give her love » james potter

44

Back in the library where Remus and I have decided is the home for our friendship.

"You'd be such a good teacher," I tell him after he finishes explaining a charms spell I hadn't been able to figure out. 

Sometimes, when you look at Remus, you can just tell. Nobodies ever gave him the light of day and he's started to believe he's destined to stay in the shadows for the rest of his life. It's a horrible idea that makes me realise, I'm never gonna let him feel like that when he's around me.

He's terribly humble and refuses to expect quotes, so he just shrugs. "Maybe."

"I'm serious," I push, "you're smart and great at explaining things. Isn't that just perfect teacher material right there? Also," a smile grows on my face, "Mr. Lupin sounds so nice."

Remus is rolling his eyes pretending he could care less, but I see his smile. "Whatever you say." He's staring at my textbook and suddenly asks, "Have you received any letter recently?"

"Well . . ."

Here's a secret.

Cross your heart and close your lips because there's never been a secret as well guarded as this one.

Nathaniel, the Shakespeare-reading-bad-boy who lived down the street, had a lot going for him, I could never deny that. But, well, the reason I had felt almost head over heels for him during that fateful Christmas party was that he bared a striking resemblance to a Hogwarts crush that didn't even I existed.

Of course, his eyes were blue and his hair a few shades blonder. But, the smile and mannerisms and the way they'd awkwardly stand in the corner with their jumper. 

"I'll be honest with you," Nathaniel said, while we sat on the wooden stairs of the Calloway house. He pointed at an old oil painting. "I miss when people would do portraits. Pictures might be more accurate and cheaper and I hate sounding like some pretentious asshole that's caught up in the past but . . . there's something about these things you can never get from a photograph. It's like they're worth a thousand words and million more interpretations."

When the words left his mouth, it became clear that he wasn't like Remus at all or whatever person I had projected onto Remus.

It's not even longing or missing or whatever one thinks when you dig up an old memory filled with romantic undertones. It's just this funny feeling when you think back to the past and sees how far you've come. The memory is just one of those things you remember for the rest of your life and sometimes I can't help but be almost protective of it.

James and I are walking to the Quidditch field. It's the evening and the sun's started to stay out later and the cool air nips at our skin, but it's a numbing kind where we don't mind at all.

We've started incorporating walks into our daily routine. He has early mornings and Sunday evenings booked for runs or practices with his Quidditch team, but the rest of the week is left for me and my whims that are really just based on reading the tenseness in his body. I feel as if I know him like a well-worn book that's been read to death, filled with notes in the margins and creases for when you've forgotten a bookmark. It's a sin for most book lovers, but I find it endearing because it feels nicer than seeing a book in perfect condition.

Euphemia's death has been hard, it's an undeniable fact. Sirius reeks of cigarettes and has dark circles that grow more worrying each day, it's so easy to see he's going off some type of deep end after his loss. I think it's almost easier to try and help Sirius. We can console him and try and advise that substances aren't what he should turn to whenever times are rough. But, then there's James. He's just become so quiet but then suddenly, he'll be filled with this burst of energy and laughter and for a moment it's like he's happy but then, it's like a candle in a hurricane. The odds of the flame to continue are so low.