Chapter 13 – At The Ballet

Mother always said I'd be very attractive when I grew up
'Different' she said, with a special something
And a very, very personal flair

And though I was eight or nine
I hated her

Now, 'different' is nice but it sure isn't pretty
'Pretty' is what it's about
I'd never met anyone who was 'different'
Who couldn't figure that out

So beautiful, I'd never live to see
But it was clear, if not to her
Well, then, to me

Janey was anxious.

Wasn't it enough that Sam had completely freaked out when he'd found out that she lived on so-called 'Millionaire's Row'? And now he was actually coming to her house?

She had just been so lonely the night prior, so desperate for his company. She had been to his house—it was logical that she should invite him round to hers. But unlike her trip to the Tylers', she and Sam would be alone in the house. That in itself didn't make Janey anxious, but she feared, idiot that he was, that Sam would think she was inviting him round for… more.

But, then again, this was Sam, Janey thought. He couldn't be more oblivious if he tried. She had physically put his hand on her chest and still, he had not realised that it was an open invitation to second base.

She could be standing naked on the driveway when he arrived and he'd think he was coming round for dinner.

Not that she was planning on doing that. Good grief, what would the neighbours think…

What would they do, though?—Janey wondered. She and Sam—alone in the house?

Taylor, Rose, and Gwen had been round before. They'd done generic girly things—the kind of things Janey had wanted to do with her friends from school as no more than a Muggle girl back in her childhood days pre-Hogwarts. And which, of course, she had never been able to do. She had never had 'friends' round until then.

And she had never, in all her life, had a boyfriend round.

Sam was very sweet. He'd probably happily let Janey paint his nails and do his hair if that's what she really wanted, or engage in vapid gossip, rifling through magazines. Hilarious as she'd find that, though, that wasn't what Janey planned on doing with the day. What were couples supposed to do together though?

Besides the obvious.

Janey would show him the house—that in itself would take a fair bit of time—but then what? At his house, she had been in the constant company of his family (excluding those few stolen moments)—they'd had dinner and conversed. Janey supposed she could introduce Sam to the few members of staff who were permanently in the Davingtons' residence (although that would probably completely overwhelm him), but there were certainly no additional people to get to know or engage in conversation with.

And dinner? Janey hadn't thought about food. Was she supposed to feed Sam? She hadn't cooked a single meal in her life, but again, wouldn't it just overwhelm him if she had her chef whip something up at her request?

So if they weren't meeting family, or eating, or talking to each other (because what were they supposed to talk about?), or snogging (well, they should probably stave off for a little while, at least) then what exactly were they going to do that day?

Watch a film, a sarcastic voice in Janey's mind answered. Bake a cake. Do a freaking jigsaw puzzle.

The closer it got to the time of Sam's arrival, the more Janey realised she was going to completely bore her boyfriend to death. Maybe she should take her top off—just to spice it up a bit.

Janey stood alone in her kitchen. It was a vast, pristine, open-plan layout, with one wall completely made of glass and looking out onto the swimming pool she had never been in. The sun made everything glisten, beautiful and gleaming.

Janey felt like she was in a glass prison.

And she'd been imprisoned, she bitterly recalled. She had feared for her life, she had known real entrapment. And yet this—her vast, luxurious 'mansion' of a house, which anybody would kill to reside in—felt like the real cell.

There was something beautiful about being at Hogwarts. Something beautiful about the simplicity of it all—the uniformity and regulations. As much as Janey liked being unique, and craved attention, it was so peaceful and grounding to be one of a thousand witches and wizards alike. Just a normal student around people who were, whilst wildly different from what could be considered 'normal,' all the same.

Janey feared Sam's reaction, again recalling how offended he'd seemed upon the discovery that she was, essentially, a millionaire. Would he be jealous? Angry? Or just overwhelmed by her home?

Maybe it was too much. Maybe she had made a mistake in so spontaneously inviting him over.

Janey reached for her phone in a panic, having just about decided to call and cancel Sam's invitation—she could pretend she was ill, perhaps, or that something had come up—but as fate would have it, the doorbell sounded, signalling to Janey that someone was at the gate. She swallowed the lump in her throat, placing the phone back on the counter with mildly shaking hands.

"No, don't," Janey insisted with authority as the woman cleaning the floor made to go and respond to the arrival. "It's for me," she nervously explained, though the woman looked like she couldn't care less. "It's, err… It's my boyfriend."

Silence.

"I'll go… let him in," Janey mumbled to herself.

It was a beautiful day, making the entire estate glisten. Pretty, Janey wondered, or just flashy? It took her far from the hustle and bustle of London, regardless of its location, with the pristine white walls, the grass so green it looked artificial, and, of course, the pool.

Janey put on her trademark sunglasses as she made her way down the drive—white-framed and oversized. They covered most of her face, shielding the expression in her eyes, and with the short summery playsuit she was wearing, she felt at one with the extravagance of the house. Keen to make an impression, Janey went for the air of luxurious hostess, like she couldn't care less about the indulgent surroundings. If she acted like it was no big deal, neither would Sam.

She was very wrong.

Sam's jaw was literally hanging down as he peered through the iron bars of the gate, much in the same way most of the Muggle (and even the non-Muggle) first-years did upon seeing Hogwarts for the first time. (And much like Janey had at seeing the cosy, homely décor of Sam's own abode).

"This isn't Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," she scoffed.

Sam stared at her like he'd only just noticed her. "What?"

"Close your mouth, idiot."

Sam obliged, now grinning due to Janey's presence. He was dressed very summery too, Janey observed with fondness. Shorts and a T-shirt, but the casualness suited him well. She was used to the Hogwarts uniform, with the gleaming Prefect's badge that she'd loathed for so long. (On him—not on her).

"Hi," he said, beaming at her, still staring through the bars like a convict.

"Hi." Janey beamed back, feeling oddly fluttery.

"This is real, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You actually live here. This isn't just a wind-up."

"No," Janey snorted. "I didn't rent this out for a bit of grandeur. I live here."

"And not just, like… a summer house?"

"No. When I'm not at Hogwarts, I'm here," she clarified, trying to act calm and casual about it all.

Sam just nodded, as though he too was forcing himself to act calm and casual about it all. As though he had not just stepped into a world the likes of which he'd never known. Stupid, really, when you considered the wizarding world they were so accustomed to.

"Stand back," Janey instructed.

"What—why?"

"Just do it."

Sam obliged, looking wary of Janey's instruction, relinquishing his grip on the gate. He watched with deep curiosity as she tapped away at something—a keypad, he guessed—before the gates began to open outwards, a gentle electric whirring filling the air.

Sam's jaw fell back down.

"It's electricity, Sam, not magic," Janey scoffed.

"I've just never seen a gate like this that hasn't been in the movies," Sam gulped, thinking of the insignificant wooden gate that kept the dog from running amok in the neighbourhood of his own home.

Janey felt uncomfortable. If he was that blown away merely by the gate then she was in big trouble when it came to the actual house. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh—yeah. Of course," Sam insisted, forcing a smile. "Just impressed, that's all."

Janey returned the smile with unease, beckoning Sam to step foot onto her property.

"Well," Janey announced, motioning to the house in the near distance, "this is it."

Sam was using all his strength trying not to overreact and freak out. "It's…"

"Big?"

"Nice," Sam gulped. "Very nice. Very… white."

Beautiful in the summer, foreboding in the winter, Janey thought to herself. "Come on," she said, reaching for Sam's hand and pulling him up the drive, fearful that he wouldn't be able to move by himself, awed as he was.

"Don't you want to shut the gate?" he asked.

"No, it shuts itself."

"Of course it does."

Janey felt proud rather than self-conscious as she and Sam made their way up the house—it was the only thing she knew how to do in order to ground herself. She felt his frantic gaze flicker from side to side, taking in every exquisite detail of the well-maintained garden and its extravagant decorations—flowers, fountains, and ornaments galore.

"It's beautiful," he breathed.

Janey couldn't be sure whether he'd meant to say it out loud or not, but she remained silent.

"And so are you," Sam said quickly, now accompanied by a shy smile. "In case I didn't tell you today."

You haven't ever told me, Janey thought, but she decided to keep it to herself. Cute, he had said, adorable, hot—but never beautiful.

Janey was starting to wonder whether anybody had.

She blushed, smiling shyly herself, but Sam wasn't paying attention, more engrossed in his surroundings once more. Janey didn't blame him. She remembered, vividly, her first trip to Diagon Alley.

As they approached the front door, the lady who had been cleaning the floor earlier was making her way out, nodding politely to Janey as she passed. Sam looked to her questioningly. "That wasn't your…?"

"She's just a cleaner," Janey explained, curious but also fearful of what Sam had been going to ask. Mum?

Sam paused for a moment, trying to figure out whether she was joking or not. "You have a cleaner?" he eventually asked. "An actual cleaner?"

"We have a few, sure," Janey said with a shrug. No big deal.

"You have actual staff?"

"Sam…"

"How many?"

"I don't know—five?"

Sam let out a low whistle. "Wow, okay. So, like—"

But Janey cut him short, not wanting to get into details about her household employees, instead walking into the house ahead of Sam, hoping he'd follow without comment. He did so, all words once again lost as he was awed and overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place Janey called home.

Sam swore, unapologetic, and Janey found it hard not to smile.

"Janey, this is unreal."

"I'm afraid it's perfectly real," she said sheepishly, looking upon the polished marble and gleaming surfaces with distaste. There was so little furniture, so little to make it feel like a proper home. Not like Sam's house with all its photographs and mementos.

"If I'd known you lived here, I'd have been interested in you a lot sooner."

"Wow, Sam, thanks," Janey said. But she knew he was joking, and so was she. "Come on," she urged once more, retaking his hand. "Let me show you it all."

Sam did his best not to overreact with every new room that Janey took him in, starting in the kitchen and working her way around, but it was proving difficult. Everything was so neat, so grand. It suited her, of course. It made perfect sense that this would be where Janey lived, but still, Sam was blown away. He had not known real people lived like that.

Much less that he'd be lucky enough to date one.

No, Sam cursed himself, feeling guilty and ashamed. He wasn't lucky to be dating Janey because of her house and her lifestyle. He was lucky to be dating her because she was… well, her. He'd never been a materialistic man, and he still felt guilty when he thought of how he'd initially reacted when Janey had revealed her financial status. He had been embarrassed, and he didn't want to relive that.

It was just a house, that was all. Everybody had one. So what if Janey's was a little larger than average, a little more luxurious?

Sam let out another exclamation of surprise as they got to the living room, despite his best efforts. But unlike the other times, it wasn't because of the impressiveness of his surroundings (though he was still deeply overwhelmed) but because of the large black and white portraits that adorned either side of the mantelpiece.

It was the first indication of any kind of ownership of the property, the only personal touches Sam had seen so far.

The girl featured in the two shots was young, about eight years old maybe, cute but not in an obvious way, with a smile full of braces and wide-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look unnaturally large.

Janey had since removed her sunglasses, but Sam didn't need to see her irises to know they were the same ones shining from within the photographs. Even in black and white, distorted by the glasses, they were identical.

"That's not… you?" Sam asked uncertainly. The eyes were a perfect match, but other than that, there was nothing to indicate that the girl in the pictures was Janey. Had she a sibling he hadn't known about? Could the girl perhaps even be a cousin, or Janey's mother as a young girl?

"That's me," Janey said drily, glaring at the photos. "I've asked him to take them down a million times but he never does." There was such resentment in her voice, such hostility, that Sam almost dared not to pursue it.

"Woah," he said, with awe and disbelief, approaching the photos to get a better look. She was a plain girl, awkward in front of the camera, but with an innocence so pure and childlike that Sam felt wholly endeared. "I can't believe this is you," he murmured. "You look so…"

"Different?" Janey asked through gritted teeth, something shooting through her with the force of a thousand painful memories.

"Young," Sam said absentmindedly, oblivious to Janey's seething anger. "I didn't know you wore glasses."

"I don't."

He looked at her in confusion. "Well, you know, you did."

Janey's expression was stony and hardened—the way she'd perfected it over the years. "I got Lasik surgery," she mumbled. "Glasses were an inconvenience. I don't like the way they feel on my face."

And yet, Sam thought, she would live in her sunglasses if she could. But there was something else on his mind.

"Janey, you're only sixteen," he said, aghast.

"Yeah?" Janey asked, confused as to what he was getting at.

"And you had surgery?"

Janey didn't look sheepish but instead rather resentful. "You can do anything you want when you have money," she said bitterly.

Sam felt silent, a chill having seeped into the room. He hated that Janey had wanted that for herself at such a young age—and more so that any authoritative figures in her life, her parents, the doctors, had ever let it happen.

"How old were you?" he asked gently, not wanting to make her feel ashamed. "In these photos, I mean."

"Eight," Janey replied monotonously. "Maybe nine. My mother was desperate to have professional shots done of me. I begged her to let me wait until my braces had come off before we had them done but she wouldn't listen."

"I like the braces," Sam said with a shrug. "Very cute."

Janey's eyes glazed over as she talked. Whether of sorrow, anger, or pain, Sam didn't know. But he didn't ask. He just listened patiently.

"It was all her 'mum' friends, you see. They'd all had professional shoots with their daughters, and she was desperate to do the same. Some of the girls who had them done had been offered small modelling jobs for things—stuff that their mums could brag about—and my mum was so desperate to be able to do the same. The only problem was," Janey said stiffly, "I didn't look like those other girls. And my mother knew that, perfectly well."

"But you… you did some modelling, didn't you?" Sam asked, recalling a very bossy loud-mouthed Janey boasting about it on their very first day at Hogwarts. "Weren't you a 'child star'?" he asked, laughing gently, trying to get her to smile.

"No, Sam," Janey said quietly, looking at him with very definite pain in her eyes, "I lied. I lied about all that."

"Oh."

Sam didn't know what else to say. It didn't matter to him, not really. It wasn't like Janey had lied to him personally—or about something big. He had always known how much Janey liked to exaggerate things—much less nowadays, but certainly back in the day—always striving for attention.

But he was seeing something different here, something he'd never seen in Janey before. Humility. Honesty. Innocence.

Vulnerability.

Whether any of them had ever really believed Janey about the stories she'd told of modelling and minor TV appearances was irrelevant. Those who knew her well didn't particularly care. Few had been awed. How could they—when they were in a place such as Hogwarts? Muggle success and popularity had been of little significance to them.

But it had defined Janey in her own mind.

And it had not even been real.

"I wanted to be what my mother wanted me to be," Janey said quietly. "The daughter she wanted to boast about to her friends—but couldn't. The daughter she could be proud of—but wasn't."

"Janey—"

"Maybe she thought the camera could do something magical. Maybe she thought it could change me—could at least manipulate me into having the appearance of the daughter she so badly wanted. The daughter she could proudly call her own."

Sam closed his mouth, feeling some of the raw, sorrowful pain that Janey spoke within his own heart, finding himself resenting a woman he had never even met.

Janey stared at the portraits with glassy eyes, full of disdain. "She put them up anyway. She had to. She paid good money for them."

She paused for a moment, still staring at the photos, and Sam wondered whether he should say something.

"A month or so later was when they got divorced—my parents," Janey went on. "She took everything she could, and my dad just let her." She paused once more, her mouth small and tight-set, pressed into a line so thin that her lips had almost disappeared. "She didn't want the photos."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. As Janey stared at the portraits of her eight-year-old self, Sam stared at the sixteen-year-old in front of him, full of colour and life.

And sorrow.

"Janey—"

"I'll show you the rest of the house."

"But—"

She was already gone.

"My room," Janey announced coyly, pressing her back against the closed door, wooden but white, just like the rest of the house. Sam had seen every room in Janey's house now—every inch of her property, save for the back garden. She had left her own bedroom to last.

Sam had been impressed by the house, naturally so, but something had changed. By the fifth or sixth room, the mesmerising appeal of a lavishly-decorated interior had started to lessen, each room just as flashy and impressive as the one before.

He was more interested, and far more moved, by Janey. He found that he watched her rather than the surroundings she was showing him—though she was oblivious—studying her expression, her demeanour, every little detail in her face. But that brief glimpse of the Janey he'd never seen before—the raw, innocent, vulnerable little girl—was gone, buried away where she was sure she belonged.

There had been nothing else of personal value within the house. Other than those two photographic portraits, there had been nothing to suggest Janey even lived there. Sam wondered whether her bedroom would tell a different tale. He wondered if it would be as minimalist as the rest of the house or remain a shrine to her childhood, just as his had done.

His query was answered as Janey pushed open the door.

The first thing Sam noticed, just as Janey had done in his room, was the bed. Not because it was a bunk bed like his own (he hadn't honestly expected it to be), but because it was huge. Bigger than anything he'd seen, bigger than his parents' bed, even. He thought about how cramped they'd been, cuddled up on Sam's tiny mattress, and how much more comfortable it would be to repeat certain actions on Janey's instead.

Sam looked away, feeling flushed.

Janey's room was neat, he noted, but nowhere near as clinical as the rest of the house. For that reason, Sam felt oddly reassured. Both queries had been somewhat correct. The interior of Janey's room certainly reflected the rest of the house—white and luxurious, with clean surfaces and well-coordinated decoration. But there were significantly more personal touches, too.

Flashes of hot pink—the colour Sam had picked up on being Janey's favourite over the years—were spread here and there via the rug, the lampshade, the curtains and such. Posters of singers and actresses he was only vaguely aware of were carefully pinned to the wall, and, making his chest swell, there on her bed, amongst the abundance of pillows and cushions, were a handful of stuffed toys, the likes you'd expect to see in a child's room. There were no photos, anywhere in sight.

It reflected Janey well—her bedroom. Caught somewhere between a child and an adult, unsure about which should prevail.

"Who's that?" Sam asked, pointing to the only poster that featured a man. A really, desperately attractive man.

Janey looked at him like he was stupid. "Zac Efron."

"Oh." Sam had no idea who that was. He looked at the adjacent poster, which featured a very beautiful, very leggy blonde. "And that's, err—"

"Taylor Swift."

Sam actually had heard of her.

"So," Janey said brightly, "what do you think?"

Looking at the bedroom, you'd never once suspect the girl who lived there was anything but a Muggle. There was no indication of magical heritage whatsoever. But then again, Sam supposed, was his bedroom really any different?

"It needs more Star Wars memorabilia," he teased, prompting Janey to roll her eyes.

She looked like she was about to say something else, but a movement by the door distracted them both. Fearing her father actually was home, and was coming to kick him out, Sam turned to the door in panic, relaxing when something far less intimidating walked in—a cat.

"You have a cat?" Sam asked, feeling endeared. He was struggling to remember whether or not Janey had already shared this with him; he wanted to be an attentive boyfriend, after all.

"Dolly," Janey introduced. The White Russian cat stared up at Sam with unblinking eyes and let out a soft mew.

"Is she… sizing me up?" Sam asked, amused.

"Probably. She doesn't really like people. Get on her good side, and you've done something right."

Just like Janey, Sam thought to himself. But he didn't voice it; he wasn't an idiot.

Instead, he smiled. "I'll do my best, then."

Sam hadn't thought of Janey as a particularly caring person, and the fact that she had a cat made him feel somewhat blissful. Sam was a dog person, he always had been, but he liked cats well enough. In fact, he'd always noticed the feline qualities Janey herself possessed. She was very standoffish, very solitary—she was capable of being affectionate but only on her own terms.

Sam thought back to the portraits in the living room, and the tiny little insight into Janey's past that she'd shared with him, wondering if she would reveal anything more. Maybe that was the key—maybe it was being in her own home, being on her own terms, which made her comfortable enough to open up. Even so, he wouldn't push her.

But he did walk over to her—Dolly, her cat, still staring at him with wide, thoughtful eyes—and stopped in front of her, staring down with a smile.

"What?" Janey asked suspiciously, though she was smiling too.

They were in front of the window—a huge, bay window that covered the majority of the wall and looked out over the back garden. Sam was reminded of the alcove in Rosewood Manor, in which they'd shared their second kiss just five weeks or so ago. How quickly and how far they'd come, he thought.

And, just like in that little alcove, he kissed her, responding to her unanswered question.

Dolly mewed, and the sun shone, and Sam felt Janey's relief.

Short but sweet, Sam pulled away, intending to linger—but something caught his eye. "Oh my god," he breathed, eyes wide.

"What?" Janey asked in a panic. Had she done something wrong?

But Sam wasn't even looking at Janey—he was looking over her shoulder and out into the garden. "You have a swimming pool?"

Janey rolled her eyes.

"My God, that's awesome."
"It's no big deal," Janey said with a shrug, following Sam's gaze to stare at the pool.

It wasn't huge, but it wasn't small either. And it did look beautiful in the sunlight, she realised, with the sun bouncing off of it, making it positively gleam. It was like a huge, blue mirror. Very refreshing, too.

Sam looked like he'd just won the lottery. "Can we go in it?" he asked excitedly, as though he was asking his mother for permission.

Janey folded her arms. "I… ah…."

"Oh, come on, it will be fun!"

Would it?—Janey wondered. For Sam, maybe. But… Well, he didn't know. And she didn't want to tell him.

"Are you just trying to get me into a bikini?" Janey asked instead, teasing, of course.

Sam blushed, looking suddenly flustered. "N-no—I—"

"Sam, I was kidding."

"Oh. Yeah. I mean—"

"You can go in the pool if you really want to," Janey said, eyes shining.

Sam looked a little relaxed. "What—you wouldn't come in with me?"

Janey dropped her gaze. "I, ah…" She shrugged. "I'll… sit on the side." Oh, he was being persistent. Janey was desperately thinking of something to distract him—some alternative—but she could think of nothing better.

"Oh, come on," Sam said playfully.

"I don't want to get my hair wet."

"You don't have to."

"Well…. It'll be cold."

Sam looked very pointedly at the blazing sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. "I really don't think it will be."

"Okay, but—but the cleaners have only just cleaned the pool, and we're not supposed to—"

"Janey, are you lying to me?"

Janey gulped, forcing herself to meet Sam's gaze. He looked, thankfully, mostly amused, but also a little curious. Innocently so.

"Why don't you want to go in the pool?" he asked gently.

Janey was still hugging herself. "I… don't like the water."

"You always go in the sea when we're at the beach," Sam pointed out.

Only because it's shallow.

"Only because you make me," Janey scoffed, none too convincingly.

"Oh, come on, Janey," Sam said again, his eyes full of pleading. "It'll be fun," he insisted, reaching for her hands and playing with them.

Janey just watched the gesture in silence.

"It's a beautiful day, nobody's here—it will be fun. It will be refreshing."

"Sam, I—" The breath caught in Janey's throat. She was… embarrassed. But she knew he'd never drop it.

"What?" Sam asked as gently as before, with deep, sincere understanding in his eyes. Or, at least, a want to understand.

"I've never been in the pool before," Janey forced herself to say.

"What?" Sam snorted before he could stop himself. "Wait"—he looked confused—"you're not joking?"

"No," Janey said. "No, I've… I've never been in before."

"Not once?"

"No."

Sam looked even more confused. "But why not? Is it dangerous?" he asked, suddenly looking anxious.

"Dangerous?"

"Yeah, I mean—does it have weird chemicals in it or something? Or… bugs?"

"What—no," Janey denied, looking disgusted. "Nothing like that," she dismissed. "I just… haven't ever gone in it before. And," she gulped, "I'm not crazy on starting."

Sam felt dumbfounded. How could Janey, lucky enough to have a real swimming pool all to herself—and a pretty big one at that—never use it? Not even once?

"Not even as a child?" Sam asked, thinking of the young, somewhat dorky Janey in the photographic portraits downstairs.

"Absolutely not."

"Well, okay." But Sam didn't let that dissuade him. "So it'll be fun if—"

"Sam, I can't swim," Janey cut across, feeling exasperated. It came out in a rush, somewhat incoherent. But she felt like if she didn't say it then they would just keep going around in circles. And once it was out, she did actually feel a little relieved.

There was a pause.

Janey bit her lip, looking up at Sam with questioning eyes. He was still holding her hands, but they suddenly felt awkward in his.

Sam cocked his head, unsure if Janey was joking or not. After all—wasn't that the least believable of the excuses she'd given him so far?

"Of course you can," he eventually said, his tone playful but uncertain.

Janey looked taken aback. "No, Sam, this isn't a joke—I really can't swim."

"We've been swimming together," Sam reminded her. Did she really think he was that stupid? "We've—we've been in the sea together. At the beach. I've seen you—"

"That wasn't swimming," Janey interrupted, feeling put out. "That was just… standing. That was waist-high at most. I can stand in water," she said sarcastically. "I just… can't swim."

Sam let go of Janey's hands. "You're being serious?" he asked. He didn't want to be insensitive, but he was so sure she was joking.

The shy awkwardness in her demeanour let him know otherwise. "I truly am."

"But—"

"Sam, I never learnt to swim, alright? Everybody was always too busy. I had other, more important hobbies. And then, when I was eleven, I was shipped off to Hogwarts."

She made it sound so unappealing, Sam thought.

"It just never happened, alright?"

"But you have a pool," he said stupidly.

"Which has been untouched since the day we arrived."

What a waste, Sam couldn't help but think. But his heart went out to Janey, finding it endearing that she apparently couldn't swim. He had always taken it for granted—his family had gone to the beach every summer, and he and all of his siblings had partaken in swimming lessons as children. It wasn't something he had ever thought about too much.

"But at the beach," Sam started thinking aloud, and then his face fell. "Is that why you were screaming so much?" he asked uncomfortably. "When I picked you up and pretended I was going to throw you in?"

"No, Sam," Janey laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Because I didn't know, I swear! And if I had, I never would have done it. I mean, I wouldn't have done it anyway—you know that, right? I was only joking. I was only… I was only playing."

"Sam—"

"I thought you were only overreacting because you didn't want to get your hair wet," Sam said in a weak voice.

"To some extent, I was," Janey assured him. She softened her tone and expression as best she could. "I'm not afraid of the water, Sam. It's not a big deal—I just can't swim, okay?"

Sam still felt guilty, though. Janey was right—it wasn't a big deal, and it's not like he should have known—but it was just another somewhat significant detail about her life that he hadn't known. And one that he felt like he should have known. With the little insight about her mother and her childhood earlier, and now this, Sam felt like he was slowly starting to uncover more about Janey.

It both frightened and excited him.

"I have a proposition," he said eagerly.

Janey looked suspicious.

"I'm going to teach you to swim."

She was already rolling her eyes again. "Sam…"

"No, no, no, trust me, it will be fun!" he assured her. "It will be… like… couple-bonding!" he said, increasingly more excited.

But Janey didn't look thrilled. "I'm sure there are plenty of other things we can do to bond as a couple," she scoffed.

Sam found himself blushing.

When Janey caught on, she blushed too. "I just meant—"

"Just say yes," Sam pleaded. "Janey, please? It will be fun. It's the summer, we've got so much time to ourselves, and the thought of that huge pool being untouched for years is really kind of depressing."

"You're relentless!"

"Is that a yes?"

"Are you going to harass me again—like you did when I didn't want to meet your family?" Janey teased.

Sam's eyes lit up. "You make an excellent point!" he said gleefully. "You didn't want to meet my family, but you did, and you loved it, and I was right. How do you know that this time will be any different?"

"You just got lucky," Janey dismissed.

"Janey, you've got to start trusting me," Sam said gently. "What's the worst that could happen?"

In truth, Janey didn't know why she was so opposed to the idea. Every point Sam made was perfectly valid. And besides, she certainly wasn't against him stripping down to his trunks…

It was just, as usual, she was stubborn, and she didn't like change. Being in the water put her out of her comfort zone—she had no control. Sam teaching her to swim would mean she was putting her trust in someone else—something she tried to avoid at all costs. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, especially, it was just that she didn't trust anyone. Janey didn't want to be that vulnerable. She didn't want to, quite literally, put her life in someone else's hands.

And that was why she'd freaked out when Sam had playfully threatened to throw her into the sea.

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked in a gentle voice.

Janey's body tensed. "I, err, nothing."

Sam looked disheartened. "So…?" he prompted, perking back up. "Come on, Janey, it will be fun," he insisted for one last time.

Well, Janey supposed, it wasn't like she had a better alternative. She took a breath. "Fine," she sighed, finally unwrapping her arms from around her body. "But I'm not wearing a bikini."

"Good," Sam said, grinning, "neither will I."

Twenty minutes later, Janey had plucked up the courage to meet Sam poolside. She had taken an unnecessarily long time to pick out her bathing suit. It was stupid, really, that she had so many, considering she couldn't even swim. But, in truth, she knew she was only trying to delay the inevitable.

Janey knew Sam would only come looking for her if she didn't materialise soon, and twenty minutes was more than enough time for her to get changed. So, reluctant and nervous, she set foot outside, clad in a simple and modest bathing suit in navy blue, her infamous oversized sunglasses, and carrying a towel.

The heat from the sun was intense but soothing on Janey's exposed skin. It really was a beautiful day, and she supposed she'd prefer being outside rather than inside.

Sam was already in the pool, and he hadn't seen her yet. Janey used his obliviousness as an opportunity to watch him, unobserved. The breath caught in her throat as she watched him glide through the water, graceful, powerful, the water rolling off his back. He had very broad shoulders, Janey mused, and she couldn't remember having ever been so attracted to him before.

How had she, for months, if not years, concealed the fact that she was so attracted to him? It was relieving, she thought with a coy smile, still silently watching him, that her emotions were now all out in the open. Janey still found it a bit awkward to be so liberal with Sam, having suppressed her attraction for so long, but knowing that they were both in the same boat was reassuring.

Although, in that moment, with him gliding through the water and her standing at the side in an unflattering, conservative one-piece, Janey found the thought of Sam being remotely attracted to her in the way she was to him highly laughable.

Sam reached the edge of the pool, and Janey was too distracted to pretend she hadn't been watching him. As Sam turned and caught sight of her, he broke out into a grin and ran his hand through his hair, shaking some of the water droplets out. Janey just gulped, glad the sunglasses covered most of her face so he couldn't see her blush.

"Hey!" he called out. "Nice costume."

"Shut up."

"What?" Sam laughed innocently. "I'm not kidding." He swam towards her. When he got to the edge of the pool, he rested his forearms on the side, hoisting his torso up out of the water.

Janey bit her lip. She came to meet him, cautiously dipping her big toe in the water. It wasn't as cold as she thought it would be. The water felt refreshing.

"You might want to take your sunglasses off," Sam told her, watching the movement fondly.

"Fine, but I'm not putting my head under the water—at any expense."

Sam just continued grinning. "We'll see."

Janey pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and removed her foot from the pool. She stared at Sam with a condemning glare. "I'm being serious. My head is not going under the water, you understand? I really don't like getting my hair wet, and I don't want my makeup to run."

"Alright," Sam agreed. "Baby steps. Now"—he beamed up at her—"get in the pool."

Janey eyed the vast expanse of water with a lump in her throat.

"It's not deep," Sam assured her. "And I promise—I won't let you drown."

Janey ignored him, transfixed by the water. She kept her eyes on it as she lowered herself down to the pool's edge, tentatively slipping her legs in next to Sam. The water ran up her legs, cool and refreshing, and Janey kicked slightly, feeling weightless. "I might just stay like this…."

"You can't," Sam protested. "You made a promise!"

Janey continued to kick her legs out, enjoying the feeling. She shrugged. "I could just watch you."

"That wouldn't be half as fun."

Janey disagreed.

"Here." Sam held out a hand, still supporting his body on the edge of the pool with his other forearm. He was so beautiful with the water droplets glistening on his bare skin, that Janey was almost afraid to touch him. "Trust me," he insisted.

Janey warily eyed Sam's hand. He didn't realise how big a request he was making.

But Sam didn't even give Janey the time to respond. Perhaps figuring out that trying to coax her into the pool on her own terms could potentially take hours, in one quick, clean movement, he grabbed one of her idly-swinging legs and pulled her into the pool.

Janey shrieked for about five seconds—three seconds longer than she was actually airborne for—before realising she was perfectly supported, head and shoulders firmly above the water's surface. Sam had a tight hold on her, powerful arms instinctively wrapping around her waist before she could go under. It was so easy to hold her in the water—she was small and light as it was, but the water further aided this.

Janey felt breathless after her adrenaline-fuelled five seconds of shrieking and uncertainty. She, too, had acted instinctively, her legs wrapping around Sam's waist. And now they were in a state of catharsis, two teenagers in a pool, affectionate and vulnerable.

Janey's heart was beating so wildly, their chests pushed together, that she was certain Sam could feel it. She felt the surprising warmth of his naked chest pressed up against her, his arms tight and constricted around her back, vividly aware of every muscle in his body and every inch of skin that touched hers.

She had been held by him so many times, in so many different situations, that it took her by surprise how awed and nervous she felt in that moment. He was so much taller than her—something Janey viewed as a blessing—and though she felt anxious, she'd also never felt safer.

"I hate you," Janey tenderly whispered.

Sam's smile extended all the way to his eyes. It had been a while since they'd been that close, just lingering, taking in every tiny detail close up, longing to close the distance without actually acting on it. Janey was taken back to the night in the armchair—the first time she'd ever kissed Sam tenderly and not out of anger or some other driving passion. She could have counted every glistening droplet of water that clung to his skin had she wanted to.

"I told you to trust me," Sam said coyly.

"You didn't give me a choice."

Sam's eyes continued to twinkle. "Sometimes that's the best way." He inspected her hair with a smirk. "And look at that," he teased. "Not a single drop of water. Not so much as an eyelash out of place."

Janey felt suddenly shy. She had never felt safer, enfolded in his strong embrace, and yet she had never felt so completely exposed. "I'm so out of my depth," she whispered, her voice raw and breathy.

"I'm not going to drop you," Sam assured her. "We can go in the shallow end."

"That's not what I meant."

Their eyes found each other once more, and if there was any question that they'd gotten too comfortable with each other, too naturally at ease in their relationship, it was dismissed. Because they both felt that same fluttering sensation—that same unspoken connection that they'd felt during their first few kisses, shy and uneasy, testing the waters.

Janey felt refreshed, like she was reliving it all over again, even five weeks later. She ran a hand through Sam's hair, shaking some of the water droplets free. And when she kissed him, it was like kissing him for the first time all over again—gentle, and meaningful, and so deeply real. Maybe she was out of her depth, and maybe she was okay with that.

Janey rather thought she'd enjoy learning to swim.

Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by 'At The Ballet' from the musical 'A Chorus Line'