Bloom Again /James Potter/ ❁book 2❁

❁Chapter 21❁

[a break to me is still writing but not everyday apparently??? this will probs be the last chapter until next year cos i rlly have college work and stuff so enjoy!!!]

Chapter 21

Twelve in the morning was when she finished the painting she had spent the full day on. She was more than thankful that McGonagall hadn't asked her to stay because it would have taken her much longer.

She lifted her wand, muttering the spell that dried it instantly and almost jumped at the sound of the door behind her. She grabbed the painting, sitting it down hidden behind the others much smaller than it and turned at the sight of James closing the door behind him.

"How did you get in here?" she asked quietly, stifling a yawn. She wondered why he was there, the expression on his face wasn't one she wished to see, it was sad - hurt...anger...she wasn't sure.

"You're not the only one with access to the library." His voice was cold, and her lips parted at the harshness, "charms books aren't rare, course you would know that with your paintings."

"Did the boys like them?" she asked, deciding to ignore his tone.

"They loved them...the letter too," he nodded, "bet Beau loved his."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm sure Bertie loved his too, and Violet...Lily," he listed their friends, and she leaned against one of the tables pushed against the wall.

"James."

"Why?" he asked, voice a whisper and she realised. He thought she had forgotten about him - he thought she didn't care about him as much.

It was part of her plan.

"Why what?" she asked, head tilted as though she was completely confused about what he could possibly be talking about.

"They didn't even fucking talk to you for months," he said, voice so quiet she shifted in her seat because he was calm, he was deadly calm, "course Beau's a bit of an exception I understand why he got one because he was actually fucking there for you.

but I've been there for you!"

There it is, Bea thought. The voice she wanted, the boom of his voice so loud around her gallery she was sure some of her canvases shook, and she was thankful that the room was dark - that he couldn't see the walls.

"I know-"

He shook his head with a sigh, and it cut her off from talking because he was holding himself back. he didn't want to explode in front of her, but she knew it was coming, and they couldn't move on until he truly reacted.

"Something wrong, James?"

"Is something wrong?" he repeated, "is- yes something is wrong Bea! I don't fucking care about gifts, okay? I don't care about presents or letters or that because all I fucking care about is your happiness. But I care about your talents, I care about your progress and your achievements and I watched them light up with happiness! I watched them open these gifts that you made them, I watched them laugh and smile and cry because you're making progress because look at that! Bea's doing something - she must be fucking happy!

But they weren't there for the times you woke up screaming! They didn't see you when you couldn't breathe from fear and when you had to have me help you fucking dry yourself because it took too much effort to do it yourself!

They weren't there for the times you couldn't fucking move your fucking body because you were paralysed in your sleep from stress and fear!" he ran a hand through his hair, voice so loud she was glad she had charmed the room to keep the noise in beforehand, "none of them was there - not even Beau - when you had to take my hand for the first time in so long because you were getting interviewed and you couldn't cope.