All in The Eyes of a Boy

The Unexpected Question

By the middle of the day James was feeling a lot more settled than he had at breakfast.

He had been thinking about his abrupt departure from the Gryffindor table, the shared look of concern between Percy and Oliver, and the confession of sorts from Penelope, trying to piece together the cause for how he felt now.

Perhaps it had been the mild hysteria he seemed to suffer when he was hungry? He didn't think anyone noticed it that much though, after all, he didn't act that madly when he was starving.

His conscience was protecting him though; he hadn't thought about Clare at all.

There was a logic to not thinking about things that upset you, but then, as was fate's cruel little way, the things that upset people the most were often the things that they cared about far too greatly.

Not that James' conscience would let him think he cared about Clare far too greatly at that point.

However, it couldn't protect him forever. Clare was James' best friend - as much as he liked to deny he had any friend who was more important than the others, it was quite true - and he was rather unavoidable. They had Charms together that afternoon.

Walking along the Charms corridor, dodging a group of rowdy second years who had charmed a scrap of parchment into a flying sea serpent, taking note of the Slytherin prefect up ahead who was going to get them into trouble for it, and nodding to a couple of Gryffindor fifth years he knew, James felt rather detached from the scene.

He felt like he had a lot of ... nothing on his mind.

'Sickle for your thoughts?' a pair of cool hands clamped over his eyes.

'My thoughts are worth much more than that, Jasper,' James said, coming to a halt.

'Yeah, I know,' he said with what must have been the tone of a smile in his voice. He removed his hands and fell instep beside James, looking as though he might have something else to say.

Before he could open his mouth again the Slytherin prefect James had seen earlier pushed past them. 'Get to class,' he snapped with a trail of second years behind him; he was either taking them to their housemasters or some kind of unpleasant doom.

Actually, that's probably the same thing, James thought and rolled his eyes. It was sort of a form of passive protest, or possibly the facial expression that best portrayed how he felt at the moment. Whatever it was, James couldn't decide, and he walked towards one of the corridor's walls and leant against it.

'Are you all right today?' Jasper asked, joining him by the wall but not leaning against it.

'Why do you ask?' James sniffed, regarding the textbooks in his arms and becoming quite interested in the patterns along the spines.

'You just seem a little strange, that's all,' Jasper replied with a shrug, but then reconsidered his answer. 'Well, stranger than usual, anyway.'

'Thank you,' James said dryly, wondering if the difference Oliver noticed about Percy was translating to strangeness in him.

Jasper frowned, as though he really were concerned, which may or may not have been true; it was often hard to tell with Jasper Wainwright. 'It's not about this morning, is it? Because I didn't-'

'No,' James interrupted him firmly. 'There's nothing wrong, Jasper. I just have ... a headache.'

'You should go to the Hospital Wing,' Jasper said promptly, and not unexpectedly; he was rather good with solving simple problems quickly and logically.

'I'm sure it'll pass,' James said, smiling weakly. It amazed him somewhat that an ostensibly clever wizard like Jasper Wainwright was not very empathic.

In James' own idealistic notions of his friends, he saw Jasper as the black and white one, the wizard who saw things as they were and hardly ever let them touch him beyond their face value. He even looked the part too - black robes and sort of off-white blonde hair. Well, James reconsidered, it's sort of off-sandy blonde really, isn't it? His eyes were a rather unexciting shade of hazel, but James could forgive him that because they seemed to rest in his angular face quite well.

Jasper's behaviour had to be some sort of defence mechanism, though, it was like he held people at arms length and very rarely let them get any closer. It was sort of endearing really, James thought with a little smile, in a kind of mysterious way and it made him-

'So are we going to class, or what?' Jasper interrupted his daydream.

You really know how to ruin someone's imagination, don't you? James peered at his friend, though now with a look of amusement on his face.

'What are you smiling about?' Jasper inquired, giving James a dubious look.

'Oh nothing,' James deflected, thinking that the idealistic Jasper was a lot more fun than this one was.

'Get to class you two.'

James and Jasper's heads turned in unison when they saw Percy Weasley hurrying along the corridor towards their classroom, exhorting any of the other younger Gryffindors he saw along the way to stop dawdling.

'Coming?' Jasper motioned with his eyes in the direction Percy had gone.

'I'll catch up with you,' James said, and then watched as Jasper Wainwright half-ran up to where Percy was.

Checking his watch, James saw that he had exactly two minutes before his class started, and though he was not usually late, he was beginning to feel a bit worried for Oliver.

Oliver wasn't usually late either, but he wasn't there right now.

What could he possibly be doing? James began tapping his foot nervously and returned to the nonexistent lint he had picked at earlier. Occasionally Oliver would chance a quick practice during lunch, but the weather wasn't particularly fantastic that day, and even if he had gone out to the Quidditch Pitch he wouldn't go alone.

Maybe Elijah caught up with him? It was only slightly more likely that Oliver's brother had taken him away somewhere; Elijah had the great propensity of being a tremendous pain sometimes. That was the job of older brothers, both Oliver and Percy had told him before. James wouldn't know - he was an only child.

I wonder if I always worry like this? If I were someone else who knew about me doing this I'd find that really boring of me ... he had got so caught up with his train of thought stopping at two different stations that he didn't notice the flushed Oliver Wood running up to him.

'Am I late?' he asked breathlessly, bending down and clutching at his chest.

'Hmm?' James murmured obliviously before taking note of Oliver's bedraggled appearance. His hair was clinging to his forehead in various places, stuck on by sweat, and the pink tinge of his flushed cheeks made his eyes seem a lot darker. His gaze was far more penetrating than it was meant to be, and it took James somewhat aback, so much so he widened his own eyes, appearing rather shocked.

'James,' Oliver took in a few deep breaths. 'Am I late?'

'Oh,' realisation dawned on James' voice, though he couldn't really focus on anything but the way Oliver's eyes stood out at that very moment. 'We're both a little bit late now. Flitwick won't care.'

'What are you doing standing out here?' Oliver asked, placing his hands on his knees as he attempted to catch up his breath a bit more.

'Uhh ...' James really had no idea, but a lie was better than a truth he didn't know. 'Waiting for you?'

Oliver was still too breathless to really take note of what James was saying and just nodded a little before straightening up.

'You're in your uniform,' James noticed, taking in the full figure of Oliver Wood.

Indeed, he certainly was in his uniform. But not his school one; it was his Quidditch uniform.

'I went out for a practice,' Oliver explained rather needlessly.

'You're not usually late like this,' remarked James, glancing at his watch again. 'Where's Neil?'

'Neil?'

'Well he went with you, didn't he?' James assumed, he hadn't seen Neil lately and he wasn't usually early for class; that was to say: he was always late.

'No,' Oliver shook his head, brushing his damp fringe aside, 'I was with-'

James cast him a curious look and leant in closer.

'- someone,' Oliver finished weakly.

'Someone, ay?' James rolled his eyes. 'Someone obviously doesn't have Charms then, otherwise someone would be here right now.'

Oliver remained quiet; his cheeks still far too pink for James to tell whether he was blushing or not.

James sighed; he really didn't want to push Oliver into giving over. Unlike certain other Gryffindors, he respected people's privacy. Well, he'd respect Oliver's until he looked more prepared to tell, anyway.

'Come on,' James beckoned his silent friend. 'Let's to class, shall we?'

*

Fortunately, Professor Flitwick was not a very hard professor. He excused them for being late (surprisingly, Neil had been there early. Would wonders never cease?) and he didn't object to Oliver being in Quidditch uniform either, though he did add that consistent recurrences would probably result in some kind of reprimand in future.

James cast his eyes across the room, noting that everyone appeared to be present.

This particular classroom was set out with three rows of desks, four to a row, and two people per desk. It was a much smaller room than most others on the Charms corridor, mainly because this was where theoretical work was done. It was sort of like History of Magic in a way, except Charms wasn't really boring - or, as Neil said, not quite so boring.

Which is really a surprising attitude for a good Charms student, James shook his head and made a mental note that becoming a better Charms student than Neil Marcus was imperative so he could argue the not-boring case for the class. Why he'd want to do that was slightly beyond James, but he suspected it was a matter of pride and the satisfaction one got from being right.

Hurrah, he cheered half-heartedly for himself and the petty idea of having one over on a friend. From the corner of his eye he noticed that Percy, with his dour expression, appeared to not be cheering for him; this was not surprising. Percy sat in the front row, side-by-side with Jasper. Their table was directly in front of Professor Flitwick's desk, and it was directly in front of there for a reason: either because they were Charms swots or good students, one or the other - arguably both.

Giving his two friends a slight nod of recognition as he made his way to the back of the room, James' gaze fell upon Clare Dearlove.

He, of course, was on time.

Clare was sitting in the seat he always sat in (third row, third table, and on the left), holding the quill he always wrote with (a rather fancy gift from one of his sisters, apparently), and wearing the expression he always wore when he was in Charms class (kind of bored, but mostly indifferent). Except the person sitting beside him wasn't the usual wizard.

James was the usual wizard.

But instead of waiting for James, Clare had let Antony Fairbanks claim the seat beside him.

Antony smiled pleasantly as James walked past his seat to sit at the table just behind the two Hufflepuffs. Oliver, who usually sat next to Antony, sat beside James this time.

To anyone else this may have seemed like a convenient solution to a nonexistent problem, however James was not impressed.

Not that he didn't like to sit next to Oliver - he sat next to Oliver in Potions - it was just that this was one of the few classes he actually got to sit next to Clare in, and he wanted-

Oh, listen to yourself! the annoying inner James exclaimed, with not a little bit of hostility in his voice. Honestly, it's really very silly to be so concerned about something so-

'Can I look on with you?'

Like some sort of clockwork, well, clock, James reacted to Oliver's request, taking the required book and flipping it to no page in particular, letting Oliver do the page finding since he was the one paying attention.

The rest of the class passed in much the same fashion; occasionally Oliver would try to draw his attention towards what Professor Flitwick had asked them to do (something about objects that had time-related charms on them - very pedestrian), but mostly they hardly spoke.

If James were not so pre-occupied with his endless stream of thoughts that seemed to go nowhere, he might have noticed the troubled expression on Oliver's face. He may also have noticed that Percy kept stealing quick glances back at them, or more specifically, back at Oliver.

'James?'

I suppose I really could just mention it to him in passing-

'James?'

It couldn't hurt, could it? James tried to imagine himself sounding casual about the subject - it didn't really seem very convincing.

'James!'

'What?' James frowned when he heard Oliver's exclamation, having not heard the first two calls of his name at all.

'Are you coming?'

'Where?' asked James in confusion, he hadn't yet noticed that class was over.

'To the Moon,' said Oliver with a serious voice, trying to gauge just how much attention he was being paid.

'Oh, I'll catch up,' James waved his hand vaguely, as though the Moon was a place he knew quite well and visited frequently.

'James,' Oliver gave a small laugh, and sat back down beside him. 'Are you all right?'

Haven't I been asked this before? he mused, wondering what the answer was that he gave earlier.

'I'm fine, Oliver,' replied James with an even voice and a somewhat too bright smile.

Not unsurprisingly, Oliver didn't notice any deception in the answer.

'Okay, then,' he said, a rather pleasant expression set on his face. 'Don't you have some place to be?'

James narrowed his blue eyes and looked Oliver up and down in a swift movement.

'What's wrong?' asked Oliver; this time he did notice the curious glance James had given him.

'You,' James said, allowing his eyes to widen briefly, 'are entirely too happy.'

'Is that against the law now?' Oliver laughed, it was his amused and cheerful laugh that he only seemed to use when things were going his way and Puddlemere United had stomped on yet another poor club.

'It might be,' James said suspiciously. 'Depends what you're up to, really, doesn't it?'

'I'm not up to anything!' Oliver grinned and looked away, as though facing James would break some sort of resolve.

'Thy name is Obvious,' James declared with a wry smile as he scooped his books off the table and stood up.

'Well, thy name will be Really Late if you don't hurry up a bit,' Oliver said, following James as he walked outside of the classroom.

'And yours,' James countered; it looked like the two of them would be late for their last class as well.

'Not me,' Oliver shook his head. 'Muggle Studies has been cancelled for this afternoon, I'm off to-' and he stopped suddenly, giving James the mental image of the word "obvious" written in ink across Oliver's forehead, '-ah, to do my homework.'

'Oh, well that was convincing,' James gave him the brightest of mock smiles.

Oliver ignored the remark and changed the subject; it was an unexpected change, though.

'What's the name of that girl you went after this morning, again?' Oliver asked, trying to sound casual, though James was far too quick to not notice. 'Penny? Penelope?'

'Penelope Clearwater?' James offered, pretending that he hadn't noticed, though he was really quite curious as to why Oliver was asking him about her.

'Yes, that's it,' Oliver nodded.

And then ... silence.

James faltered slightly; one foot tripping over the other that had decided to stop dead in the hallway. Straightening himself up, he cast another barely veiled suspicious glance at Oliver.

'And?' asked James in as innocent and offhand a manner as he could muster. 'What about her?'

'Oh,' Oliver shrugged, though he really did have the most peculiar of smiles on his face. 'Oh, nothing, I was just wondering.'

No you weren't, James accused silently. Since when was Oliver interested in, well, a witch? He had never been particularly bothered with them before, his closest friends were wizards and the only witches he really knew all that well were the ones on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And though James didn't often think of it, he was fairly certain that he knew as well as Oliver did that his affections did not lie with some witch. It was almost a contemptuous thought to think otherwise.

Except, right now, Oliver had that half-starred look on his face like the one he got when he was talking about United's 1965 season or the two hundred points Terris Mallaby-Deeley scored in the 1974 thrashing of Partick away from home.

James wasn't sure what it was, but he suddenly had a very definite feeling of dislike towards his friend, as though ... as though it hurt him somehow, to have someone he knew be interested in Penelope Clearwater.

As far as James was concerned, no other wizard, save him, could have anything to do with her.

It's pathetic and territorial but I don't care! She's mine! James puffed up his chest slightly and for some reason thought that action alone would be enough to transmit his thoughts to Oliver.

James didn't even bother to say good-bye as he walked towards his next class; he was completely occupied by the realisation that he was indeed a very petty wizard. Not that Oliver would have noticed anyway, he had stopped walking a number of steps back, eventually turning to go in the opposite direction.

Perhaps James would have felt guilty about said pettiness if something hadn't happened to lighten his heart somewhat, after all, he couldn't anticipate that in his pre-occupied state he'd run straight into the stationary Clare Dearlove.

And he was looking rather brilliant.

*

To make himself feel better about spending copious amounts of time thinking about Clare, James often devised convoluted explanations for why he did it; the explanations were not for other people. The truth of the matter - as far as James saw it - was that he did feel a little uneasy about it. He hadn't always thought about Clare like that.

Like that? Like what? It made James roll his eyes, and that act did not go unnoticed.

'Something the matter?' asked Clare. He always spoke in that light and somewhat amused tone, always with that little smile that was only ever half-concealed ...

'Eh?'

James' response was almost enough to make him roll his eyes again; he hated being caught off-guard.

'Shall I leave you to your thoughts?' he inquired. 'They seem so much more distracting than_...'

'Than?' James pressed with a small frown.

Clare gave a little grin. 'Than me.'

'Oh,' and this time James made an effort to make sure that Clare saw him roll his eyes; that's how he would have reacted in the old days, that's how he would have reacted before ...

Before ... James was getting more than a little frustrated with his inability to finish trains of thought, or rather, his fear of finishing them. As though there's something more terrible than feeling like this ...

'Really, Alexander,' Clare's voice seeped back into his immediate reality. 'You're not paying attention to a single thing I say.'

James looked Clare in the eye and tried to speak but only got as far as opening his mouth and then closing it again.

'You're going to be late for your next lesson,' said Clare, though the fact he didn't really care about that at all was evident enough.

'I'm already late,' James mumbled and started to walk away. There was something empowering about walking away from Clare Dearlove, as though it were something James would dare not do and now that he actually was it felt rather good.

But Clare fell instep beside him, and the only way James could really distance himself enough to feel comfortable again was to be defensive.

'How gallant of you,' James remarked dryly.

'Oh? Walking a person to their classroom is gallantry now, is it?' said Claire with about as much candour. 'Then I was completely wrong about you and ... Penelope.'

'What about her?' James asked sharply as they turned a corner.

Clare didn't do anything more than cock an eyebrow and smile thinly.

That is seriously annoying, James hoped his own expression showed just how much.

It was beginning to puzzle James that Penelope had been spoken of so much today. Well, not that much, obviously, he backtracked, but more than usual, which is usually nothing. He hated to admit that it irked him somewhat, after all, if he complained about it it might sound like he were jealous - or something equally as ridiculous as that.

'You're really quite late now,' Clare said lightly, doing that thing where he seemed to realise that James was off with the fairies and knew that he could be lulled back with a gentle voice. 'You should brush off the lesson and come with me.'

'Where to?' James asked, knowing full well he could not just cross his fingers and hope that Professor Vector didn't notice his absence. 'I really can't,' he added before Clare could respond.

'Can't,' Clare repeated the word and that was enough. There wasn't a "can't" as far as he was concerned; he always said that it was an excuse for wizards to not make decisions.

James continued to walk but was immediately aware that Clare had stopped, and though he turned to look back at him, James knew that that was as far as Clare would go now.

'You're not going to be gallant, then?' James asked in what he hoped wasn't a disappointed or a slightly desperate voice; it wasn't like he wanted Clare to walk him to his classroom, or anything ...

Clare smiled again; it was a friendly smile, but his words were not. 'I can't.'

James nodded but did not allow himself a sigh, not in front of Clare; it would have been just a little too pathetic.

'Tonight, then?' Clare asked as James went to turn around.

It needn't have sounded like a question or an enquiry; "tonight" was something James understood perfectly well.

And so without more than a lock of his eyes with Clare's, an understanding was met and James went, extremely late for his class and not sure as to whether he regretted it or not.

*

James had not forgot that he was supposed to meet Clare that night, even when Professor Vector asked him to calculate a particularly difficult Arithmancy equation he had not forgot that there was a place he was meant to be finding the implicit variable in a partial differential ... James could not escape his own fastidiousness when it came to his schoolwork; instead of his thoughts about Clare competing with his thoughts about Arithmancy they sort of gelled together and confused him doubly so.

But even so, after the lesson when he managed to get cornered by Vevelia for a discussion (or a lecture) on why the examples in their textbooks featured so few witches ('It's because all those books were written by wizards,' she had scoffed), he still was very much aware of where he wanted to be.

He had purposefully languished behind at the Gryffindor table after tea when it looked like everyone else was finished and preparing to leave, figuring it would be simpler to meet Clare without prying eyes demanding to know where he was going. Unfortunately, tonight proved to be the night that Neil Marcus retold his story about having seen Celestina Warbeck in Diagon Alley with the bloke who does the WWN weather forecast on the weekends.

To be fair, it was a good story, but it wasn't like everyone didn't already know about that so-called "romance", anyway. And it also wasn't like everyone hadn't heard the story before either; it was perhaps the single most important thing Neil had witnessed in his whole entire life.

Besides, no one liked Celestina Warbeck's commericial-sell-out/up-the-fans-who-supported-me-when-I-wrote-proper-tunes music anymore.

Her last song was all right, James conceded, secretly thinking that 'Accio love!' was one of the best songs she had ever done and also that he didn't care if he were tarred with the popular music brush. It was just like his love affair with Scunny - sad, but inevitable.

Neil had only just got to the part where he happened to notice that Celestina was still wearing the ring that her manager - and supposed significant other - had given her ('It's not like you can't notice that thing from a mile away, anyway!' James mouthed the words as Neil spoke them), when Vevelia decided to give Neil a hard time about what he was insinuating by that.

'By what?' Neil demanded, his face already scrunched up and looking rather annoyed.

'That little tone you used when talking about her ring,' Vevelia replied coolly, not yet worked up enough to raise her voice and seeming very pleased that Neil's countenance had fallen considerably.

'What little tone?'

'That one that says just because a wizard gives a witch fancy jewellery it must mean she's got no brains,' and Vevelia crossed her arms and peered inquisitively at Neil so that he might explain himself, although she had to add, 'If it means anything it just signifies what an idiot he is.'

Percy and Oliver had already disappeared by that stage in the evening; James imagined that Percy had some homework to do that would be on his conscious until it was completed. It was likely that Oliver was not doing homework, in fact, James wasn't really sure what Oliver got up to in his evenings. Very puzzling, James mused, supposing that it probably couldn't be any more exciting than polishing his broomstick.

As per, once the argument between Neil and Vevelia got going, Jasper was quickly on his feet, followed by the rest of the Gryffindor witches from their year who were likely not following Jasper. But then, stranger things had happened in Paris.

Who says that? A few names flew around James' mind for a moment, but the small distraction of placing a quote did little to dull Neil and Vevelia's voices.

'You've ruined my story, you have,' Neil charged as a few third years scuttled away.

'Oh whatever, Neil,' Vevelia rolled her eyes and she too stood up and began to walk towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

Neil went after her, and (very stupidly in James' opinion) finally came back with the kind of retort that sounded as though he didn't value his life and wanted to be hexed to death by her.

'Opposites attract.'

James' face scrunched up in the way that it did when the Sun got in his eyes as he looked up to who it was who had spoke; he knew who it was before that, though.

'Hey Penelope.' He smiled at her though he really wasn't quite sure why, even further beyond his reasoning was that little inviting nod he gave that bid her sit down. 'Opposites attract, you think?'

'Yes,' she nodded with not a little hope in her smile and her voice. 'In their case, anyway.'

'Their case,' he repeated and did that half-laugh that sounded a lot like a horse breathing out. I hate that half-laugh, he frowned and resolved to not do it again.

Ordinarily he'd have noticed an uncomfortable silence from several yards away, but he didn't notice Penelope's unease until she brought it to him.

She was very nervous, he did notice that. 'Did you speak to Oliver today?'

'I speak to him every day.'

Bravo, he congratulated himself for being the most pre-occupied and tactless being on the planet.

'James.' Her voice was more urgent than it had been moments ago; he suddenly felt very guilty for being so callous.

'I'm sorry,' he said with as much regret as he could muster. It wasn't as though he wasn't genuinely regretful, it was just that the feeling was conveying itself in such a fake and pathetic manner. 'I think I might be turning into a mad person.'

'Just now?' she teased and he felt better that she didn't seem to notice the change in his candour.

James had been staring across the room for not more than a few seconds when Penelope continued talking. He really did hear her, though it didn't seem to be registering quite so readily as it would if he were actually listening. It was like the annoying delay that Quidditch games broadcast across the WWN from Ballycastle got - saying you could hear someone all the way from Butler Park meant that they were talking and you didn't really care.

He did care, really, he did, but it was just so hard to pay attention, especially since he had now inadvertently caught the gaze of someone from across the room and a bizarre little staring match ensued.

Ayla Ayson.

At first he wasn't certain that she was actually looking at him; she'd never looked at him before, not that he'd noticed, anyway.

There was something very sinister about her. Clare had barely said more than two words about Ayla other than the fact that he "saw" her and he did so rather frequently. James wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it was exactly the sort of thing that gave Ayla's relationship with Clare a distasteful tinge.

But not even that really mattered to James; he trusted Clare's judgement.

Or he thought he did.

It was really the curiosity aspect of it all that got to James; that's what he tricked himself into thinking, anyway, or allowed himself to think, or something like that which was very complicated indeed and involved justification and a broom closet full of rationalising.

'Oh blast,' he muttered when he saw Ayla rise from the table but continue to look at him, as though she were coming over.

'What?'

James suddenly felt slightly green. He wasn't entirely certain that green was a feeling to be had, but it seemed to indicate his current discomfort rather well.

Penelope had been talking the whole time he'd been staring across the room at Ayla like some sort of demented pixie. If his last utterance didn't alert her to the fact he hadn't been listening, the look of trepidation directed across the hall certainly did.

To expect Penelope not to turn around was probably too much to hope for, but when she did it didn't seem to phase her at all.

'Don't look at her,' was all she stated on the matter.

'I can't help it,' he said, though managed to avert his eyes just briefly so that he could make contact with Penelope's face. 'It's like looking at the Sun - really bloody stupid.'

'You're such an odd person,' Penelope shook her head and stood up. 'Shall I let you meet your doom?'

'I thought you didn't care about her?' he asked, ignoring the "odd" remark and making an assumption on Penelope's part. Actually, he was rather impressed to hear of "doom" from her too - there was something about people who used that word sarcastically which he really appreciated; "doom" was such a great word.

But Penelope didn't see that, or if she did it didn't matter and she merely shrugged, looking quite ready to leave. 'I thought you didn't either.'

'Tell him how you feel,' James said suddenly, desperate for her to stay and keep him from having to face Ayla should she approach.

She frowned but sat back down. 'You don't think it's too soon?'

'Too soon?' James repeated, well aware that any advice regarding Oliver he could give would be enough to make Penelope stay forever.

'Well I only really just met him today,' Penelope explained, although she said it in a way that said she thought he already knew this. 'I don't want to rush into anything.'

'Most of the time he likes people to be direct with him,' James said, though he'd never heard Oliver say anything of the sort before and it was really just his own keen observation that led him to claim such a thing.

'Most of the time?'

James considered the question for only a second, the response was clear enough. 'Well, when it comes to his feelings for Percy he doesn't really like anyone saying anything.'

Except he couldn't say that to Penelope, and he didn't.

Instead, he smiled in a manner not unlike sympathy. 'You just have to catch him on a good day.'

'After a United victory?' Penelope grinned.

'Couldn't hurt,' he said with a wink and wondered how on Earth a mixed up person like Oliver Wood could be so lucky to have such a - nice witch, James mused, she really is a nice witch.

It was at that point he noticed the not nice witch he'd been looking at before. She hadn't taken many steps away from her place at the Slytherin table since he last looked, a number of her housemates seemed to have done him a favour and stopped her from getting any closer to where he sat.

'I have to go,' James declared quickly. It was testament to just how committed Penelope was to Oliver that she simply nodded and began her own little staring competition with the wall across the other side of the Gryffindor table.

To bolt out of the room would have been to draw more attention to himself than he cared for, he may as well have hopped out of the room if that were the effect he was hoping to create.

It didn't matter how James left the room, he felt certain everyone was looking at him anyway; all he could do was walk briskly out and avoid noticing anyone noticing him.

He suddenly felt very silly for being so self-conscious; it wasn't like he knew all of those people, anyway. He knew of most of them, certainly - but he didn't know them.

The more he thought about it, the more James realised that it was something which actually bothered him. Why didn't he know more people at Hogwarts? Did the houses isolate the students more than they united them? Was he bound to spend the rest of his life being close friends with other people who had the same qualities he did? Most of the Gryffindors weren't really like him - he didn't think - anyway.

As his thoughts moved from contemplation on the matter of whether he really was a "good" Gryffindor (whatever that was) to feeling slightly guilty about leaving Penelope by herself, his feet managed to carry him along one of the more familiar paths of his travels.

It wasn't familiar because he had travelled it very long or very frequently before; it was more a feeling of_... longing, that propelled him forward. Maybe that wasn't correct either? He really didn't know how to explain how he knew the way so well; perhaps_... perhaps it was simply a place he was meant to be.

*

The East Tower was not often visited at night by intrepid students hoping to find a "secret" place to conduct_... well, "secret" things.

It was the tower's location that was it's downfall. It faced towards the Forbidden Forest, and while that in itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing (though it could easily be expected to affect the ambience of most occasions) the tower's height was a great hindrance to it's popularity. It was the shortest tower and therefore had the worst view.

But that wasn't necessarily true, either.

While there was a reason that the tallest tower in the school was the Astronomy Tower, James had found in his own personal studies (yes, it was gravely boring of him to pursue schoolwork outside of his lessons and yes, it was also why no one really knew about it) that sometimes certain celestial phenomena could be viewed to greater effect from the East Tower.

It also had the good manners to unlock itself whenever it heard people approaching; James assumed that the loneliest of towers appreciated any company it got.

Sometimes James found - if the door hadn't yet opened itself - that a quirky knock amused it sufficiently for it to unlock. But it was already open once he got there; he didn't even hear it's distinctive clicks, and usually he did.

The door creaked open wider by itself (jolly friendly thing, it was) and revealed the very confined area within the base of the East Tower. Strewn across the room were various pieces of paper and the feathers from quills that hadn't quite made it; against the walls, chairs and desks were stacked precariously upon one another, they reached such a height from the ground that James didn't bother to fathom a guess - "a long way up" was enough.

The path to the staircase, however, was clear, and, carefully avoiding a group of five chairs that had arranged themselves in the centre of the room (he knew it was them for he had once caught them stacking themselves on top of each other; it was sort of like a twisted little chair embrace), he silently made his way to and then up it.

Clare was already there when he reached the top; James wasn't sure if the warmth that drained from him was due to apprehension at being there alone with Clare, or the freezing cold breeze that hit him as he approached the window where Clare sat.

The window was really the most interesting part of the room - nothing about the detail of it took James' fancy, but it did have the best view of the sky (two smaller windows to the left and right faced boring things that James regretted on behalf of the poor tower).

Other than that, it was simply a cold and grey tower; very dark and very inhospitable. Not even the desk and chair James had established there a few months ago gave it a more welcoming feel; not that school furniture ever said anything along those lines.

You've been up here ten million times with him already, James reminded himself, you must be cold.

'You look like you're freezing,' Clare remarked and won himself a little smile from James who was secretly very pleased that they could be thinking the same thing.

'Yeah well,' James shrugged and leant against the wall beside the window. 'I didn't think it'd be quite so nippy this evening.'

Clare turned away to look across the Forbidden Forest but motioned upwards. 'Don't the stars tell you what the weather will be like?'

'It doesn't work like that,' James shook his head in amusement. 'You know it doesn't.'

'I thought after the last Pax Deorum lecture you'd have bought into the notion of decisive information,' Clare said, mentioning the name of a lesson in Astronomy that discussed how ancient wizards relied on Seers to be more aggressive with their findings - saying that crossing the road on a Summer day was not up to scratch; a "good" Seer would not only name the day in particular, but also tell you what you'd had for breakfast.

'I think they tell the truth,' James nodded to the sky. 'But I don't think the truth is ever that simple.'

They stayed staring at the stars for the next ten minutes and James wasn't really sure what, if anything, he was going to say. He had vaguely focused on a constellation that seemed to be telling him something; it felt more like the answer to a practical question (like whether or not he should bother to put more effort into a particularly gruesome Potions assignment) and not a matter of the heart, though.

Still, just because the stars said nothing didn't mean James' foolish brain wouldn't compel him to open his mouth anyway.

'I saw your girlfriend today.'

They had both said it at the same time; both in a similar tone of amusement and curiosity, and both were surprised to hear it come back to them.

'I don't have a girlfriend.'

'Penelope?'

Clare had the upper hand there. 'You identify with her.'

'She's my friend,' James said, a little more defensively than was really necessary. 'I identify with all my friends somehow - although you, I'm not so sure.'

'Meaning?'

James rolled his eyes, how positively frustrating.

'I saw Ayla before,' James explained. 'Before I came here, I mean.'

'And?' Clare asked, his face still rather expressionless. 'What does that mean?'

'And ...' James trailed away and wondered if he always got into very stupid conversations he couldn't keep up with. 'I don't know, what you do with her - it's ... strange. How can you get so involved with a person like her?'

Clare got a funny look on his face that might have been annoyance if only he'd stop being so stoic and reveal himself a bit more.

'You know what I'm talking about,' said James and he stood straight so as not to lean against the wall. 'How could anyone be so personally vested in a really unpleasant witch?'

'It doesn't have to mean anything,' Clare shrugged. 'If two people kiss, you know.'

'It doesn't?' James said with not a little bit of incredulity in his voice, although he did his best to seem unaffected and smiled. 'She's warping your mind, you know. Is that what she told you? That it doesn't mean anything?'

'No.'

'Then it doesn't mean anything to her?' James surmised hopefully.

'No,' Clare repeated himself in the same dull voice which James hated as it indicated absolutely nothing about him except that he wasn't about to reveal any definite feeling towards the subject at all. 'I think it means quite a lot to her.'

'So it doesn't mean anything to you?'

'It doesn't not mean anything,' he replied, giving the sort of non-answer that drove James to another level of frustration.

'Then it does mean something to you?' James asked with slight exasperation, but also with disappointment. He didn't bother trying to mask that feeling, whatever Clare made of his objection it would certainly be clear enough that he didn't approve.

'You might be confusing curiosity with emotion.'

'So you've just been consistently curious for a very long time, then?' James tried very hard not to roll his eyes and had some success, though he did wonder if the look that resulted made him look more like a madman.

'I always wonder.'

James expected him to say more than that, but he simply stood there with his arms crossed and a look of distorted magnanimity on his face. If nothing else Clare really was a nice picture to look at; he wore every quality he couldn't possibly be with great success.

I don't think you're noble, James imagined saying it aloud, knowing full well he never would, but you could deceive anyone into thinking you were.

'Aren't you curious too?'

The unexpected question struck James in such a manner that he was too stunned to remain silent when he certainly should have.

'Yes, I- except, no_...' the sound of his struggling words was too great an effect for him to mentally criticize how hopeless they were.

'The first reaction is usually the-'

'The right one?' James interrupted, pulling himself together - or trying to.

'No,' Clare smiled, the sort of not-smile where his lips remained straight but his eyes were all amusement. 'It's usually the thing one wants the most.'

'Yeah well,' James looked away and tried not to project his awkwardness. 'I never had the chance to be less curious.'

'Haven't you?'

James' eyebrows rose ever so slightly and he attempted to wear an expression of light-heartedness so as not to assume too more nor push anything away.

I'm not a nervous person, he reminded himself and ignored the quickened pace of his heart beat, maybe I have some sort of medical condition I was previously unaware of?

'What would you do if you had the chance to be less curious, then?' Clare asked, resting himself from the window and standing not more than three feet away from James. On his part, James noticed that Clare had moved slightly closer to him; it was a subtle movement that James would hardly have noticed had he not been noticing everything about Clare at that moment..

'Things like that don't really happen to me,' said James and he did the little half-laugh he'd vowed not to do again again.

Clare, in the not so much expected as completely unexpected moment of the evening, disagreed.

'Yes they do.'

James hated himself for becoming so, but he got flustered as he sometimes did when wit or observation failed him.

Was Clare being vague because he liked to be a burden on James' fragile mental state? Or was he_...

God, is he propositioning me? James practically balked at the unimaginable and the now rather desperately hoped for thought. It's so adult, people my age don't have other people my age suggesting things like that.

James didn't know what "things like that" really were; he wanted so badly to know, but he couldn't bring himself to say or do anything.

'Don't think about it.'

'Excuse me?' James asked in a manner not unlike a person who'd been consistently ignored by a sales clerk for the last fifteen minutes.

'Don't think about it,' Clare repeated and then said with a smile. 'Do it.'

A sweet smile, not one of those "I'll-pretend-that-interests-me" smiles, or the ones that say "you're-not-a-little-bit-mad-are-you?", but a smile that had no other effect save to remind James that his attraction was real and his curiosity was great.

But James turned his head and looked away. 'I can't.'

'Why not?' it wasn't exactly a "sweet" reaction; it was decisive and it demanded an answer.

It put James on the spot and when he didn't have answers to questions that put him on the spot he didn't like it at all - it put him out of the element he always thought he was in.

An excuse, or a story, or any other convoluted little explanation was not likely to work in this situation - for one thing, Clare did know him, and he was well aware of it. And for another, how could there possibly be an amusing story for what he was going to say? It was one of those things that occasionally clawed at his self-conscious and was completely amusing anecdote free.

But he admitted it anyway.

'I don't know how.'

And suddenly James felt very small, as though this impairment of his education made him somewhat of a lesser person. It wasn't simply being self-conscious - it was being so in front of the person whom, in the space of not very many minutes, had become the most important one in the whole world.

If Clare noticed the odd sense of shame James felt, he did not react to it; or chose not to, as was often the case.

'That doesn't matter,' Clare shook his head briefly. 'I do, you know I do.'

'It's all true, then?' James couldn't find it in himself to be less impressed; he already felt very bad indeed and it had nothing to do with the tawdry exploits of Clare and Ayla Ayson.

'Whatever it "all" is,' said Clare, 'a lot of it's likely to be true in some way.'

His confusion left James long enough to realise that no matter how strongly he felt about Clare, he really didn't deserve shoddy treatment; he was bewildered by the admission.

'And you come to me with that?' James asked, momentarily forgetting that he also meant to ask why now? And why like this?

I must be going mad, the thought wasn't so much an epiphany as it was a reminder that James far too often got carried away.

'I come to you-' Clare started and was about to say something else but changed his mind; James wondered if his original choice of words hadn't been a little too pretentious? It was likely. 'You know what I'm like, and I know what you're like. We know each other and I trust you and I-'

The rushed words and the pause were enough to put James at some sort of default ease; if Clare was uncomfortable at least James wasn't the only one.

'Want me?' James teased with a light voice; he really was only joking.

Clare frowned. 'I do.'

James gulped and took a slight step back while trying to keep the humour - and therefore holding off any action - in the moment. 'Is this the part where we realise we're madly in love and start tearing each other's clothes off?'

Clare cocked an eyebrow and came closer towards James. 'That's completely silly; only witches are interested in that stuff.'

James made a last ditch effort to free himself from doing something he might regret later but would probably not. 'I'm too young to be secure about ... this, with a wizard ... you know what I mean.'

Clare shook his head took what would prove to be the last step. 'No you're not.'

As their lips pressed together awkwardly, James was struck by the anxious thought that he wasn't doing it right. After all, he knew Clare had kissed girls before; he must have been good at it if Ayla wanted to kiss him all of the time. It felt like he was good at it.

James had never kissed a girl, not like this. Or a boy, even.

What if I'm really not doing it right? James panicked, how would I even know if I weren't doing it right?

'Mm, no. No,' Clare repeated the word as it struck James to his heart, the contact between them broken from Clare's sudden movement back.

James looked at him wide-eyed and silent; he wasn't sure if he should stay there and be overcome by the horrible feeling of failure or run away and do the same thing elsewhere.

But instead of pulling further away, Clare surprised him by placing a hand on James' left shoulder.

'Just open your mouth a bit,' he prompted with a reassuring smile before leaning forward again.

James closed his eyes, as well he thought he should, and submitted to his curiosity.