"Hey!" I yell, voice frantic, but the two boys ignore me, save for James hooking Jett square in the nose. "Jett Tiberius Nolton, I swear -"

The words fly out of my mouth, though, as Jett stumbles backward, away from the stairs, and nearly knocks me over in the process. "Move," he grunts, but there's no way in hell that I'm having that.

"Stop it," I hiss, swatting away the hand pushing me to the side. "Stop it now. This is stupid."

Jett simply ignores me, however, as he wipes the back of his arm across his now bloody nose, and I take the temporary moment of distraction to jump in front of him. Oh, Merlin. It looks bad.

"Get out of the way, Aria," he growls, but I ignore him, placing my hands flat against his chest instead.

James chuckles darkly from behind me, and I feel Jett's muscles seize up in aggravation. "You should listen to your boy toy. Move. I can take him."

"Not a chance, Potter," comes the snarled response. He pulls in a ragged breath, chest heaving beneath my hands, as a bit of blood drips down onto his shirt.

"You know, Nolton, I thought you had better taste -"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence, though, as Jett grunts and slips around my hand, then slams into James. They both hit the floor again, a tangled mess of limbs, and I - well, I can't do anything, as I haven't got my wand on me and there's no way in hell that I'd ever have the physical strength to stop them.

Thankfully, though, my savior comes in the form of the least likely person.

"Oi!" I spin towards the echoing shout, and my jaw nearly drops at the sight of Aiden Wood sprinting across the massive entryway. "Cut it out!"

He yanks Jett backward by his shirt in one smooth motion, hauling my stupid boyfriend to his feet, and drags his squirming body away from James, who simply smirks in that increasingly irritating self-satisfied way of his.

"Let me go," Jett grunts, straining against the burly arms holding him back.

Aiden's features twitch with effort as Jett flails again, but with a frame that big, even Jett doesn't stand a chance. "Calm down. You're not going anywhere."

Jett lets out an anguished grunt, and his face contorts with anger through the blood gushing from his nose. Broken, probably, as it's skewed at an odd angle. I've seen enough Bludgers to the face to know what a broken nose looks like.

James, meanwhile, smirks triumphantly as a bit of blood wells up on his lip. "Damn, forgot how much fun the Muggle way can be."

Right. Fun.

Jett lets out another aggravated grunt, so I rip my eyes away from the hazel before me to find him still struggling against Aiden's vice-like grip. He clearly doesn't have a chance in hell of getting out of it.

"Come on, off to the Hospital Wing with you," Aiden mutters. Jett opens his mouth to protest but snaps it shut just as quickly as a dollop of blood drips down into it.

"Fine," he spits out, sending a few more drops of blood flying, and Aiden tows him up the massive staircase and out of the large atrium before anyone can get a second word in.

...leaving me alone with a very bruised James Potter. Great.

He glances down at the cold flagstone running the length of the entrance hall, saying nothing, and an odd, uncomfortable silence settles between us - although not truly silent, as the chatter from the Great Hall seeps out through the doorway to my right. But I can still hear his words echoing in my head and all the anger I didn't have time to feel before bubbles up, so I turn away from him and take off up the stairs. I do not want to see him, talk to him, deal with him - any of it. I just want to get away.

His footfalls ring behind me, though, and they don't stop, not even when I dart in the opposite direction from Gryffindor Tower, ringing and ringing and ringing behind me, just like his protests for me to stop, just like his earlier words in my head, until I simply can't take it anymore.

"You didn't have to do that!" I burst out, spinning to face him just in time to see a slight flinch across his features. "What the hell is wrong with you? He'd do anything for you, and you treat him like shit for weeks and break his nose? What a great best friend. I -"

But the words teeter off into an angry huff, sending a bit of hair flying up, and I cross my arms in front of my chest as he stuffs his hands casually into his pockets. Classic. Too cool for school, king of the freaking castle.

A beat of silence pulses around us - not too unusual, given the size of this place and all, but still uncomfortable - and it doesn't end until James gruffly clears his throat. "You're right," he says simply. "I didn't have to. But I did, and - and I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Oh. Yes, oh. The only thing that I could conjure up - in spite of both my (mostly self-proclaimed) wit and terrible nervous tendency to spew word vomit - was oh.

"I mean, I get it," I tack on, mumbling slightly. A small crease forms between his eyebrows, just barely visible in the sunlight streaming through the window beside us, illuminating the warm shades of brown in his eyes. "You don't like me. I'm stealing time away from your best friend."

He opens his mouth halfway to respond but thinks better of it, I suppose, and shuts it before glancing out the window. Below us, the vast Hogwarts grounds roll out to the lake, sparkling beneath the cloudless blue sky. You could almost mistake it for summer, save for the brisk snap of October chill slowly seeping through the castle.

"That's no excuse for my behavior," James says quietly. His eyes still scope out the scene beyond the window pane, trailing along the sloping hills, and another unreadable expression flashes across his face. "You have every right to dislike me."

"Well, you don't exactly make a great first impression. Or second. Or -"

"Okay, I get it."

"Kidding." I pause, watching his gaze jump up to look at me in surprise. "Mostly."

His eyes roll slightly at that, the hazel disappearing for a half-second, but then they focus back in on mine - closer, I think, than I've ever seen them before.

"I see why Jett likes you," he comments cryptically, leaning his shoulder against the stone wall beside us. "I mean, he did spend about an hour waxing lyrical about you earlier this week, but still. You're not so bad once you loosen up."

"Hey -"

"Kidding." James flicks his eyes over me at that, the hint of a smile - nope, scratch that, a smirk - simmering just slightly at the corner of his lips. "Mostly."

"Oh, ha, very funny."

The smirk disappears from his lips, though, and another unreadable expression flashes across his face as he stares at me, no hint of the usual mischief in his eyes. I've never seen him look so serious before - well, I've never really seen him look serious at all, come to think of it.

"That's why I said it - I mean, why I called you -" James pauses, letting an uncomfortable silence ring out between us again as that little crease reforms between his eyebrows. "Not because I meant it - I didn't, by the way - but because it would piss him off. It's not an excuse, and I shouldn't have brought you into it, and I'm sorry, Aria. I was -"

But the words falter off there, the crease between his eyebrows deepens, and James Potter goes speechless for the second time since I've known him. And it takes me a half-second to register why what he said sounds so odd to my ears, but then it clicks. He said my name. Not new girl, not you, but Aria. For the first time ever.

And I think that's why his apology feels real. Not performed, not another practiced line, but organic and authentic. Merlin, I'm going to regret this – I know I'll regret it –

"Was he really waxing lyrical about me?"

Relief instantly floods James's face, and he lets out a loud laugh that rings through the empty corridor. "Talked my bloody ear off." I feel my cheeks start to burn at that and James, apparently noticing the flush of color, nudges me in the side. "I take it you feel the same."

"My track record isn't exactly the best in the world," I say, hedging slightly. "It's nice to finally get one right."

James looks at me curiously, but I pointedly ignore his gaze and turn back to the window, soaking in as much sun as I can before the inevitable clouds reappear. It really is beautiful out here. Sort of reminds me of Massachusetts, in a way.

"Well, you got a good one this time." James pauses for a second, maybe two, as the silence of the massive castle wraps around us again. "The best one, actually."

"I know."

And I do. Really. It's only been - what, a month? Month and a half? But when you know, you just sort of know. Not, like, love or anything - Merlin, no, how insane would that be - but I just know Jett's good. He's kind and caring and sweet and - well, everything. He's my prom king.

"I -" James's gruff voice startles me, and when I turn away from the window, he doesn't meet my gaze but stares down at the stone floor beneath us. "I really envy him, to be honest."

Another pulse of silence beats between us, but this time it's my turn to pause. I honestly don't know what to say. I certainly didn't expect that - expect him to - because he's him, you know? Popular and loud and charismatic, always having the best time, always hanging around with the coolest friends, the prettiest girls. Every school has someone like him. He's not that hard to figure out.

"But you have everything." The words slip out without thinking, breaking the stillness, and that little crease crinkles back between his eyebrows again.

"Not everything." His words ring around the empty corridor, almost heavy in the way they seem to echo off the stone. "No expectations, no family names to live up to, no pressure. Seems like a pretty nice way to live to me."

I'm not quite sure what he means by that, but then again, I'm never quite sure of much about him. I gave up trying to understand him weeks ago, even though Jett continues to insist that I get to know his best friend better.

"Right, it must be so awful having everyone in the school falling all over you."

"Maybe it's not all bad." A little smirk forms at the corner of his lips, and I would bet anything that he's thinking about hooking up with Lila Andrews in the library. "But it certainly doesn't help my already overly inflated sense of self-importance."

"I didn't realize you were so introspective."

I mean it to sound teasing, to match his smug expression and the relaxed mischief dancing in his eyes, but I can't quite muster it. I've never exactly mastered the carefree spirit, despite the countless days I've spent relaxing by the Pacific Ocean.

"Well, believe it then. But don't tell anyone."

And then, with a cheeky winky, he presses one finger to his lips as if to shush me and wanders off down the corridor, stuffing his hands lazily into his pockets.

Jett finds me a few hours later, fully mended after his trip to the hospital wing save for a cut on his left cheek – a "battle scar" that he asked to keep, for Merlin knows what reason. I gladly abandon my post in the library at his bequest, and we spend the rest of the evening curled up on the Astronomy Tower roof beneath the starry sky. My head rests on his chest, and it just feels so perfect, so right, that I can't help but let out a little sigh of contentment.

"What?" he murmurs, the vibrations spreading through our entangled bodies.

"Nothing," I shake my head, but he whispers an insistent tell me in my ear, so I wiggle a bit and glance over at him, taking in the way the silvery moonlight reflects off the tinge of warmth in his hair. "I just - when I started here, all I wanted to do was make one friend. But now I've somehow landed the prom king."

He smiles at that, fingers tangling themselves with mine, and there's a beat of that perfect stillness before he breaks it with a light snort. "I still don't really know what that means."

"It means," I pause, looking up at the stars above us, and try to capture the moment as best as I can, taking a snapshot to remember forever. The twinkling pinpricks of light hanging in a cloudless sky, the feel of his heartbeat, the way I get butterflies at his touch. "It means popular and charming and handsome, I guess."

"Keep going," he prompts, and I laugh, rolling into the warmth of his shirt. "I think you're the only one who believes that."

"That you're popular and handsome and charming? Don't be ridiculous."

"No, not that." He pauses, almost searching for the right words to say, and something I can't quite place flickers across his face. "I think you're the only person who likes me more than James."

"Oh." The words sort of catch in my throat, and I settle back in against him as a cool breeze whispers through the top of the tower. We'd conjured up a heating charm when we first climbed up here, but moving air still passes through the enchantment like a ghost every now and then, bringing hints of the October chill beyond. "Well, what's not to like better? You're my prom king, after all."

A soft smile lights up his face and he looks sort of angelic with nothing but the pearlescent moonlight to illuminate him. But then the smile fades, far too quickly for my liking, replaced by a hint of concern flitting through his eyes.

"He shouldn't have said that about you."

"It's okay, really," I offer quietly, but Jett simply shakes his head.

"It's not, and he knows that. I'm not sure what's gotten into him lately."

"Lila?" I offer, referencing the most popular rumor spreading around the castle, and Jett shakes his head again.

"Nah, I don't think so. That was always casual." Then he lets out a yawn, heavy with the events of the day, and presses his face against the crook of my neck. "I don't want to go back to my dorm. I can't deal with him right now."

"Then stay with me tonight."

I don't know what makes me say it - maybe the warmth spreading through our entangled bodies, maybe the way his cologne mixes intoxicatingly with the fresh fall air - but I do say it, and my heartbeat quickens as his fingers tighten around mine.

"Are you sure?" The words come out muffled, his lips pressed against my skin, and I nod as he pulls me a little tighter.

"Just to sleep."

Jett lets out a small sigh - an annoyed one, I can tell, even though he's trying not to be - because of course - I mean, he's a teenage boy, after all, but I know he won't push it. That's not him.

"What if I told you it's my birthday?"

"It's not your birthday," I reply flatly, and he sits upright, a bit of mischief sparking in his eyes.

"But what if it was? What about then?"

"Don't push your luck, Nolton."

"Oh, come off it, I broke my nose for you -"

"You do not get to pull the nose card -"

"I so do -"

"Do not -"

And on we go, bickering playfully as we wander back down into the castle, ambling slowly in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, fingers tangled together like they'll never separate again. He claims that I could do whatever I wanted if I ever broke a bone for him, but honestly, what good would that be, as I'd only have him write my Potions essay and I'm already doing just fine in that class, and he seems to take great offense at that, because really, Aria, when you have a boyfriend like me, that is not what you do.

And even though I told him just sleeping, when I see him standing there in my empty dorm room for the first time, with his bronze hair lightly tousled and that cut on his cheek, I can't help but grab his shirt and pull him towards me, breathing in that sweet outdoorsy cologne, and kiss him as we fall back onto the bed. I like how his arms feel on either side of mine, safe and warm, and I know that he likes how my fingers knot in his shirt and slide it off over his head, letting it slip and fall onto the floor, forgotten. So I don't stop him when his fingers lightly play with the elastic of my pajama shorts as he leans over me, and I don't mind the soft pressure of his hands beneath the faded fabric, either, snaking higher and higher up my thigh. But he knows not to go further than that, and I love how it feels as I fade off into sleep, our bodies entwined, feeling every rise and fall of his breath.

Jett sneaks out early the next morning, and I don't see him for the rest of the day. I think he's avoiding public spaces, not wanting to entertain questions about yesterday, and I don't really blame him. I had to go over what happened with Gabrielle Ancrum for a good thirty minutes, and I wasn't even really involved.

I suppose I'll see him at dinner, though, which I am very much looking forward to after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice. Our first match won't take place until after Christmas break, but we're trying to get as much work done as we can before the weather turns completely miserable.

"Good practice," Aiden grunts as he shoves the trunk full of Quidditch supplies back into place. "I think we're shaping up nicely."

"I… agree?" The words feel foreign coming out of my mouth, almost leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. I honestly don't think I've ever agreed with Aiden on anything. From practice schedules to play-calling to views on subterfuge and spying (for the record, I don't approve), we've not once seen eye-to-eye. Granted, he does always wind up winning our arguments, so maybe I should just give up on bickering with him.

"As you should." He turns to face me, and I think - maybe - possibly - Aiden Wood almost smiles at me. Wow. "Our main weakness last year was at Chaser. Would've won the Cup but couldn't go up enough on Gryffindor in the final match. You help with that."

"I… thanks?" Once again, the words feel foreign, coming out slowly in that uptilted, questioning way.

And at that, he does actually smile, then reaches out one giant hand to muss up my hair. "I like you, Fields. Even if you are dating the enemy."

Ah, yes. Back to normal. Aiden turns towards the door of the supply closet, and I follow him out into the crisp evening air. "I never thanked you, by the way," I comment off-handedly as we trek back up towards the castle. Twilight hangs in the air, coating the grounds with blues and purples, and he quirks an eyebrow at me questioningly. "For helping with the fight yesterday."

"Don't worry about it," he says casually, swatting a hand at me.

"No, seriously. Thank you. I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

Aiden glances sideways at me, taking in my appreciative expression, and pauses on the stone pathway. "Well, if you really want to thank me, I suppose there is something you could do," he says slowly, almost cautiously.

"For the last time, I'm not going to dig through Jett's bag for Quidditch plays -"

"What?" Then he laughs and gives me a slight shove, and I have to take a few steps back from the force of it. "No, not that. You're - you're friends with Sophie Fincher, right?"

"Yeah," I respond slowly, brows furrowed. Where the hell is he going with this? Maybe he wants her to write an essay for him? "Why? And I thought that you thought her name was Sarah."

Even through the dim twilight, I can see the way his cheeks start to flush as he stares down at the ground, avoiding my eyes, and kicks a pebble distractedly with his foot. "No, I know her name. I just get kind of, you know, flustered."

Flustered? Why would Sophie -

Oh. Oh.

"You like her!" I exclaim loudly, and he grimaces, glancing around furtively at the rolling grounds around us. "Since when?"

"Er - since last year," he admits, cheeks flushing even darker, and one hand rubs over the back of his neck awkwardly as we resume our walk towards the castle. "She tutored me in Transfig. I guess I had never really talked to her before that. She's so smart," he says wistfully, and I let out a small laugh at the lovestruck look on his face.

"I'll put in a good word," I promise, and Aiden bites his lower lip nervously. He's so embarrassed that it's actually kind of endearing. I guess there's a human in there beneath the Quidditch robot after all. "I think you'd be a good influence on each other."

"Thanks." He shoves open the door to the castle, and the chatter of dinner from the Great Hall spills out over us. "And I'll try not to be as big of a prat about you dating -"

But his words cut off sharply, and I glance over at him curiously. His mouth sort of gapes open, a pained expression on his face, and it only takes a few seconds to figure out why.

Across the entrance hall, tucked into a corner near the stairs, with her auburn curls pressed flat against a wall, Sophie Fincher runs her fingers through a mess of inky black hair that I know all too well.