I . . . I simply cannot believe this. I simply cannot believe this.  I mean, I almost can believe this, which, believe me, is no comforting thought. James . . . James was right. James did nothing wrong. Well, I'm sure he did something wrong, but what he might have done in spite turned out to be life saving.


James Potter saved Severus Snape's life.

My head simply cannot fathom this fact.  There I was doing what I thought was the most accurate impression of my sister Petunia--you know, eyes squarely ahead, just let them feel the hatred coming out of you in hot, lashing waves--when Dumbledore said, and I do believe this deserves a quote: "And as I was saying, Mr. Potter, the reason I have chosen you for Head Boy is for the incredible qualities of leadership exhibited earlier, when, under circumstances that cannot of course be here divulged, you saved Severus Snape's life."

INCREDIBLE QUALITIES OF LEADERSHIP.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head.  And then James tried not to look utterly delighted, staring at me with his pitiful eyes of triumph.  I had a wild thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore was doing him a favor and lying to me so I wouldn't, over the course of the term, utterly demolish him, but this seemed such a folly to me. Dumbledore playing make believe with James Potter? Ridiculous.

Which can only mean that it is the truth. The horrifying, gut-wrenching truth. The kind of truth that spins your world, it's so revolutionary.

And then, the Prewetts showed up, both of which looked rather nice--all brown and golden like. Muscular. Hm. Frankly, I can't say who was more attracted to them, me or James.  He fawned all over them, spouting ridiculous statements about dragon hide trousers and brilliancy.  And, that is how we departed--him in ecstasy for various reasons (proving me wrong, his apparent lust for the Prewetts) and then me, taking what felt like the longest and loneliest walk back to the common room ever.

It's not like I enjoyed breaking up with James, you know. Oh I know . . . I know what people think. But, I truly did like him.  He was whiny, pathetic, and perhaps more of a girl then I was, but he was James.  There was something comforting about him--his awkward swagger, his mussed up hair. I loved how my head rested just on his shoulder, filling that space between us with something indescribable.   He even tried to learn poetry which, I think we both know, proved slightly disastrous.  He was just . . . he was James. And, I know he might have been pathetic around me, but I saw him around other people--he wasn't just all quibbling and patheticisims.  It's not like it could be totally out of the realm of possibilities that he saved Snape.  James is someone people look up to. I don't know why, but they do.  Perhaps it's because of Quidditch, perhaps it's because of his natural brilliancy, but people relate to James.  Good God, I'll never understand it, but there it is.

I just . . . I just can't believe it. I had spent all that time ignoring him, willing myself to not feel guilty about breaking up with him because he had done something wrong, something unforgivable.  But now, it's like that part of me has meant nothing.  What should I do to fill up that empty space?

I am more in need of Sirius's Firewhisky then ever.