Disclaimer: I don't own James Potter or anything else you recognize from the Harry Potter books and no profit is being made from this piece. I do own all original prose and interpretations, so no stealing.

Story Summary: She tells herself it doesn't matter. Any girl who's interested in James Potter knows that she will come second to Lily Evans, second to his mates, second even to that Andrea Connolly, but she can't honestly mind it. So, she tells herself that it doesn't matter, even if it does. Unrequited JP/OFC, Requited JP/AC and JP/LE.

A Name to Be Numbered

"But of all pains, the greatest pain/ Is to love, but love in vain." – Abraham Crowley

She doesn't mind it, not really. Any girl who's interested in James Potter knows that she will come second to Lily Evans, second to his mates, second even to that oblivious Andrea Connolly, but she can't honestly mind it any because she's not going to change him. One day Evans or Connolly will wake up and really see him and he won't have any use for other girls.

But right now it's a Hogsmeade weekend and Lily Evans has turned him down yet again and Andrea Connolly has run off to have a girls' day with Evans and James Potter wants to feel loved. So, she agrees to go with him because she knows that this shallow façade is the closest she'll get to him, the closest she'll get to any of the Gryffindors in all of their fiery, golden glory and everyone wants that.

She can tell her friends are jealous as she gets ready that morning. She agonizes over whether to leave her hair up or down (it won't matter; it's black and he only has eyes for red and gold) and picks out her best jumper and a pretty, short skirt that would have any other boy in knots. And, when she's finally decent, she leaves her friends behind to meet him in the Hall, glad to be the one he chose, even if it's not real.

James is, above all, a gentleman. He's the very image of what a Gryffindor is supposedto be with a rougher, more natural handsomeness than Black's sleek, Slytherin beauty. He's brave and bold and chivalrous like any of the knights of old, and he opens the door for her, smiles like he's interested and listens to what she says instead of staring at her chest.

But, she knows he doesn't really care.

That's why she pushes him against the wall behind The Arrogant Toad after their meal, even though she's not the sort of girl who would do such a thing with any other boy (she's a good girl, really). He seems so sad and perfect and she wants, just for a moment, to feel like she's his and he's hers, even if it's only in her mind. At seventeen, James Potter is finally the sort of boy that she could proudly bring home to her parents, who would take care of her and respect her (if only he loved her), and she hates him for that one, single moment for finally growing up and loving someone else.

She presses her body against his, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulls her closer, his hazel eyes closed. She loves the color of his eyes, intelligent and sharp (she wishes that he didn't need to pretend she was someone else, that he wanted to look at her), but she's not blind or stupid. She knows that her body is slim enough, curved in all the right places to feel like Connolly's or Evans's might and that he's not seeing her when she kisses him, one of his hands under her shirt and the other sliding up her thigh.

She doesn't know who he imagines in her place, but he's making the noises boys do when they like what she's doing, what she's letting him do (soft moans and heavy sighs, panting breaths). His lips slide down her neck and, hoping with every breath, every movement, she slips her hand between her and him and opens his trousers. That's when she knows that she truly is just a substitute, and the small flicker of hope she has dies because she's not that sort of girl (she's never done this before), and James isn't that sort of boy (chivalrous as any Gryffindor), but he still lets her tentative hand slip into his pants.

He's doing all the expected things: breathing heavily as he marks her neck (it'll show tomorrow, but she'll cover it up), pushes up her skirt and gasping when she finally starts moving. She pumps her hand up and down while he mumbles incoherent sweet nothings in her ear, wickedly loving words ("mine," "yours," "love," "please") and promises meant for another girl, another heart, but she can pretend just for now.

She plays her part well, too. She doesn't do more than mew and gasp, doesn't moan his name when his fingers find the edge of her knickers and pushes it aside, doesn't demand that he look at her when all she wants to see is his hazel eyes cloudy with desire and sex. Because that would ruin it and his heart would be broken all over again because she's not her and she couldn't stand that. Not yet.

Finally, his breath catches, and the timing's perfect because she's crashing, too. She's lost in a haze of singing nerves and the feel of his hand in her knickers and her fingers wrapped around him. She doesn't much mind falling if it's like this (please, please, please, oh God).

It's over (she can feel the world again), and the first thing she hears is easy, lilting laughter drifting over on the wind, not quite loud enough to cover their heaving breaths. She doesn't realize what it means until she looks up at him and sees the hazel eyes she so admires wide and sharply pained. He falls back against the wall like his legs won't support him. Finally, she realizes whose laughter it is (and she can see his yearning).

She wipes her sticky hand on her skirt and leaves him there. He doesn't notice her walk away as he sinks to the ground, head in his hands and shoulders shaking (she wants to cry, too, but she won't cry over a boy who doesn't care). She doesn't know who he's crying for, who he wishes he'd been with instead of her, but she tells herself it doesn't matter as she passes Evans and Connolly in a near run, firmly ignoring their startled calls (they only care about him, anyway).

After all, she knew it when she said 'yes' to him (but she'd hoped). She can never be first for James Potter, not when he has his family and friends and the other girls he'd die for. She's not even on his list, not even a name to be numbered.

She tells herself she doesn't mind. Not really. In the end, it doesn't matter. Except when it does.

Author's Notes: Well. That was interesting. I hope James doesn't seem like too much of a jerk; he's actually in quite a bit of pain, even if he shouldn't hurt others in the process. Just as a note for all those interested, Andie Connolly is an OC for the Marauders Fic I'm co-writing. It hasn't been posted yet, so you won't be able to find it for a bit longer. Ask if you have any questions about her. Please review.