give her love » james potter

18

After dinner, I walk into History of Magic, feeling like shit.

Professor Buzzlern seems to have been waiting for me because the second I walk in he says, "I have some business to attend to, but once your companion for the night comes in, you can begin organizing the shelf."

I nod, moving towards the large bookshelves.

"I'm disappointed," he says quietly, before leaving. "Your such a well-mannered student. I hope this attitude is only a one-time thing, Miss Peirce."

"Yes, sir," I say, my voice feely shaky and my throat feeling dry.

I don't get in trouble or do stuff like this. I used to be invisible basically. Teachers never picked on me. People never talked about me. Nothing ever happened really because I blended in so well. Never too loud, too pretty, too funny, too anything.

You could call me a bowl of porridge, like from that story of the three bears. I was just right basically.

Chameleon, Sonya used to call me. Sometimes I forget you're even there, she'd say and laugh her pretty laugh (if you heard her laugh, you'd understand, pretty was the only thing to call it).

Rachel and I were apart of a bigger group once. Sonya was sort of the leader in the group, she was the prettiest, the most popular, the one everyone always liked. When she'd asked me to sit with her group in first year, I was so happy, because that's all you want when you're at a strange school far away from home. You just want to fit in, to be apart of something, to not be alone.

I remember her eyes, they were this silvery blue. But it's not the color. It's what they did. She would roll her eyes then they'd fold you into a small little square, making you feel tiny and obsolete.

Years had been wasted being folded up into something small and worthless. I'd probably continued to have done that if everything hadn't happened.

Why did I put up with that?

"Woah! Didn't know I'd see you here."

James walks in with a large smile on his face. He walks over to where I am and takes a seat on the ground.

"What're you doing," I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I got detention too, coincidentally."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. "Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Are you gonna sit there and look pretty or," I shrug, "maybe, help me out here."

His eyes crinkle a little and warmth seems to rush into his face. "You think I'm pretty." It's more like a statement, but it's filled with the funniest sort of feeling I can't pinpoint.

The prettiest, I think to myself, as I grab his arm and pull him up.

When he starts pulling books off the shelves. I take some time to look, to really look at him.

I've seen him almost every day since I was eleven, so I know what he looks like. He's very handsome, I've known that forever. But at this moment I try to analyze it a bit more.

He has eyes like trees, brown and green, not very eyecatching. But, they're terribly soft and bright, making you want to stare at them forever. Then it's his hair, messy and dark, not much to say. He's quite tall, muscular but mostly lean, a perfect chaser's physique. His face has the lightest splatter of freckles, that have faded in the winter.

Then he turns back to me, while I conclude my research, it's his personality. The way he talks, acts and carries himself, it's what really attracts you to him.