We Were Bound | james potter

f o u r t e e n

chapter 14

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Animagus
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Finding someone else was way easier said than done.

Because each time he would believe that his feelings finally began to dull, she would wander into the common room in all her brilliance with red swollen lips and a large smile on her face.

And the feelings would come crashing back like a tidal wave.

He was stuck in a painful loop. The seawater of feelings would finally retreat back to its home with his other emotions in the recesses of his mind. And then, when he was least expecting it, waves upon waves would come barreling toward him, prompting him to topple over due to the pure power.

He would find himself stuck up in a broom closet with a faceless girl, and he would close his eyes and realize that he wanted the lips he was kissing to be hers. He craved to taste the cherry chapstick that she was regularly applying, desired to kiss the hardly detectable freckle that resided on her bottom lip. Wanted the hair he was clutching to be her brown hair. The hair she could care less about, that she never took the time to style because to her it was just hair. He ached to run his hands through it and mess it up even more, wanted to feel the curls stream through his fingers.

He wanted the hands grasping his shirt to be hers, wanted to feel her multiple rings snag on the fabric. He wanted to feel the coolness of them against the back of his neck. He wanted the nails that were dragging on his scalp to be hers. Her short nails with regularly chipped nail varnish, he was sure he'd never seen them in pristine condition. But he loved them that way, it was just so... her.

He wanted the hands encircling around him to be hers, wanted to watch as the random combination of colors that colored her hands from old paint moved up and down around him.

He wanted the girl in front of him to be her.

And so that's why he didn't brag when he went back into the common room. Why he plopped down into a worn-out chair in front of the fireplace. Why he rested his chin on his palm and gazed unseeing into the fireplace. That's why it hurt when she congratulated him, and why he didn't have the strength to reply. Why he stared up at the ceiling of his bed until the sunset, and why he was still in the identical position when the sun visited again.

That's why he wasn't able to find anyone else. Because there was no one else.

There was just Faeryn.

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To Faeryn, there was just Kris.

Caring and patient Kris, who would blow her pocket money on sugar quills and acid pops. Kris who would stay up all night reading a random fantasy novel, and then spend the following week explaining the plot to Faeryn until she discovered another book to obsess over.

Kris who would drag Faeryn out onto the grounds while it was pouring down rain so they could lay in the grass and dance while the water hammered down on their skin until they were trembling and freezing. But they didn't mind because they were together, and that's all that mattered at the time, they could get warm later.

Kris who would bring blankets up to the astronomy tower so the two of them could sit in pleasant silence and read bundled up next to bluebell jars.

Kris who would arrange dates in the kitchen so they could sip hot chocolate and tell childhood tales.

Kris who would introduce her to her friends and make sure she felt comfortable around them. Kris who would tolerate the marauders, even though it was apparent she couldn't stand them. But she would do it for Faeryn.