Author's Note: Thank you for being so patient with the sporadic upload schedule—we should be plain sailing from here on out! And you might be pleased to know that this chapter is the last of the extended flashback sequence. That is to say, we'll still be viewing the same period in time for the next few chapters, but we've now caught up to where Sam will be seeing the memories himself from within the Pensieve, so we're kind of back in the present. Hopefully it will all make sense!
Chapter 43 – My Happy Ending
You were everything I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
All this time, you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
There was a storm brewing—in more ways than one. But only the dark, swirling storm clouds that gathered over the Quidditch pitch indicated anything out of the ordinary.
Sam was relieved that Isabella had been dissuaded from accompanying him to practice when she'd caught sight of the threatening sky. Despite what he'd said to her, he didn't actually think the others would appreciate her being there—or even if they didn't care, was worried they would be teasing and inappropriate. Especially James.
"It looks like it's going to rain," Albus said unhelpfully as the team gathered in the communal changing rooms.
James looked irritated by his little brother's unnecessary comment. "Just as well—we need to be prepared for all kinds of weather."
The heavens seemed to give a reaffirming rumble.
"I refuse to get my hair wet," Janey piped up, folding her arms in defiance. "I'm using a new conditioner and if I feel so much as a drop then I—"
"Janey, you'll do what I say or you're not playing in the next match," James irritably cut across her.
Janey looked taken aback, and Sam felt the same. It was very rarely that James snapped at Janey. He expected her to bite back but, remarkably, she stayed silent, though she looked particularly sulky.
James continued addressing the team. "We'll be playing the Slytherins in our next match, and they've always been our biggest competition. The Hufflepuffs were an easy win, but the Snakes will really put us through it."
Sam had no doubt. And he realised now why James was so on edge about their upcoming practices. They always had to work overtime where the Slytherins were concerned.
"Especially with regards to the Snitch," James emphasised, looking pointedly at a still-sulking Janey. "Malf—their Seeker," he amended quickly, refusing to look at Rose or acknowledge his slip-up, "—is incredibly fast."
"I'm faster," Janey grumbled.
James glared at her. "I want you working on your speed tonight. We're doing laps. You were faltering behind the Hufflepuff Seeker in the last match."
Janey looked aghast. "I caught the Snitch!" she reminded him.
Sam winced at the memory. He would never unhear the sickening crunch as the Bludger made contact with her arm or unsee the blood congealing on the grass as James held her fragile body.
"Because you did something stupid," James retaliated. "Not because you did something skilled. We're not taking any risks—not when it comes to the Slytherins."
Janey looked furious, and Sam was wondering if he'd ever really seen James and Janey argue over anything before. Normally, she reserved all her hostility for Sam. It was bizarre indeed to witness her and James bicker.
"The Slytherins won't be playing fair at all," Albus pointed out before Janey could respond. "Ever since Deneb has been the Captain, he employs all these dirty tactics. We need to get creative if we want to outsmart them."
"We," James said in a dangerous voice, "need to do what I say. I'm the captain, Albus, not you."
And now the two brothers were glaring at each other. Sam had no idea why James was in such a foul mood, but it seemed no one was escaping his wrath. There was another threatening rumble from above that seemed to match the hardened glare in James Potter's eyes.
"Maybe tell your boyfriend not to be a dirty cheater for once."
Sam and Mason impulsively shared a look, as familiar as they were with James and his temper, both of them internally groaning as the conversation took a turn. That was the problem with playing the Slytherins. It wasn't just that they were an incredibly skilled team, it's that there were so many raw personal tensions extending toward the members of the team—a convoluted, messy web that inextricably linked them all together.
Albus and Scorpius were best friends—something James had always resented and terrorised Albus for. And then when he'd dated Rose in addition, it had escalated those tensions. Rose, since the breakup, had never performed with ease during Slytherin's matches—as one would expect. It was hard to pretend your ex didn't exist when he was circling the pitch in front of your very eyes. Despite the fact that she, as Keeper, and he as the Seeker, never really overlapped much, she never coped well when she was forced to share airspace with him.
And then there was Janey. It would have been easier to make a list of people Janey didn't have a bitter rivalry with. She and Jinx—one of the Slytherin Beaters—hated each other more than Janey hated anybody else, which was an impressive feat. She had once snogged the other Beater—Jinx's on-and-off long-term boyfriend, Albireo—when they'd been on a break, just to spite her, and this seemed to have been the nail in the coffin of any civility extending between the two.
Deneb Jacobson had dated and screwed Janey around in a way that had seemed to have a permanent impact on her. Sam didn't know the intricacies of all Janey's flings, but he had seen enough to know that she held a special, prolonged resentment for Deneb. As Keeper and Captain, his presence on the team was noticeably prominent. Sam had never liked him.
And although all the girls had made their peace with Ebony and accepted her as a friend once more, there had previously been a lot of anguish where the dark-haired Chaser was involved. Once upon a time, perhaps barring Deneb, they had all actually been somewhat of a friendship group. Although it was true that Jinx and Janey had never seen eye-to-eye, Rose and Scorpius' torrent affair had once reunited the group. But with all the drama that had ensued, things were messier than ever.
"Brilliant," Albus said sarcastically in response to James' juvenile taunt. "But I'd like to point out that only one of us is actually dating someone on the Slytherin team."
This comment only seemed to provoke James further. "And Ebony plays fairly," he said with strained aggravation.
"So does Scorpius!" Albus burst out without thinking.
Nobody looked at Rose.
"When I said the Slytherins play dirty," he went on calmly, like the outburst hadn't even happened, "I was excluding Ebony and—and the Seeker." He gulped. You could have cut the tension in the room with a knife. "The other Chasers are fine, but it's the Beaters who are the worst. And Deneb."
"We should give them a dose of what I went through last match," Janey mumbled darkly. "I'd love to smash a Bludger into that little—"
"We do not play dirty," James interrupted with the fierceness of the lion adorned on his crest. "The Gryffindor team plays with honour."
Sam wondered whether Janey's vitriolic comment had been aimed at Jinx or Deneb. He suspected the former. He'd rather smash Bludgers in Deneb's face though. Maybe Scorpius if he wasn't so quick.
"And we are not taking any dumb risks," James condemned, looking at Janey.
"That dumb risk," Janey snarled, "is what won us the game!"
"We were up," James replied with a coldness he hardly ever used, and certainly not where Janey was involved.
"But—"
"Anyway," he cut across her, impatient to get airborne. "That was a different match—and a different team. We need to be prepared for everything the Snakes will throw at us—both fair and dirty. Our best shot is to be quick, clean, and in sync. And that means putting our everything into our training—regardless of the weather."
Sam could sense that Janey was itching to make a biting retort in response but, remarkably, she held her tongue. James was, perhaps, the only person she would truly respect in such a way. But who was to say how long it would last?
As the team begrudgingly made their way out onto the pitch, and sure enough, the first few spattering of raindrops burst from the heavens, Sam felt rather uplifted, but he suspected he was the only one. The rest of the team seemed tense following James' uncharacteristically stern introduction to the practice—alongside the mention of their biggest rivals within the sport, many of them sharing personal tensions with the particular Slytherins they'd be facing on the pitch.
Perhaps it was because of how nice his interaction with Isabella had been earlier, but Sam felt pretty calm and optimistic himself. He found he didn't even mind the rain. It was almost refreshing.
He pulled Mason aside as they made their way onto the pitch, their Beaters bats held loosely in their hands.
"Mason," Sam said under his breath, hoping they were out of earshot of the others. "What's up with James?" he queried.
"I'm not sure," Mason murmured back. "I think he argued with Ebony about something."
"Ah." Well, that made sense. James and Ebony seemed pretty solid in the relationship they shared—Sam had certainly never witnessed any dramatics between the two—but he was sure, if there was any tension there, it would be the one thing to definitely sour James' usual jovial nature. It was pretty obvious that the only thing James cared about more than Quidditch (or himself) was Ebony.
But that didn't bode well for the rest of the team. And it didn't.
James worked them so thoroughly—repetitively running drills until they were sore and drenched—that by the time they were finished, Sam's good mood had taken a significant hit.
Janey was in a foul mood herself when they were eventually permitted to touch down—more so than she already had been. James had been particularly gruelling with her—urging her to go faster and faster, over and over again, until he deemed her speed to be up to his standard. She looked like one of those small, fluffy dogs that lost half its density when it got wet—soaked and bedraggled, with her blonde hair plastered to particularly red skin, raw and damp. And yet, the way the rain clung to her eyelashes, the sky blue of her irises shining out so clearly against the grey backdrop, she somehow seemed to look better than ever.
Sam gulped, turning away, feeling flustered, like somehow his teammates might sense his thoughts. It wasn't that he felt attracted to Janey, it was just that—well, she was obviously attractive, he couldn't deny it. Obviously she was, that's why so many guys were interested in dating her. But she was also undeniably toxic, and hostile, and argumentative, and just plain cruel, which significantly lessened any physical appeal he might have even remotely noticed in her.
Sam gulped again. He didn't even know why he was having such thoughts.
"What the hell do you want?" Janey snapped at him, catching sight of his subtle, or perhaps unsubtle, glancing.
"Nothing," Sam said automatically. Without another word, he made a beeline for the boys' section of the changing rooms, desperate for a hot shower.
Only one other person was in there, the others perhaps having opted to simply return to the castle already.
"James?" Sam asked in surprise.
The Head Boy was slumped down on one of the benches, looking thoroughly downcast, a lit cigarette hanging limply from his fingers.
Sam was surprised. Not that James Potter was smoking—he had been for the better part of a year now—but that he was doing so inside the changing rooms. Wasn't that a fire hazard?
"I'm stressed," James said curtly, perhaps thinking Sam's confusion was criticism of what he'd caught his captain doing—as though it was a rare occurrence.
"Oh—no—I don't care," Sam said quickly. "Are you allowed to smoke inside though?"
James gave him a very pointed look, took a deep drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air. Well, Sam supposed, it wasn't like James was particularly in favour of following the rules. He also had to remember that their wands were surely strong enough to undo any damage Muggle tobacco could probably wreak.
"Are you stressed about… Quidditch?" Sam dared to ask. He knew, if Mason was correct, it was a lot deeper than just their upcoming match, but James had never been one to be so forthcoming with his emotions—perhaps not even with his best friend and roommate, let alone Sam. "I, uh, I thought we did pretty well today."
"No, it's not Quidditch," James snapped, confirming all Sam needed to know. He inhaled again, shaking his leg in an agitated manner.
Sam dared to take a seat beside him.
James looked like he was contemplating elaborating. "It's…" But he seemed to think better of opening up to Sam.
"Ebony?" Sam prompted, wondering if this would only ignite James' wrath once more.
James looked initially saddened by the mention of the girl he cared so deeply for, but it quickly morphed into irritation. "No, it's nothing to do with Ebony," he said a little too defensively.
"Oh," Sam said, wondering if James was in denial or simply didn't want to discuss his relationship with Sam. "Mason thought—"
"Mason doesn't know anything," James growled, the cigarette clenched between his teeth once more.
As he exhaled again, Sam resisted the urge to cough. He saw absolutely no appeal in smoking himself—perhaps he had never really been all that stressed as the Head Boy seemed to be to feel the urge for it—but he kind of liked the smell.
"Alright," Sam said calmly. "But if there was anything you wanted to talk about—"
"I don't," James snapped.
"—then I'm here for you."
Sam felt a little vulnerable in all honesty, like James might make some kind of scathing or sarcastic remark at such a statement. He knew the older boy was a lot closer to Mason than he was Sam. He was probably closer to lots of other people, in fact, but Sam at least regarded their friendship with fondness. Likely one-sided though, he reasoned. If James Potter was going to open up emotionally to anybody then it probably wouldn't be Sam. He might not even consider them to be friends, as such—more so that Sam was just the friend of his friends or his cousin and younger brother.
"Worry about your own psycho girlfriend—mine is of no concern to you."
Sam's skin instantly prickled, as it always did whenever anybody insulted Isabella. "I was just trying to help," he said, suddenly feeling incredibly cold and longing to depart the changing rooms entirely.
But James seemed to soften, like he realised he'd gone too far. "I didn't mean that," he said quickly, not quite an apology but as good as he was capable of. "Isabella seems nice, alright? It's just a… a joke."
"Yes," Sam said bitterly. "Hilarious."
"And I wasn't saying that Ebony was a psycho girlfriend either, I was just—"
"It doesn't matter, James," Sam sighed. He was hardly going to report back to Ebony that James had made an unsavoury remark about her.
But he did look genuinely guilty for having been so short with Sam. He seemed hesitant before he next spoke, and when he did, Sam realised why. James Potter was about to indulge in a rare bit of emotional vulnerability.
"It's just… Christmas," James eventually confessed.
"Christmas?" Sam echoed. It wasn't what he had expected to hear at all, and was confused as to whether James was being genuine. "But it's November," he said stupidly. The fourth of November—he was certain. Sure, Christmas was creeping ever-closer, but it was still pretty far in the future to even be on anybody's periphery just yet. And why on earth would thoughts of Christmas be making James feel so stressed?
"Yeah," James agreed, taking another drag on his cigarette. "But Ebony… She's already saying she won't go home."
Sam was more confused than ever. "She doesn't want to go home for Christmas?"
"No," James said. "And she absolutely shouldn't," he said with protective ferocity.
"No?" It seemed weirdly controlling, but Sam suspected James must have a good reason for wanting to keep Ebony away from wherever her home was.
"Her parents," James said darkly, "are not good people."
Sam wasn't sure what to say. What did that even mean? He knew absolutely nothing about the Darkbrow family—which was whom he assumed Ebony lived with.
"They're not her real parents," James went on. "They adopted her when she was five and they're… they're not…" But he wouldn't say any more.
Sam once more wasn't sure what to say at this revelation—that Ebony was adopted nor that her adoptive parents were, as James described, not good people. Where wizards were concerned, he had a pretty good hunch as to what that meant. One might have said that the Malfoy family, too, were not good people—not from what Sam had heard—but the way James spoke, it sounded like something much deeper where the Darkbrows were concerned. Much more serious and personal. He felt his heart go out to Ebony, knowing James would not elaborate any further. It was surprising that he had even opened up as much as he already had.
"Could she stay with her real parents?" Sam suggested kindly, but he assumed, given that Ebony was apparently adopted, that they were not in the picture. Perhaps they had died when she was young—a lot of wizards faced untimely ends too young. His own dad being one of them.
"No," James said. "She doesn't know who they are."
"Oh." Sam racked his brains for something helpful to say whilst James continued to smoke, his leg still rhythmically shaking.
"She wants to stay in the castle."
"Isn't that a good thing?" If the alternative was going home to her parents, surely this was a much better option.
"I don't want her to be alone," James confessed, and it was actually rather sweet how concerned he looked for his girlfriend's wellbeing. "And she refuses to come home with me."
He said it with a bitter edge to his voice, and Sam suddenly understood everything. It wasn't her home Ebony was avoiding for the holiday season—although she very much was—but James', and that's what was upsetting the boy. She had opted for solitude over his and his family's company. Of course it would upset James, but Ebony had always seemed like a bit of a loner—guarded and craving solitude—the complete opposite of her charismatic counterpart.
"I wouldn't take it personally, James," Sam said, still opting for kindness. He didn't want the boy to get agitated and snap again. "The Potter household is probably incredibly overwhelming for someone like her."
James looked thoughtful, but he didn't say anything.
"You know she'll be safe here, though? Bobbin will look out for her."
"That's not the point. She shouldn't be alone. She should be with people who love—care for her," James quickly amended. He refused to look at Sam, staring resolutely ahead, his cheeks turning a very uncharacteristic shade of pink for the boy who never seemed to experience any sense of shame.
Sam just sat there, feeling equally dazed. Had James Potter ever said out loud that he was in love with Ebony? With anyone, in fact? Sam had certainly never heard it pass from his lips, and from the way James now looked, he was sure he might not have ever said it out loud at all.
Woah.
Love seemed a hugely overwhelming declaration to make as a teenager, but for James especially, Sam was completely stunned. It was apparent that the boy would not acknowledge what he had very nearly slipped up and confessed, and Sam knew better than to draw attention to it. They sat in an awkward silence, leaving Sam to ponder the state of his own heart.
Was he in love with Isabella?
Had he ever really been in love with Rose?
Sam knew he had used the word liberally in the past, which is why he had been reluctant to use it around Isabella just yet. He had thought it, sure, because what else could the overwhelming lightness in his stomach and constant state of elation when he thought of her be, if not for pure, giddying, unadulterated love?
But Sam didn't want to admit that those euphoric feelings he had so readily felt in that first week following their Hogsmeade date had already significantly lessened. Obviously, his feelings for her ran deep, and he admired her greatly, but he already felt comfortable with her—as opposed to recklessly thrilled to be around her, to crave her so desperately.
But he assumed that's just what happened when you were in a relationship. That the thrill of the chase—the coy back-and-forth, the longing and pining—quickly settled into comfortable stability.
But Sam considered James. He and Ebony had been entangled for almost a year, and whilst they somewhat kept their relationship to themselves, it was clear to anyone who knew them how deeply they cared for each other. Sam had seen James date a lot of girls, but he had never seen him act the way he did around Ebony. The fact that they were approaching a year together and seemed as passionate as ever only seemed to cement the idea that there was something very deep and very true there.
And yet, it would appear that James had not told her he loved her. Maybe he still had not come to terms with it himself. But the more Sam thought about it, the more it made sense.
Where would Sam and Isabella be in a year?—he couldn't help but wonder and compare. Would she have learnt to trust Rose? Would his friends finally be accepting and polite to her? Would he have told her that he loved her? Or, like James, would he still feel too guarded to be so emotionally exposed.
Sam thought about the impending holiday himself. Would he and Isabella make the effort to see each other over the Christmas holidays? Sam wondered what his mum and family would think of her if he happened to bring his girlfriend home to meet them. He had written, of course, and his mother had been nothing short of kind and wholly supportive. But somehow he couldn't picture the two of them having a conversation, and that unsettled him. The two most important women in his life—what if they didn't connect? Sam could already picture his stepsister's wrinkled nose as she attempted to make small talk with the prim and proper Isabella. They would have very little in common, he thought.
Sam now felt thoroughly miserable the more he thought of it. Would Isabella be proud to introduce Sam to her parents as her boyfriend? If he spent Christmas with her family, Henry included, would Janey be there too?
"I, uh, I'm gonna go shower," Sam declared after clearing his throat.
James seemed relieved that the younger boy wasn't poking fun at or drawing any attention to the fact that he had as good as said he loved Ebony—wearing his heart on his sleeve in a way he probably hadn't even with her.
"You did good today, Sam," James eventually said, finally stubbing his cigarette out and immediately clearing away the debris with his wand. "Sorry if I was a dick about it."
Sam almost smiled. "It's fine. We all want to win."
James nodded. He had finally stopped shaking his leg, but he still wouldn't look directly at Sam.
Sam heaved himself up from the bench. "Listen," he said as an afterthought, having almost made it to the shower block before turning back. "I'm sure everything with Ebony—and, err, Christmas—will be okay."
James reddened slightly once more. "Yeah," he agreed, still looking a little dazed from his earlier outburst. "Thanks."
Sam left him alone to contemplate his thoughts—likely of Ebony, the girl he surely couldn't keep denying he was in love with.
As Sam showered, he tried not to think of Isabella, but he wondered if he should go and see her now that practice had ended. Would she be expecting it? He wasn't sure he necessarily had the energy to be in her company just then, exhausted as he was—physically, by the training session, and emotionally, by the thoughts of what love felt like and if it was what he honestly felt for Isabella.
Suddenly, Sam did not feel like he knew her all that well.
He felt somewhat glum as he re-entered the open area of the changing room. James was gone, but the sound of another shower running indicated where he was. Sam had just about decided to simply return to the Gryffindor Tower. If Isabella had any issues with him not seeking her out then he'd make up for it tomorrow, but hopefully she'd be respectful of the fact that he was completely drained.
Heading for the door, Sam almost ran headfirst into another figure. He had assumed the girls had probably all been and gone during the time Sam had spent talking to James, but there remained just one.
Janey was significantly drier than when he'd last seen her. Her blonde hair was fluffy and tousled, her makeup was freshly retouched, and she smelt like peaches.
"Oh," Sam said by way of apology.
Janey looked at him with suspicion. "Why are you still here?"
"I was just—I showered," Sam spluttered. He wondered what he smelt like. Probably just the generic body wash he had used.
Janey only looked more suspicious. "I don't even want to know what you were doing that took so long…"
Sam felt the heat rush to his face. "I was talking to James!" he protested.
Janey raised an eyebrow. "In the shower?"
Sam didn't even have the heart to bite back. "Why are you still here?" he countered instead, hoping the colour in his cheeks had lessened. The way Janey looked, he assumed she'd be meeting someone.
"I was getting ready to meet Henry."
Of course.
"Oh, well—it's almost curfew," Sam reminded her, and then winced. Why did he keep being such a stickler for the rules? Even he hated how frequently obnoxious he was sounding lately.
"No, it's not," Janey said, indignant.
Sam frowned. Was it not? He didn't actually know—he wasn't sure why he had even instinctively said it. Thinking of his conversation with James, he wondered if Henry and Janey were in love. Surely not. It was way too soon.
"Is that what you've convinced yourself of so you don't have to see the psycho?"
It was too much for Sam. "You and everybody else need to leave Isabella the hell alone," he couldn't help himself from snarling. Honestly, it had never been funny, but they were all of them taking it too far.
Janey just rolled her eyes as Sam lost his temper. "Learn to take a joke."
"It's not funny," he said, incredulous. "She's a real person, this is our real relationship, and I'm sick of all the unnecessary jabs."
"Oh, please," Janey drawled, "your whole relationship is a joke."
Perhaps it was the uneasy thoughts Sam had just been having regarding his future with Isabella, and the nature of 'love' as a concept, but Janey's taunting left him feeling more defensive of his relationship than he had ever felt before. Why, why, did she always have to belittle what he had with Isabella, being cruel and dismissive for absolutely no reason? Was it really just because of the whole Roman mishap or was there some personal reason she so loathed Isabella in particular?
"You're one to talk." The words had left Sam's mouth before he could stop himself, but maybe he didn't care. What did he owe it to Janey to protect her feelings for anyway? If she was going to be so horrible about his relationship with Isabella, then maybe she could stand to learn a few truths about her own relationship.
Sam saw the almost imperceptible slip at the edge of Janey's mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You and Henry," Sam went on coolly.
A nervous confusion had flitted into Janey's eyes. She clearly had no clue what Sam was referring to. Good, he thought almost proudly, craving the feeling of being the one to land the devastating blow and throw her world into chaos.
"There's nothing real about your relationship," Sam said in a voice so nasty he was almost shocked that it had come from his own mouth. What was he doing?
"Of course there is." Janey looked panicked, as though Sam was maybe accusing her of faking the whole relationship herself.
"He doesn't really care about you, Janey," Sam went on, calm and calculated, wanting only to inflict maximum carnage. Somewhere there was a dissociated version of himself, a tiny voice imploring him to stop. But he didn't. "Didn't you ever wonder why he all of a sudden started showing an interest in you—even though you'd known each other for years?"
Janey didn't look like she had blinked in a while, her blue eyes wide and doe-like. "We just didn't really connect like that until recently," she said, but she sounded completely uncertain herself. "Because I'd been going to the library more, and he—"
"Because we asked him to."
And there it was. The gunshot. The gut-punch.
Janey did rather look like she had been struck in the face, and maybe Sam should have felt guilty, but she had been too cruel to him for too long, and it was time she got a dose of her own medicine.
"What?" she asked in a quiet voice, refusing to believe it.
"Isabella and I," Sam continued, calm as ever. "We asked Henry to spend time with you so that we could have time alone."
Janey seemed to wait a beat before she replied. "You're lying," she eventually said, though she had frozen like a statue.
He could have backed down. If ever there was an opportunity to dismiss it and laugh it off, no permanent damage done, that was his moment, but something deep within Sam urged him on. "Ask him," he challenged, never breaking his intense gaze away from her.
The flicker of uncertainty in her eyes steeled over with a fierce integrity. "I will," Janey declared.
Both of them seemed like they wanted to say something more, but neither was certain of what, exactly, to say, so instead they continued to stare at each other, hearts and minds racing.
"I will," Janey repeated, quieter but with more determination. And then she looked away, preparing to make her way to the door.
"Just don't come crying to me," Sam heard himself call out after her, his tongue containing a venom he couldn't be sure why he had injected into the threatening words. "When you learn the truth."
Janey ignored him as she walked briskly out of the door.
Sam remained where he was, heart still racing with the adrenaline of what he'd just done. Maybe he should have felt some kind of guilt or regret, but it was hard to conjure any such semblance of those feelings when he was still experiencing the exhilarating rush of fury coursing through his veins. If Henry and Janey's relationship was as genuine and vibrant as Janey had been insisting then surely it could withstand what damage Sam had just potentially inflicted. There would be no blood on his hands—that's what he would assure himself of.
Little did he know of the treacherous series of events he had just set in motion.
Janey felt her body moving through the castle corridors of its own accord. Her feet were surely moving, but it felt like she was levitating, so determined as she was to make her way to Henry as quickly as possible—to get to the truth.
Sam had to be lying—he just had to be. And yet…
Something unshakeable persisted at the back of Janey's mind, her heart, her stomach. Her whole body seemed to have been dipped into a sense of dread that now covered every inch of her body. Sam could be cruel, yes, but he was also incredibly honest. Was it really in his nature to outright fabricate something just to hurt her?
She had known—of course she had—that she had been bitterly trying to suffocate Sam and Isabella with her presence. It had been retaliation for his involvement in her 'breakup' with Roman, nothing more. A taste of his own medicine. But the implication of what he had done to overcome the issue…
He and Isabella urging Henry to occupy Janey's time so that they could be free of her presence? Well, sure, Janey supposed she could see that Sam might try and interfere in such a way, but would sweet, honest Henry have really obliged? Were he and his sister so close that he would uphold such a sacrifice for her and her dumb boyfriend?
Janey feared the answer. She had feared the calm but powerful smugness Sam had held in his gaze as he'd delivered the news.
She had to ask herself one glaringly obvious question—the same one Sam himself had posed. Why, after five years of knowing each other, the last one of which they had been pushed into each other's company with even more frequency, had Henry all of a sudden taken an interest in Janey that had never seemingly been present before?
He had been the one to approach her, after all. He had been the one to first show an interest in that way. And while Janey might have encouraged a flirtatious transition and been the one to initiate physical intimacy, hadn't it been Henry who had first suggested they make it official? Would he have really let it go so far? To date a girl you weren't interested in under false pretences just as a favour to your sister?
Henry was kind, Janey tried to reason amongst her desperate thoughts. He wasn't manipulative. He surely wouldn't try and deceive Janey in such a way. What would he honestly gain from such a degrading experience?
Well, Janey thought darkly, she could think of one thing. One thing she had given freely—one thing few guys would say no to if offered, irregardless of genuine feelings for the one offering it.
But no. Henry wasn't like that. Henry was sweet, and honest, and innocent.
Wasn't he?
Before Janey could really think about how she might approach such a delicate interrogation, she was upon him. He had been exactly where he'd said he'd be, exactly when he'd said he'd be, reliable and loyal. His eyes lit up as they fell on her face, an uncontainable grin spreading out.
"Tell me it's not true," Janey ordered, but it sounded more as though she was pleading.
A horrendous crack in her voice had made it sound like she was choking. But then again, maybe she was. Maybe there was no air left in her lungs. It certainly didn't feel like there was. Janey couldn't have been sure she'd taken a single breath since Sam had said those hauntingly devastating words less than five minutes ago.
"I—what?" Henry asked, his smile instantly dropping. He looked startled and concerned.
Janey knew she shouldn't have gone in all guns blazing, but what would be the point of skirting around the issue or otherwise trying to ease into it? She was holding a lot of bitterness in her body—firstly instilled by James being uncharacteristically short with her at Quidditch practice, and then from her conversation with Sam—and it was proving impossible to not let it override her entirely.
"Tell me it's not true," Janey repeated, her voice shaky. "That the only reason you first spoke to me—that you're even dating me—is because…" She took a deep breath to steady herself. She would not cry. "Is because Sam and Isabella told you to."
Any remaining glimmer of kindness or delight at her presence shining in Henry's eyes was immediately extinguished. And she knew. Without him even needing to say a word, she knew.
"Janey—"
"Don't!"
Henry's voice had been apologetic, conciliatory, and Janey could see the distress behind his calm facade. Like he had been caught out doing something he knew was incriminating but felt genuine sorrow and shame for. Well, it seemed that was exactly what had happened. But she couldn't bear to hear it.
"How could you lie to me?"
God, Janey hated how hurt she sounded. How pathetic and weak her voice came out, lower lip trembling. Why should she even care so much? Henry and her hadn't been anything serious—they had only been together for a couple of days!
But there it was. The hard, cold reality. Another failed relationship—this one even shorter and more embarrassing than the last. Another stupid boy she had allowed her tortured heart to become emotionally attached to. And for what? To be humiliated once more?
She should have known better. After Deneb, after Roman… She should have known better.
"I never lied to you," Henry pleaded with her. "Janey—you have to believe me."
"No," she said with fury. "You led me on! You manipulated me—you made me think this was real."
"It was real," Henry insisted, desperation gleaming in his stormy blue eyes. "It is real!" he corrected. "Janey, please. While it is true that Izzy suggested I, err, start hanging out with you, I said no!"
Janey narrowed her eyes, not understanding.
"I wasn't going to do something I didn't want to do—I thought it would be unfair on both of us."
"I'm sorry the thought of spending time with me was so unappealing," Janey was unable to help herself from saying, disgusted by how bitter and sulky she sounded. Like a petulant child.
Henry's eyes widened. "That's not what I meant!" he protested. "I just meant, I didn't owe anything to Isabella, and I didn't think you'd particularly care to spend any time with me. It's not like we'd ever really spoken before." He let out an uneasy laugh.
"So what changed?" Janey demanded, still not understanding. What had Isabella—or Sam—said to convince Henry to change his mind. "Why did you come up to me in the library?"
"Because I was genuinely surprised to see you," Henry said, looking dumbstruck by her inability to understand his intentions. "And the more time we did spend together, the more I…" He trailed off, turning a faint shade of pink. "Grew to care for you," he finished quietly, sincerely.
Perhaps something softened ever so slightly within Janey's heart upon seeing how intently he seemed to be trying to assure her of his honesty and integrity, but it hardened over again just as quickly. "It doesn't matter."
Henry was starting to look distressed. It must have been overwhelming—for his girlfriend to have come out of nowhere, riled up and full of accusation, without any warning. But Janey almost scoffed out loud at the thought. Girlfriend. Somehow it didn't sound right anymore. Two days they had lasted—a new low for her.
"Whatever Izzy might have said to me, it honestly had no influence on the decisions I did make," Henry continued, trying to act calm despite his obvious anxiety over the situation.
But it did nothing to curtail her own distress. When Janey spoke, her voice was just as quiet and full of hurt as it had been before. "You should have told me."
"I—maybe," Henry conceded. "But I didn't think it would change anything. It doesn't change anything," he insisted more firmly.
"How can you say that?" Janey demanded. "Everything we had together was founded on a lie."
"I never lied to you, Janey," Henry pleaded again.
But Janey didn't care about the technicalities. He as good as had done. "You purposefully concealed your intentions behind why you first showed any interest in me. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say anything would have progressed between the two of us if Isabella hadn't already planted those seeds?"
Henry seemed to pause to genuinely consider it. "I don't know," he admitted in a small voice. "But I'm glad that it did, alright? And it doesn't matter to me—why I first wanted to speak to you—all that matters is that I did, and what we have now—"
"It matters to me," Janey cut him off, her tone cold and unforgiving. She didn't think she had ever seen him look so sad, but it didn't matter. The anger she felt—whether it was towards him, or Sam, or Isabella—clouded everything else she felt, perhaps against her better judgement.
"Okay," Henry said, taking a steadying breath. "I am sorry, Janey. I should have told you." And he seemed to genuinely mean it.
Janey wondered if any other guys his age would have been so mature and respectful. She wondered if any of her previous entanglements would have responded so respectfully had she confronted them in a similar way. Henry seemed kind beyond his years. Far too good for Janey.
Which is why it made what she was about to do even harder. Or perhaps, in hindsight, easier.
"Well, it doesn't matter now anyway," she declared quietly.
A confused and panicked look flitted into Henry's eyes. Perhaps he had thought Janey was softening in her hostility. But that just proved to her how little he truly knew her. It was probably for the best.
"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice so quiet and hoarse that it was almost a whisper.
"I'm saying you wasted my time, Henry—and I'm not going to let you waste any more."
The Ravenclaw boy looked desperately alarmed, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "Janey," he said, his voice cracking as hers had done previously, but he didn't seem to know what he was asking for.
It didn't matter anyway. Janey wouldn't relent. She didn't give second chances. She'd had to learn that the hard way. And it was better like this—for her to be the one breaking hearts. For her to be the one saying goodbye and calling the shots. She wasn't going to let herself get hurt by another dumb schoolboy. At least she hadn't let it go too far that time.
"I'm done here," Janey said with cold finality.
Henry looked tempted to protest—and maybe Janey would have liked him to beg a little more—but he seemed to have accepted the fate of their future together, no matter how much pain it apparently caused him.
"How did you even find out?" he eventually asked, still looking thoroughly downcast. "Did Isabella tell you?"
"No," Janey replied calmly. "It was Sam."
Something like surprise seemed to flicker in Henry's eyes amongst the sorrow, only to be quickly replaced by a look of apparent realisation. He gulped before he spoke. "That… makes a lot of sense."
Janey cocked her head without thinking. "What do you mean?"
Henry had gone faintly pink, as though he had said something he hadn't meant to admit, but Janey's heart was hammering in her chest.
"Nothing," Henry said quickly. But when Janey glared at him, he thought better of being avoidant. "Just that… I think there's a lot of things you don't quite realise yet," he said delicately, though he didn't elaborate any further.
If possible, Janey's heart began thumping even harder. What on earth was Henry talking about? She didn't realise a lot of things about what? He was being irritatingly cryptic—in the way only Ravenclaws could be—but she didn't care for his mind games.
Henry frowned again. "Things my sister could learn to realise too," he mused almost critically.
Talks of Isabella only succeeded in angering Janey once more. She had no idea what he was talking about and didn't care to decipher it. "Well, I'm sure she'll just be grateful that I've removed myself from her brother's life. She and stupid Sam won't have to deal with me anymore—or pay guys off to get me off their backs."
Henry looked up at her then, eyes swimming with the sorrow she thought might have been disappearing. "Janey," he tried one last time, struggling to keep his voice from cracking again. "I don't want this to change anything between us."
"Well, it has," Janey said without skipping a beat. The sad, lost look in his eyes begged her to reconsider, but she refused to let herself get swept up in the emotion of it all. She knew what she had to do—it was no use going back. "There isn't an us anymore."
Henry emitted a soft gasp as though Janey had physically struck him. She just stood her ground.
Rather than protest, Henry seemed to swallow a lump in his throat and nodded his head in sad, complacent understanding. "Okay," he said quietly, message received loud and clear. "I'm sorry for everything."
Janey's heart gave a sudden twinge. Why did he have to make it so hard? Why did Henry have to be so sweet, and kind, and respectful? Why couldn't he get angry, and snarl at her, and call her a whore—that's what she was used to when she called things off with her former short-term boyfriends.
Was she being too rash—she suddenly considered with trepidation. Janey had always acted impulsively when it came to Henry. She had kissed him spontaneously, had declared them to be official only a week later when she had known she should take more time to consider it, and now it was already over? But their whirlwind love affair had not been entirely prompted by their own magnetic passion, she acknowledged. There had been several motivating factors encouraging the speed of their relationship—and they came in the shape of Sam and Isabella. Janey couldn't deny that her reckless desires had been primarily spurred on by both competitive anger and bitter envy of her co-Prefects. After everything with Roman, Janey wasn't content to sit by and let Sam have his happy ending. One he had ripped from her, not just once now, but twice. She had wanted to win—to be happy too.
And Henry, too. Had his impulsive desire for commitment been subtly motivated by his sister's meddling? He claimed it wasn't true, but Janey couldn't be sure. And regardless of what he said, and his seemingly genuine and honest nature, so long as that doubt persisted, she knew she would never be happy. She knew she would never wholly trust him. Whatever brief but beautiful thing they might have shared, it was now riddled with distrust, forever marred by something she could never comfortably overlook.
"I'm sorry too," Janey said in a quiet voice. She wished it had not ended quite so dramatically. She would have liked to have been held by him one last time, or shared one more kiss. But she would leave him with nothing but the memory of their brief time together.
Henry looked uncomfortable for some reason, like he was longing to say something but wasn't sure how it would be received.
"What?" Janey prompted, wondering what more he could possibly have to say.
Henry shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, perhaps weighing up whether he dare speak what was on his mind. "Just… please don't do anything to hurt Izzy and Sam."
Janey immediately narrowed her eyes. Why the hell did she owe anything to them? She hadn't even been thinking of them, and she didn't like the implication.
"I think, in time, a lot of truths will come to the surface, but right now, they seem genuinely happy together."
Janey was once again wondering what these so-called 'truths' Henry spoke of could possibly be. He seemed so assuredly arrogant in his wisdom but couldn't admit to her, in simple terms, what the hell it was he was referring to? Perhaps it was a Ravenclaw trait—that condescending conceit. He didn't know anything.
But Janey did not like being told what to do, and she was sick of guys, especially, trying to control her own actions. She hadn't wanted to interfere with Sam and Isabella—though God knows they deserved it after what they had done to her—but being told not to do something only stirred up a viper within her that very much did want to strike.
"They'll get what they deserve," she snarled. "They shouldn't have messed with me."
Henry looked distressed.
Good, Janey thought. Maybe he was realising that he had not only wrecked his own relationship but that of his sister's too.
"Janey," Henry said, both a plea and a warning.
The fact that he thought so little of her reassured Janey ever so slightly. It was a loss she could live with. She wouldn't do anything—she had never intended to—but she enjoyed seeing him squirm. If he really thought so little of her then so be it. She would happily encourage it. You didn't mess with Janey Davington. You didn't try to control her. You didn't play with her heart.
"Goodbye, Henry."
Henry looked like he might protest, but he seemed to think better of it, merely swallowing the lump in his throat. Perhaps he was grateful, Janey considered. He had realised what a convoluted mess he had entangled himself in. Like Roman, perhaps he had come to realise the drama Janey brought with her and was secretly grateful to be freeing himself from it all.
"Goodbye, Janey," he said in a sombre voice.
She took one last moment to drink him in, studying the beautiful vision of the sad boy she had once thought she could care for. But there were a million more like him. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, Quidditch-playing Ravenclaws. And if not, plenty new combinations she had yet to explore. He would barely register on her expansive dating history in another ten years. Just a momentary blip she would be glad to see the back of.
Janey forced herself to walk away, nothing more needing to be said. She would still see him around—classes, Quidditch, Prefect meetings—and she would likely continue to be civil to him. But right then, she was hurting. She hadn't expected much from Henry, in order to protect her heart, but it didn't make it any easier.
A prickle of tears threatened, but unlike with Roman, Janey managed to keep them at bay. She couldn't even be sure whether they were even motivated by sadness regarding him or anger regarding Sam. His smug, stupid, idiotic self had now ruined two relationships that had great potential—and for what? Why wasn't in enough from him to be happy with boring Isabella? Why did he have to constantly taunt and terrorise Janey in the process?
The more she thought about it, the angrier she grew. He had done something unforgivable. He had taken away the possibility of something beautiful. Something genuine and real, the likes of which he claimed he himself had with Isabella.
Her body had naturally been gravitating towards the Gryffindor Tower. Maybe she would shut herself off and hide away in her bed, or maybe she'd pour her heart out to her friends. Maybe she would hold her head high and act like nothing had happened, only silently grieving when she finally had respite.
But the more steps Janey took, the more she thought of Sam, and the more fire bubbled up within her. He deserved to know what it felt like—this wretched heartbreak that clawed at her chest. He should know what it felt like to have something you cared for suddenly wrenched from you without warning. He had taken everything from her—twice now—for some kind of sick, sadistic reasoning she didn't entirely understand. If he wanted to constantly interfere with Janey's personal life then he should afford her the same privilege. You don't play with Janey Davington's heart.
Despite the disastrous repercussions she knew she would have to face, Janey felt more and more motivated to do something reckless. Screw it. What did she really have to lose? Despite Henry's warnings, she owed him nothing anymore. And she certainly didn't owe anything to Sam and Isabella.
So with the storm continuing to rage outside, rain hammering against the castles's window panes as she continued pacing through the corridors, in sync with the most deafening crash of thunder yet, Janey abruptly turned on her heel and began striding not towards the Gryffindor Tower as she had been, but the Ravenclaw one.
And just like that, the wheels of fate were suddenly spinning in another direction. As she prepared to meet her destiny, Janey had never felt calmer.
It was time she had a little chat with Isabella Fontayne.
Author's Note: Title and epigraph inspired by Avril Lavigne's 'My Happy Ending'