give her love » james potter

3

Since I was eleven, I have been in a state of internal chaos. Now we have to put a very large emphasis on internal because heaven forbid it to show externally.

Now on my first day of Hogwarts, I somehow made myself into something close to one of those optical illusions, like you know that box that looks like a box, but then it really isn't, because the camera goes to another angle and it's just super cleverly placed wood blocks. See I'm like on those, but it's not like I'm hiding it super cleverly, it's just that no one ever really looks. Now that's very sad and we could go on about it for a very long time, but who has time for feelings anymore, that was so 1977.

After my run in this morning, I snuck into my dorms and was happily greeted by my friends who were just getting up. I stayed in my bed while everyone got ready, trying to warm up my still freezing body (I secretly think of the fact, I was centimeters away from the most pretty boy I've ever seen.)

Pretty is the best word to describe Remus Lupin, everything about him is too soft and kind and so pleasant to look at, in the muggle world we have our movie stars, but in hogwarts, The Marauders are our stars.

Every girl has a favorite, it's usually Sirius Black because . . . well just look at him.

But since they got launched into stardom at the end of first year, Remus Lupin has been my celebrity crush, and nobody knows that, because sometimes you have to keep some things to yourself.

Or most things if your me.

My bed leans when weight is added near my feet, I glance over to see O'Conner sitting and changing the color of her nails with some spell.

"Morning," she mumbles politely, her eyes still trained on her hands.

I blink and my gaze falls back to the ceiling, "I liked that blue."

She makes a 'hmmm' sound, O'Connor's a bit of a loner in the house. We all tried to do our parts and be nice to her, but she's what John Hughes what call a basket case. Ever since our first year she's just never really talked much with the rest of the girls, in Hufflepuff where we are all a family, she's the distant uncle who occasionally shows up to family reunions, sometimes me and her talk, and she's nice, but. . . well, that's all I know, she's nice.

"Doing anything interesting today," I ask, my eyes gazing over her outfit. Pretty blouse, pink lipstick, and a neat little ponytail.

"I have to go home, for some family stuff."

I know better than anyone not to pry. "Have fun." I look back at her, and she's already up and walking out the door.

There's something you gain after a big loss, you have The Sight. It's when you are able to see other people differently, you can tell from the bags under their eyes that layers of concealer can't hide, they slant of their mouths, they tiredness in their walk, their empty smiles. It's like a strange superpower, and out of the past few weeks that I've had it, O'Connor has stuck out from everyone else, because her weight is hidden so carefully you can barely see, and it reminds me of myself in some aspects.

Today our first game against Gryffindor, everyone knows we're going to lose but almost everyone is still in the stands roaring like the lions our team is going to play against. One thing I've realized over the years is that even if our team isn't the best, it never dulls down our house spirit.

I pull my scarf closer to me as everyone slowly fills up the stadium, my eyes on the field, so big and vast and wonderfully green even in October.

I've always wanted to play quidditch.

When I was seven sitting in front of Eli during Christmas break, listening to him talk about Quidditch making it seem like the most magical thing in this whole world, I fell in love. I memorized the whole handbook, I got Eli to buy me player cards, quidditch seemed like my destiny, and when my letter came it was supposed to seal my fate as a future star.

But life doesn't work that way, I could barely get my broom to move, and when I did I couldn't go more than a foot off the ground. I tried so hard and practiced and practiced and practiced. But, there wasn't a single bone in my body that was meant for it.

Eli stole all the Quidditch genes in the family, and it wasn't fair to 11-year-old Angelina who didn't get a single ounce of it.

Not getting to see Eli play always hurt, because at least my Quidditch fantasy was played out in him. Team captain, chaser, being scouted by teams. Our fight still echos in my ears sometimes of when he chose to pursue journalism instead of quidditch. I think everyone in Hogwarts must've heard our screaming that night.

"Remember when we used to watch your brother," Rachel asks, "and you would always cheer for Gryffindor, making the whole quidditch team hate you."

I smile. "I was just thinking about that."

She passes her bag of popcorn to me and I don't hesitate to take a handful, the smell of butter overwhelming my senses.

"How is Eli? Haven't seen his articles in the papers lately."

I close my eyes. Well, it would be pretty hard for him, since he was six feet under the ground. Suddenly the popcorn makes me nauseous, and any part of me that wants to watch this game is gone.

But I'm a big girl, and big girls do not get upset. So I casually reply, "He's doing something in Russia, super top secret and like very off the grid."

"Sounds interesting"

"It is."

Rachel opens her mouth to say something, but she's cut off by the sound of a horn announcing the game is beginning.