All in The Eyes of a Boy

Standing Still

James Alexander slowly awoke with his eyes still closed, trying to focus on the noise that had stirred him from his sleep.

He could tell by the cold rush that touched him as he sat up that it wasn't very late yet, which meant that it was rather early.

Opening one eye, and rubbing the other with the palm of his hand, he could hear a dull voice crackling; there was some interference.

He didn't need to pull back the curtains to know the sound, nor did he need to do that to know who was causing it.

Still, he did anyway, if for no other reason than to make a point.

Across from James' bed sat a Chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, half-dressed in his uniform, sitting on a chair and leaning towards a small box on his own unmade bed.

It was a radio.

He was listening to the WWN, no doubt trying to catch up with last night's midweek fixture results.

'... Arrows, 320. Falmouth Falcons, 380.'

'How many bones did they have to break to get that?'

'Shh.'

'... Caerphilly Catapults, 190-'

There was an audible groan from the person who had questioned Falmouth's tactics.

'Keep your shirt on Neil, it might not be that bad -'

'- Wimbourne Wasps, 180.'

Neil groaned even more loudly at that number, muttering something that sounded like "ten points" to James, followed by a not very nice word indeed.

'You know the Wasps are hopeless away from home,' Oliver Wood spoke up again, though his head was still bent towards the radio, 'and at Caerphilly ... I'm surprised it was that close.'

'Oh, shut up,' Neil's disenchanted voice called back from the other side of the room. 'I'm going back to bed.'

Oliver looked up for a moment and caught James' eye, giving him a small, but amused, smile.

James grinned back and swung his legs over the bed, standing up in a swift movement so he wouldn't be compelled to crawl back in between his nice, warm sheets straight away.

With a better view of the room, James saw that Oliver wasn't the only Gryffindor who was already up.

Not that it surprised him much that the other person already out of bed and dressed was Percy Weasley.

The red haired wizard raised his head slightly when he noticed James standing, giving his fellow fourth year a nod of "good morning" before returning to his book.

James' grin remained in place as he watched Percy read, his fingers resting impatiently at the top of the page, as though telling his eyes to hurry up and finish.

It was far too early for a wizard to be up and about the corridors of Hogwarts unless they had something important to do; yet every morning, like clockwork, Percy Weasley was awake, whether he had something important to do or not.

Glancing back at Oliver for a moment, James traced an imaginary line between his two friends with his eyes, wondering if it got any more obvious that the two were purposefully not looking at each other.

There is nothing wrong with looking, James shook his head in amusement and retrieved his dressing gown from the chair next to his bed.

There was nothing wrong with him looking anyway, and he observed the two Gryffindors in silence for another three minutes before either of them spoke.

'Excellent,' Oliver declared, snapping James from his thoughts.

'What is?' he asked sleepily, running a hand through his splayed black hair and attempting to ruffle out the flatness of it.

'Puddlemere over Montrose by a hundred points,' Oliver replied with a big grin and proceeded to tell James all about the current league standings, something Oliver was quite certain would not fluctuate much in the near future.

'You know how it gets around this time of the season,' Oliver was saying while James nodded, stifling a yawn.

He had to hold himself from rolling his eyes - Oliver said that all of the time.

'Anyway,' Oliver continued, still smiling and talking about a Cup fixture that would pit Division One champions Puddlemere against Division Two mid-tablers Ridley Academical, 'can't say that they don't know what they're in for, can they?'

'No, not at all,' James smiled in return and sat back down on his bed. 'What about Scunny?'

Oliver looked apologetic; James was not surprised.

'Ah, sorry,' he said, as though it were his fault, 'took a beating at home from Forest Gate.'

James poked out his tongue and then added dryly, 'yay Scunny.'

Scunthorpe United was James Alexander's home team, the good old Golden Boys (called so for the colour of their robes and not for the amount of silverware their trophy cabinet possessed; or lack thereof, as was the case), Division Three's perennial punching bag. It was a wonder (and probably a few well-timed hexes as well) that they managed to stop themselves slipping down further into the dregs of Quidditch obscurity.

As per, it was a constant battle to maintain their Division Three status, and James only had four words to say if they went down this season: Mrs. Skower's. Nationwide. Conference.

Conference Quidditch, James shuddered at the thought. It was only slightly more disgusting in terms of grounds condition to play in the conference league, but it was about fifty times more humiliating.

Not that Scunny has any pride left anyway, James thought grimly.

'Cheer up, Sunshine,' Oliver broke his concentration with a cheerful smile, 'if they go down you can always support United.'

'No,' James said at the exact same time Percy and a half-asleep Neil Marcus did.

Oliver grinned as he set about fastening the straps on the protective gear for his uniform.

'There's only one United,' Neil sang softly from behind his curtains, causing the other Gryffindors to laugh.

There really was only one United, and that, as far as James was concerned, was Scunny. They were one of the oldest teams in the country, and yet they were so terrible there had been no less than twenty-seven separate attempts to get them out of the competition by means of finances and curses.

As for the perfect, multiple title winning Puddlemere United that Oliver Wood supported, they had a long-standing disagreement with pathetic little Scunthorpe United over which of them really was the first Quidditch team.

Diehards, paranoid fanatics, and season ticket holders (both of them) insisted that Scunthorpe came first, however this group of about ten people (and that didn't even include all the SU players) had the might of the Division One darlings to contend with. Record after record in the QA's (Quidditch Association's) archives listed Puddlemere as first, while a similar amount dismissed Scunthorpe as a group of decrepit frauds, it had earned Scunny their most loathed nickname - the Necromancers.

They refused to die.

Good, James nodded in satisfaction to no one in particular, I'm glad we're annoying.

'Coming?'

'Wha ..?' James shook himself out of another Scunny flashback.

'Down to the Quidditch Pitch?' Oliver tried again.

'Is it even tomorrow yet?' James asked in mock incredulity.

'Yes,' Oliver nodded with an amused grin, 'so come on, let's go.'

'I'm not even dressed,' James objected, motioning down to his dressing gown and pyjamas.

'I can see that,' Oliver rolled his eyes, 'so get dressed.'

'Yes sir,' James poked his tongue out again before shooting Percy a mock tortured glance.

James wouldn't have known it, because he turned his back on Percy to scrabble around in a chest of drawers, but the redheaded Weasley did not share his joking sentiments. And when Oliver chuckled lightly at James' exaggerated discomfort at having to go outside, Percy was almost noticeably upset.

*

'I'm seriously going to die if I don't eat soon!' James insisted, standing in the doorway of the fourth year boys' dormitory and beckoning Oliver to get a move on.

They had only just returned from the Quidditch Pitch fifteen minutes earlier, and while five minutes were taken up with Oliver showering, an annoyingly long ten minutes had been devoted to him dressing himself.

'Come off the grass,' Oliver scoffed from his bed, 'I'll only be another second.'

'Come off the grass?!' James repeated in disbelief, and then said it again with a little more disbelief. 'Come off the grass? What on Earth does that mean??'

'It means I'm almost ready,' Oliver said with a short laugh, only slightly amazed that his friend could get so overworked about food.

'What are you even doing?' James asked, moving from the entrance so he could see Oliver. 'It shouldn't take this long for a person to get dressed!'

'I'm taking the same amount of time I usually do,' Oliver replied, slipping his black school shoes on and tying the laces for the left.

'You've not even got your tie on!' James cried, as though not having it on was some kind of punishable offence.

'I do that last,' the other boy said shortly, about to stand up when James rushed towards him and pushed him back down.

'Honestly,' James shook his head, and threw Oliver's tie around his neck, 'I'm about to pass out from not having eaten in ten years and you're worried about the order in which you put your clothes on!'

Oliver's eyes twinkled in amusement as he tried to school his face into an innocent expression while the other boy's nimble hands worked at his school tie.

Though James certainly looked flustered (possibly from his apparent decade long starvation), he was very quick with his work, doing up the top button of Oliver's shirt before pulling the knot snugly over it.

'There,' James nodded with satisfaction, straightening Oliver's collar before allowing the boy to stand.

'Is that all now, Mother?' Oliver teased, earning himself a reproachful glance from James.

Oliver continued to make small chuckling noises as James practically dragged him down out of the common room and beyond the portrait of the Fat Lady.

'Stop,' Oliver said after they had made it down their first flight of stairs.

James kept going and only turned around when he noticed the presence of his friend had not followed him, 'what is it?'

'I forgot my books,' he told the unsympathetic James Alexander. 'I'll only be a second, just wait here and I'll-'

James cast Oliver an exasperated look before retrieving a handful of books from inside his bag and waved them.

'You think of everything, don't you?' Oliver grinned, rushing down the stairs.

'I take breakfast very seriously,' James replied with not a little annoyance.

Oliver laughed again, 'I know.'

James Alexander was not always in such an irritable mood; it was only when he was hungry that he started to get "slightly" tetchy. And then, when he was starving (as he claimed), he would start to climb into one of the most irascible moods that any of the Gryffindors had ever come across.

I expend a lot of energy, James had explained on one occasion when he was about to fly into a rage of sorts, if I don't eat soon you can't expect me to be very pleasant.

Indeed, Oliver had caught James on more than a few "not very pleasant" occasions and it always amazed him that such a small wizard could use up so much energy in such a short amount of time. He seemed to expend more energy watching Oliver practice than Oliver did in an entire Quidditch match.

James wasn't terribly small, despite Oliver's appraisal. It was just that compared to Oliver he wasn't very big at all.

He had a small frame, that was true, but he was just as tall as Oliver was; the difference was really their figures.

Oliver filled out his height quite amply; no one could glance at the boy and find any fault in his appearance. James, however, had a very slight build. He wasn't exactly a stick figure, but he was the smallest Gryffindor of his year; some of the witches were even bigger than him.

It was this somewhat sad constitution of his (James thought it terribly unfortunate that he had turned out to be quite thin) that led to James Alexander becoming a much larger personality. He was one of the more clever wizards of his year, his quick wit getting the better of any short remark. But even though he'd had a rather nervous Hufflepuff witch tell him last year that he was quite a bit of all right, he knew that his looks would not be the ticket to any success in his social life at Hogwarts.

Boring black hair and dull blue eyes wouldn't take him places that fast lips could.

If he hadn't been so distracted by his hunger he might have laughed at that last thought; he wasn't quite sure if his lips were fast in that way yet.

Still, even if he hadn't been hungry it probably would not have borne much thought considering the question Oliver was about to ask him.

'Do you think Percy hates me?' Oliver asked plainly, as though he were asking what their timetable looked like for the first two classes.

'What?' James peered at him in half-annoyance; he really was very hungry.

'He's just been acting a bit ... different, lately,' Oliver explained.

'Oh different, whatever that is,' James brushed it off airily, though he really was a lot more surprised than he let on, 'different is just the same as everything else except people call it by another name.'

'Doesn't that mean it's different, then?' Oliver said doubtfully, giving James a funny "you sound like you're starving" look.

'Not at all,' James shook his head. 'Expand your perception for just one moment. Think about Percy and what he does; he's terribly idiosyncratic. You should watch him - you'd learn a lot. Very, very set in his ways. So it's possible he's always had this "different" way of acting, but you never noticed it because you're too absorbed in your own little culture -' Oliver cast James a wry grin at that remark '- he's not different, Oliver, you just haven't been paying attention.'

'And you have?' Oliver chuckled, though he still had a look of worry in his eyes; he really didn't know that James had a very good idea of how much Oliver did watch Percy.

'I don't need to,' James said confidently, 'I already knew it ages ago.'

Oliver guffawed but James didn't pay any attention, he simply strode past him and into the Great Hall.

There was always an element of nervousness when one stepped inside the large doors of the Great Hall, for the next few seconds until you found a place to sit down nearly a quarter of the eyes of the room were following you. It wasn't usually because you were terribly important; it was merely force of habit. One person standing in the doorway of the Great Hall was certainly more noticeable than several hundred other students sitting down.

Oliver paid no heed to it as he walked towards the Gryffindor table, he was used to people staring at him.

James Alexander was not.

Sometimes he would have ever so brief panic attacks about the situation; that mental second in his brain where he thought his feet would stop working and he'd stand perfectly still, looking completely stunned.

He did have a contingency plan though: if that ever happened he would simply stand on the balls of his toes and pretend to be looking for someone.

However, today was not the day to put it into action and he breathed a small and inaudible sigh of relief as he found his place with the other Gryffindor fourth years at their table.

'Your brother's been looking for you,' Jasper Wainwright spoke up as soon as Oliver and James sat down, 'I sent him off to the Quidditch Pitch but I expect he's already had a conniption about your not being there and is on his way to the common room.'

'I can't believe we missed him,' Oliver said with a shrug, not very concerned that big brother was after him, 'did he say what he want-hey!'

That "hey!" was directed at James who had knocked over a glass of pumpkin juice in his mad reach across the table for a bowl of porridge.

'Hungry?' Jasper asked in barely concealed amusement, though he may as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the attention James was paying him.

'Honey,' James said in response.

'Oh, why James, I had no idea!' Jasper said in mock surprise with a falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes sweetly.

James glared while Oliver and Jasper laughed, a less amused Percy Weasley dutifully handing James the honey he desired.

'Isn't that your little friend over there?' Neil Marcus piped up after the boys had quietened down somewhat.

'Who?' Percy and Jasper asked at once, craning their heads around to see whom Neil was pointing to.

James didn't look up, he was too concentrated on the matter at hand, but Oliver did.

'Oh,' Oliver said, a peculiar little grin on his lips as he shared a sidelong glance with Neil, 'it's her.'

James wasn't sure why, but the fact that it was a witch who was supposed to be someone's little friend piqued his interest much more than if it were a wizard.

Strange that, he remarked inwardly, though he still didn't look up.

'Does she have a name?' he did ask though, in between bites of a piece of toast.

'You want some toast with that jam?' Neil laughed, eying the rather copious amount of jam that was layered onto the piece in James' hand.

James didn't bother glaring or rolling his eyes at that little quip; it was just Neil being stupid. And of course, insulting one's friends where they couldn't hear it - in one's mind - made James feel like grinning a little, and he did as he took another bite.

'Well he's starting to look a little more human at least,' Oliver chuckled, referring to James and taking a sip of the pumpkin juice his friend hadn't spilt.

'I can't remember what her name is,' Jasper said when he turned his head back to the table. 'Let's just call her "that girl" and not worry, yes?'

Jasper's amused smile was immediately wiped and replaced by a grimace when he realised who was glaring at him from the other side of the table.

'That's so demeaning,' the Gryffindor witch said and crossed her arms, as though crossing her arms would make the injustice more plain to everyone else.

Vevelia Bassenthwaite was a fourth year just like James and the others. She was a Muggle-born with chin-length brown hair and a rather remarkable mouth.

The thing being remarkable about it was that it never shut up.

Neil, who was a half-blood, called her a PC fem-nazi, and though none of them were really quite sure what that meant, they suspected that it had something to do with all the sermons Vevelia had delivered about equitable treatment between witches and wizards.

'Look!' Neil cried dramatically, standing up for a moment and pointing nowhere in particular. 'Isn't that a witch over there being repressed by a scummy misogynist wizard who only wants to sleep with her, or worse, marry her, and chain her to the kitchen for the rest of her life, keeping her from making a full and equal contribution to the society in which we live?? Why don't you go and help her?'

The Gryffindors who heard him tittered with amusement, while Vevelia flashed Neil a discontented look.

'Neil,' she said through barred teeth, 'it's wizards like you who-'

'-who perpetuate the injustice and the stereotypes, carrying it on to another generation, denigrating the struggle of my maternal forebears and dishonouring my own mother's name,' Neil finished her sentence in a sing-song voice, annoying her no end with his maddening little grin of triumph.

As Vevelia launched into a lecture, mentioning something called "suffrage" (James could only barely remember the term being used by Oliver when he talked about Muggle Studies), James finally had enough sugar back in his system to make a real contribution to the conversation.

'It's only Penny,' he said in an offhand manner, though he knew his fellow Gryffindors were far too eagle-eyed to not pick up on an obvious deflection.

Well you didn't have to answer, James reprehended himself, although something else told him that he did have to remark on it. It was always rather nice to be associated with mystery witches.

Except James knew that Penny Clearwater wasn't really much of a mystery, not to him anyway. She was just a ... nice witch.

'Only Penny?' both Vevelia and Neil echoed, Vevelia because she thought it sounded far too dismissive, and Neil because he liked to make a big deal out of that sort of thing to embarrass his friends.

'Is that her full name?' Jasper and Percy said together, earning themselves a laugh from Oliver.

'How anal of you both,' Neil remarked.

'Penelope,' James rolled his eyes, 'Penelope Clearwater, she's a-'

'Ravenclaw,' Jasper and Percy spoke together again.

'We can see that,' Jasper added, sharing a little smile with Percy.

'James has a girlfriend,' Neil drawled, rather enjoying putting James on the spot like that.

'I tutor her, actually,' James copied Neil's tone and poked out his tongue.

'Since when are you smart enough to tutor someone?' Jasper asked with a wicked grin.

'I was first in Astronomy last year, thanks very much!' James replied, though he wasn't annoyed.

'Second!' Oliver cried happily.

'Third,' Percy added, grinning across the table at Oliver.

'Oh you Astronomy geniuses,' Neil pulled a face. 'Care to play your Charms cards?'

'First,' Percy spoke up immediately, he seemed a lot happier now than before, but then, he had rather remarkable marks for his classes and could play the Top Three game in every subject he had.

'Second,' Neil laughed.

'Third!' Jasper chirped, happy to have a chance to play at last.

'Charms is for Diagon hacks,' James said, exchanging an amused glance with Oliver, 'only street performers and Slytherins are any good at them!'

The entire group dissolved into a fit of laughter and didn't recover until Neil pointed again.

'Look,' he said, removing his thin wire-framed glasses for a moment, 'she's talking to Fairbanks.'

Jasper and Percy craned their necks around again.

'No,' Jasper corrected him, 'she's talking to Dearlove.'

'Indeed,' Percy agreed with a nod, 'and it looks Ayla Ayson noticed it too.'

James frowned at the mention of that name. It wasn't one he disliked, but he was very wary of it.

Ayla Ayson was a Slytherin seventh year, she was stunning like stars on summer evenings were, and breathtaking in the way that having the wind knocked out of you by a Bludger was.

That was to say: she looked pretty, but she was not very nice.

'I still don't get how Dearlove got her,' Neil shook his head, blinking a few more times than was normal as he wiped his glasses with his sleeve.

'He doesn't have her,' James said, somewhat defensively; he hated that his friend was mixed up with her.

'Oh come off it, James,' Jasper scoffed, shaking his head in a "tsk tsk" fashion, 'we all know what they get up to.'

'Oh?' James asked incredulously, 'and what might that be?'

'You know,' Jasper shrugged, he really didn't want to show his ignorance by being unable to say; inference should have been enough.

'No I don't,' James disagreed. 'Enlighten me.'

'James,' Percy finally said, speaking with that light tone which he often used to diffuse situations.

'What?' James shot back, still annoyed about the conclusions being drawn.

Percy didn't say another word and simply cast a settled glance at his friend, a slight, but not entirely evident, smile on his lips. He looked somewhat like a concerned parent might when their child was upset, a sort of calming influence.

The other boys didn't say a word either, Neil was still watching the Hufflepuff table; he was so caught up in keeping track of the scene straight ahead of him that he entirely forget he was cleaning his glasses and continued to absently do so.

'Aha!' he exclaimed suddenly, making Oliver flinch beside him.

'What the-' Oliver began, but was interrupted by Neil.

'Look!' he pointed, casting James a telling glance. 'What did I tell you?'

Automatically Jasper and Percy turned for a third time to face the Hufflepuff table. Penelope Clearwater, who had been standing nearby the seated Antony Fairbanks and Clare Dearlove, was very slowly edging away from the two wizards. James grimaced when he saw that the reason Penny was leaving was due to the very delicate hand Ayla Ayson had placed on Clare's shoulder.

And while Clare didn't seem to object to it, James certainly did.

He wasn't sure why, but he really did hate that Ayla took advantage of his friend.

At least that's how he saw it. Clare Dearlove, on the other hand, seemed to have very little to say on the matter, it was almost as if the odd relationship he had with Ayla was rather incidental.

Standing up, James took another jam-laden piece of toast from his plate.

'Where are you going?' Oliver asked, grabbing the back of James' robe as he tried to leave.

'I have to speak to my charge,' James said grimly, trying to pull himself away.

'James,' both Percy and Oliver said insistently.

'That tone of voice doesn't work on me,' James said between bites, 'now let go, Oliver.'

Oliver looked like he wasn't going to comply, but a slight and barely noticeable nod from Percy unclenched his hand from James' robe immediately.

James nodded to his Gryffindor counterparts and walked away, wondering if Percy realised just how much approval Oliver sought from him.

Still, it wasn't his place to tell people the truths they failed to see. Perhaps he'd regret it later if he never told either of them about the little things he always saw, but he resolved it with himself that time had an annoying way of making everything right after about ten years of suffering.

However he suspected that the years he'd already suffered over Clare Dearlove were never likely to amount to anything.

It was horrible to care so much.

*

Clare Dearlove was probably the furthest wizard away from James Alexander, at least as far as superficial comparisons were concerned.

James had a tendency to always look like he was in a rush, his black hair wasn't exactly messy, but it wasn't the carefully constructed style that Clare Dearlove wore. Perhaps it was a sign of someone who had too much time on his hands, or maybe it was that Clare was a perfectionist (possibly an annoying one), as he always wore an immaculately straight part in his hair, to the left, of course, because that showed his preference for Caspian (a rather obscure but still famous wizard who had proclaimed that "magic" was a sign of the bourgeois and only the common classes "performed" it in public - gentlemen, of course, cast "alternative realities", and they only did that in private. James thought it was very silly and far-fetched).

Clare was slight, like James, but he appeared far more delicate than the Gryffindor did. James supposed it was a matter of complexion and disposition; Clare was very pale and looked as though he had never had to a work a hard day in his life. The fair colour of Clare's skin meant that his blue eyes stood out much more than James' did; it was something the two wizards always noticed about each other, but neither had ever admitted that.

Clare Dearlove was definitely not like any other wizard at Hogwarts.

While James was instantly a very ordinary person, Clare was like his exact opposite. People always noticed Clare, and as he himself always said - it was all in a name.

James did not know why Clare's parents had given him a feminine name. Mr Dearlove had always seemed like a rather burly sort of fellow, not at all like his quiet and deliberate son. And yet, that son - his only son - was named Clare, something that was very curious indeed.

There were endless questions on the subject, of course, not that everyone had the nerve to come up and ask Clare directly. Occasionally people would approach him and ask, but that was not as frequent as the whispers in the corridor when Clare passed, or the notes that people sent him without their friends knowing, trying to find out the reason behind such an unlikely name choice. It was like a Daily Prophet exclusive that every freelance hack wanted to have.

But Clare, however, said nothing.

It didn't appear to be a touchy subject with him, but the fact he seemed to care so little led James to believe that it meant quite a lot.

'You look a little distracted.'

James turned around at the sound of that voice, he had walked out of the Great Hall almost three minutes ago and he hadn't noticed that instead of walking in any particular direction he had just stood still, consuming his toast in silence.

'Oh, hey Penny,' he smiled brightly, discarding the thoughts about his friend that he probably shouldn't have been thinking, 'I was coming after you, actually.'

Penelope smiled in return and shifted a few books from one arm to another, 'I thought you were just going to wear a hole in the carpet trying to decide which way to go.'

Looking sheepish, James simply smiled again, eying the books in her hands.

'Transfiguration first?'

She nodded, 'big test soon, apparently.'

'I'll walk you to your class,' he offered and started walking up the stairs before she had a chance to object.

'How do you even know what room I'm in?' she asked with a slight grin, catching up with him a few steps ahead.

'I know your schedule,' he lied, thinking that even though it wasn't true she'd probably be charmed to hear it.

Her smile did alter somewhat, perhaps with a little jolt of pleasure that a rather nice wizard would claim to know something like that.

'Well,' she said, pushing a loose strand of her dark curled hair back behind her ear, 'you said you were coming after me, should I be worried?'

'Maybe,' he said automatically, a little too automatically.

'Is something wrong?' she asked, realising that he really was quite distracted by something.

'Oh,' James made a little face and picked at some nonexistent lint on the sleeve of his robe, 'I just hope that Ayla Ayson didn't scare you away with some pathetic little dig. It's her style, you know.'

Penelope's face broke into what was either a touched smile because of his concern, or a sympathetic one because she saw right through him and knew why he really didn't like Ayla.

James suspected it was the former, rather than the hardly apparent latter.

'You mean, did she remind me that Clare is her exclusive property?' she asked, half-joking.

James rolled his eyes, 'that's so-'

'Wrong?' Penelope guessed as they turned a corridor. 'I know Clare isn't a bad sort, but he seems to have made a really bad uh, friend, in her.'

'I don't think they're friends,' James shook his head, feeling annoyed enough to forget that his words were perpetuating the unsavoury speculation about Ayla and Clare.

Penelope simply nodded, not quite sure what she could say to that remark; it seemed rather curious and telling all at once.

'James?' she began tentatively.

'Yes?'

If he had been looking at her instead of watching the empty corridor ahead he might have noticed that her face was going a bit red.

'I,' she said nervously, blushing even more as her pause gave James enough cause to regard her with a sidelong glance, 'I wanted to ask you something.'

'Oh?'

It wasn't an entirely comforting sound from him, and as soon as he said it he felt his mind racing away from him again, making wild guesses about what it was she was going to ask. An Astronomy question? No, people weren't usually nervous about something so mundane as that.

'Penelope, you're blushing,' he remarked with a compelling grin.

'Oh, thanks,' she said, somewhat sarcastically, still smiling a little.

He suddenly recalled the year before, when a third year witch from Hufflepuff had made the mortifying admission that she thought he was "really nice". At the time being called something so innocent had been rather mortifying for him too, they had both stood around in the hall looking stunned.

Was this one of those times? It panicked him slightly that nice, friendly, intelligent Penelope Clearwater might feel that way about him.

Oh God, he rolled his eyes to himself, I just referred to her as "nice", didn't I?

Neil Marcus said "nice" was a sign. He said people were always so embarrassed about fancying someone properly that they had stupid words like "nice" to describe them, when really they should have been using a word like ... like ... like what? James had a mind blank, he couldn't remember what word Neil used for people he liked, in fact, James couldn't even remember what word it was he used.

Do I have a word? He wondered silently and tried not to look so worried.

But I don't fancy Penny, James was fairly certain about that.

Penelope Clearwater was probably his favourite witch at Hogwarts, not that that really said much since he liked a lot of the witches at school. Just as friends, of course, he added hastily, as though someone else might be reading his thoughts and judging him.

He had become friends with Penelope at the beginning of the year when she asked him for help with an Astronomy project she was working on, he was rather pleased to hear that Professor Sinistra had highly recommended him.

Penelope was not a bad Astronomy student; James thought she was rather adept, actually, but she lacked the kind of creativity in the field that James always prided himself on. She wasn't alone; most people had a really dull outlook on the study of Astronomy. They always saw it as something so precise and unchanging, so final. But James knew it was much more than that, the obvious changes in the celestial world were not half so fascinating as the things that no one noticed.

Hmm, James allowed himself to be distracted again, I really am an Astronomy swot.

'I wanted to ask you about Oliver Wood.'

James was jolted from his dreamscape again by those words, and his eyes widened in something that might have been shock if it weren't so quickly turning into amusement.

'Don't look at me like that,' Penelope objected, looking down to the floor, as though she were hoping to find a way to sink right through it and away from his stare.

'Ah, er, sorry,' he apologised, his grin belying a much greater relief. 'Oliver?'

Penelope looked back at him and punched him lightly in the arm, forcing the withheld laughter within him to come up to the surface.

'It's not funny,' she said, frowning at his childishness.

'Oh I'm sorry,' he said again, though he was still chuckling a little, 'it's just ... Oliver.'

'He's nice,' Penelope insisted.

Ah, there's that word again, James grinned, thinking that maybe Neil Marcus wasn't completely off the mark with his theory.

'Yes, I know he's nice,' James accepted with a nod, 'but Oliver? He doesn't really seem your type.'

'What's my type, then?' she asked, hugging her textbooks to her chest.

'Oh I don't know, someone smart, like you are,' James answered, earning himself a pleasant smile for the compliment. 'A Ravenclaw?'

'The Ravenclaw wizards are so conceited,' Penelope argued, 'they think they know everything.'

'Well-' James began, but was cut off.

'And even if they do that doesn't mean they should say it,' Penelope continued with her thoughts, 'and even if they're my friends it doesn't mean I like them, besides,' she said with a sniff, 'blue and red go together.'

'Well I can't argue with reasoning like that,' James said with a wry grin.

'Is it stupid?' she said after another pause in the conversation

'Blue and red? Well, I wouldn't wear them, but-'

'No, is it stupid for me to like Oliver?' and he noticed her biting the bottom of her lip like she did when she was trying to figure out if the distance between certain constellations had any Arithmancy applications.

'No,' he said, trying to make his smile seem less amused and more sympathetic, 'of course it isn't - you're right, Oliver's a nice wizard ... except when he plays his radio too loud in the mornings,' he added as an afterthought.

'I just don't have anything in common with him,' Penelope went on, a little bit more relaxed now that James wasn't laughing. 'I hardly know anything about Quidditch, and what I do-'

'Who do you support?' James interrupted her, sure that she would be very surprised as to how important her team affiliation was.

'Montrose.'

'Ooh,' James whistled and shook his head; Oliver certainly was not a fan of the only club that was more successful than his own, even if United did defeat them last night.

'Falmouth?' she tried again, naming the first division club closest to where she lived.

James narrowed his eyes slightly and considered the relationship Falmouth and Puddlemere United fans had; it wasn't very promising considering Falmouth's tactics.

'Um, Gyllingvase?'

'That's it,' James nodded with a smile.

Gyllingvase were second division fodder, occasionally exciting but never surprising - Oliver could respect a person who supported Gyllingvase without getting all bent out of shape.

'Right, so I support Gyllingvase,' Penelope rolled her eyes, 'my uncle Stirling will be thrilled.'

'Oh, take heart, Penny,' James said sincerely, 'Gyllingvase QC will be thrilled too! What's that? Ten supporters for them now?'

'That's nine more than your club,' she retorted playfully, knowing James' affiliation was far more dire than the one she now claimed to have.

'Excellent,' James grinned, 'we'll have you talking like a supporter in no time!'

Penelope chuckled, but her expression grew serious and concerned again after a few moments.

'Do you think he could like me?' she asked, almost sounding desperate, 'I mean really like me?'

James pursed his lips together to keep himself from sighing; he couldn't tell her what he honestly thought since he'd never even told Oliver that he had a fair idea where his affections lay.

'It's worth a shot,' he finally said, 'and who knows? Maybe he really likes Gyllingvase? You've got as much chance as any other second division club fan.'

Penelope seemed placated by this, and for the rest of the short journey to her classroom she chatted about how she had managed to complete last week's Transfiguration essay a whole day before any of her fellow Ravenclaws - quite a feat, really.

But James felt slightly uneasy as he left her at her door and made his way towards his own classroom; had he really just deceived a nice person?

He couldn't help but think that if Penny were a certain redheaded Gyllingvase supporter she'd have much more of a chance with Oliver Wood.