Chapter Fourteen: Promises and Betting

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James Potter kissed me and I kissed him back. I flop down on the bed and stare at the tiles. There’s about three hundred that I’ve counted so far… I’m not sure what to think about this. Did that kiss mean anything to James? Does it mean anything at all? If it does, then what does it mean? My past with boys and relationships has been…bad.

                “Um, Lily, your friends are downstairs and they’ve been pestering me for the last five minutes. Do you want me to send them up here?” James asks from the doorway of my room.

                “Why are they here?” I ask quietly.

                James takes a step into my room. “I can’t hear you.” he says with a smirk.

                I roll my eyes and say, “why are they here?”

                “I think they wanted to ask you about something,” James says calmly.

                “Sure, whatever, send them up.” I answer.

                James looks at me for a moment. “Are you upset about the kiss? Honestly, I wasn’t my intention to kiss you, it just…happened.”

                “I’m confused, James. Why did you kiss me?”

                “Lily, I’ve liked you since the first time I saw you. I’m sorry, I won’t be kissing you again,” he says stiffly.

                I shake my head. “James, just give me a little time, I need to sort this out.”

                James shrugs. “Alright, you know where I live if you want to talk.” With that, James walks out of my room and back down the staircase.

                I feel even more confused. I feel…hurt and betrayed. But feeling betrayed doesn’t make any sense. For betrayal to hurt there has to be trust. There wasn’t ever really trust between us to begin with.

                But there was some trust. I trusted James not to tell anyone about the night that he saw me crying. James, however, never broke that trust, so this feeling is more messed up than a love potion.

                I avoid James and he avoids me, which is working out great for the last two weeks, but I still feel bad. Am I running away from my feelings?

                “Miss Evans, Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you both.” Professor McGonagall says as the class ends.

                “Thank you,” I say politely. I look at James. There’s a long scratch stretching across his cheek.

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