Bewitched | wolfstar au

Eighty-one (part one)

It's not by intention that James enters the library when Auguste is inside.

Actually, he's not even aware of the fact that he's not alone until he sees the other boy, who, despite James having entered a fair while ago, is still unaware of his presence.

James watches him for a moment. He's standing in front of a bookshelf, flipping through a book. He's only facing partly away from James, but it's just that he's too engrossed in his reading to notice James staring. His hair frames his face in light curls. Not free, tumbling curls.

Nothing about Auguste is ever free and tumbling. Everything about him is well kept in a careful, calculated way. From the little fringe over his forehead to the way he stands, easy and elegant. Even his laughter is perfect.

As he watches Auguste, James tries to figure out what to do now.

He needs to apologize. That much he can figure out. But right now... Does he have to it right now?

He doesn't have to find an answer. The choice is made for him anyway, because at the very moment he goes to turn back, Auguste's eyes flicker up from his book. They move back down for a moment. A moment during which James imagines he processes what he saw. And then he looks up again, turning his body fully towards James.

Of course he does that right when James is mid-turn.

"Uhm," James chokes out, "hi?"

Auguste only stares, lips still parted in surprise. It takes him a minute, but he eventually snaps out of it. And when he does, he purses his lips and locks his jaw tight, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

And James really shouldn't be finding it so distracting, the angle of his tense jaw.

"Look," James sighs, "I'm not here to fight, okay?"

Auguste raises an eyebrow, a smirk drawing on his lips, but James feels like he's anything but amused.

"Then what are you here for, Potter?"

James shrugs.

And Auguste stares.

James ventures a couple steps forward. And when Auguste doesn't pull his wand out and hex him to next week, he continues walking until they're stood in front of each other. Auguste only watches him, looking justifiably wary. 

"I wanted to... apologize?" James offers weakly. "I mean, no," he adds immediately, "I'm not here to apologize." He sees how Auguste narrows his eyes, and the way his fingers tighten around whatever book he's holding. Great. "No, no, I'm... I just didn't know you'd be here. I came in..." James shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shoving his hands in his pockets. "...to find some peace and quiet."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Auguste says, a bitter smile on his face. He slides the book back into the shelf and goes to move past James. 

James wonders if he could off himself by throwing himself out of the window. And then he promptly remembers that they're on the ground floor.

He grabs Auguste's wrist to stop him, and to his surprise, is met with little resistance. "I do want to apologize," he says softly, trying to hold Auguste's heavy gaze. 

Auguste snatches his hand away and takes a step back for good measure. "Get to it, then," he snaps.

James sighs. "I'm sorry," he says.

"And I'm leaving," Auguste rolls his eyes, about to turn around once more. 

James grabs him again. "Can you please just—" He releases Auguste's wrist before he can snatch it away a second time. "—listen to me for a minute?"

"I probably can," Auguste replies, "I just don't think I want to,"

James closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. This is his mess. He has to fix it.

"I know," he bites the inside of his lip. "And I understand why—"

"In that case, you'll excuse me—"

"For Godric's sake," James grabs Auguste by his shoulders this time, spinning them around so that he's blocking the way to the door. "Will you stop being so difficult? I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I mean it. And I'm not saying you can't be mad—" He takes a small breath, forcing his voice to calm down a little, "You should be mad, but just... I'm sorry. I was being an idiot—"

"You always are,"

"Yes," James agrees miserably, "I always am. And I assumed stuff I shouldn't have and it's probably because I was feeling a bit like shit... Not that I want you to think I'm making excuses, because I'm not, I'm just... really sorry and—"

"James," 

"—I just wanted you to know that I think... huh? Did you call me?" James blinks.

Auguste watches him for a minute, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. James doesn't know if he should be relieved or concerned. For all he knows, Auguste is probably plotting his murder right now.

"I think I got the gist of what you're trying to say," Auguste says, leaning his shoulder against the shelf.

"Oh," James winces. "I was rambling, wasn't I?"

Auguste shrugs.

"Sorry," James mutters.

"It's alright,"  

"No, I mean... About... What I said, and stuff,"

"I think I gathered that much,"

"Right..." James goes to lean his elbow on the opposite shelf, but having miscalculated the distance between himself and said shelf, ends up stumbling sideways until he crashes into it like an idiot.

Just fucking great.

"I'm not going to murder you, Potter," Auguste rolls his eyes again, "You can relax,"

"That's very reassuring, thanks," James huffs, rubbing his elbow where it hit a particularly heavily bound book.

They fall into an awkward little silence, and James, not being the biggest fan of those tense, awkward pauses, opens his mouth without thinking.

"So uhm... Are we good?"

Auguste shrugs. "I don't know," he sighs, "I feel like there's more you have to say to me,"

"Me?" James frowns.

"Yes, you," Auguste says pointedly. "I know you don't want to give excuses, but I want to know why you think so low of me. I want to know what I did to make you think that I'm some kind of... Whatever it is that you call a guy who tries to keep another guy to himself, knowing nothing's ever gonna come out of it."

James can only stare, speechless. How the hell does he explain this?

"Is it because you don't like me?" Auguste prompts, and the sad little smile on his face is just too much for James to look at. So he looks down at his feet instead. "Or is it just that you forgot that I care about Sirius, too?"

James shakes his head. "Auguste," he protests, taking a small step forward. "Please stop. It's not... Can we sit down, please?"

Auguste gives him a brief once over, and it makes James wonder if he'll ever be able to guess what's going on in his head when he narrows his eyes like that.

"Alright," Auguste shrugs. "Let's sit down... I can't wait to hear why you hate me so much."

***

Author's Note

It's not that I wanted to cut this chapter off so abruptly. It's just that I'm really ill and I was planning on writing the rest tonight but I just threw up blood and now I'm alone and miserable so I feel like I should get some rest. I'm just really tired these days, guys, I'm sorry.

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