sam.

Only once she had sent the message, and then debated whether or not she should have put any 'kisses' at the end, did Janey begin to regret what she'd said. Sam was simple at the best of times—why couldn't she have just said yes?

A couple of minutes passed, in which Janey debated whether or not to send a hasty second reply, before a new message came in.

I didn't mean Janet, I meant Janet. JANET. Ok, it won't let me type Janet? Not Janet—JANET. I don't know how to make it say Janet, I'm sorry.

Janey made a noise so shrill and inhuman that her Russian White cat prowled into her room to investigate. She cocked her head inquisitively. Janey, grinning like an idiot, beckoned the cat to join her on the bed—an action she usually condemned.

"Dolly, look at this loveable idiot," she said excitedly, shoving the phone under the cat's nose. Dolly innocently pawed at the screen.

"Hey, no scratches," Janey teasingly scolded, sitting cross-legged and beckoning the confused creature to sit on her lap. She began typing back.

You probably have autocorrect on, but don't worry, that's easy to change. You can call me Janet for now, I won't hold it against you!

Janey hesitated, added a hasty 'x' at the end, deleted it, retyped it, and hit send before she could change her mind.

It took almost a full three minutes for Sam's reply to come in. Janey waited in breathless anticipation, running an absentminded hand through Dolly's fur. The latter simply purred, not seeming to mind the charged buzzing that seemed to be shooting through Janey's body, unable to keep her legs still as she jiggled them up and down in excitement.

Can you do it for me? I'm reading the manual thing but I don't get it. Where's the settings button?

Janey frowned. If this was the rate at which he typed messages then her patience was going to wear thin pretty quickly.

Another text came in almost immediately after: xxx

Janey audibly squealed, so much so that Dolly's head perked up in alarm. The blonde girl composed herself just enough to send back a message in no less than twenty seconds.

There is no 'settings button' exactly—it will be on a menu somewhere, depending on what phone you have. (Don't worry, I won't even ask you to try and figure that out!) But yes, I can change it for you. I will need to have the phone with me though xxx

Janey's heart was hammering in her chest as she pressed send. Had she just, even slightly, implied that she wanted to see Sam? It wasn't that she didn't, of course, but she didn't want to seem so desperate. After all, they had only been separated for a day.

Two minutes passed this time.

Do I have to send it to you? xxx

Janey's heart continued to hammer against her ribcage as she typed her response. I meant, if I'm with you soon, I can do it for you then xxx

Good, she praised herself. 'If I'm with you soon'—that didn't imply that she desperately wanted to see him.

Will I see you soon?—Sam's response read. As in, can I? I miss you xxx

At which point Janey threw her phone across the room, emitting her loudest squeal yet. Dolly leapt off the bed, half in alarm and half in pursuit of what she'd thought had been a treat Janey wanted her to retrieve. For a while, Janey just sat there, feeling like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl whose dreamy crush had just said 'Sup?' to, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking backwards and forwards excitedly.

I miss you, he'd said. I miss you xxx

And then the phone began to ring.

"I stay out too late," Taylor Swift's muffled voice began to sing from across the room. Dolly leapt away in fright from where she had been pawing at it, back arched and tail erect. "Got nothing in my brain."

Dolly hissed.

"That's what people say. Mhmm-mhmm. That's what people say."

Janey scrambled from her bed, faster than she'd ever moved in her life, darting across the room.

"I go on too many dates. But I can't make 'em stay. At least that's what people say. Mhmm-mhmm. That's what people say."

"Sorry, Dolly!" Janey yelled as she nearly tripped over the cat, diving to the carpet, her hand clasping around the cool metal casing of her phone.

"But I keep cruising. Can't stop, won't stop—"

"Hello?" Janey practically screamed, still flat on her stomach, pressing the phone to her ear without even so much as checking who the caller was.

"Janey?" a startled masculine voice asked.

Janey blushed, realising how overenthusiastic her greeting must have seemed. Sam's voice sounded deeper on the phone, gruffer.

"Hi," she said breathlessly, heart racing—and not just because of her mad dash across the room. "I thought my name was 'Janet,'" she teased.

"What?"

Janey frowned at his confusion, and his decided lack of enthusiasm, feeling immediately stupid. Even though he couldn't see her, three hours away in Nottingham, Janey blushed. "I, ah, I just—"

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Sweetheart?

Janey pulled the phone away to stare at the screen with deep, immediate suspicion. 'DAD' was displayed on the screen in clear block letters. She almost threw the phone across her room again, though out of frustration rather than excitement. Instead, she placed it back to her ear. "Daddy?" she squeaked.

"Janey, what's going on?" the deep voice that Janey now identified as that of her father asked with confusion.

"I thought you were someone else," she said meekly, now blushing for another reason. Feeling exasperated, she heaved herself up from the floor and went to sit back down on her bed.

"Who calls you Janet?" he asked with amusement.

"No one," Janey dismissed, "it was a joke."

"One of your gentleman callers?" he teased.

"No," Janey said through gritted teeth. "Mum, actually."

"You thought I was your mother?" Mr Davington asked, still deeply amused.

"Well," Janey replied in a scathing manner, "I have so many different parents these days, it's hard to keep track of who's who. So many different women in this house, coming and going, and—"

"Alright, alright," he interrupted, "I get the point. I thought you'd be happy about Sadie though?"

"Thrilled," Janey said coldly. "Though it would have been nice to have been told this in person. Or at least a lot sooner."

"I wanted to wait until it was all finalised," her dad insisted. "Divorces are messy, you know?

Janey just rolled her eyes.

"They take a lot of time and a lot of paperwork."

"Then why do you enjoy it so much?"

"Janey," he scolded, "come on, this is only my second divorce."

"You say that like you're expecting more."

"What can I say?" he protested. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

"With a chest like Sadie's I'm surprised you ever saw her face," Janey said sarcastically.

Her dad just chuckled from the other end of the line.

"Did you want something?" she asked, now irritable at her father's seemingly pointless interruption.

"Just wanted to check up on my favourite girl."

"Sadie's not here."

"Oh, come on, Janey, Sadie's never been my favourite girl and certainly isn't now. So, tell me, did you get back alright? Are you back at the house?"

"Daddy, I came home two days ago…"

There was a pause. "Wait, really?"

"Yes," Janey said coolly. "I suppose 'Edinburgh time' has you all disoriented, doesn't it?"

"Janey, please, love, I'm under a lot of stress right now. I've got so much work going on right now—these little details just slip my mind. But you're alright, yeah?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "I'm fine. And you're coming back on Thursday, right?"

"Ah," Mr Davington said. "About that…"

"Daddy, are you kidding me?" Janey demanded.

"Listen, love, it's taking longer than I thought, but I'll only be here a week tops, I promise. You can look after yourself until then, I know you can."

Janey just scowled. It wasn't the 'looking after herself' part that she was so perturbed by. "And what, exactly, are you even doing that's so demanding?" she spat.

"Business stuff, Janey. Computer stuff. I could explain it to you, but you wouldn't understand."

"Is 'computer stuff' code for screwing around with leggy, twenty-something-year-old blondes?"

"Janey."

"What?" she innocently asked.

"There aren't any leggy, twenty-something-year-old blondes here with me in Edinburgh, believe me. I really am working."

"Just so long as I don't come home with another step-whore," Janey mumbled.

"Janey." When she made no response, Mr Davington sighed from the other end of the phone. "How was school?" he asked meekly. "Did you have a good year? Get up to anything exciting?"

Oh, tonnes, Janey thought to herself. I snuck out of the school with a group of my friends, embarked on a life-threatening mission, met a dodgy outlaw on the run in a creepy, cursed forest, who threatened to kill us, battled countless dark wizards whilst trying to defend my friend from getting assassinated, and was imprisoned in a cell for twelve hours and held as a hostage.

"It was alright, yeah."

"That's my girl. You get good grades?"

"Of course. And I invented a sort of magical instant messaging using parchment and enchantments, which I've been told has the potential to revolutionise communications in the wizarding world and will likely garner me fame, riches, and success if I pursue it further."

There was another slight pause. "That'll be my influence, that will," Mr Davington chuckled smugly. "You got your mother's looks and my brains."

Janey pursed her lips, offended for two reasons. Firstly, by the implication that she in any way looked like her mother. Other than their eyes and hair colour, that was far from true, and Janey's father was well aware of this. Janey's mother was a blonde bombshell, the likes of which Janey's father seemed to favour, and though Janey had since blossomed, her struggles with self-image, which had taunted her during her childhood, still persisted. She didn't hold a candle to her mother and never would.

Secondly, by the casual disregard of what a huge accomplishment Janey had actually achieved.

"Speaking of inherited traits," Janey moved on frostily, "I found something rather interesting just a few weeks ago."

"Oh yeah?"

"A girl with my genetics. Your genetics. And that's very suspicious, don't you think?"

Mr Davington just snorted, baffled by such a comment. "Janey, love—"

"My half-sister, Daddy," Janey interrupted in a growl. "My half-sister."

"Janey, love," he tried again, sounding amused, "you don't have a half-sister. I'm sure whatever 'genetics' you're talking about are just a coincidence."

"Daddy, don't lie to me, Bobbin told me everything. Jinx—Juliette Capella—is my half-sister. You had an affair shortly before I was conceived, and you never thought to tell me! I've been with this girl at school for six years now. I've hated this girl!"

"Janey, I honestly don't know what you're talking about, and I don't find this at all funny. I've only ever had one daughter—one child—and that's you. I'll admit I slept around whilst your mother and I were still together, with several women, but you're my only child."

"Are you suggesting my headmistress is a liar?"

"I'm suggesting your headmistress is misinformed."

"So you never slept with a Metamorphmagus?" Janey asked snidely, her heart thrumming in her chest.

Although she had indeed resented Jinx over the past couple of years in particular, citing her as her Slytherin nemesis, Janey had grown somewhat fond of her during their twelve-hour imprisonment. Something had changed between them as they had come to realise they weren't all that dissimilar.

And after Bobbin's confession to them shortly after, it had been made apparent just how similar they really were.

They'd barely had time to embrace their new-found sisterhood since that revelation.

"A what?"

"Someone who can change their appearance at will," Janey explained. "She probably had crazy-coloured hair—that seems to be a favourite with them."

"Janey, I've been with a lot of women. Do you honestly expect me to remember each and every one of them and their 'crazy' hairstyles?"

"Look," Janey sighed, "we can talk about this later, alright? It doesn't matter. I've lost a stepmother, I've gained a half-sister—this family moves too much for me to keep up."

"Yes, but you don't have a half-sister. It's probably just someone trying to scam us for money."

"Whatever," Janey dismissed, not in the mood to argue about it right then. She knew, somehow, on what felt like a soulful level, that what Professor Bobbin had confessed in the aftermath of the battle at Rosewood was one hundred percent true, no matter how reluctant she might have been to initially believe it herself. It felt right.

"Alright then, sweetie, I'll talk to you soon. Be good. No parties!" he teased. "And no boys!"

Janey hung up without so much as a goodbye, the mention of 'boys' dragging her back to the situation at hand. Hurriedly checking her inbox, and now furious with her father's interruption, she saw a new message from Sam.

Ok, I realise that was a bit forward, I'm sorry. The others were talking about going down to the beach tomorrow though—the usual lot and maybe the Slytherins—but I told Rose that I'd tell you so she doesn't have to send her owl out. Let me know what you think. Are you free? xxx

Janey groaned, slumping back down onto her bed once more. Dolly had come over to investigate and began gently nudging her. Because of the impromptu phone call, Janey had gone mysteriously silent for ten minutes following Sam's request to see her, and given that her responses were, and had been, ridiculously quick until that point, it gave the impression to her poor boyfriend that she had been intimidated by such an insinuation and had been reluctant and uncertain of how to respond.

And unlike normally, Janey actually hadn't been intimidated by Sam's forwardness. She'd been ecstatic by his last message, and now it just looked like she wasn't keen at all. She had already sent Sam some pretty confusing mixed signals throughout their recent companionship, and now she had furthered that completely unintentionally.

But maybe the beach would be better, she thought. Perhaps it would be less daunting for the new couple to be reunited in the company of their friends, as this was all still pretty new to them. And it would be kind of fun to take a trip down to the coast.

I would love to, she said simply, deciding it was better to just gloss over the mishap with her delayed response. Let me know the details xxx

Dolly began purring as Janey soothingly ran her fingers through her fur, girl and cat feeling as content as the other.

Sam and Janey continued texting for the entirety of the day. Partially (the smaller part) because it took Sam so long to reply, and partially (the much larger part) because there was nothing else either of them would rather be doing.

As Janey settled down into her bed that evening, Dolly curled up beside her, she found her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing Sam face-to-face again. It had been two whole days since she had last seen him, and yet it felt like an eternity.

One final text buzzed in just before her eyelids fluttered shut, a smile of bliss on her face and her heart swelling with what she could only describe as euphoria.

Goodnight Janet, sweet dreams xxx

Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by The Vamps' 'Somebody To You' ft. Demi Lovato

Oh, and with a shout-out to Taylor Swift's 'Shake It Off' in the middle there, but of course!