"Does it matter? I ended it, me and you are doing whatever this is, and James doesn't ever have to know that I was the girl behind the notes."
"This isn't about me and you, Gerard," Sirius said evenly, "It's about you and James."
Salem shook her head irritably.
"Hey," Sirius said, sitting forward, "I like you, but at this point, I'm wondering if you fancy me at all—"
Salem pushed herself forward harshly, capturing Sirius in a kiss. She was so fiery, from her curls to her personality, and it always managed to make Sirius Black melt.
And their glow seemed to escape the windows of the Three Broomsticks, by some stroke of backwards luck, catching the attention of a lonely James Potter.
He hadn't known how to feel about it. Salem and Sirius. To be fair, as far as he knew, it was absolutely none of his business— but it felt like it was. Because Sirius was his best mate and something about Salem had James invested in her life and he'd never admit that without even thinking about it his lips had twisted into a frown and he had to force himself to keep walking.
"I fancy you," Salem assured, detaching from Sirius, "I wouldn't kiss you if I didn't."
And Sirius believed her. He did, honest. But he was smarter than he let on, more intuitive than anyone could know, and he understood what she wasn't saying.
"But you still fancy James," Sirius said, watching Salem's eyes sadden, "You don't just fancy him, either, it's the real thing. You want to date him— you feel like you could love him."
"Let's not bring love into this," Salem said quietly.
"Gerard."
Salem took a deep breath in, grabbing Sirius's hands that rested on the table without much thought.
"Yeah," Her voice hardly reached Sirius's ears, "But I can't ever be with him, okay? Because of Lily, you, Potter himself. He'd be able to. . . love someone new. But if he ever knew it was me, Sirius? He'd hate me. Especially now that we're becoming friends, as strange and painful as it is. James Potter could never love a girl like me."
Sirius squeezed her hand back, the very definition of puppy dog eyes gently set on the girl. Because despite the steps they'd taken forward, the kisses they could never take back, Sirius and Salem were friends first and foremost.
Which, perhaps, was what they both needed most.
"So. . . are you going to drink that butterbeer?"
Salem rolled her eyes, concealing a smile as she pushed the drink towards Sirius.
"You, Salem Gerard, are an angel."
"My halo is way down below, Sirius."
"Any higher and you'd be flat-out boring."
⥊
James, frankly, did not know what to do with himself. He'd found a new kind of sadness, with the weight of the thin parchment that he kept in his right trouser pocket (so he could be reminded it was real, every now and again) and the girl still left a mystery.
While walking through Hogwarts, he felt as though he didn't deserve to be sad. But passing Dervish and Banges, he succame to it. Stopping in front of the Shrieking Shack, visions of chess pieces and the silhouette of a perfect girl danced through his head.
And when he sat on an otherwise unimportant boulder, he was re-ingulfed with the question.
Did he have the right to be heartbroken?
Mystery Girl had never explicitly shown interest in him, nor had they ever exchange any kind of physical intimacy. But James still felt as though his heart had been put on display in fragments; sharing his family life, his worries about his parents and the oncoming war. He'd told her in great lengths about Lily Evans, the first girl he ever loved, and how he hardly felt like he was ever good enough for her.
And she returned it all.
Not only with kind words and reassurance, but with her own vulnerability. How she depended on her mother for every ounce of emotional strength from ages 5 to 15, but the more teenage she became, the further they drifted. How her father had been this huge missing piece until just recently. She'd told him that her heart had been broken by a boy who hated her, how she put the pieces back together but it felt wrong— like her heart was now a hideous version of what it once was.
She told him how she'd never told anyone these things before.
And James had wanted all of it. He didn't care about her nitty-gritty parts, he didn't shy away from her long, honest notes. If anything, James fell for her because of these— how she cursed in round handwriting because she loved to tell him everything but felt wrong about it. He liked her how she was, distorted heart and all.
Because, James thought her heart wasn't distorted in the slightest. He thought it was a bit broken, yes, as was his, but it was so good. She was so good. Smart, witty, and the kindest girl he'd ever encountered.
And all of this was too much, as James Potter felt a hot, ugly tear streak down his cheek.
How could he miss someone he'd never really had in the first place? Feel this kind of twisting heartbreak over a girl he'd never had the honor of being in love with? How was any of this fair?
It wasn't. And one thing James didn't settle for was injustice, unfairness.
So he stood, stuffed nose and bleary eyes, and began walking strongly. Walking towards the only person he knew he could go to—the girl that would fix him up and send him off to his girl.
James walked strongly towards the girl he'd taken an interest in knowing and helping, the one who held all the answers. Because, at this point, James truly believed the only remedy was to find his mystery girl and the only way to find his mystery girl was Salem Gerard.
He was correct, in all ways, but one.
( AUTHOR'S NOTE. ) 1. James being a softie makes me ugly cry 2. shit is getting REAL
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