Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

In a New Light (James Sirius Potter)

I looked away from him, focusing on my notes and knowing that he'd speak when he was ready. Waiting patiently had been my original intention. But, he kept fidgeting, clearly thinking of what to say and I grew annoyed quickly. Roughly setting my quill down on the table, I raised my eyes to the Gryffindor who met my eyes with a sheepish smile.

"Spit it out, Potter," I said firmly.

"I need some advice," he said, taking his feet off the table and straightening up in his seat. Resting his elbows on the table top, he fidgeted nervously with his tie.

Rowena, why me?!

"This is about Aurora, isn't it?" I guessed straight away, and his answering nod was like a spear through my heart. Of course. Picking up my quill, I looked back to my notes and asked quietly, "What about her?"

"She must talk when she's in the dorm, right?"

"It's all she does," I told him, peeking up at him from beneath my eyelashes. "It's near impossible to get her to stop."

"So, she's sociable," Potter defended, and I realised he really had no idea what type of girl she was. Rowena, the type of talking she didn't wasn't sociable at all. "But - what does she say about me?"

He wouldn't want to know the types of things she said about him in the security of our dorm. It would only shatter the image of her that he'd built up over the years and, probably his heart too. I couldn't do that to him. Perhaps ignorance really was bliss.

Taking my silence as my answer, he nodded slowly and with a sad smile he murmured, "Not many good things then?"

Not many at all.

He rubbed a tired hand over his face and I smiled a little, noticing the ink he'd smudged near his mouth. Potter remained clueless to it and thought seriously for a moment.

"Well, has she ever mentioned what she doesn't like about me?" he asked, bringing his eyes to mine. "Maybe if I know what she doesn't like, then I can change -"

I cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. "Don't go changing yourself for someone James. If they don't like you the way you are then they don't deserve to have you in the first place. Weren't you the one to tell me that?"

"And I won't change myself," he agreed finally after spending a long time searching my eyes and realising how serious I was. "At least tell me what she says - or the least hurtful part of what she says."

I thought for a long while, contemplating what would hurt him the least out of everything she'd said about him. Vaguely I wondered whether I could try and play his question off without giving him an answer, but it was obvious that he was eager to find out.

"She calls you desperate," I admitted quietly, as if that would soften the blow. "Quite often at that."

My attempts at sparing him proved futile as his eyes lowered to the table top. But before he could really get hurt, I cleared my throat and barrelled on.

"I never thought I'd see the day where James Potter walked around with ink stained fingers."

His eyes rose to mine, looking at me questioningly. Rolling my eyes, I leaned across the table towards him to brush the ink away from the corner of his mouth, my thumb rubbing it away gently. Satisfied that it was all gone, I leaned back and found him watching me with wide eyes. I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

He blinked, coming out of his thoughts and shaking his head gently. "I've been planning out quidditch plays," he explained, voice lacking any real strength. "That's probably where the ink's from."