give her love » james potter

11

There is one thing wizards and muggles both go through, growing up.

I know that women have gained so many rights and I should be so excited to choose a career, I might be a horrible person for wishing this, but sometimes I wish I lived in the Victorian era and only had to worry about my suitor and not catching tuberculosis or whatever.

I can't even choose a haircut without regretting it a day later, how am I supposed to choose a job that I'll probably have for the rest of my life.

Professor Thornberry has some papers lined up on her desk and she stares at me happily, well happier than the last time we talked. "Your best grades are in Muggle Studies, your DADA marks weren't that bad either. Maybe looking into something at the Ministry," she suggests.

A version of me, with her hair in a bun and a nice shade of red lipstick and a pretty satin blouse, walks into my mind. She looks tired and has a blank expression on her face. I imagine her drinking wine every evening, going to bars and meeting horrible men that break her heart, growing old and withering up into someone bitter and unhappy.

I frown. "No," I say, wincing at the thought. "I don't think that's very much me."

"Then what is you?"

The answer should tumble out of my mouth easily, but instead, I stare at her dumbly.

For most of my life, I've been Eli's Sister or The Pretty Hufflepuff or some other little nickname that is everything except me. I think at one point, I just gave up trying to show people myself, I think I just become something that fits into what people thought of me.

I know somethings about myself. I like cats. My favorite color is brown because it reminds me of coffee and the eyes of my mother, Eli, Rory, and myself. I hate fish because they stink to me. I used to always want to be like Jo March from Little Women when I was little, but it seems everyday I become a bit more like Beth.

But there are so many parts that I do not know at all.

What are my hopes? What are my dreams? What do I want to achieve in my lifetime?

"Can you pick for me," I ask, slumping into my chair. "Or is there some personality quiz, which tells me what I should be, based mostly on my horoscope or ice cream flavors, preferably."

I wish there was some Teen Wizard Magazine that would be able to tell me everything. My job. When I should get married. What every decision in my life should be. I miss being in my old friend group because they always told me what to do, they all had an idea and dreams and hopes, it was easy back then. I'd end up in the same career as Rachel, we'd both be healers and work together, then maybe rent an apartment together, because it made sense.

At this moment I'm receiving a look of concern and disappointment.

"How about you look over certain jobs and we'll discuss it again some other time." Professor Thornberry is standing up and she honestly looks as if she's regretting her choice to become a teacher.

I nod, a little too grateful to not be talking about my future and important things. Before I leave, I grab a handful of candy from her little bowl and stuff it in my pocket.

"Thanks," I mumble, not meaning it all.

When I leave the room and find myself in the hallway, I see Rachel in line waiting to go in. She's picking at her nails with a bored expression, but all I want her to do is look at me.

People talk about breakups all the time, about how a boy dumped you and you're heartbroken, but nothing like this. Friend breakups are on a whole other level of hurt, like, someone stabbing you in the back and then tearing your heart into pieces and then your horribly empty and alone.

I don't realize I'm walking to her until she's looking at me in confusion.

"Are gonna talk about St. Mungo's," I ask her.

She bites her lip, looking back at her nails. "Yeah, my dad's taking me there during Christmas and letting me meet some of the different types of healers," then she lets out a little laugh, "but I think mum is still hoping she'll find a nice guy for me and I'll change my mind."

Jane Boot was a dedicated housewife, who still struggled to understand why Rachel would want to get a real job instead of being a dutiful mother and a wife.

"I don't have a single idea what I want," I say quietly.

"You still have time."

What if it takes me forever.

"You can still always be a healer with me," she adds, shrugging. Her eyes flicker towards me and reflecting what I feel, the sadness only friend heartbreaks can do. "Then we'd both complain together."

I smile. "In our shared flat."

"With our seven cats."

"Our handsome Italian roommate, that we're both sort of in love with," I add, and I can feel my voice start to crack.

The door opens. We both look over and then back at each other.

I feel the wall between us coming back, and us marching back onto our sides. The thought of that makes me absolutely miserable, so I beg her through my nonexistent telepathic skills to do something because as brave as James thinks I am, I'm too scared to take the first step. 

We stand there for a moment, and then Rachel does it.

"I'll catch you later," she asks, unsure.

I nod. "Yeah, definitely."