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marauroon · 11 days ago

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ATE

the monster

'i'd watch the world burn down just to see you in the lighting of the embers' - faouzia

cw: NSFW 18+, dark!james potter, cheating, oral (f), fingering, unprotected p in v, james and reader are childhood best friends, poor lily, i play with pov a lot in this, open for a part 2….?

5.5k words

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You glow.

Like actually, properly glow. Everything about you shines so brightly that James has no choice but to stare, trying to absorb it and take it all in, though it never feels like he can get enough.

People say the same thing about him. Like the Sun, relentlessly cosmic and helplessly necessary for all it touches. But if you’re the Sun, James is your Moon. Your light shines for everyone, and his light shines for you. It’s always been that way. He can’t help but find himself caught in your orbit.

Even when he shouldn’t. Especially when he shouldn’t.

“You’re staring.” It’s Remus’ voice that speaks up from his side, startling him enough to make him jump. The sudden movement just makes the sandy haired man raise his eyebrows. James scoffs and rolls his eyes, because what else can he do? He’s been caught.

“I was looking at my best friend, yes.” James runs a hand through his chocolate-colored curls and shoots Remus a slanted grin. “She looks good tonight, doesn’t she?”

Remus looks disappointed, though James is accustomed to it at this point, recognizing the downward tilt of his friend’s mouth. For one, there’s the notable absence of Lily at his side. And, of course, Lily is also the second reason why Remus is disappointed in James right now, too. Though, that one should be obvious.

“Where’s Lily?” Remus’ eyes dart between James and you a few times before settling on his friend’s face again. “Does she know you’re here?”

James’ eye twitches. He doesn’t know if Remus sees it or not. “She does,” He responds shortly, taking a long gulp of his drink, “Couldn’t make it. Ministry thing.”

“Really?” Remus’ exhale is just short of a scoff. He crosses his arms across his chest. “James-”

“It’s fine, Remus. You know how we are.” As the words leave James’ mouth, you look up. Somehow, you brighten even further when you see him, and he inhales like he’s walked outside, taking in fresh air, his smile unconsciously widening.

“Yes, I think that’s the problem-” Remus’ words are overshadowed by your inevitable arrival. You slide into James’ side, slotting into your place under his arm without hesitation. You fit perfectly against him, as you always have. Perhaps having been at his side like this throughout childhood molded his body to fit your own. Remus remembers seeing the two of you sitting on the train ride to Hogwarts together for the first time just like this, though both of you much younger, shorter with chubbier baby faces.

“Hi, boys!” You greet happily, your smile stunning and your face flushed. It’s clear to both of them that you’ve had a few drinks. Your arm snakes around James’ back, your fingers sliding under the soft fabric of his t-shirt to trace his side. You turn your neck to look up at him and his dark irises are there to meet yours when you do. You give James a smile so sickly sweet Remus thinks he might get a cavity, then you turn your gaze back toward him. “How are we?”

“I’m alright,” Remus says with a nod and a pointed look in James’ direction. “How are you, love? You look a bit… knackered.”

You laugh brightly, running your free hand through your hair. “I’m fine, Remus! Besides, James is here to look out for me.” Your hand behind him pats his back a few times, then stills there against the slight curve at the base of his spine. Something about it makes James’ brain feel a little more drunk than he is. Remus looks uncertain about your answer.

You suddenly brighten more, pulling back from James’ arms to look at him again. “Dance with me!” He registers the music flowing through the flat. No one else is dancing. But you don’t care.

He takes your hand. Remus sends him a warning glare. James goes anyway.

The two of you begin to sway in the middle of Sirius and Remus’ living room. James touches you, but not the way he wants to. His hands stay in yours, on your arms, or find themselves busy twirling you around. You laugh prettily, swaying and running into him as the alcohol continues to flow through your veins.

By the end of the night, the two of you are spent, throats sore from shouting over the music and heads spinning from firewhiskey. You tell him about your new flat, about the uneasy feeling that overtakes you when you’re alone. The offer falls from his tongue easily, sweet and smooth like honey when he whispers in your ear.

“You can stay with me tonight,” He says, and he sees the way you shiver when his lips accidentally brush the shell of your ear. He gets the sudden urge to bite down, to wedge bits of your flesh between his teeth and keep them there.

You agree to go home with him, and you sleep in his bed, in his arms. Just like you used to.

Nothing happens between the two of you, though it takes every bit of self control that James possesses. That thing deep inside him, hidden behind his ribs and tangled within all his organs, lays dormant.

The monster agrees that tonight is not the night.

Lily comes home mid-afternoon, looking incredibly exhausted. James is there when she floos in, lifting her bag for her with a quick wave of his wand and placing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t smile, she doesn’t lean into him like she always does. Instead, her lips purse as she lets James take her hand and levitate her bag up the staircase toward the bedroom. Her fiery curls frame her face, her eyes sharp and gaze intentional.

“Y’alright, love?” James asks, tugging the end of one flaming ringlet. It bounces before falling back into place with the others. She keeps her fierce eyes on him, not moving away but not relaxing into him either. James’ stomach churns with a disgustingly familiar discomfort, the same way it does when his body knows someone is upset with him, even if his mind hasn’t caught up yet.

“Where were you last night?” Lily asks, her voice soft and sweet and just as lovely as the first time James heard it. The melody of her tone doesn’t help the tight grip destroying his intestines, though.

“At Remus and Sirius’ flat, I told you that.” James runs a hand through his curls, the brunette waves parting easily as the pads of his fingers slide between them. It’s soothing, comforting in a small way, mimicking the way you used to do it growing up.

“And then you came back here?” Lily’s follow up question is pointed, accompanied by the crossing of her arms over her middle. She leans on one hip and James feels the sparking tension of a fight, with Lily urging him to light the match and ignite the angry flames that threaten to ruin them both.

“Yes.” James’ tone is defensive. He stands up straighter, shoulders squaring, eyes narrowing in his girlfriend’s direction. There’s another question coming. Maybe several. He doesn’t want an interrogation right now.

“Alone?” And there it is. It always comes back to you.

“Lily-”

“Remus told me that she left with you, James.” Lily shifts to the other hip, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. Her hair falls in the way sparks do as a firework dies, bright and attention-catching. It highlights the growing upset in her expression.

“Yes, she did. She was drunk, so I let her sleep here.” James’ head shakes and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. He meets her eyes again directly, brown clashing with green. “I wanted to make sure she was safe. She said she feels uneasy in her new flat.”

“Oh yes, making sure she was safe, I’m sure that’s it, James.” Lily rolls her eyes, taking off her jacket and tossing it aside. It lands on the back of the couch, destroying the pristine setting. “And where did she sleep?”

James takes a long breath to calm himself down, eyelids opening slowly and gaze looking unimpressed. “Lils, her and I have slept in the same bed since we were-“

“In diapers, yes I know.” Lily rolls her eyes again, this time more dramatically. Or, at least, James thinks she’s being dramatic. You’re only his best friend, after all. “But don’t you think it’s too much? You’re adults now, and you have a girlfriend. Or did you forget?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” James feels his anger like bugs crawling underneath his skin. “She’s my best friend, and she always has been. You’ve known that since our first year at Hogwarts, Lily-”

“Sometimes, I feel like you treat her more like your girlfriend and me more like your best friend.” Lily’s voice is sharp and precise, striking exactly where she needs to in order to pierce James’ emotional armor. Except, it seems to only piss him off more. He sighs again, exasperatedly running a hand down his face.

“Lily-”

“Have you kissed her?” Each word sharper than a knife, demanding an answer. When she doesn’t immediately receive one, her eyebrows raise higher, the look in her eyes growing somehow even more intense. “Well?”

“I mean, not since fifth year.” James’ scrambled words are clearly not enough for Lily, who throws her arms up with frustration and turns away from him. Her hands rub over her face. James grabs her shoulder gently, turning her around to face him again. “It was only the once, we’ve never kissed again.”

Lily looks directly into his eyes, and James can’t tell what she’s thinking. But he knows what he’s thinking, and it’s that this conversation would never have happened at all if it was you in front of him and not Lily. You’ve always been soft with him, sweet and accommodating, accepting of every part of him. And you, you’re practically a part of him at this point.

“James, I’ve told you, I just don’t think she-”

“Lily, if you’re going to continue getting jealous of my best friend, this isn’t going to work.” The words tumble from his lips before he even registers what he’s saying. All he can think of is you. He wants to be with you. Away from here. Away from this fighting, this tension.

Lily looks a bit like her world is crumbling around her. James had chased her for so long, begged her to spare even a minute of her time. He’s loved her for as long as he can remember, he’s not sure if he knows how to un-love her. But if Lily can’t accept you as a part of his life, then he knows who his priority would be in that choice.

“James.” Lily’s voice is a bit hollow, her hand reaches in his direction but doesn’t touch him. Her brows furrow, her lips turn even further downward, and her gaze becomes a bit unsteady the way it always does when her brain is racing. “You can’t-”

“I mean it, Lily. If you ask me to choose between you and her, I’ll pick her.” James is tense, his muscles tight and ready to move, to leave.

A different look comes across Lily’s face now, one of offense. She looks taken aback by his words and the shaking of her head speeds up. “James, no. I would never ask you to do that.”

He scoffs again, tone getting harsher and crueler each time he opens his mouth and moves his tongue. Lily’s never seen this side of him before, the part of him that lets darkness creep through his veins like poison and destroy everything in its path to get what it wants. “But isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Lily’s expression is becoming more desperate by the moment. She’s grasping for him, holding on as tightly as she can but he’s slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers. She hasn’t felt this far from him in years, it’s isolating and she can’t seem to find her way out of this, back to him. “No, James. I’m just trying to-”

He cuts her off with a loud guffaw and a hand through his curls. His eyes are almost wild at this point, and there’s a small moment where Lily wonders just how angry James will let himself get. She’s not scared, but she wonders if maybe she should be.

“What you’re trying to do is separate me from my best friend. That’s not right, girlfriends shouldn’t do that.”

Lily holds her tongue and purses her lips, looking at her shoes. She hasn’t even taken them off yet.

James knows exactly what he’s doing. The monster inside of him claws at his insides, and he swears he can feel every cell screaming at him. He sees Lily cave in the way she never would have before. She was always so strong and lively, and his monster, his demon, has destroyed that. It doesn’t satisfy his craving, though, because Lily hasn’t satisfied the thing inside of him for a long time.

“I can’t do this.” James’ last words to Lily that night are spoken as he moves, a brisk few steps to the door and his hand reaches out for the handle. Lily wraps her arms tightly around her middle and wills herself to scream at him. She doesn’t, because she isn’t sure what she’ll say. There’s a part of her that’s afraid she’ll open her mouth and her tongue will form the words ‘please don’t go’ instead of ‘you shouldn’t speak to me that way, good riddance.’

So instead, she does nothing. And James leaves.

He closes his eyes and rests his neck on the back of Sirius and Remus’ couch. It’s comfortable, the space cozy and lived in, evidence of the lovers renting the place scattered around. James had always known Sirius and Remus would end up together. He’s only told them one time how fitting things would be if he ended up with you, after a few drinks and wedged together in a small alcove, smoking cigarettes in the rain. Sirius had laughed. Remus had stared at James like he was unsure of him.

Remus has always been the one who can see too deeply into James. Like maybe something about the monster deep inside Remus can sniff out the one buried within James.

The aforementioned man settles onto the cushion at the other end of the couch. It shifts enough that James can feel it, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He could recognize Remus’ scent anywhere, having spent countless nights next to him pouring over plans for pranks and the Marauder’s Map.

The faintest hint of chocolate and coffee, the musk of old, worn book pages, and the underlying touch of something distinctly Remus.

“I know you told Lily.” James says, deep tone cutting through the air as he turns his head. He finally peels his eyelids apart, readjusting to the dim light of the cozy living room. He hates the way it reminds him of the Gryffindor common room.

“Of course I told Lily.” Remus doesn’t snap, his tone digging into James without being sharp. Like he can reach down into the deep, dark pits of James’ insides without cutting into him at all. “James-”

He cuts Remus off. The monster rears its ugly head again, growling and writhing in that space within his ribcage.

“I didn’t fucking cheat, Remus.”

Remus just looks at James, unimpressed. “Might as well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” James’ blood roars, his muscles tense, the vein in his forehead becoming prominent as he clenches his jaw.

“You know exactly what I mean, James. You’re far too close, and you know it. Lily knows it, too.” Remus stays calm, his eyes intense and focused directly on James. Each word is calculated, chosen for a specific reason James doesn’t have the privilege of grasping. He wonders just how many conversations Remus has had with Lily about him behind his back.

“Remus, we’ve always been like this! I don’t know why we left Hogwarts and now everyone acts like-”

“Because we’re adults now, James.” Remus sits forward, elbows on his knees, hands gesturing firmly as he speaks. “You aren’t second years cuddled in bed together during a storm anymore. You can’t just sleep with another woman when you’re with Lily.”

“I didn’t fucking cheat!”

“And that’s what I mean.” Remus’ eyes are almost as alight with emotions as James’ are. “You think that’s the end of it all! Like that matters.”

“Of course it matters!” James can’t even think at this point, his brain abuzz, moving too fast to grasp onto anything. Well… there is one thing he can grasp onto. A growing, living, dark thing.

“Does it?” Remus’ voice is practically a hiss now, and he stands. James does too, and he can feel the tips of his fingers tingle. The monster urges him to clench them into fists. He doesn’t.

“Let me ask you something, James. If she asked you to sleep with her, would you?”

James doesn’t answer immediately. They stare at each other, the air between them so sharp it feels like it could pierce every vulnerable spot James didn’t even know he had. He straightens himself again, gritting his teeth. The monster screams deep inside him.

“It doesn’t even matter anyway. I broke up with Lily.”

“You did what?” Remus is the one to clench his fists first, squaring his shoulders as he moves to his full height. James’ monster doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the way Remus can still tower over James despite his own intimidating height. “James, you-”

The two men don’t get the chance to escalate their conversation, cut short by an unwelcome interruption. It isn’t Sirius stumbling down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes and shouting about being woken up, though that would be understandable. Instead, it’s a steady, urgent tapping that sounds from the kitchen window. There, on the other side of the glass, is your owl.

Both men fall into a standstill, watching as the owl screeches and pecks at the window, a small piece of parchment tied to its scrawny leg. Remus moves then, lanky legs carrying him through the kitchen, long fingers prying at the window panes, a squeak filling the space as the glass sides open.

Your owl darts inside the moment it is given the chance. Its wings flap, fluttering as the bird finds a landing spot directly in front of James. The parchment tied to its leg reflects this choice, his name written on the front in your signature handwriting. James would know it anywhere.

He takes the parchment, untying the knot holding it with a quick tug. It comes loose in his palm, and Remus stands with pursed lips and a disappointed expression as James’ eyes scan over the flowy, inky words.

Remus knows it’s an invitation without James saying anything out loud. He watches the way James seems to brighten a bit, the intensity of his anger dimming as his dark pupils trace each word.

Remus watches James leave with a sick feeling low in his gut. He loves James, he does, but he can see the signs of his monster clear as day. Remus recognizes some of those same signs when he looks in the mirror, though his own monster was thrust upon him without choice. A cruel, unwanted companion.

He doesn’t think he can say the same for James.

“I’m sorry,” You say the moment James floos into your apartment, though there’s no reason for you to feel sorry. “I just- something feels off and I want to make sure-”

“Love, never be sorry for asking me to protect you.” James says with a comforting smile and he reaches out to ruffle your hair as he steps past you into the living room. His eyes take in your new apartment, the colorful decor a contrast from his own monochrome-toned flat with Lily.

You find that it immediately feels more comfortable with James here, though you knew it would. That’s why you invited him over. Your shoulders loosen, the tension that had been taking over your muscles fleeing your body the longer his sunny presence shines through your flat.

The two of you fall into each other like you always do. You order food delivery, cuddling up together on the couch and talking about anything and everything that comes to mind. You both pretend to ignore the way James’ hand continues to slide higher and higher up your thigh. The sun eventually falls below the horizon and for the second night in a row, you and James find yourself in bed together, limbs tangled despite every warning sign against it.

Tonight is different from last night. Tonight, James’ hand finds your thigh under the covers. Your eyes raise to meet his, or at least the faint glint you can see in the darkness of the bedroom. His palm is warm and slightly rough and you know he can feel the way your muscles are tensing underneath his touch. Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers dip below the hem of your shorts and your hand reaches out to grip his wrist.

“James…” Your voice trembles just a bit, but James catches it. He leans close enough to brush the tip of his nose against your own and you lean back, your heart betraying you as it threatens to beat out of your chest. “What about Lily?”

“Forget about Lily,” He whispers as he presses closer to you again. This time his hand slides up the hem of your shorts and he squeezes your inner thigh with an intensity that has you biting your lip. “I think we’re broken up.”

“Really?” You hate the way it comes out as a hopeful squeak, and you open your mouth to ask further questions but James stops you by sliding his middle finger underneath your panties. Your whole body trembles and you gasp. James takes the chance to connect his lips to your own and slide his tongue into your mouth. Your brain short-circuits, overwhelmed by him and the way he’s touching you. It’s better than you could’ve ever imagined it and you can’t believe it’s really happening. You’d question him more if you weren’t currently below him.

(It feels too good to be true because it is.)

He swallows every sound you make as his finger teases your clit. You grip him like you might fall apart if he pulls away, and you truly think that you would. When he slides it lower, pressing it inside you, you can feel the way your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He separates his lips and tongue from your own, burying his face in your neck. He whispers soft words of encouragement when he enters a second finger, and then eventually a third. You squirm and writhe beneath him, simultaneously loving and hating the way he seems to be able to work you without even trying. The way he knows what you need without asking. Things have always been that way, though, between the two of you. Just never like this.

You whine loudly when he pulls his fingers out of you and he laughs brightly. You shove at him with your foot but he catches your ankle, pressing a kiss to the side of it before he lowers himself between your legs. He devours you like a man starving. Slow at first, then insatiable. Your mouth hangs open, your hands buried in his hair, and any thoughts of Lily that might have been lingering in your mind are long gone now.

His tongue slides between your folds with an intensity that has you gasping and panting. You can’t help but roll your hips toward his face, your thighs squeezing his head and he loves it. You fall apart against his tongue and James’ monster roars. He doesn’t think it could get any better until you do it again later on his cock, his hands guiding you to bounce on top of him. He finishes inside you with a low growl of your name, holding you close as he trembles and rocks you both through it.

He doesn’t know how many times the two of you fuck throughout the night. It all blends together, hours of exploration of things the two of you have only ever thought about but never admitted. He takes you in every possible way he can think of, easily shifting your body however he wants it. He loves the way your eyes light up when he tugs you around.

In the morning, the sun shines brighter, the air smells fresher, and James Potter feels like maybe he’s finally satiated his monster. He’s known what it wanted for years now, but he never thought… even when Lily finally became his girlfriend, the monster has never been this quiet.

He kisses you goodbye softly with a smile, and you let him go. You think he’ll be back soon.

James is not expecting for Lily to still be at his flat when he returns, the depths of his brain already trying to figure out how he is going to fit your things in between his own with her gone. He’s not expecting Remus either, or Sirius. Mary and Marlene are both there too, the whole group of them looking at him like he’s a demon they have managed to trap and now need to subdue.

And, James supposes he is. Close enough, anyway.

All of your hopes for something with James shatter the next weekend, when you meet up at Remus and Sirius’ again. Lily is there again this time, hanging off of James’ arm just like she had been all of those times before. Your heart sinks when James meets your eyes and there’s a visible amount of apology swimming within them. Lily is nicer to you than she has been in a while, and it makes your stomach sink in the worst way.

She doesn’t know, does she?

You spend the evening nursing a single drink, not trusting yourself to not get drunk and say something stupid. You should’ve known better than to think James could really end things with Lily. Your eyes burn the entire time you’re there, and in addition to your heartbreak, you find that for some reason, you no longer seem to fit in this group. Like a piece of a puzzle that ended up in the wrong box. Have you always been forcing yourself into his group and you just hadn’t noticed?

Everything seems to have changed, and yet nothing actually has.

You barely manage a goodbye to any of them before leaving, a sick feeling like bile rising up in your throat. You’re worried you might be sick if you see Lily press a kiss to James’ cheek one more time.

Your sheets still smell like him when you flop back down on your bed, the musk of him leftover. Everything you own is covered in him.

You lay there for hours, maybe even days. You barely get up to eat, use the bathroom, and then find your way crawling back into the darkness of your bedroom, tangling in the sheets. You sit in the silence alone, thinking. Oh god, all you can do is think and think and think about James and poor Lily and how royally you’ve fucked everything up.

You decide not to talk to James again. At least for a while, just to let things cool off. It’s the hardest choice you’ve ever made, severing ties with your best friend. But if James and Lily are happy then… you don’t want to come in between them. Even if it makes your heart feel like it’s being ripped to shreds.

It’s not the first time James has chosen Lily over you. This time just hurts more. You’d convinced yourself it was different this time, maybe. But with him, it never is.

You ignore his owls. Each time, you collect the letter, give his owl a treat, then toss the parchment into the fireplace. You don’t want to read his apologies or his excuses. You’ve heard them before.

‘I just… it’s Lily, you know? But you’re still my girl, right?’

You’ve never felt like his girl, and you certainly don’t right now.

James doesn’t seem to get the hint. Actually, you think he does, and instead of listening, he’s stubborn enough to double down.

The letters keep coming. One after the other, again and again, that same scratchy handwriting that spells out your name and is quickly engulfed in the flames of your fireplace once received. Sometimes there are multiple in a day, and the envelopes get thicker and thicker despite the increased frequencies of his owl’s visits. Despite your curiosity, your hurt stops you from ever reading one.

Eventually they stop. And that is almost worse.

With nothing left to distract you, and your entire life crumbling around you, the feeling of unease in your flat continues to grow. You find yourself struggling to sleep, jumping awake with a start several times in the middle of the night for a reason you can’t seem to figure out. Nothing looks out of place, nothing has fallen or changed or looks like it could have made any sort of noise at all. Your wards are not disturbed, all of your precautions still intact. But, it seems as though the moment you fall back asleep, it happens again. This too increases in frequency over time.

Then there’s the little things. Doors left open that you’re certain you closed, your things shifted on your end table just slightly, just enough to notice. There’s a feeling of being watched that makes your stomach churn like it’s going to rip itself apart, but no matter how hard you search, you can’t find anything.

Your mind doesn’t even feel like your own anymore, at least sometimes. You find yourself jumping often, eyes darting around after you swear you see something move in the corner of your vision. You find yourself running into things, though there’s no obvious evidence that any of your furniture has been shifted around at all. Things just feel off in a way that’s new and terrifying.

It doesn't feel better when you finally force yourself to leave your flat again. You walk alone, given your entire friend group is also his friend group, and you aren’t taking any chances with seeing James Potter. Not yet.

You go to the shops, to your job at the bookshop in Diagon Alley, to the park. You can’t shake the feeling of a pair of eyes following you wherever you go, but even your quiet ‘homenum revelio’s give you nothing.

You floo back to your flat one night after a late shift at work, and immediately the hair on the back of your neck stands up. The wards are still intact but you can feel someone else is there. It’s an instinct, and you’ve learned to trust those over the years. Though, recently you don’t feel like you can trust anything anymore.

You tear your flat apart, but once again find nothing. Nothing is obviously out of place, at least no more than things have been. There’s no signs of a break in, magical or otherwise. In fact, the flat seems to look less eerie than usual despite the growing tension in your shoulder blades and clenching of your jaw. Are things cleaner than they were before? How could they be?

It’s that same night you break, unable to sleep while your heart pounds and your mind races. You feel eyes watching you as you sit up from your bed, turning on the light with a flick of your wand, though once again it only reveals that nothing is there. You cry for a while, the anxiety piercing into every one of your cells. Days and weeks at this point of constantly looking over your shoulder in your own home.

Your hand shakes as you gather your quill and parchment. You find your throat dry and oxygen is difficult to take in as you dip the tip of your quill into the jar of ink, then press it to the paper.

And there, in the corner of the room, James watches you write a plea for help to him through the fabric of his invisibility cloak, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

Finally, the monster whispers from deep inside him.

It will not sleep for much longer, James can feel it. Despite everything, despite Lily, despite his friends, the monster still wants you. And the monster always gets what it wants in the end. It will consume everything, destroy it, burn it all down. It would tear through anything that would dare stand in its way.

And James is prepared to do whatever it takes.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#red’s recs 🔖#j.f.p

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marauroon · 12 days ago

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please do another james series the 1-100 was so good

i need people to shower me with ideas please and thank you i have no creativity 😭😭😭

#red’s inbox ‼️#james potter x reader

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marauroon · 25 days ago

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i’m not sure if u respond to anons, i only just found your blog through the 1 to 100 series, and i just want to say wow. your writing was so unbelievably poetic and beautiful and SO impactful. i just finished reading it and im genuinely so in awe. i don’t know how old this series is, or if u even get comments from it anymore, but i just really wanted to tell you that you are an amazing writer and i truly can’t wait to read more of your work.

thank you so much !! i’m so glad you enjoyed reading it (seeing people continue to love on the series really makes all of the hours i put into writing it so worth it)

#red’s inbox ‼️#˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 to 100 ‼

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marauroon · 27 days ago

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My Shampoo Fairy

Masterlist

synopsis: after being brutally rejected by James Potter, the last thing you expected was for him to show up in your common room—grinning, holding a bouquet, and calling you his girlfriend.

warning: cursing and kinda yearner james

i accidentally made him a yearner because i couldn’t stop picturing that one scene of ATJ in kickass LOL

“Sorry, I just don’t see myself liking fairies,” James tells you, right after you’ve finished confessing your long-standing, deeply rooted crush on him—one that’s been quietly blooming since second year.

The two of you are alone just outside the Quidditch pitch. He had just been practicing with the entire Gryffindor team when you suddenly asked if you could talk to him for a moment. A few Gryffindors had gone, “Ooooh,” or exchanged glances with smug, knowing smirks.

It’s no secret that James Potter—Quidditch Captain and Gryffindor’s Golden Boy—has a long list of admirers at Hogwarts. With his easy-going nature, magnetic charm, and that infuriatingly boyish smile, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t found him attractive at least once. It doesn’t help that he’s genuinely good-looking. The only real flaw, perhaps, is that he’s arrogant, a bully, and a bit of a troublemaker. Still, even that doesn’t stop some girls from loving the thrill of “fixing” the bad boy.

You never really expected him to accept or say that he saw something between the two of you. But still, you didn’t expect this to be his response to your confession.

“Fairies?” you ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Fairies?

What does that even mean?

He visibly looks awkward before scratching the back of his neck and saying, “You know… really beautiful people, but that’s it.”

You stare at him, confused—and now slightly offended. “Pardon?”

Did he just say you had no personality?

He just sighs and mutters, “This is what I mean…” He continues, “You already know what I mean. Don’t make me hurt your feelings more—then you’ll go telling people I gave you some confusing reply.”

He says it, and all you can do is stare at him with the most offended, confused expression you’ve probably ever made.

You couldn’t believe this was real. Sure, you admit it—you knew he wasn’t going to accept your confession. He was most likely going to reject you. But not like this. He was always known as that really nice, one-year-above-you senior. You didn’t expect that this was how he actually talked.

Can someone really be this full of themselves?

To think that if someone got rejected by them, they’d automatically go around badmouthing him?

That was exactly what you remembered happened last year—when you confessed to James Fleamont Potter about your childhood crush on him.

It was short, bittersweet, and you were ruthlessly rejected.

So why, exactly, had one of your housemates just barged into your room saying that James Potter was waiting for you downstairs… with flowers?

You look at her, confused. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I’m serious! He’s been standing there for a couple of minutes now—some students are already starting to form a crowd!” she says, her hand still gripping the doorknob.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment—your eyes narrowing with suspicion, hers wide with urgency, silently begging you to believe her.

Then, you throw on your student robes and rush out of the room together, heading straight for the common room.

When you finally reach the common room, the first thing you notice is the crowd of students gathered near the door, all looking and whispering about something.

“E-Excuse me,” you say. “Please let me through…” you continue as you try to push past the sea of people.

Did no one have classes today? Seriously.

As you finally make it through, your eyes land on the man of the hour—leaning casually against the wall, one hand tucked into the pocket of his robes while the other holds a bouquet of flowers.

He’s staring down at them, looking at each petal as if counting them. But then, as if sensing your gaze, he lifts his head, turns in your direction, and locks eyes with you. His eyes widen—then he grins and immediately jogs over.

“Fairy! I’ve been looking for you!” he calls, picking up his pace before stopping right in front of you—and wrapping you in a hug, right there in front of everyone.

Shit.

He pulls away, and you just stand there, frozen. You don’t even return the hug—you’re still too stunned to move.

He pouts. “Why didn’t you visit me? I missed you,” he says, then offers you the flowers. “Here. Flowers for my beautiful fairy.”

You take them slowly, glance at them for a moment, then look back up at him—still stunned.

Then, without warning, he cups your face—both hands gently resting just below your cheeks—leans in, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes go wide.

And it’s not just yours. All around you, you can hear it—the gasps, the stunned whispers. Some girls are even tearing at the sight, as if their world had just ended.

James Potter isn’t in some temporary fling, this isn’t a will-they-won’t-they with Lily Evans again.

No.

He has just publicly declared, to the entire student body of Hogwarts, that Gryffindor’s Golden Boy is officially off the market.

He then looks at you, still grinning. “So, what time are your classes again? Want to sit in the courtyard while we wait?”

You look at him, now slightly confused. “Uh…”

Before you can respond, someone running towards you cuts off your thoughts.

“Prongs!” the person yells again, sprinting over—two other boys close behind him. You squint to get a better look, and sure enough—it’s Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew.

James turns towards the voice and, upon seeing Sirius, waves brightly. “Padfoot!”

Sirius finally reaches you, parting through the crowd as he pushes forward. Once he and the others are close enough, all three immediately fix their eyes on James.

“We’ve been looking all over for you,” Sirius says, slightly out of breath. “You’re not even supposed to be out of bed yet, remember?”

Remus and Peter stand on either side of him, also panting, clearly having run all around the school.

James just laughs. “Poppy said I could go early. Said I heal fast,” he says with a grin, flexing his right bicep for emphasis. Then, he casually throws an arm around you. “Also, I wanted to visit my fairy.” He turns to you, smiling as he gently tightens his grip on your shoulder.

His response makes all three of them look at you—each with a different reaction, but confusion is the most obvious. They glance at one another, then at the lingering crowd still watching everything unfold.

“Hey, Prongs…” Remus is the first to speak. “Can we borrow, uh… Fairy? Just for a quick talk. Won’t take long.”

He steps closer as he says it, and James looks at him, puzzled.

“Why? I’ll just come with you guys. It’s not a big deal.”

“No! Uh… Wormtail… has something to talk to you about,” Sirius says quickly, throwing a pointed look at Peter.

Peter stares back, blinking. “I do?” he asks, which earns him a sharper look from Sirius.

“I mean… yeah, I do! It’s kind of a thing only you can help me with, so…” Peter adds, hoping he doesn’t sound suspicious.

James raises an eyebrow at them but eventually shrugs. “Okay,” he says, then turns back to you. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah? We have a lot of catching up to do.” He caresses your cheek gently before winking.

You, still slightly frozen, can only respond with, “Y-Yeah. I’ll see you… later?”

He grins, then walks away with Peter. You’re still watching him when Sirius and Remus come closer—Sirius lightly taking your arm.

“Haha, yeah. Just talk to her later,” Sirius says, waving back at James, who waves one last time before disappearing down the corridor with Peter.

Once they’re out of sight, both boys turn back to you. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” one of them asks, casting a glance at the students still lingering nearby, though the crowd has thinned.

You just nod. “S-Sure. We can go to the covered bridge. No one’s usually there at this hour.”

They nod, and you lead the way—both of them walking silently just a few steps behind. The air between the three of you is tense and awkward, thick enough to cut with a knife.

You still can’t believe what’s happening.

What was up with Potter? Why did Black and Lupin want to talk to you? Why did he call you Fairy when that’s not even your name??

A hundred questions circle in your head as you finally near the covered bridge—and just like you said, there’s hardly anyone around this early. When you all get there, the three of you just stand in silence for a few seconds before Sirius finally speaks up.

“So… you’re Fairy?” he says, arms crossed, staring straight at you.

You stare at him before replying, “If you mean my name is fairy, then no.”

He squints, narrowing his eyes at you. “I meant—you’re Prongs’ girlfriend. The one he’s apparently had for a couple of weeks that none of us knew about.”

His words make your eyes go wide, and instinctively, you throw your arms up near your chest, as if that could shield you from the absurdity.

“Whoa! I am not his—or anybody’s—girlfriend. I barely even know the guy!”

“You’re not his girlfriend? Then why did he say you were?” Remus jumps in quickly, eyes narrowing slightly.

You all stare at one another for a tense beat, glancing between faces. And then, all your heads click into the same thought.

“I did not give him a love potion!”

“You love potion-ed my best friend!”

“You gave James a love potion, then?”

All three lines fly out at once.

Sirius pointing accusingly at you, you flailing your hands wildly in protest, and Remus standing there with arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Then…” Sirius stands up straighter. “Who are you to Prongs?” he finishes.

“I…” you start, trying to find the right words. “He rejected me last year, if that counts as being something to him.”

They both stare at you, visibly confused by your answer. You got rejected by James and now you’re his… girlfriend?

“Wait…” Remus says, brows furrowing as something clicks in his head.

“Didn’t Madam Pomfrey say something about possible distorted memories? Since he got hit in the head really hard by that quaffle?” he continues, turning to Sirius—whose eyes widen in realization.

“I’m sorry, but who was hit in the head?” you ask, completely lost.

“Prongs was—last week, during the match with Slytherin…” Sirius says, his tone shifting into confusion. “How do you not know that? It’s been a pretty big deal all week.”

You just shrug. “I’m not a Quidditch fan.”

They exchange glances before diving right back into the earlier conversation, discussing everything Madam Pomfrey had told them—the possible outcomes of James forgetting or misremembering things, how there was even a chance he’d forget his name or his friends entirely. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Only the first part though.

You suddenly cut in, realization hitting you like a train.

“Wait. Are you saying Potter thinks I’m his girlfriend?”

Your voice snaps them both out of the conversation, pulling their full attention back to you.

“Yes—but it’s fine! It’ll just be for a few weeks—” Sirius starts, trying to reassure you that the situation is temporary.

“No way,” you interrupt sharply, immediately turning on your heel to walk away from the madness.

There was no bloody way you were going to pretend to be the girlfriend of the same guy who rejected you. Especially not now, when you’ve finally moved on from him.

They chase after you instantly. “Wait!” they both shout, jogging to catch up to you.

Once they do, Sirius starts again. “It’ll just be until he gets his memories back on his own. We promise.”

“I don’t care. I’m not doing it,” you say, still stubborn, still walking. You turn a corner without slowing down.

Sirius sighs and turns to Remus.

“I just realized this must be why he couldn’t name who ‘Fairy’ was—because he didn’t even know her name at all.”

Remus gives him a look, then replies, “Realize things later. Right now, we’re convincing her.”

And with that, they break into a jog again—just in time to see you turning another corner. You’re speed walking now. You have free period and your classes are done, so you’re heading back to your common room.

“Please reconsider,” Remus calls out. “Madam Pomfrey said it’s not advisable for us to interfere with how he regains his memory.”

You glance at him, before sighing and suddenly stopping—making them nearly crash into each other trying not to bump into you.

“And what is advisable?” you ask, looking at Remus directly.

“That we don’t tell him anything too stressful. Madam Pomfrey said any added pressure might worsen his condition.” he answers calmly.

“And the news that his girlfriend isn’t actually his girlfriend is… kind of stressful. I’d be going insane if I were him,” Sirius adds with a shrug, which earns him a glare from you.

He shuts his mouth, then offers a sheepish smile.

You look at the both of them, arms crossed—still unconvinced, but clearly thinking it over.

“We’re pleading with you here,” Remus says. “We know it’s a little weird, but honestly—what isn’t weird at Hogwarts?”

“It’ll just be a few weeks. Or days, even! Prongsie does heal fast—according to him, at least!” Sirius chimes in.

You’re still staring at them, and just as you’re about to speak—

“Also, being Prongs’ girlfriend is a title every girl in Hogwarts would die for,” Sirius mutters under his breath, and you immediately glare at him then start to turn around again.

“No, no, no! Come back! I was just joking!” Sirius says quickly, reaching out a hand.

Remus simply watches him, sighs, and rolls his eyes.

This tosser.

You turn back around, staring them both down.

“Fine. But only because Madam Pomfrey specifically said those things,” you say. Then, you continue. “Not because of… that.”

You finish with another pointed glare in Sirius’ direction. He just flashes you a sheepish grin again.

“Fairy!”

All three of you are suddenly interrupted by someone calling you. You glance over Sirius’ and Remus’ shoulders—and there he is.

Your apparent boyfriend.

—

Just a day after that, the news had already traveled all around Hogwarts that James Potter was apparently dating a girl no one even knew existed. And by that, they meant you.

You weren’t known as the smartest, like Evans. You weren’t considered one of the prettiest, like anyone from the Black family. You weren’t even a well-known Hogwarts Quidditch player.

No one knew who you were.

So—who was Fairy?

You weren’t aware of any of this yet. You were just heading out, having just finished getting dressed and about to make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. You told your friends to go on ahead, saying you’d answer their questions another time because you weren’t quite comfortable yet. Truthfully, you just didn’t think it was your place to explain James’ situation.

“Good morning, my fairy.”

The moment you opened the door, the first thing you heard was his voice—the one you now knew far too well.

“Potter!” you exclaim. “W-What… are you doing here?”

You look at him and see him leaning against the wall, just like yesterday. He’s already in his Gryffindor robes, hair still a mess—like he just rolled out of bed.

Has he been waiting for you?

“I’m walking you to breakfast, obviously,” he says with a slight tilt of his head. Then, more pointedly, “Did you just call me Potter?”

You, now slowly walking towards him, glance up. He waits for you to catch up, and the two of you begin strolling together, side by side. His question still lingers in the air. Oh. Should you be calling him something else? Like… what?

“Sorry, uh…” you cough lightly, “love, I didn’t sleep well last night,” you say, deciding on that nickname—because that’s what people in love call each other… right?

He goes quiet. The two of you continue down the corridor towards the Great Hall. There are barely any students around—most of them are already eating. You’ve always been a bit late anyway, so it feels normal to have a few quiet moments before the noise.

Then suddenly, he turns to you with a smirk. “I’m your love now, huh?”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

He grins wider. “Thought you said you weren’t the nickname type? You used to only ever call me James. What changed?” He leans into you, bumping your shoulder like he’s teasing.

“Am I… making you change your ways, fairy?” he whispers in your ear.

Your eyes widened at the way he said it. And before you know it, you shove him away and start walking faster towards the Great Hall. You don’t notice it—but your ears are now the faintest shade of pink.

He laughs at your reaction, finding it adorable, then jogs to catch up.

“Wait for me, love!”

“Sod off, Potter!”

—

You told yourself that you weren’t going to fall for this again.

For him, again.

“And that’s another ten points to Potter!” screamed the Quidditch commentator as James scored once more, causing the crowd beside you to erupt in cheers. You were sitting in the Gryffindor stands because James had asked (begged) you to come. He insisted that the reason he was hit last time was because his “lucky charm” wasn’t there.

Of course you weren’t there. He hadn’t even known who you were.

And yet… you didn’t tell him that. You’d reluctantly agreed, which meant cramming all your homework the night before just so you could make time for James’ game.

“Potter gets the quaffle again, now zooming past the Ravenclaws—will he score another go—He did! Potter scores another goal for Gryffindor! What a game!” the commentator shouted as James’ name echoed across the pitch once more.

James immediately began scanning the Gryffindor stands, eyes darting as though searching for something—or someone. Then he spots you, locking eyes. He then grins and points right at you.

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively shake your head slightly, mortified. James only laughs at your reaction.

“Oh! Looks like Potter is dedicating that goal to someone—who is… his lucky charm?—wait, no, my partner just told me that it’s Potter’s Fairy! Woo!” the commentator cackles, his partner whispering excitedly beside him to clarify just who you were.

The moment the announcement was made, the Gryffindor crowd exploded again. People beside you began pushing playfully at your shoulders, cheering for you, teasing you, all in good fun. James’ “dedicated” goal had now turned you into a minor celebrity. You smiled at them, laughed along with the teasing, trying desperately not to let the heat rise to your cheeks. You were not going to make this a big deal.

You were here to help him recover. To keep your promise to his friends—that you wouldn’t stress him out. That you’d go along with it until his memories returned. And when that day came, you’d forget this ever happened.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

It’s just…

Maybe you were starting to wish it would all be over sooner, because if this went on any longer…

You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from falling for him all over again.

—

“How long are you going to write that? It’s been hours,” James complains, watching as you scribble another paragraph for your Potions homework.

“As long as I need to, Jamesy. There’s no time limit when it comes to finishing homework,” you reply, skimming over the last paragraph before adding a transition to connect them smoothly.

He just groans again and lays his head down on the table. The two of you are currently in the library. You’d both just finished classes, and he was about to invite you for a walk around the Black Lake—until you told him you were going to finish assignments that weren’t even due for another three days. He’d grumbled at first, clearly displeased with the idea, but eventually gave in, realizing this was the only way he could spend more time with you.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have practice today. I thought Quidditch was like your number one priority,” you say, glancing at him before returning your attention to your parchment.

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

“How dare you?” he says. “Spending time with you is my number one priority. Quidditch is only a close second.” He grins at you.

You make a face at his words before looking up from your work, you punch him playfully on the shoulder.

“Eugh! You’re so cheesy!” you say, scrunching your nose at him.

He laughs, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “I’m not kidding. You’ll always be my priority.”

“Pfft—stop it!” you say, punching him again. “I doubt you even know me that well to say things like that.”

His right brow arches. “Oh? Are you challenging me?” He shifts into a mock-thinking pose, arms crossed. “Let’s see… First off—you like doing your homework way earlier than anyone else in your year,” he says, gesturing toward your parchment, making you giggle.

“You… like arriving late to the Great Hall because you enjoy the silence in the hallways when you walk. You like putting your hair in braids when it gets too hot. You love talking about your family—especially your four dogs…” he goes on, and now you’re smiling, looking right at him.

“Now let’s get into what you hate... hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin. “You hate people telling your stories for you—that’s why you never do that to others either. You hate anything too sweet, especially sweet coffee, because in your words—‘that’s not the purpose of coffee!’ he mimics in a high-pitched tone, trying to sound like you, which makes you laugh.

He carries on, “You hate it when someone uses something and doesn’t put it back where it belongs. You hate running out of ink—so you buy ten bottles every month, just in case. And…”

He leans in closer, the space between you two vanishing, and suddenly it’s just you and him, smiling at each other.

“…You hate knowing that I’m right about everything I’ve said so far,” he finishes, grinning at you.

Then, without another word, he leans in—and kisses you on the lips.

You’re the one who pulls back first, both of you staring into each other’s eyes. His hand gently caresses your left cheek.

“I should’ve never rejected you.”

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by what James just said.

“What did you just say?” you ask, now slowly leaning back.

His eyes widened. “I mean—”

Before you can hear another word, you gather your things in a hurry and speed-walk towards the library doors.

“Fairy, wait!” you hear him call out behind you as you rush through the halls toward your common room. Tears are building at the corners of your eyes. Luckily, no one’s around to see it—because if anyone did, you just know this would be all over Hogwarts by tomorrow.

Someone suddenly grabs your shoulder, spinning you around—of course, it’s James Bloody Potter.

He stares at you, eyes pleading. “Please, let me expla—”

“Explain what?” you snap, your voice raising in frustration.

“What I said earlier, it’s not what it sounded like.”

You just stare at him, giving him the chance to explain himself.

“I really, really, really do like you. It’s why I never brought up that… I’ve already remembered what reality is. What you and I actually are,” he says, voice soft, almost desperate. “I know it’s selfish. I know I’m in the wrong…” he trails off.

“But I didn’t want to lose you…” he finishes, his hands now resting gently on either side of your arms.

You just look at him, tears in your eyes as he gazes back at you with those soft, pleading eyes of his. The hallway you’re currently in is quiet—only the two of you, and your voices, would be heard if anyone happened to walk through right now.

You take a breath first before asking, “How long… have you had your memories back?”

He just looks at you, silently begging you not to make him say it. But you shake your head and ask again.

“How. Long. Potter.” You say each word with heavy emphasis.

“…I got them back the night before our game with Ravenclaw,” he admits, still holding onto you.

“Argh!” you push his hands off your arms, clutching your things tightly to your chest as you storm off again—this time faster, heading toward your common room.

“No! Please, just give me another chance—” he calls, catching up to you easily and wrapping his arms tightly around you from behind as you struggle to get free.

“Let go of me, Potter.”

“No. Not until you hear what I have to say,” he insists, still holding you in his arms.

“I’ve already heard what you had to say—and I don’t want to hear anything else,” you say, still struggling.

You can hear his ragged breathing near your ear as you swipe at your tears. “Y-you rejected me… y-you said I-I had no substan—”

“I was wrong. I was so wrong,” he interrupts. “You’re vibrant, sweet, funny, and kind.” His head drops near your shoulder.

“So, so kind… please…”

You try to breathe properly as his words trail off. His warmth surrounds you as he continues to hold you from behind, your tears silently soaking into your hair and robes as you struggle to steady your breath.

“I’ll…” You slowly pull his arms off of you, taking a deep inhale as you try to calm yourself. You turn around to face him, and see that his eyes are red now too, his breathing heavy. You swallow hard before speaking, “I can’t. Not right now… I just… I want some distance between us.”

As soon as you say it, he looks like he wants to object—but then he sees your state. He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to ground himself.

He reluctantly nods. “Okay. Take all the time you need.”

—

It had been a few weeks since that day.

As you predicted, rumors had indeed started swirling around Hogwarts about your supposed breakup with James Potter. The theories varied, most suggesting that James simply wasn’t enamored enough to stay—though you were convinced those were mostly crafted by his more obsessive fangirls.

Just like James had promised, he gave you all the time and space you needed to clear your head before speaking to him again. Still, every now and then, he’d send you a letter just to remind you that he was still waiting. Sometimes, you could feel his eyes on you from across the Great Hall, the Courtyard, the Library... even while walking the hallways. And yet, every time you glanced in the direction of his gaze, he was already looking elsewhere.

You were now walking towards the Quidditch pitch, remembering that James once told you they held practice every Friday after classes. When you finally reached the changing rooms, you approached a player whose name you didn’t know and asked if he could call James for you. He looked confused at first, then his eyes widened slightly as he seemed to recognize who you were, nodding quickly before rushing off.

As you waited outside, you heard a chorus of playful “Ooooh!” followed by James yelling, “Buzzer off, you wankers!”—which was followed by a round of muffled laughter and teasing.

He appeared moments later, scanning the area before spotting you tucked in a corner.

“Hey…” he greeted you with a smile.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling softly back at him.

There was a pause, just a few seconds of quietness before—

“So…” you both began at once.

“Oh no, you go first,” you said quickly.

“No, you go. I’ll just listen,” he insisted, nodding for you to continue.

You smiled again before glancing at the ground, your hands slightly clammy from nerves.

“I’ve thought about it and…” you started, “I think we should move on from everything that happened.”

You raised your head to meet his gaze. James was watching you closely, giving you his full attention.

You continued, “It’s not fair for either of us to stay hung up on a ‘relationship’ that started from something as absurd as memory loss. We both deserve to go through all the cute little things—the awkward first dates, the late-night talks, the butterflies—before being in a real relationship. I don’t want either of us to miss out on that. I’m really sorry.”

You finished your piece and waited. You were bracing yourself for disappointment, maybe even denial—but instead, James just smiled.

He nodded. “I respect that,” he said. “And I hope the person you confess to—or the one who confesses to you—makes you just as happy as I was when I was with you.”

You smiled at that, and almost instinctively, you stepped forward to hug him.

He hugged you back.

A few seconds passed before you both pulled away, exchanging goodbyes. You wished him luck with practice, and he cheekily wished you luck on your walks, which made you laugh.

As you walked away, your heart felt light and a little heavy all at once—happy but sad, calm but kinda conflicted. That was, until you heard that familiar nickname again.

“Hey! Fairy!”

You turned around, surprised to still see James standing in the exact spot you left him. His hands were cupped around his mouth as he called out across the pitch. You tilted your head, confused.

“What is it now, Potter?”

He grinned. “I like you! And I want to get to know you more—over butterbeers in Hogsmeade!!”

Your smile faded, your eyes widening.

What?

He kept going, calling out again with a grin that didn’t falter. “What do you say?!”

You stared at him, frozen—your expression stunned, lips parted slightly. He stood there, just smiling.

A few seconds passed before a grin slowly crept across your face. You laughed, the joy bubbling up inside of you as the words finally registered. He kept grinning, watching your reaction. You cupped your hands around your mouth, your voice carrying back to him.

“Absolutely! I’d love to go on a date with you!”

#yearner james is canon bc i said so #red’s recs 🔖#j.f.p

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marauroon · 1 month ago

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thank you for the tag, ml <3

npt <3 @fourmoony @santaasi @sirismokes @siriuslylantsov @misserabella @inkdrinkerworld + anyone else who’d like to join !!

tag game!!<333

search up aesthetic,song lyrics & character<33

tags- @vicofcc @fnordicus @rayainterrupted444 @strongbabydoll999 @sparklingsonderingdeer @doelette777 @harlotstarlet777 @kirkwahmmett @artemis-melody or anyone else who wants to join<33

#tag games 🏷️

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marauroon · 1 month ago

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thank you for tagging me, della!!

this is actually the first time i've taken a quiz where ravenclaw didn't come in second place (slytherin beat it out by 4%)

but gryffindor is still on top 🙂‍↕️

npt <3 @fourmoony @santaasi @sirismokes @siriuslylantsov @misserabella @inkdrinkerworld + anyone else who’d like to join !!

Wizardmore House Quiz

Just tried the quiz out again after some time, I still got gryffindor 🥳Though Slytherin was so close in second-

If you want to see the weight and percentages use this version of the quiz Wizardmore Extended Quiz

NPT: (Idk if anyone has tried this quiz already, probably did, join in if you'd like! Maybe you'll get something different 🧐)

@dhazefawn @viperify @dearmisshoney @vividly-vermillion @yintous @godricgryffinsnore @govnder @artytaeh @nottswitch @nottsangel @nottscherry @nottsbabe @lovesincerely @blocked-zombieartist @blondwhxrewrites @ur-local-wizard @pizzaapeteer @fawnfate @nottsnymph @leeny-leens @moscatosin @lushleona and anyone else may join!

#tag games 🏷️

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marauroon · 1 month ago

Note

Not a req !! <33

Soo the " ˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼" fanfic/series/book?? What ever you call it it was AMAZING nth less , I don't hv words to describe it, it's probably the first fanfic I hv ever read that was ✨ this wonderfull ✨ ohh godd I'm craving for more fic like these like it was js the perfect amount of everything the slowburn to absolute hatered to the care and love for eachother like MUWAH !! lowkey me reading this at 3 in the morning in dead. read this is one sitting and let me tell u i was GUSHING after reading these inner monlouges they we js …right close to home , js as i wanted them like OMG u r an amazing wtitter and i js follew u cause girl im reading all you fic now <33

also i did send u msg but js in case u don't see that im sending u this msg aswell !!

your (hoping u read this) , Ellise / @roze-latte-zz

looking forward to more amazing fic !! <33 can u do more regulus black one ??

thank you so much !! i just saw your message this morning <33

#red’s inbox ‼️#˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼

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marauroon · 1 month ago

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okay i legit havent written or been on tumblr in like 2-3 years and i read ur james 1-100 series and now im legit like completely rebooting this blog

i NEED to write a long slow burn series like that and i was wondering if u had like any tips for a bittie thats a wee bit rusty....

i have like a general idea of what i wanna do with either remus or james but i need to find little plot points that make it more interesting along the way

if you look on my blog too you can see i legit have finished actually one singular series so if you have tips on not just abandoning shit that would also be huge HAHAH

i’m honoured to have inspired your resurgence, welcome back 😭😭

i only really have two main things i tend to stick to when writing long form series, so i apologise in advance if this isn’t actually much help 😭

1) i always plan the whole story before even starting to write it, so i already know when i want big plot points to happen, and then i just figure out how to get from plot point a to plot point b

2) i tend not to write chronologically 😭 some of the more minor stuff can be not the most fun to write (which is where i think a lot of people—myself included—tend to want to abandon a project) so i always follow up writing something ‘boring’ by writing one of the plot points that i’m actually looking forward to writing, yk?

good luck getting back into the flow !! <3

#red’s inbox ‼️#˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼

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marauroon · 1 month ago

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time for 🍯 anon to humbly offer you a fic request 🙌🙌 could we pls get a fic with honestly any of the marauders where the reader is ‘like family, or a sister to them’ until their like oh shit, im not being protective and concerned, im getting possessive 🥴 this may be so stupid, but what can i say i like em a bit jealous lmao

So, um, I really really really leaned into building the "like family". I have no regrets. ❤︎ I am 100% posting this after I should be asleep but I got to the point were I was so close to finishing this that I said I had to push through.

I really, really hope y'all enjoy ❤︎

'Don't worry about me'

James Potter x fem!reader

20.2k words

cw: fluff, pining, Y/N, slow burn (its 20K, what did you expect), mentions of sexual favors/activites

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as Madam Weekes walked down the middle of two rows of first years. Voices repeated the command “Up!” Your broom had instantly risen to your hand. Your wide grin showed only a fraction of how you felt. Many of your friends frowned as their brooms remained stationary on the ground; a few of the brooms rolled around, but none were rising like yours had.

“Command your broom. An even, steady voice does it. All together now, up.”

Around you, some brooms rose half up before falling again. You just held onto your broom with pride blooming in your chest as how naturally your broom rose and how right it felt in your hand. Once everyone had their brooms in hand, Madam Weekes explained the next step: kicking up to hover for a few seconds and then landing. It was so simple. Too simple.

Four boys walked on the path towards the castle. Sirius nudged James and pointed to the open area where your flying lesson was taking place.

“I think they’re ‘bout to take flight. Shall we watch? See how many fall off?”

“Remus, Peter, wait. Some firsties are trying out brooms.”

Remus and Peter stopped walking, turning back to the two darker haired boys. Then their attention was directed to the field. You, along with a handful of other students, easily pushed off the ground, hovered and touched back down as instructed. Madam Weekes walked to the other end of the group. Some students needed additional instructions.

“Who dares me to fly a loop around the field?” you asked your friends.

They exchanged wary glances.

“Madam Weekes hasn’t given us permission to fly again,” one of your friends, Natalie, said.

“It’s called a dare, Nat,” you said dryly. “Well, I dare myself and I can’t turn down a dare.”

Smirking, you remount your broom and kick off, rising higher than any of your classmates had. You leaned forward and sped off. It took you hardly any time to complete the lap. Madam Weekes looked furious as you made your descent.

“Miss L/N!” she hollered. She had to keep an external image of anger at your brazen disobedience, no matter how impressive your lap was being that you are a first year on a wimpy school broom.

“I know, I know,” you said dismissively. “Detention. But, be honest, how was I?”

Madam Weekes’ frown deepened. “Tomorrow night with Professor McGonagall.” A pause. “You need to adjust your grip. Allows for better steering. You looked a little shaky. That’ll get better with getting to know a specific broom.”

“Girl’s got nerve,” Sirius muttered with his arms crossed.

“Not bad though. You know those brooms are rubbish,” James said. “Bet she’ll be on the quidditch team within a few years.”

“Come on!” Remus said with some urgency. “Flitwick is going to have our heads.”

The boys headed inside to the lesson they were now very late for.

Madam Weekes kept a closer eye on you for the rest of the lesson, although you found that pointless. You weren’t an idiot. You weren’t going to just take off again. Despite that, you talked to her after the lesson was over about the grip adjustments she mentioned earlier.

A few days later, there was a notice on the bulletin board for quidditch tryouts, all positions. None of your friends wanted to try out with you so you went alone. You walked with a handful of older students down the pitch.

The captain instructed everyone to stand in lines for each position, from oldest to youngest. That put James standing right in front of you in the Chaser line. He hadn’t thought about you since that flying lesson, not that he knew you were the one who took the unauthorized lap being how far away he was and the fact that he can’t tell first year from first year.

“I’m James Potter,” he said, extending a hand to you. “You’re a first year?”

“Yup. Y/N L/N.”

“You know first years never make the team, right?”

“I know.” You shifted your school broom from one shoulder to the other. “I want to get on the captain’s radar for next year.”

“Good luck then.”

“Thanks. You too.”

The captain started tryouts. The older student directed drill after drill, observing everyone’s flying abilities and reflexes. Surprising everyone but yourself, you held your own among the older students. The captain noticed how you didn’t seem intimidated at all.

He approached you after he dismissed everyone. He had his clipboard tucked under his arm. You were putting the school broom away.

“I’m glad you tried,” he said, leaning against the lockers. “You’re good. But, you have to understand, I can’t put a first year on the team.”

You nodded. “I know. Next year.” You smiled at him.

“Let me tell you something though. If something unexpected happens and we need another player midseason, you’re the first o ne I’m talking to.”

Your face lit up. “Serious?”

“I said you were good. You’re damn good. I’ll see you here next year.”

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. It was a success. You were beaming the entire way back to Gryffindor Tower. Your friends thought you had made the team with how happy you are.

“So you’re not on the team?” Eleanor asked.

“No. First years don’t make the team.”

“Then why… all this?”

“Because Sean, the captain, basically said I’m on the team next year.”

“Right, okay,” Natalie laughed.

Later in the week, Sean posted the team’s roster. James and Marlene made the team as chasers. James acted like it was the obvious choice to put him on the team; it kind of was but he didn’t need to act that way.

You don’t interact much with James, not really. You would see him in the common room, messy hair and filthy glasses, always surrounded by friends. You would see him at quidditch practices. You watched every one, morning or evening, rain or shine. You were there, observing and mentally taking notes. The most you talked to him was mornings before quidditch matches. You’d wish him good luck at breakfast and he’d say thanks. But you and James don’t talk. You’re just always there, waiting for your turn on the team.

You still fly though. You checked out a school broom from time to time and flew laps around the pitch. You practiced drills by yourself. Being in the air helped clear your brain when school got to be too much.

James saw you a few times. Sometimes you’d be on a broom before or after his practice. Sometimes you’d already be at the pitch when he was going to do the same thing: go for a fly to clear his head. Great minds think alike, he’d think before going to fly elsewhere around the castle.

---

Coming back to Hogwarts for your second year, you first saw James at the Gryffindor table during the Welcome feast. You waved to him, not knowing if he’d remember you from the times you wished him good luck. He gave you a brief wave.

“Who you wavin’ to?” Peter asked, leaning forward over his plate and looking down the table.

“I think her name is… nope. I don’t remember,” James said. “She’s the one who told me good luck before every match last year. Think she’s first year who tried out for the team.”

“You don’t know your fan’s name?” Remus asked with eyebrows raised.

“I think she’s a fan of quidditch, not me.”

“Sure, mate,” Peter said.

Like all of last year, you don’t interact with James unless it’s quidditch related. Which means you don’t talk to him until quidditch tryouts two weeks into the school year. Sean had everyone line up by position in descending age out, just like last year. You stood behind James with your new personal broom in hand. It wasn’t top of the line, but it was decent. You had begged your parents all summer for one – really, you had been asking for one since last year’s tryouts.

“You know no spots opened up, right?” James asked with a certain degree of condescension to his voice.

James, Marlene and the now seventh year who were the chasers last year were all in line again.

“Scared I’m going to replace you?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow. You exuded confidence.

“As if,” he scoffed before turning back around.

James knew you were pretty good. He remembered how last year you watched every practice and flew around the pitch in your free time. He just completely believed that he was better. Plus, James had one thing over: he was on the team last year.

A loud whistle got everyone’s attention. Sean stood in the middle of the pitch.

“Give it your all. Show me you want to be on this team. It doesn’t matter if you made the team last year. It’s a new year. Impress me.”

You swore you saw him look your way and nod. No one’s spot was guaranteed. That meant any chaser spot was yours for the taking.

Sean ran the same drills as last year, ones you could run in your sleep. He marked down notes on every player. Somehow he would have to decide who made the squad and who would be in the stands. You were determined to not be in the stands this year.

Leaving the pitch after tryouts, you felt good. You didn’t drop the quaffle once and you had a decent time trial. Agility could use some work as well as bludger awareness. All you could do now was wait.

A few days later, Sean posted the team roster on the common room bulletin board.

“You’re kidding me!” Marlene yelled, frustration ringing in her voice.

It drew a few eyes. James peered over her shoulder at the pinned paper.

Chaser #1: Leo Stringer

Chaser #2: James Potter

Chaser #3: Y/N L/N

…

Reserve: Marlene McKinnon

“I’m reserve?”

“Better than not at all, right?” James said in an attempt to cheer her up.

He glanced toward where you were sitting with your friends at a table on the other side of the common room. You didn’t need to see the roster. You knew. You knew you made the team and Marlene’s reaction only confirmed it.

James wouldn’t admit it, but he was intrigued by you. ‘Scared I’m going to replace you?’ you had asked. He hadn’t thought you’d actually take a spot on the team that wasn’t reserve.

At the first team practice, you found Marlene before taking the field. “Hey, no hard feelings, right?”

Marlene had calmed down a bit since, but she still had to bite the inside of her cheek to not spew venom at you.

“Yeah. We’re good.” She stood up and slung an arm over your shoulder as she walked out of the locker room with you. “If you ever get too stressed or whatever, don’t feel bad about tapping out for a match. It’s what I’m here for.”

You had no intention whatsoever of tapping out. Although any adult would disagree with you, you believed you were a quidditch player first, then a student. Now that you’ve made the team, they’d have to take you kicking and screaming.

When you were in class, working on assignments or out on the pitch for practice, you were reading a quidditch-related book. Your friends joked that you took better notes on those books than for any of your classes. You rolled your eyes but you knew it was true.

James started noticing you more off of the pitch. You usually sat around the same spot in the Great Hall, always with your roommates. More often than not, you were finishing an assignment as you ate. In the common room, you liked putting a throw pillow behind your back as you sat on the floor reading. When you sat with your friends in the common room, it was at a table. Your friends were often playing some game like Exploding Snap or Wizards’ Chess; he never saw you playing yourself.

Then, there was you on the pitch. From the moment you kicked off the ground, you were focused and determined. You listened to Sean and Leo like a soldier receiving commands from a superior officer. He could tell that flying was an instinct for you. Your broom was another extremity of your body, much like it was for him.

“Good practice,” he said, putting away his broom after practice.

“Thanks. You too.”

James paused his movements as he watched you finish putting away your things. You still had a rather intense expression on your face, taking off your gloves and pads. Once you were done, James hurriedly did the same so that he could walk back to the tower with you.

“Feeling ready for the match this weekend?” he asked, hands shoved into his pockets.

It would be your first match. The first match of the season had already passed, Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. You’d be playing Ravenclaw.

“They don’t stand a chance against us,” you said easily.

He chuckled. “I know that. I was asking about you.”

You looked at him just in time to see him adjust his glasses and then run a hand through his hair in one fluid movement. You raised your eyebrows.

“I’ll be fine. Will you?” You asked it like it was a challenge.

He laughed again. “I’ll be good. Don’t you worry about me.”

You smirked and he smiled back at you. You weren’t going to worry about him. He had been on the team last year and you were confident in your abilities. Neither of you said anything more. Sean and the other beater were walking ahead of you and you tried to listen in on their conversation, but they weren’t discussing quidditch and you really didn’t care about their N.E.W.T. level Charms essay that was due tomorrow morning.

As you neared the portrait of the Fat Lady, James said, “Make sure you eat well. You’ll need your energy.”

His voice was even, steady and his words normal, but what he was telling you felt odd.

“I was planning on it,” you said flatly.

Sean had held open the portrait for you and James. You thanked Sean and gave James a tight-lipped smile before heading up the girls’ staircase towards your dorm.

“How was practice?” Veronica asked, barely looking up from her History of Magic textbook.

You sighed as you laid down on your bed without showering. “I’m so ready for an actual match. I’m almost tired of drills.”

“You’re tired of something related to quidditch?” Natalie gasped.

“I said almost.”

Your first official quidditch match as a part of the Gryffindor team was an easy win. You, Leo and James scored point after point. Sean and the other beater did their job of protecting you and the keeper managed to deflect a few of Ravenclaw’s shots. Even though it wasn’t your job, you found yourself scanning for the snitch. You couldn’t catch it yourself but maybe you could prevent the other seeker from getting to it first. It turned out that you didn’t need to worry. The Gryffindor seeker was more than capable, getting to the snitch and catching before the Ravenclaw seeker even caught a glimpse of it.

You found yourself sitting in a circle of second and third years at the party after the win. Everyone had a bottle of butterbeer or pumpkin juice. The common room was alive. Music was playing from somewhere. Older students were dancing and drinking something stronger than butterbeer. There were multiple games of Exploding Snap and candy poker happening around the room.

The circle you were sitting in? Truth or dare.

“Nat, truth or dare,” Peter asked.

“Truth.”

“Boring!” Marlene said from between Sirius and Lily.

“Shut up,” Veronica snapped.

“Um, what’s the longest you’ve gone without brushing your teeth?”

Marlene threw her head back with a groan, earning a light smack on her arm by Lily.

“Probably… like three or four days?” Natalie said. “My family went to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. There was no running water.”

“Four days?” you asked with a laugh. “Must’ve had some bad breath.”

“You don’t want to know,” she said.

“Alright, Y/N, truth or date?” Sirius asked.

“Dare.” Your usual smirk was already plastered on your face.

“Bark like a dog until your next turn.”

You crossed your arms. Your face said it was too easy.

“Woof.”

Veronica was next and the game continued. As dares were completed and truths told, someone always ended up looking at you and asked something. You never slipped up.

“Woof,” you said. “Bark.”

Sirius got asked what was the stupidest reason he’s gotten detention. Marlene licked some firewood. Veronica got asked the color of her bedsheets at home and Peter the color of his underwear. Lucas, a boy from your year, had just refilled his butterbeer when Lily dared him to chug it. Eleanor had to let the person of her choosing, you, poke her face with their foot.

You were all giggles. The whole group was. After a few more rounds, it was James’ turn and you were asking.

“You know the drill, Potter.”

“Dare,” he said too-casually as he ruffled his own hair.

“Ask your crush on a date.”

The group went “Oooooh!” in unison.

It was juicy, essentially a two-in-one since you not only got to know who James’ crush was but he had to do something about it. You expected him to turn to Marlene, or maybe one of the older girls. Instead, he looked at Lily.

“Evans, what do you say? You, me butterbeers in Hogsmeade next weekend?”

She rolled her eyes. “You wish,” she said, colder than you expected from her.

She had always been so warm, bubbly and kind. The coldness didn’t seem to fit her, but given the expression on her face, she did not want to go on a date with James.

Remus clapped a hand on James’ shoulder.

“Better luck next time, mate,” he laughed.

And the game continued. No one lingered on your dare. No one brought up James being straight up rejected. No one rubbed it in his face. The group slowly dwindled as people finished their drinks and went to bed.

Between your dare and Remus saying “next time,” something awoke within James. That quidditch party was only the first time he asked Lily if she wanted to go out with him. You heard that he asked her in between classes a week or so later. You were there when he asked her during lunch some time after that, and in the common room even later.

She always said no. It didn’t stop him from trying.

A few weeks later, you noticed a change in James. You didn’t think it was from Lily rejecting him every time he asked her out. It wasn’t a confidence issue and that was coming from you. No. There was something else bothering him.

You saw it in the way he walked. The way he sat at the table during meals. The way he zoned out of conversations quicker. And in the way he flew. The most obvious proof that something was bugging him? James was distracted during quidditch practices. He missed passes thrown directly at him, dropped the quaffle multiple times and needed simple drills explained twice. He wasn’t in it.

You were at your locker after practice when Sean broke the news to James.

“Potter, hold up.”

You slowed your moving of your pads. You were nosy, but also worried that something was really wrong with James.

“Are you feeling alright? Stressed or something?” Sean asked.

“I…” James cleared his throat. “I’m good, Captain.”

“Right, then I hate to do this, but I’m taking you out of next match.”

“What?” James gasped in disbelief.

You felt that in your chest. You willed yourself to keep your gaze straight ahead.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve not been looking good during practice. You’re better than what you’ve been bringing to the pitch this week.” Sean sighed. “You’ll sit out one match.”

He patted James’ shoulder with a grim look and then left. Once Sean was far enough away, James swore and punched his locker. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t know if you should, not that you had any idea what to say. You understood where Sean was coming from, but you also knew that there was something else going on. You just didn’t know what.

You stood there a little bit longer before leaving. Any other practice you might’ve seen how close James was to being ready to head back so you could walk together. You had the feeling that James wouldn’t want any company today.

On Saturday, James couldn’t bring himself to sit in the stands for the match. He could spot Peter, Remus and Sirius in the stands as they cheered on the Gryffindor team. He was still watching the game himself, but he stood on the ground, just outside the pitch barrier. He cheered quietly every time you, Marlene or Leo scored. The three of you were doing amazing, moving in formation and passing flawlessly.

He was glad the game was going well; he wished it was him in the sky. He’s frustrated that he got himself grounded for a match, but how else was he supposed to react to finding out his roommate is a werewolf? That was quite a big reveal. It wasn’t like he could tell that to Sean to explain why he was out of it. He couldn’t tell anyone. So, yeah. He’s frustrated, but if sitting out one game is what it takes to keep Remus’ secret, he’d do it a million times over.

Throughout the match, you had scanned the stands for James. You knew he was upset about being benched, but you didn’t believe that he could actually miss a game. Then you spotted him on the ground. You figured that James would feel too weird being in the stands when Gryffindor was playing. When Gryffindor wins, you saw that James was still standing at the edge of the field. He wasn’t coming to join the on-field celebration. Sure, he hadn’t been a part of the win, but you thought he’d still celebrate with everyone. A Gryffindor win was a win for every Gryffindor.

The team hurried into the locker room with the promise of a party in the common room whenever they got up there. You put your broom away and took everything off. You stepped outside the locker room and saw James leaning against the wall. You stopped.

“James!”

“Hi,” he said monotonously.

“You waiting for someone?” Marlene had already left and it was only the keeper, Louis, left in the locker room.

He shook his head.

“Then you heading up to the common room?”

“Not yet.”

You stepped in front of James so that you weren’t blocking the door for Louis.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He gave you a half-smile and lightly hit your shoulder with his knuckles, a barely-there playful jab. “Thought I told you you didn’t have to worry about me, Squirt.”

You crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. “Squirt?”

“I’m good, really. Just going to run those agility drills Capt’ had us doing last practice. I’ll be up before you know it.”

You paused for a moment. You almost nodded and left him alone. Something kept you there.

“Do you want me to stay? I can do those with you, and then we could do some passing drills too?”

“Go enjoy the party,” James said with a more full smile. “You deserve it. You were good up there today.”

“Alright.”

James did show up at the party eventually. It was in full swing. He didn’t stay for long. It wasn’t like he did anything to help with the win. He wasn’t in the mood to party, although flying after the match did help his overall mood. You waved to him when he entered the common room and when he went up to his dorm. He waved back.

Slowly, James appeared to go back to normal. His normal arrogance radiating off of him and his prideful walk. His laugh carrying down corridors like he had never stopped laughing. And at practice, he flew like it was all he knew how to do. James Potter was back.

Soon enough, it was time to go home for the winter holiday. You rode with Natalie, Veronica, Lucas and Marvin. Eleanor stayed back at the castle. Natalie and Veronica were laughing about how James had asked Lily out one last time before getting on the train; Lily said no. Even though you knew it was ridiculous of James to keep asking her, you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh at his expense.

You saw him on the platform with his parents; even from a distance, you could see how much James looked like his father. Your parents stood not far beyond them.

“Happy Christmas, James,” you said briefly, giving him a smile as you passed by.

Fleamont watched you as you hugged your parents.

“New friend?” he asked his son.

James nodded. “Y/N, new teammate. I think I mentioned her in my letters? She’s the one who kicked Marlene to reserve this year.”

Fleamont and Euphemia exchanged a knowing glance, but didn’t say anything more. They remembered how James described you in those early fall letters.

“Ready for practice?” you asked James on the way down to the pitch for the first time since getting back from break.

“You don’t even know," he said, stretching his arms. “Mum won’t let me fly in the garden in the winter.”

“Why?”

“I think she just likes to kill my fun, Squirt.”

You raised your eyebrows at him like you didn’t believe him.

“And she says Christmas is family time and since she won’t get on a broom, no flying.”

You laughed. “Would your dad fly with you? He’s family too.”

“He prefers his feet on the ground. Says he’s too old.”

“Like you you can ever be too old.”

“Exactly, Squirt. You understand.”

Besides at practice and games, you don’t talk with James all that much. You’re friendly with each other, but you’re still more teammates than friends.

“James, James, James,” you called as you sprinted down the length of the Gryffindor table at breakfast.

All of his friends looked up as you skidded to a halt and slammed the latest edition of Top Quidditch in front of him.

“Do you see that broom?” you asked breathlessly.

“You ran to show him a broom?” Remus asked.

“Yes.”

“Holy… shit…” James murmured, looking at the broom. “Is that real?”

“It’s on the page, isn’t it?”

“But that can’t be real?”

“It is.”

“Care to share with the group?” Sirius asked, leaning forward to look at the magazine.

“Squirt, can I keep this? I’ll give it back later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it. You know where to find me.” You headed back down the table to where you were sitting with your friends.

“So, what’s special about the broom?” Remus asked.

“Upgrades to the hardware and enchantments. The speed increase is what you’d expect,” James said, his eyes scanning the page with interest. “The steering capabilities and steadiness are wicked. And, it’s bloody sexy.”

As much as you would’ve liked to be undefeated for your first quidditch season, you ended up losing once to Slytherin and once to Ravenclaw when you played them again. You end up playing Ravenclaw for a third time in the Quidditch Cup final and you lose. You would’ve really liked to have won, but their seeker caught the snitch. There was only so much you could do.

---

In late August, your parents took you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies. The first stop was Gringotts. You waited outside while they went to their vault. You sat on the warm marble steps, enjoying the sun. The streets were bustling with families. You recognized a few students, but none that you knew well enough to say hi, or you didn’t know them well enough to warrant you getting off the steps.

Your parents took into a few shops for themselves before finding all the shops that you needed for school supplies. Your mother insisted that the first stop for you be getting new robes.

“You don’t want to be sized when you’re sweaty and tired,” she said.

Walking out of Flourish and Blotts, you spotted a mess of black hair and glasses, accompanied by two boys with lighter-colored hair. James, Peter and Remus. The three boys were with five adults, two of which you recognized as James’ parents.

“Oi! Potter!” you yelled, waving your arm.

He looked around him until he spotted you. He smiled and waved back.

“A friend of yours?” your mother asked as you started walking towards the boys.

“James and I play quidditch together,” you told her. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Shopping for school?” your father asked, more to the parents than the boys.

“Yeah,” James answered. “Siriius came with his parents like the day after letters arrived. Bummer, really.”

“You do look a bit strange with only three of you… Would you care if I tagged along with you?” you asked.

James ruffled your hair. “O’ course I don’t mind. Remus? Peter?”

Neither boy minded. You weren’t the same as Sirius, but from what they experienced of you last year, you weren’t too bad. The parents introduced themselves as the group started to walk to the closest apothecary for potions ingredients. You learned that both of Remus’ parents were there and the extra man was Peter’s father.

You nudged James when you were approaching Quality Quidditch Supplies. He grinned wildly. The two of you barely spared your parents a glance before darting into the store.

“Didn’t think there was anyone as obsessed with quidditch like our James,” Fleamont said with a hearty laugh.

“I hear you there,” your father said.

“Most girls grow up dreaming about unicorns and love potions. Not Y/N. She’s been asking for a broom since she saw her uncle arrive on one when she was two. We’ve never known peace,” your mother sighed.

It didn’t take much longer before Remus and Peter decided to join you and James inside. They found the parents’ discussion boring. You and James were meandering around the shop, picking up different broom polishes and reading their ingredients. Peter and Remus walked up to you.

“Your parents are sharing baby stories,” Peter said.

You and James immediately looked up from the stand of tail-twig replacements you had started looking through. Both of your cheeks turned pink.

“They’re doing what?” James breathed.

“Apparently, Y/N didn’t dream about unicorns enough growing up.”

You just shrugged, your embarrassment fading as you realized your parents were commiserating about your love for quidditch.

“Right, well, I’m going to get that practice quaffle. I’ll be back.” You headed to a stand that was stacked with different versions of quaffles – some regulation, some heavier, some lighter, some smaller. You grabbed one of the smaller ones and disappeared to purchase it.

Some time later, your group split up. You and your parents were going to head home while the boys had a little more shopping to finish up.

As you walked toward a communal floo network fireplace, your mother asked, “How close are you with those boys? They seem like good kids.”

“I only really know James. Remus and Peter are in Gryffindor too, but they’re all a year older.”

A few days later, you were heading back to school. You told your friends about your run-in with James and his friends in Diagon Alley.

“Ugh, you should have told us what day you were going! We could’ve met up then,” Natalie said.

“I didn’t know what day we were going until my parents told me to grab the list.”

You passed by James at Hogsmeade Station and gave him a wave, which he returned. You didn’t exchange anything more than “Hi” until quidditch tryouts. Louis, the keeper, was now captain and there would have to be new players on the team now that Sean and a few others graduated. To no one’s surprise, you, James and Marlene were the chasers. You were confident that this was going to be a good year.

Between quidditch and being in the common room a lot, you and James got a good comradery going. You have inside jokes with just him and with him and Marlene. If you needed help with homework, James was the first person you went to. When you told him about getting an O on a Transfiguration essay, he tossed you a chocolate frog. You had delved into being friends rather than just teammates.

About halfway through the fall term, you walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with your friends. ‘Boggarts’ was written across the blackboard at the front of the room. There were whispers around the room. People were speculating what theirs would be if they ever had to come face-to-face with one.

“Spiders. No doubt there,” Veronica said with a shiver. “Too many legs, they move too fast. Merlin, have you seen the furry ones? Ugh.”

She shivered violently again. You, Natalie, Lucas, Eleanor and Marvin laughed; all of you had been asked to kill a spider for her before.

“What if it’s a concept rather than a thing?” Marvin asked as you all found your seats.

“What d’you mean?” you asked.

“Heights, man. Like being on a broom first year wasn’t bad. Weekes didn’t let us go too high. But like small ledges? When you know you’re going to fall because there’s nothing to hold onto?”

“Don’t know. I bet Professor Loust knows,” Eleanor said.

As if summoned by her name, the professor walked out of her office and began the lesson. She introduced the topic of boggarts. She said that knowledge of the creature would help defeat one, as you would do at the end of the week. Then she went into a full blown lecture about their amortality and shape-shifting abilities.

Later in the week, fear built up in the class. The anticipation about seeing your worst fear and everyone else’s was thick in the air. You knew that facing a boggart in a group would make it easier to take on, but that didn’t make you feel much better. You did what you did best: put on a brave face. You strutted into the classroom the same confidence you had every other day.

“You ready for today?” Marvin asked, rocking his chair onto his back legs.

“It’s just a boggart. Can’t hurt us. It’ll be fun,” you said.

Maybe if you said it out loud, it would come true.

It started out okay. Everything that appeared was to be expected. A few spiders, a dragon, dead parents, a nurse with a massive needle, a large snake, an essay with a T on it. “Riddikulus” was cast successfully by your classmates. Then it was your turn. Someone pushed you forward and you locked eyes with the bear in a top hat before it shifted.

The next thing you could remember was waking up on the floor when everyone standing around you and Professor Loust kneeing next to you.

“Are you alright?” she asked you, helping you sit up.

“Wha-?”

“You fainted,” Barty Crouch Jr. laughed somewhere further back in the class.

“Mr. Whittle, can you take Ms. L/N to the hospital wing. Have Madam Pomfrey give her some calming draught,” Professor Loust said.

She helped you up and held you steady until Lucas made it over to you. With his support, you were able to walk out of the classroom. You couldn’t even remember what you saw, and for some reason, that bugged you more than the fact that you fainted.

“What was that?” Lucas asked as you hobbled along with him.

You opened your mouth to say ‘I don’t know,’ but no noise came out. So you shook your head.

“Bloody terrifying,” he said.

If only you knew if he was being polite so you didn’t feel bad about fainting, or if whatever the boggart turned into was actually scary.

He didn’t say anything more for the rest of the walk to the Hospital Wing.

“What’s wrong with ‘er?” Madam Pomfrey asked the moment you walked through the large, metal doors. She had barely spared you a glance but pointed to an open bed.

“Working with boggarts today, ma’am,” Lucas said. “Y/N fainted.”

The nurse nodded and appeared at your side with a calming draught. “Usually at least one every year. Nothing to worry about, dear.”

You drank the blue liquid and frowned. Then you curled in on yourself. Lucas gave Madam Pomfrey a concerned look that you couldn’t see, and she watched you with careful eyes.

“Results should be instantaneous… Dear, how do you feel?”

You shook your head. It’s all you could do. The creature the boggart turned into was all you could see now. Lucas wasn’t kidding – it was terrifying. The calming draught had cleared your mind, but it cleared your mind of the fog that was blocking out what you had seen and now you were worse.

“Mr. Whittle, you can go back to class. Ms. L/N will stay here until these side effects wane.”

Side effects, she called them. Really, she didn’t know what to do besides wait until she could safely give you another dose of calming draught and hope for the best. So you sat, hugging your knees in the bed and shaking. It would take three more doses of draught before Madam Pomfrey cleared you to go back to Gryffindor Tower. In addition to the calm draughts, she also gave you a sandwich since you missed dinner.

You took the walk back to the common room slowly. You jumped at the creaking of a suit of armor. Whispering portraits had you on edge. Every stair had you worried that you were going to slip and fall to your death. You wished that someone had been sent for to walk back with you.

James jumped up from an armchair when he saw you enter the common room.

“Hey, where you been? You missed practice?” he asked, walking over to you. Then he saw your still-pale face. “Squirt, what’s… are you okay?”

Without thinking, you threw your arms around James and buried your face in his chest. His arms wrapped around you protectively as you started sobbing.

“Shit, Squirt… what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. You were simply unable to talk and right now, James felt safe. He was older, sturdy and could fight a stupid boggart.

“You’re okay. I got you…” he murmured. “Come on, let’s sit down, okay? That’s it. Couch is just a few more steps…”

He led you to the couch and offered you a blanket once you were sat down.

“Oi, Evans!” he called to the ginger across the room.

Lily looked up with a disgruntled expression, expecting James to be asking her out again.

“Can you get a tea for Squirt here?”

Her expression softened immediately, and she nodded, standing up to get a communal kettle from the shelf. Marvin leaned over the back of the couch you were sitting on.

“Damn, she still out of it?” he asked, shocked.

James looked up from you. “What happened?”

“Boggarts today. She fainted.”

James frowned. He sat next to you until the kettle started whistling. He waved off Lily as he went to make your cup. He knew how you took your tea from sitting next to you at breakfast before early morning practices. Then he was at your side on the couch all evening. Remus brought him some homework he needed to get done, but James wasn’t going to get up to get it.

He only left you when your stomach started growling. He remembered that he hadn’t seen you at dinner.

“Have you eaten?” he asked quietly.

“Small sandwich.”

“Right, I’ll be back.”

You watched James disappear out of the common room door, despite it being after curfew. He’s gone for around fifteen minutes. When he returned, he had a small plate of food for you to snack. Everything on the plate were things he’d seen you grab before.

“Thanks,” you whispered as you took the plate from him.

He sat down next to you again. Neither of you said anything while you ate. When you were done, you thanked him again and got up to go to bed. James stood by the bottom of the girls’ staircase until he heard your dorm’s door close. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and went to bed himself.

Just like how your dare sparked a habit of James asking Lily out, your fainting revealed a protective side of James. He made sure you were eating enough, especially in the week immediately after the boggart incident. If anyone mentioned your boggart, James found them. He exchanged charged words with them, just enough to get them to shut up about it. If he happened to be in the library when you were and you couldn’t reach the book you needed, he was getting it down for you. He found himself in the library more often as he was also making sure you were having no issues getting your homework done. James even grabbed your broom for you while you put on your pads.

“I can grab my own broom, Potter,” you said dryly the first time he did it.

“But now you don’t need to.”

“Are you grabbing Marlene’s too?”

“Ah, she’s a big girl; she can grab her own.”

“So I’m not a big girl?” you asked.

“I… didn’t say that.”

“You did. You grabbed my broom for me.”

“Squirt,” he said with a warning tone. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave his shoulder a shove. “Yeah, I do.”

James let out a boyish laugh as you walked toward the pitch. He thought you really were something. You knew yourself well and he liked that about you.

The rest of your third year breezed by. Once again, Gryffindor made it to the Quidditch Cup finals, only to be beaten this time by Slytherin. Another season ending in defeat. You tried not to feel too downtrodden about it, at least you felt confident in your finals.

“Don’t worry about the cup,” James muttered to you late at night in the common room.

“Have I lost it?” I asked, disbelief dripping from your voice. “James Potter is telling me not to worry about quidditch?”

“Two losses isn’t great. And we can do better. But that’s the point.”

You looked at James with an expression that said ‘Get to the point.’

“We got it next year. Trust me. We got it in the bag.”

“Pretty confident…”

“Squirt, you just got to trust me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you stopped worrying about the cup. You couldn’t go back in time to fix anything. Some games just didn’t go in your favor.

Over the summer, your parents surprised you with tickets to see the Falmouth Falcons. You were ecstatic. It would be the first professional quidditch game you’d get to see in person. You wanted someone to share in your excitement. None of your friends would care much. But James? He’d be excited for you.

You wrote a short letter to James. It was nothing much. You asked how his summer was going so far and said yours was going well and about to turn much better. You wrote that you had the tickets and you couldn’t wait. You signed it “See you in the fall, Squirt”.

His response told you his summer was also good. Sirius, Remus and Peter had all been over to visit his family’s property and would be back again in August. He said that he was jealous about you going to see a professional match. His parents took him twice before to see the Appleby Arrows and the Tutshill Tornados. Sighed, “See you on the pitch, James”.

---

Fourth year started off in the same way as third, with you waving to James and him returning it. He walked next to you on the way back to the common room after the feast.

“How was the Falcons match?”

“Amazing! Fantastic! Absolutely brilliant!” you exclaimed, eyes shining. “As soon as I can afford season tickets, I’m getting them. I don’t even care which team they’re for.”

James smiled that cock grin of his. “It’ll be for whichever team I’m on, I’m sure.”

“That your plan for after Hogwarts? Going pro?” You’re more teasing than genuinely asking.

“You know it. Why? Don’t think I have it?”

You took a second to give James a once over. When did he get so attractive? Nope, that wasn’t the question he asked.

“You’ve got potential. But the percentage of people who actually go pro? You won’t like the odds.” You laughed. “See you later, Potter.”

You hurried to join Natalie and Eleanor at the bottom of the girls’ stairs. James chucked to himself and turned to sit by the fire until his friends all made it to the common room. Remus had said something about raiding the kitchens already for midnight snacks.

A few days later, James burst into the common room after classes. He was bounding with energy to the point where he was vibrating.

“SQUIRT!” he yelled.

You were sitting at a table, attempting to work on a Charms essay. You looked up at him with raised eyebrows. ‘This ought to be good,’ you thought.

“You know how you said I got potential?”

“Vaguely, yes,” you said, tilting your head. It had only been a few days, how could you have forgotten?

“Well, you better up how much potential you see because you’re looking at this year’s captain!”

You sputtered before actually being able to form words. “You’re captain? Shit, we’re actually going to win the cup!”

You jumped up to hug him. In his excitement, he picked you and spun you around. You were laughing by the time he set you down.

“Lily will have to say yes to a date now!” he said before turning to find others to tell.

From what you could tell, you were the first person he told. Maybe it was because he ran into you in the common room, but surely, he could’ve said nothing and ran up to his to tell Sirius or Remus or Peter.

Over the next few weeks, you realized that you’re spending more time with James than you previously. He’s always reliable for a good laugh and cheeky banter, but he also listens to you and makes you feel important. He makes every bad thing feel miniscule and every good thing like the best thing to ever happen. Being around James was… nice.

Part of your spending more time with him was due to quidditch. As captain, he was almost ruthless. Not quiet, but almost. Practices were more intense than the past two years. Marlene swore him out after an annoyingly tedious practice in the rain. You thought everyone on the team shared her sentiment; she was just the one with the balls to say it.

But it paid off. Your first match, against Slytherin no less, was a blow out. Everyone was on top of their game. It was a great way to start the season.

The party following the game was eardrum-bursting loud. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were let into the common room without question. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the common room quite so full. Veronica was practically sitting on your lap in an armchair.

On the other side of the room, James was making out with some Hufflepuff. It made your stomach clench, but you don’t want to think about it. If you did, things might change and you don’t want that. You remind yourself that he just won his first match as captain. He has every right to make out with whomever he feels like.

During the next week, James asked out Lily and, not surprisingly, she said no. It was the eighth time this year.

James sat down next to you at lunch and dramatically threw himself over you.

“Why won’t my love go on a date with me, Squirt?”

You ignored the way your heart sped up. “Maybe she saw you swap spit with that Hufflepuff on Saturday?”

Peter and Remus choked back laughter as James slightly up-draped himself from you.

“What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be dense. You know you can’t snog a girl at a party and then ask someone else out. It’s rude.”

“More than rude, if you ask me,” Remus said with a smirk.

James sighed, sitting up. He knew that you were right, but, in his defense, Lily had been saying no to him before he made out with the Hufflepuff. Godric forbid he wanted to celebrate the quidditch win.

Later that evening, you were working on assignments in the common room with Natalie, Veronica and Eleanor. James and his friends were seated by the fire, doing who knows what. James groaned, standing up and stretching. His friends didn’t look up. Neither did you. He disappeared to his dorm briefly before coming back down and dropping a package of fudge flies on your book.

You stared at it for a moment and then at James as he sat back down on the couch.

“Where’s my snack?” Sirius whined after noticing you open the package.

“You’re not hard at work,” James said casually.

“Neither are you!”

“I got up to get my snack, so I get a snack. And you don’t.”

You stifled a laugh. Somehow, you ranked above Sirius, James’ absolute best friend.

“James, where’re you going?” Sirius asked after dinner later in the week as James turned down a corridor that did not lead to Gryffindor Tower.

“I got detention with Sluggy, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Sirius swore. “That means I have detention with Sprout. Guess we’ll see you two later.”

Remus and Peter continued to the tower as Sirius and James went to their detentions. That wasn’t the only time James found himself in detention. In previous years, he’d gotten detention for a miscellaneous prank or a bad-landing joke so it wasn’t like he was a stranger to detention. But, he was getting it more often. He still got detention for pranks with Sirius, Remus and Peter, but now he seemed to be crossing lines when he talked back to professors and forgetting homework.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend and when you woke up, none of your roommates were around. You got up, did your usual morning thing and hoped to find them in the common room or at breakfast. You really didn’t want to walk to Hogsmeade by yourself.

You didn’t see them in the common room nor at breakfast so you decided to grab a book and wait for them in the common room. They’d have to come back eventually. You got comfortable on the couch with your legs tucked underneath you and opened your book. You had barely read a page when James and his friends noisily stormed down the stairs from their dorm. They headed to the portrait hole before James paused and backtracked to stand over you.

“Squirt,” he said firmly with his arms crossed.

“James.”

“You’re on the couch.”

You hummed. “Observant. Sure you need those glasses?”

You flipped the page of your book with as much noise as you could manage. James huffed a laugh and pushed said glasses up his nose.

“Why aren’t you on your way to Hogsmeade? It’s a perfectly good weekend.”

“Dunno where my friends are and I’m not walking by myself. That’s just sad.”

“We’re your friends,” he said, gesturing to the boys waiting for him by the door. “So, up you get. We’re going to Zonko’s.”

James held out his hand to you with a look of determination on his face. He wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. You clicked your tongue, set your book off to the side and took his hand. With a grunt, he pulled you up.

“Damn, Prongs, all those detentions wearing on you?” Peter laughed.

“Ha, ha,” James said sarcastically.

“Alright, so Y/N’s coming with?” Sirius asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Then let’s go. I need dung bombs to fling at Snivy.”

With Remus now leading the way, you and the boys left Gryffindor Tower and the Hogwarts grounds. It was probably the most entertaining walk to Hogsmeade you had ever been on. There was just something about James and his friends. They were loud and always armed with either a joke or insult with a cloud of laughter that surrounded them.

As Sirius and James had declared in the common room, Zonko’s was the first stop. You followed the boys around, not really looking at what the shop had to offer. You felt like a lost puppy with how you were following James around, but you knew he probably expected it. He tried to explain how he could use a combination of tripwire and stink pellets to give them a few extra hours to turn in an Astronomy assignment. You weren’t really listening. You were more of just watching him talk.

Throughout the day, you stopped in just about every stop. Zonko’s took the longest to go through, followed closest by Honeydukes. The boys had a strange method of going through the shop, which you couldn’t comprehend so you wandered by yourself. When you met up with the boys at the till, you all had armfuls of sweets. Remus reminded everyone to replenish your stationary supplies, which was good because you were actually running low on ink and would’ve gone back to the castle without any.

The last stop of the day, as completely expected, was the Three Broomsticks. Nothing topped off a rather fun day better than a foamy mug of butterbeer. You sat down at the table between James and Remus. Some time after the first round of drinks, Marlene stopped by the table and leaned over the back of your chair.

“How did you get wrapped into drinking with these idiots?” she asked. “Me, Lils, Mary and a few others are just over there.” She jerked her thumb toward a table of all girls.

James absentmindedly put his arm around the back of your chair.

“Ah, I’ve spent all day with ‘em. I’ll survive another hour or so.” You smiled at her. “Thank you though.”

After Marlene walked away, Peter said, “Aw, lads, I think she likes us.”

“Eh, you lot are alright,” you said with a shrug.

And just like the rest of the day, you’re laughing with the boys. James’ arm remained around your chair. His fingers occasionally brushed your arm and his hand sometimes moved to your shoulder if he laughed too hard. Your breath hitched when you felt your hair move before realizing it was just James. You hoped he didn’t notice.

He didn’t.

When it came time to pay, the boys started pooling their galleons. You reached for your coin purse, but James slapped your hand away.

“I need to get my money out, Potter.”

“I invited you out, Squirt. You’re covered.”

You glared at him playfully. “I can afford my butterbeer.”

“Don’t care. You’re covered.”

You sighed defeatedly but smiled. Today had been a good day. Sirius and Remus led the group back to school with Peter close behind. James walked with you, his hands shoved in his pockets. You shivered. James noticed and put an arm around you, pulling you close to him.

“Better?”

“You’re a bloody furnace.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” James said with a smile since you didn’t pull away.

Neither of you said anything more for the rest of the walk. It was comfortable. Peter, Remus and Sirius’ laughter carried back to you. When you got back to the common room, the other three went in but you paused.

“Hey, um, James,” you started to say.

“Yeah?” He looked down at you with a soft smile.

“Thanks for today.”

He gave your shoulder a squeeze and held the portrait open for you.

“Any time, Squirt.”

Back in your dorm, Natalie, Eleanor and Veronica were all sitting around.

“Look who it is!” Natalie said as you closed the door. “Heard you were off with some boys today?”

“Just James and his friends.”

“Just James, she says,” Veronica laughed. “Been spending a lot of time with him lately. Forgotten about us?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not my fault I didn’t know where you were.”

“The library? Got that massive essay for Transfiguration?” Natalie said incredulously.

“Shit. Welp, I guess that’s a tomorrow problem for me.”

After struggling with the essay all morning, you looked for James at lunch. You’d ask him for help. He was always ready to help you.

Except you couldn’t find him. You asked his friends if they had seen him.

“He went to the pitch earlier and haven’t seen him since,” Peter said.

“Shit… I was going to ask him to help me with this damned essay.”

“I can help you. What subject?” Remus asked.

“Transfiguration,” you said. “You don’t have to though. I can struggle through it until he shows up.”

“Hey, like James said, we’re your friends. Who knows when he’ll show his ugly mug?”

You laughed and worked with Remus when you went back to the library.

James had gone to the pitch that morning to do some flying. He was walking back late morning when he overheard some Slytherins in the corridor he was approaching.

“Did you hear that Potter paid for L/N’s butterbeer yesterday? What do you think she did to deserve that?”

“Think she sucked him off?”

“Probably all four. They’re a package deal.”

“You think that’s the going rate for her services? One butterbeer for-”

The Slytherin didn’t get to finish their sentence. James’ fist cut them off. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. The other Slytherin ran off to get a professor, who pulled James off of the first Slytherin. The professor then brought James to Professor McGonagall’s office and told her what he saw.

Professor McGonagall summoned some ice for James’ hand and stared at him firmly with pursed lips for a moment.

“Mr. Potter, you know that we do not tolerate fighting. And I expected better of you.”

“Professor, you didn’t hear what they were saying!”

She sighed. “I’ve heard you say some things. You’ll need to tell-”

“It was about Y/N,” James said, shaking his head.

“You’ll have to tell me.”

“They… they said that she was exchanging… favors for butterbeers. Wondering if that’s her ‘going rate for services.’” James shook his head again. “Professor, she’s basically my sister. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let them…”

She sighed again and folded her hands on her desk. “I understand that you are close with Miss L/N and their comments are inappropriate. However, you are not in a position to hand out punishments. Recently, you’ve gotten into the habit of receiving them.” She paused. “You’ll have detention for a week with Filtch.”

“Professor!”

“Mr. Potter. I am concerned for you. The talking back, the missing assignments, and now fighting? You are better than this. You need to be.”

James didn’t say anything. He sunk deeper in his seat. McGonagall flipped through some papers on her desk and sighed again. James thought she was doing that a lot.

“While I have you here… shall we discuss your plans for the future?”

James didn’t leave her office until dinner. Between discussing his desire to be a professional quidditch player, possible back-up plans and how he needed to get his act together, they had a lot to talk about. He left just a little bit before dinner. He put up a notice for the quidditch team that practices for the week were moved to mornings, and then he booked it to the Great Hall since he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sirius asked.

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” he repeated. “All goddamn day?”

James nodded and started filling his plate.

You and Remus walked into the Great Hall; the two of you had dropped your things off in the common room before coming. You spotted James and ran up to him.

“Potter! What is that notice in the common room?”

He gave you a weak smile. “Morning practices."

“Yeah, why?” You were frowning as you sat down next to him.

“I… got detention all week” he muttered before stuffing his face.

“Detention? All goddamn week?”

He nodded.

“What’d you do?” Peter asked.

“Punched a Slytherin…”

“Oh, then they probably deserved it,” Peter mused.

“They did,” James stated with more conviction in his voice than you’ve ever heard.

“They better if it’s changing my sleep schedule for the next five days…” you grumbled.

Every morning that week, you rolled out of bed and stumbled down to the pitch at the break of dawn, cursing under your breath. You weren’t the only one upset with the time change. The whole team was disgruntled, being that you were used to two morning practices a week max. But when Saturday came, you felt well rested as you got up at your usual weekend time. The team played as well as you felt. It was an easy win against Ravenclaw.

To your secret delight, James didn’t snog anyone at the party afterwards. He asked Lily out with a cheeky grin, but she replied with her usual answer: no. You danced with your friends at the party. Sometimes you glanced over at James and you swore you saw him already looking at you.

For the rest of fall term, James still got a handful of detentions, but not as many as he had been getting. He cleaned up his attitude a bit, which helped immensely. Not being tied up in detention, James helped you with any homework you needed and insisted that he study with you. Sometimes it meant his assignments didn’t get done, but ce la vie. He brought you candy and other snacks from his stash, earning complaints from his friends because apparently the treats were only for you and him.

Quidditch practice went back to its normal times and you won against Hufflepuff, the last match before Christmas break. James asked Lily out a few more times, but it still went nowhere.

Nothing exciting happened over Christmas break nor during most of the spring term. Gryffindor continued to win matches, but James didn’t snog anyone. He’d ask Lily out, get turned down and go back to whatever conversation his friends were having. He still studied with you and gave you candy. Once in a while he ruffled your hair, earning a groan and a swat from you.

It ended up being Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw for the Quidditch Cup. James had never been confident for a win. His pre-game speech hyped up the team and you walked out of the locker room determined and confident. And the game was easily going in your favor with you, James and Marlene flying circles around the Ravenclaws. Until the eagles started to play dirty. There were a few near-misses that should’ve been called fouls, and then a Ravenclaw beater hit a bludger directly at your seeker. You watched, unable to do anything, as your seeker fell from his broom and landed with a sickening crunch. There was nothing you could do besides score more points. It seemed like James and Marlene had the same thought. Score enough points before the Ravenclaw seeker catches the snitch.

You did your best. You really did. You were only five points away. You threw the quaffle to James who passed to Marlene. It was back to you and then back to Marlene.

And the roar of the crowd. Ravenclaw caught the snitch and it was over. You lost the Quidditch Cup again.

James didn’t talk to anyone after the match. The whole team wallowed silently and you all took turns sitting with your seeker in the hospital wing.

---

You didn’t expect to hear from James over the summer. You certainly didn’t expect him to invite you to a summer party he was hosting. You would’ve gone or gone down begging, if only your parents hadn’t planned a family visit to some relatives you rarely saw. You knew you’d be bored out of your mind and would much rather be at James’ party, but you also knew that you had less than zero chance of getting out of it. You told James as much. He wrote backing saying it was a bummer you couldn’t come and he’d see you at school.

Once again, start of the school year, you waved and he waved back. You sat with your friends and caught up on what you all did over the summer. You complained about your family visit. Loudly. James looked down the table at you with a smirk. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at you for a few seconds before zoning back into his friends’ conversation.

A few days later, Professor McGonagall called you into her office. You were terrified. Your hands shook as you turned the knob. It had only been a few days and you were never one to cause too much trouble. How had you gotten into trouble already?

“Miss L/N, wonderful. Come in.”

At least McGongall didn’t sound upset? You took a seat.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked, voice shaking.

She raised her eyebrows. “No. I’ve selected you to be quidditch captain this year.”

Fear morphed into shock.

“What?” you gasped. “What about James?”

She clicked her tongue and folded her hands on her desk.

“Mr. Potter found himself in detention far too many times last year for my liking. The role of captain is an honor, a privilege. I do not currently deem him worthy of such.”

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you, professor. I won’t let you down.”

She smiled ever so slightly and said, “I know you won’t.”

You spent at least half an hour talking with her about responsibilities and perks of being captain. She had some base rules you needed to follow that she personally set, meaning the other three captains weren’t required to follow them.

After leaving McGonagall’s office, you took the long route back to the Gryffindor Common Room. You had a good feeling that James didn’t know he had been demoted. And you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the fact that you were captain. You probably had to be the one to break the news to James that he was not going to be captain this year.

As soon as you stepped through the portrait hole, James stood up from the game of wizards’ chess he was in the middle of. He practically ran toward you and put his hands on your shoulder.

“What was it? What did you do?”

“Um, don’t shoot the messenger… but you’re not quidditch captain this year.”

“What?” he asked, taking a step back and letting his hands fall from your shoulders. He was visibly confused.

“I-I am.”

“Wait, what?” It was a complete 180. He sounded thrilled, like this was the best news he had heard all year. “Squirt! That’s amazing!” He picked you up in a hug and spun you around. “You’re captain? This season is going to be brilliant!”

Building the team was fairly easy. It was almost identical to last year. You varied some of the drills and plays that James favored with ones that you devised. You thought the team was shaping up pretty good and if you ever had any doubts, you could just ask James.

It was the night before your first match as captain and for the first time, you felt nervous about a quidditch match. You felt that if Gryffindor lost tomorrow, it would be all your fault. It would be because you put together a bad team. Or you had a good team with no control over it. Or you had a great team and managed to ruin them with poor practicing. To put it shortly, you couldn’t sleep so you were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire in the common room.

“Squirt, that you?” a sleepy voice asked from behind you.

James.

You mumbled something incoherent. You’re not even sure what you were trying to say. He plopped down next to you, also cross-legged.

“Our mighty captain needs her sleep before her big game.”

You groaned. “Don’t mention the game.”

“That why you’re down here?” he asked, bumping your shoulder gently.

“What if we lose?” you whispered.

“What if we win?”

“I don’t care if we win. I care if we lose.”

“I mean, you should care if we win. Proof of how amazing of a captain you are. Which you are, by the way.”

You didn’t say anything.

“The team is prepared. You’ve prepared us. We are going to be brilliant tomorrow.” he nudged your shoulder again. “If you get some sleep. Can’t you falling asleep in the air.”

“What if we lose?” you whispered again.

“Then we have something to work for. Our season isn’t decided in one game. Especially not the first one.” Then he chuckled. “Maybe it’d be good to lose the first match. Last season we won the first match and we lost the Cup. Year before, same thing. And year before.”

You chuckled at that. Maybe James was right.

“So you’ll go to bed?” he asked, slight grin on his face.

“Would be more impressive if I won while half-asleep,” you said dryly.

James bumped your shoulder again and you groaned.

“Fine,” you sighed.

James stood up and held his hand out for you. He pulled you up and walked you over to the girls’ staircase. Like after the boggart, he waited for your door to close before he headed up to his dorm.

You looked a little more confident in the morning. A little tired from tossing and turning, but more rested than you would’ve been if you had stayed up all night by the fire. You took a few deep breaths in the locker room before giving your pre-game speech. You knew it wasn’t as good as James’, but it was something.

And it turned out to be good enough. The Gryffindor team easily out-scored Slytherin to the point where if your seeker hadn’t caught the snitch, you still would’ve won. James pulled you into a hug the moment your feet touched the ground.

“I told you, Squirt,” he laughed.

It took so much of your willpower to not kiss him right then and there. Because friends don’t kiss and that’s all you are to James. A friend. The rest of the team and tons of Gryffindors congratulated you after James let go of you.

As always, a party ensued. You saw James talking to a group of his friends, but more of note, he was standing next to Lily and looking at her with a glint of awe in his eyes every time she laughed. He’d probably ask her out by the end of the night, hoping for a different answer than the one she’s given him too many times to count.

You were sitting in one of the arm chairs, slouched with one leg hanging over the arm rest. It was unbelievably comfortable. Natalie was retelling something that happened in her Divination class. You were only half listening, but you laughed when everyone else did.

“Y/N, dance?” Eleanor asked a few minutes later.

You nodded and got up. You had discovered pretty quickly that you loved dancing at parties. After a song or two, more of your friends joined you in dancing. And then after more songs, the music switched to something slower. You were about to go sit down when Marvin grabbed your hand.

“Could I, um, get a dance with the captain?”

You felt your face burn as you nodded. You let him hold you close and you swayed with the music. It was nothing dramatic or overly romantic. Just two friends dancing. He probably just wanted the winning captain to not be sitting down when she could be dancing.

As soon as the song ended, you moved apart from him and headed for the drinks. Eleanor was at your side within seconds of you taking a sip of butterbeer.

“Marvin asking you to dance, huh?”

You gave her an unimpressed look. “He just wanted to dance with the captain of the winning team.”

“Because she’s you.”

You snorted a laugh and shook your head.

“Why do you think I got you on the dancefloor to begin with?”

“Because you wanted to dance and you know I like dancing?”

“Because he wanted you already up and dancing when he asked you to dance.”

You give her a patronizing smile and pat her arm. You took a long sip of your butterbeer before returning to your armchair, where you’d remain until you went to bed. You could feel Marvin’s eyes watching you. You really hoped that Eleanor was wrong. That it was just a dance between friends and not him wanting more. You didn’t like him like that.

You expected some teasing from your female friends, the ones who lived in the same dorm as you. You never shared who you had a crush on. You gave them nothing. They had their suspicions, but no one was going to ask.

You didn’t, however, expect James to appear next to you as you walked to the library to work on assignments.

You didn’t expect him to ask, “So… you and whatshisname… Melvis?”

“Marvin?” you scoffed. “What about him?”

“You and Marvin,” he corrected himself. “Is that something?”

You gave him the same unimpressed look you gave Eleanor.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“A friend asked me to dance and I said yes. It was one dance. That’s all.”

“A slow dance, Squirt,” James said, bumping into you.

“Okay, and?”

“You slow danced with a boy.”

“Alert the presses?”

James sighed dramatically. “I should’ve known you’d be a little heartbreaker.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Pretty thing like you? No way this Marvin doesn’t fancy you. And you danced with him, got his hopes up. And by the sounds of it, you’re going to crush him.”

Pretty. That’s about all you heard. Or processed really.

Because did you get enough to say, “He’ll get over me.”

James didn’t follow you into the library. You’re glad he didn’t. You needed to calm your heart down; he only called you pretty. It wasn’t something to get so worked up about, but James had called you pretty. And a heartbreaker. You let yourself feel a little bit of hope.

Your confidence as quidditch captain quickly grew after having a win under your belt. You felt more at ease yelling commands during practices. Your pre-game speeches got better. Your second match was against Hufflepuff and that was an easy win too. As was the match against Ravenclaw. You were 3-0 going into winter break.

Oh, and your studies were good too. They just didn’t feel as important to you.

You were eating breakfast at home on Christmas morning when an owl tapped on the window. Your mother let it in to remove the small package from its leg.

“Y/N, who’s J.P.?”

You froze mid-bite. J.P. James? Potter?

Your chair scraped against the floor loudly as you stood up and crossed the kitchen within steps to rip the package from her hands.

Messy handwriting wrote,

Happy Christmas to Gryffindor’s mighty captain! - JP

You’re not sure what surprised you more: that he sent you something or that he didn’t call you Squirt. He wrote “captain.”

“J.P.?” your mother repeated. “Is that that boy we met in Diagon Alley a while back? The Potters, right?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

You slowly walked back to the breakfast table and sat down. You budged your breakfast off to the side. The wrapping crinkled under your fingers as you lifted the taped edges. It was a plain box. Your eyes went wide when you saw what was inside.

“Holy… shit…”

“Y/N! Language!” your father chided you before taking a sip of his coffee. Then he added, “What’d the boy get you?”

“Nogard gloves. The leather ones with cross-stitching and slim padding.”

Your father lowered his mug. “Those cost a fortune.”

“I know, dad. That’s why I didn’t ask for them.” You turned the gloves over in your hands. “He must’ve heard me talking about them with Marlene…”

You didn’t know James was getting you a present. You hadn’t gotten him anything.

Your mother made a noise from where she was still standing near the window. “James must really like you.”

A heat crept up your neck. You gently placed the gloves back in the back and tucked James' short note on top of them before putting the lid on.

“What’d you get him?” she asked.

“Um, nothing… I didn’t know he was getting me anything.”

“Oh.”

Yup, thanks Mum. That’s reassuring. You took the box and disappeared into your room to figure out what to write to James. He had not only surprised you with a gift but one so expensive you hadn’t bothered hinting to your parents that you’d like it.

You stared at empty parchment for what felt like two hours.

Happy Christmas James! Thank you so much - you have no idea how much I wanted these. I feel horrible that I didn’t get you anything… I didn’t know we were doing gifts. -Squirt

That would have to do. You tied it to your owl’s leg and sent her off to the Potter residence. Before the end of the day, James wrote back.

You deserve those gloves. And you know what I always say to you? Don’t worry about me. -JP

You tucked that note in the box with the gloves as well.

You still felt like you had to prove that you “deserved” the gloves as James had said. You put even more of yourself into the sport. But you allowed yourself to relax a bit when the other teams were playing. Neither of your friend groups were surprised when you and James stood next to each other at the front of the stands for the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin game.

After the match, James told everyone he was going to grab snacks from the kitchens before going back to the common room. He noted a few requests from his friends; he didn’t need to ask you what you wanted since he already knew that. You went with a herd of Gryffindors back to the tower as James descended stairs toward the kitchens.

He was about to tickle the pear from the fruit painting.

“Did you hear that Potter got L/N Nogard gloves?”

“They’re fucking, right? They have to be.”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t he ask that Lily Evans out like twice a week?”

“He can ask her out and still be shagging L/N on the side.” There was laughter. “Think that’s where she got her nickname from? Squirt?”

“You think he makes her squirt? Gross.”

James wasn’t exactly sure what happened next. He vaguely remembered the feeling of warm blood on his hands, which now pulsed with pain. He could hear the echo of bone breaking. And someone shrieking.

Somehow he ended up in McGonagall’s office. She looked pissed.

“Fighting, Potter? Again?”

“I… I-I…”

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “Please tell me you at least had a reason.”

James was staring at his hands.

“They…” He shook his head, swallowing hard. “About Y/N. Horrible things.”

“Did they hurt her?”

He shook his head again.

“They said things? Like last year?”

“Worse than last year.”

She nodded. “That’d explain why you disfigured two Hufflepuffs.” A heavier sigh. “I understand you care for Miss L/N a lot-”

“She’s like my sister, professor.”

“Yes. You’ve said. But, I still cannot condone fighting. Detention. Two weeks.”

James nodded grimly. He’d had to miss practices because you certainly wouldn’t move practices to mornings for two weeks for him.

“You may go. And… consider if this is familial love you’re feeling.”

Odd things to say, James thought as he headed to Gryffindor Tower sans snacks.

He didn’t say anything when he entered the common room, despite calls from his friends and you. Most were questions about the food. He just headed up to his dorm. Before Remus or Sirius or Peter could even think of standing up to follow him, you were on your feet and moving up the stairs.

You did have the good sense to knock before barging into his dorm.

“Got distracted. No snacks. Sorry.” Irritation laced every word.

“James? You okay?”

“Squirt. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said in a kinder voice.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, one second.” You heard some movement. “Okay, yeah.”

You opened the door and James adjusted his glasses. He had hit them when he put his shirt back on.

“You went for snacks and came back like Mr. Grumpypants had the worst day of his life. What’s wrong?” You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe.

James sat on his bed, running a hand through his hair.

“I may or may not have gotten detention for two weeks.”

You gasped and crossed the room to stand right in front of James. You smacked his head.

“Two weeks? I am not moving our practices to the morning for two weeks.”

“Yeah, I know.”

At least he sounded remorseful.

“What did you do? How did you get detention for two weeks?”

“Got into a fight…” he mumbled. You could barely hear him.

You sat down on the bed next to him.

“A fight? With who? About what? Fuck, two weeks?”

“Some Hufflepuffs…”

“By the kitchens. Makes sense.”

“Erm, they were saying-” He clicked his tongue. “-crude things about you.” He left out the part about you and him.

You pressed your lips together and looked away from James so he couldn’t see the faint dusting of pink on your cheeks. He got in a fight for you?

You waited a few seconds before clearing your throat and asking, “You can still play in the match in two weeks?”

“As long as I don’t get in any more trouble.”

“Good. And don’t. I’d rather have you on my team than benched for playing knight in shining armor.”

He chuckled dryly. “You got it, captain.”

“That’s Captain Squirt to you.”

“Captain Squirt.” He saluted you.

You stood up and ruffled his hair, like it wasn’t messy enough. Then you left the dorm and rejoined your friends in the common room. You told them James got distracted by something too embarrassing to share. That got James’ friends curious, but you wouldn’t budge. They could ask him about it later.

The two weeks passed quickly. You beat the Ravenclaw team. The party was nothing special. No slow dances, no kissing. Just drinking butterbeer and playing games.

Another week passed and James asked Lily to Hogsmeade while they were standing in the Transfiguration courtyard, enjoying a bit of sun. Lily sighed dramatically. At first, James thought she was going to curse him out or hex him at the very least. He felt that he had actually pissed her off this time.

“Potter,” she started with a dangerous tone, “do you remember the first time you asked me out?”

He nodded, a little confused. “Third year, yeah. Squirt dared me to ask out my crush.”

Lily gave him a soft smile and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’ve been asking out the wrong girl. Then and now.”

The redhead walked away, leaving James in a stupor. Was she implying that he should be asking you out? Was that McGonagall was implying?

But you’re like family, a sister to him. He couldn’t ask you out. That would be incest.

The thought slipped from his head relatively quickly. He tried to focus on school and quidditch, with the occasional prank. It really wasn’t an obvious change in him. It was nothing that his friends noticed.

More than a week later, James overheard Marvin talking to Lucas.

“I mean, she’s bloody fit,” Marvin said. “The things I would let Y/N do to me…”

James sped up and grabbed Marvin, pushing him against the wall. Lucas just stood off to the side. He watched with wide eyes. James had pulled his wand and pressed it against Marvin’s throat.

“Do not. Talk about. Y/N. Like. That,” James growled.

Marvin made a pathetic whimpering noise.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes.”

James let Marvin go, taking a step back.

“Get out of my sight,” James said.

The two boys ran down the corridor and turned the first corner they found. James pocketed his wand and kept going. You deserved respect. James would be damned if he let some idiotic boys get away with that.

James sat across from you in the common room that evening as you worked on homework. He could see the stress of fifth year O.W.L.s beginning to weigh on you. It was a tough year. He knew that.

He got up and went to his dorm briefly. When he returned, he slid a pumpkin pasty in front of you.

“‘M not hungry.”

“Eat it.”

You looked up from your assignment to glare at James.

“You’ve been studying for how long? You need to keep your energy up.”

You narrowed your eyes but unwrapped the treat. A triumphant smile spread across James’ face. He ruffled his hair and returned his own assignment that he was at least attempting to finish.

Over the next few weeks, James made it his personal mission to ensure that you were taking care of yourself. You needed adequate sleep and food. He noticed that your schedule was essentially school, study, sleep, quidditch, school, study, sleep, school, quidditch, study, sleep, repeat. He just hoped that you wouldn’t fall victim to burnout.

Besides making sure that you were okay, he found himself listening for your name in other people’s conversations. Like with Marvin, if anyone called you hot or fit or whatever, James took care of them. He managed to not actually fight any of them, thus not getting detention, but he definitely frightened some of the boys in your year. In his head, he was ensuring that people gave you your due respect and that you had no unnecessary distractions right now.

“Alright, this is it. This is our now-or-never moment. It’s just Slytherin. We’ve beaten them before and we can do it again. Placker, Miller, for the love of everything, make sure that Williams stays safe. I do not want her in the hospital wing after this match. Not like last year,” you said before the Quidditch Cup. You had lost to Slytherin earlier this term, but you were otherwise undefeated. “This is just like practice. We are the better team. We have the skills. The determination. The grit. And the drive. And a damned need to party like there’s no tomorrow when we walk away today. As winners.” You gave a confident scan of your team. “Let’s go murder some snakes.”

The team was ready. James and Marlene followed right behind you like your entourage. James clapped a hand on your shoulder moments before you were ready to take off into the air.

“Let’s kill ‘em, Captain Squirt.”

You flashed him a smile. Then it was game time. As soon as Madam Weekes blew the whistle, you were off. You were soaring through the air with the rush wind and cheer of the crowd roaring in your ears. Slytherin got the quaffle right off the bat. They didn’t have it for long as Marlene intercepted their pass. She sped to the other side of the pitch and threw it through one of the hoops. Your beaters were doing their job, not only making sure your seeker was protected but the rest of the team as well. It felt like for every goal Slytherin scores, Gryffindor scores three. You were unstoppable. Your passing was perfect. James and Marlene moved with you in formations you had practiced all year.

Then Williams caught the snitch.

You couldn’t believe it. Gryffindor actually won the Quidditch Cup under your captainship. It didn’t feel real. You landed and James landed right next to you. He pulled you into a hug just like after the first match of the season, and he kept his arm around you as the whole team gathered to cheer together. Everything felt surreal.

There was a short ceremony. Professor McGonagall was smiling, actually smiling. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen her smile like that. Professor Dumbledore presented you with the trophy. You lifted it above your head with a wide grin on your face.

The party in the common room felt more wild than usual. You went up to your dorm quickly to change into something more fashionable than the sweats you had worn before the match. When you came back down, someone handed you a drink. You took a sip. Then you stared at the cup, giving it a swirl.

“That’s not butterbeer.”

Apparently, the seventh years had a secret stash of drinks in their dorms that they usually kept for themselves, but with the win, they decided to be generous and share, with the sixth years and you, the fifth year captain. One of your friends pulled you onto the dance floor. You did your best to not spill your drink, but it was more difficult than you expected. The Gryffindors were going harder than any previous party.

James was watching you, dancing and laughing with your friends. He had seen a seventh year hand you a cup and refill it for you when it ran low, and James was fairly certain you didn’t know your tolerance. So, he made sure that you were okay from a distance. If you needed him, he could be at your side within seconds.

James saw a different seventh year watching you dance. The expression on his face made James’ blood boil. When the seventh year started walking toward you, James quickly moved to intercept him. He wasn’t going to let this boy take advantage of you.

“Get your hand off me, Potter.”

“Just turn around, Quincey.”

“I’m going to ask a girl to dance. That a problem with you?”

“Because it’s looking like that girl is Y/N, yeah, it is.”

“You together or something?”

“No.”

“Then, there’s no problem.”

“You’re fucking graduating in a few days. I call that a problem.”

The seventh year yanked his arm out of James’ grip and looked at where you were dancing. Then he felt the tip of a wand in his side.

“I told you to turn around,” James growled.

“Get a hold of your temper, mate. Merlin’s beard…”

But the seventh year went back to his friends with an annoyed look on his face. James counted that as a success and retreated back to his friends.

“What’d you have to say to Quincey?” Marlene asked.

“He wanted to change the music. Told ‘im it’s the team’s picks tonight.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance. They were pretty sure that Quincey didn’t care about the music. Not with the way James’ eyes kept finding you across the room.

Even though the O.W.L.s were hell to take, you didn’t really want the school year to end. Not this school year. It had made you feel like you were on top of the world. And you told your parents as much when you found them at King’s Cross Station.

Your parents patiently listened to you recount every game in remarkable detail. You told them how you were basically a hermit for the last month of school, studying and practicing and that was it.

“What was that?” you asked.

Your parents had shared a look when you mentioned that James brought you studying snacks.

“What was what, sweetie?” your mother asked, busying herself with something else.

“What you and dad just did. That look.”

“Just… noting how… nice James is to you,” your father said, smiling.

You shrugged. “I mean, he’s my friend.”

“A very good friend from the sounds of it,” your mother said.

You gave them a weird look before leaving the kitchen. Yeah, James was your friend. Probably more of your best friend than Natalie was at the moment, but that was because you played quidditch and she didn’t and James did. And he stayed up to study with you while she turned in early. And you sat on the edge of your friend group at meals so you could also be at the edge of his friend group.

Like last summer, James’ owl came with an invite to a summer party. He asked if you had another family trip planned or if you’d possibly be able to come. You wrote back that you’d ask but you’d need a fair amount of details to convince your parents. When he responded, he had everything you’d possibly need to know. His address, who was all invited, confirmation that his parents would be around, what food they planned on having, that there was enough room for everyone invited and boys and girls would be sleeping in different rooms. And that it actually was more of a party weekend than an afternoon.

You sat with your parents at the kitchen table as they read over James’ second letter with all the details. You waited nervously for their answer, fingers drumming on your knee.

“I suppose you know all these people?” your mother asked, pointing to the list of invitees.

“Most. I don’t know Emmeline or Dorcas. Figure they’re Hogwarts too, but James’ year.”

She hummed and looked at your father. She gave him a subtle nod.

“We’ll owl his parents. I want it in their handwriting that they’ll be around,” he said.

“So I can go?”

“If! If his parents are there all weekend,” your father clarified.

You jumped out of your chair and hugged them. Then you sprinted to your room to tell James. You were 90% sure that James was telling the truth when he wrote that his parents would be there.

Your parents went with to drop you off at the Potters’ for the party weekend. They said they just wanted to say hi to the Potters in person. You knew that they wanted to see them in person to be 100% sure that there would be responsible adults in the vicinity, rather than a house of teenagers.

The moment James opened the front door, he pulled you into a hug and said, “Squirt! You made it!”

Your father cleared his throat when James lingered a second too long.

“Mr. L/N, Mrs. L/N! My parents are just in the kitchen if you’d like to say hello,” James said, pulling back from you and giving them his usual blinding smile. Then back to you, “Lily and Marlene are here already. Lemme show you to the girls’ room.”

He took your hand and brought you inside. With his other hand, he gestured to the kitchen for your parents. You were in awe of how large James’ house was; at least his ability to afford your Christmas gift made more sense now. It appeared the Potters were loaded.

“Y/N! Why am I not surprised?” Marlene laughed when James knocked and opened the bedroom door.

“Did James not tell you I was invited?” you asked, walking into the room and setting your bag on one of the unclaimed beds.

“I just figured it was the usual group,” she said.

You almost said that you were invited last year so you should’ve been considered part of the usual group, but you didn’t. You sat down next to Marlene on her bed and looked at Lily. Someone had called James’ name from elsewhere in the house and he disappeared.

“Lily took less convincing to come this year. Last year, she put up quite the fight. What did I bribe you with? D’you remember?”

“Um, I think you said you’d cover my Broomsticks’ bill for three visits?” Lily said with a laugh. It had the kind of brightness that you associated with Lily. It fit her.

“What changed with this year?” you asked.

“Remus and I have a bet going. I’m here to make sure he doesn’t intervene.”

You leaned forward. “A bet?”

“Yes. He thinks something is going to happen before school starts and I’m positive that it won’t.”

“And that thing is…” Marlene asked.

“Can’t say. That’s part of the bet. Minimal meddling from us can happen. No direct mentions of it. It needs to happen… organically.”

“McKinnon! Where the hell are you?” a female voice yelled from what you assumed was the front door.

“Bedroom!” Marlene yelled back with no concern for your hearing.

Footsteps. Then the door banged open and a girl you only sort of recognized was revealed.

“Dorcas, you know Y/N, right?” Lily asked.

“Um, no?” she said, throwing her bag on the one next to Marlene’s. She gave you a once over. “Oh, no. I do know you. Potter’s designated snack recipient. Yeah, Sirius has complained about you.”

She laughed when worry flashed across your face.

“Let me rephrase. He has complained about James giving all his snacks to you rather than Sirius. Poor bloke’s been starving.”

After some talking with the girls and getting used to how they joked, it seemed like everyone had arrived. Remus was sent to gather the girls and tell you that you’d be eating outside because Fleamont was using a muggle grill.

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Lily laughed, following Remus out the door.

You tried to not be glued to Marlene’s side, but she was your teammate. You knew her. You had some interactions with Lily and Mary, but not too much, and you hadn’t even known who Dorcas or Emmeline were until now. Once outside, it was better. You could sit with James or Remus or Peter or Sirius. You didn’t know Benjy or Edgar, the other two boys who had been invited.

James liked that you were here. At his house. With his friends. Looking like you were having a good time. You were sitting with Sirius and Peter, laughing at something they said. He wished you had been able to come last year too, but he understood why you couldn’t. He just liked having you around. Your presence made things brighter somehow.

When Fleamont started serving up dinner, you sat down next to James with your plate.

“I’m glad you came,” James said in a low voice.

You gave him a curious look as you ate a chip. “I’ve barely talked to you since I got here.”

“Yeah, true, but you’re here all weekend. Plenty of time to hang out.”

“And for me to meet some of your other friends. Crazy to think you talk to people other than Sirius, Remus and Peter. And Lily and Marlene.”

“Hey! I talk to plenty of people!”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

Too soon, everyone’s eaten and just lounging about outside. Crickets started to fill the quiet as the sky darkened. Euphemia called out the back door, telling everyone it was time to come in and get ready for bed. It was funny being told to go to bed at this age. But someone said that she was right since it was around 10:30. James had said there were enough beds for everyone. He did not say that there were enough bathrooms.

The next day started off slow. People got up at their leisure, because they’d be damned if they didn’t get to sleep in during summer break. That meant there was space in the kitchen for everyone to eat. After eating, everyone dispersed to different areas of the house or outside. You chose to sit on the back steps with a tea, looking out at the property.

James joined you.

“I think I know why your mum doesn’t want you flying in the winter,” you said quietly.

He hummed.

“You’d get lost! I’m imagining this all covered in snow. I bet if you went beyond those trees, you wouldn’t be able to tell up from down.”

James laughed. “I’m sure we can arrange a winter visit for you. You’ll see just how wrong you are.”

You lifted your cup in an attempt to hide your face. You knew your cheeks turned pink. A winter visit? As of right now, the only time when it was winter that you could come back would be around Christmas and you know Euphemia calls that family time. Meaning for family only. You weren’t family. You had just gotten the summer invite.

You ended up playing cards for a while in the morning. Benjy was winning almost every hand and you were getting frustrated by it. You were almost about to challenge him to a broom race. You figured he didn’t play quidditch so you could win at that.

“Oi, James, we’re going to the creek, yeah?” Dorcas yelled across the room. She was sitting with Marlene and Peter.

James looked up from his cards and then out the window. “I mean, we got all day still. We can head down whenever you lot want.”

That must’ve been why James said you might want to bring a swimsuit. You assumed they went to this creek last year while you were sitting in a stuffy house eating cold soup and being told the goblin rebellions were actually quite interesting. They weren’t. Your uncle was delusional.

Emmeline took the cards from your hand and put them in the discard.

“Hey!”

“We’re changing. Come on,” she said, grabbing your arm and yanking you up.

Right. Changing into swimsuits for the creek. You followed the girls up the stairs to your room. You didn’t see how James’ eyes followed you up.

“James.”

“Huh?”

“Your turn.”

“Right.”

Fifteen minutes later, the group was walking through trees to the creek near the edge of the Potters’ land. James and Sirius were the first to take off their shirts and run into the creek. You were a little more timid with it. You waited until some of the girls started taking off their clothes. You carefully folded your shirt and shorts on top of your shoes so they wouldn’t get dirty on the ground.

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Marlene yelled. Then she screamed as Dorcas pulled her under the water. “MEADOWES, YOU ARE DEAD!”

You walked to the edge of the creek and then deep enough so the water came up to your ankles. It was cold. Very, very cold. Marlene’s scream was warranted.

“It’s better once you get used to it,” James said from where he stood waist-deep in the water.

You’d seen him shirtless before when he changed after quidditch, but this felt different. You tried not to stare. You could look at his face. Yes, his face was safe.

“You’re not going to get used to it if you just stand there,” James said, now closer to you.

“Don’t know ‘bout that, James. I think the water is plenty fine right here.”

He was now standing right next to you.

“You know how to swim, right?”

You nodded, but you immediately wished you hadn’t. He grabbed your waist, picking you up and falling sideways into the water. You screamed just like Marlene had. If you weren’t shocked by the chilly water, you might’ve focused on the feeling of James’ hands on your bare waist. He’d picked you up before in hugs, but you were always wearing clothes. This was skin-on-skin. This was new.

When you surfaced, he was laughing.

“You’re an arse,” you said with no bite as you splashed him.

Remus gave Lily a “I’m right” look. She shook her head.

Most of the afternoon was spent by the creek. There was splashing, games of chicken, laying out towels and relaxing in the sun that came through the trees. Everyone was just messing around and talking. You really liked James’ friends. They were easy to get along with and they didn’t seem to care that you were younger than them.

You got into a debate with Edgar about how dangerous sphinxes were. James couldn’t take his eyes off you as you argued. Sirius nudged him.

“You’re staring.”

James snapped his head to look at Sirius. “At what?”

“At what?” Sirius repeated mockingly.

“Shut up.”

Sirius laughed and clapped James on the shoulder. Sirius knew about Remus and Lily’s bet and he was on Lily’s side. James wasn’t admitting it to himself yet. Nothing was going to happen until after school started. Or if it ever did.

You headed back to the house around dinner time. Everyone had dried off before you even left the creek, but even if you hadn’t, you would’ve been dry by the time you got back. You and the girls went to change; the boys put their shirts back on. Euphemia made dinner, which meant it was more delicious than Fleamont’s grilling.

After dinner, Sirius and Peter went out back to start a fire. You helped move some chairs so everyone could sit around it. Once the fire got going, someone suggested a game, two truths and a lie. You weren’t too good at it since you were still getting to know half the group and they all knew each other since first year. Then someone said you should play Never Have I Ever.

“You need drinks for that though,” Dorcas pointed out.

“We can make some. Moons, come on. Help me,” James said, standing up.

Remus followed him inside and went to grab cups.

“So…” Remus said, his voice trailing off. He wasn’t sure if this counted as meddling, but he was going to ask.

“So?” James repeated confused.

When are you going to kiss her?”

“Kiss who?” Still confused.

“Y/N? Who else would I be talking about?”

James choked on air. “Y/N? Moony, I’ve told you, she’s like my little sister. I’m not kissing my sister.”

Remus made a noise that said he didn’t believe James, but he didn’t push it further. They made drinks in silence. They put them on trays to bring out to the group. You ended up learning a lot about the group during that game, especially as people drank more.

The next day, you took the Floo Network home. Your parents asked if you had fun. You did. But all you wanted to do now was sleep. You needed to recharge your battery.

---

When you see James at Hogsmeade Station, you run up to him for a hug. But before you wrapped your arms around him, you spotted something shiny on his chest. You froze with wide eyes.

“Head Boy? You’re Head Boy?” you gasped.

“Yeah,” James said, looking down at the badge.

“Bit unexpected.”

“Hey!”

That’s when you hugged James. “Not my fault you weren’t made prefect.”

James laughed and gave you a squeeze. He had duties to do before he went to the Great Hall so you went with your friends to the carriages. You looked back over your shoulder and smiled. It was almost bizarre to see James so serious about something as he directed students to the carriages and the first years to where they would board the boats.

At dinner a few days later, Remus sat across from you and said, “James got called into McGonagall’s office.”

“Shit, did he let power go to his head already?” you asked, genuinely concerned. Not about the power, but rather that he had already gotten into trouble that he probably thought he could get away with because he was Head Boy.

Remus shrugged. Great. You were concerned for the first few minutes of dinner, eyes flicking toward the door every few minutes. When he came through the doors, he was beaming. You waited until he was closer before readying yourself to ask what he did.

Except he spoke first. “I’m captain again!”

“What?”

“McGonagall said she’s giving me a chance to take after you. I’m captain!”

You stood up and hugged James tighter than you ever had.

“I’m so happy for you!” you said into his shoulder.

You held onto each other longer than what you considered necessary, but he didn’t seem to be letting go so you didn’t either. Your face was beet red when you did pull away and sit back down.

“Where’s my hug, Prongs?” Peter asked when the boys got back to their dorm.

“Why you want a hug?”

“Squirt got quite the hug. And since you’re, you know, friends, I should get the same treatment.”

James sent an unamused look in Peter’s direction.

“Oh, same with the snacks! I want study snacks!” Sirius added.

“That means you have to study, Pads,” James said before looking back at Peter. “What are you saying? Do I not hug you enough?”

“I’m saying that you and Y/N are looking like more than friends.”

“I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again, since it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull. Y/N and I are friends. She’s like family to me. Basically my little sister.”

Sirius, Remus and Peter aren’t the only ones James found himself having to tell that to. Benjy asked him a week later what was going on between you and him. A girl asked him too after that. James always repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone who asked. You’re family. You’re his little sister.

A few weeks into the school year, someone set their books down across from you in the library. You expected it would be James plopping down into the chair and proceeding to distract you.

“Mind if I sit here?”

That voice wasn’t James. You looked up to see Martin Reyes, a Slytherin in your year.

“Oh, um, sure. Go ahead.” You gave him a polite smile.

You worked in silence for a little bit. You weren’t close with Martin, but you liked him better than some of his housemates. He cleared his throat, getting your attention again.

“How come you’re not captain again this year?”

You breathed a soft laugh. “James said Professor McGonagall was giving him a chance to follow in my footsteps.”

“Shame, really. Didn’t he… lose the quidditch cup when he was captain? You won it.”

“That’s the, um, giving him a second chance thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re a wicked player. I think you should’ve kept the title.”

“Thanks?”

“I mean, it’s not just me. I heard Regulus saying so too. Although, he might just be anti-Potter.”

“Really? Even after we beat you guys for the Cup last year? Regulus would rather have me as captain?”

“I think any bloke would rather shake your hand before a match than Potter’s.”

“Oooh, shaking hands. So scary.”

“I’m not talking about scary.”

“No?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“I’m talking about being close to you.”

“Oh.” Your voice was suddenly small.

Martin didn’t say anything more. He smiled at you and then started working on his homework again. Silence fell between you. You worked for a while.

“Um, I’ll see you later, Martin,” you said after you cleaned up your space.

Martin held you to that. He started saying hi to you in the corridors. If he struck up a conversation with you walking to class, he’d linger by your desk before finding his own. If he spotted you in the library, he’d sit across from you. And when he talked to you, it always had a flirty comment here and there, sprinkled into the conversations like cinnamon.

You didn’t mind him.

“Martin swing by her station in Herbology again?” Eleanor asked Natalie at dinner. You hadn’t arrived yet.

“Swing by? El, he walked in with her. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked her out yet,” Natalie said with a laugh. “Ah, woman of the hour! How’s your boy?”

You sat down next to Natalie and rolled your eyes. “He’s not my boy.”

“Flirting like he wants to be,” Eleanor said.

“Who’s flirting with you?” James asked, leaning over to join the conversation he was eavesdropping on.

“No one,” you said quickly.

“Martin Reyes,” Eleanor said. “Just sat down next to Regulus.”

James looked over his shoulder to see the boy at the Slytherin table. There was a strange twinge in his stomach. A Slytherin was flirting with you and possibly going to ask you out? A Slytherin? James didn’t think that was your type. You could do better. Immediately, James decided he wasn’t okay with it. As your honorary older brother, boys should have to get his permission to ask you out.

James didn’t do anything about it though. It was just flirting. You could flirt. It wasn’t like you were doing anything.

Then he saw it. You were leaning against the wall next to the locker room door, twirling some of your hair around your finger, as you talked with Martin. James didn’t like how close Martin was standing to you.

That’s my Squirt.

That thought was not a familial protective feeling. It was… possessive. You were his Squirt. His quidditch obsessed friend. His. Not Martin’s.

James did not want to linger on that thought.

When he passed by you and Martin, he said, “Let’s go. I’m starting practice.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not even changed yet. But, you know, he’s captain. I’ll see you later, Martin.”

Some time later, you were sitting on the couch in the common room, legs curled underneath you as you attempted to study from your Potions book. James collapsed next to you, handing you a chocolate frog.

“Study fuel?” you asked as you took it.

“Or a snack for my favorite.”

You hummed. You ate the chocolate in silence. Then you remembered a thought that occurred to you a few nights ago.

“Have you asked Lily out recently? Head Boy and Quidditch Captain really ups your appeal.”

“No. I don’t think I fancy her anymore.”

“Huh. Moved on, have you?”

“I’m… figuring stuff out.”

Martin asked you out a few days later. You told Natalie, Eleanor and Veronica about it at dinner. You were excited. This was going to be your first date. Eleanor and Veronica turned around at the same time to look at Martin. He saw them and gave them a small wave. They burst into giggles, turning back around.

“Guys,” you said, “be nice!”

James decided in that moment he would be at the Three Broomsticks when you had your date with Martin. If anyone asked, he was just keeping an eye on Martin. He would say that something didn’t feel right about you going on a date with a Slytherin. It was a safety precaution. Even though he had a feeling in his stomach that it wasn’t.

When he told the boys he’d be supervising your date, they insisted on going with him.

“She only needs one chaperone,” James said.

“Oh, we know,” Peter said. “We’re coming to chaperone you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fine now. We’ll see how you do,” Remus said.

On Saturday, the boys picked a table as far from your table as they could. James still had a decent enough view of you. But he couldn’t hear anything you were saying. It wasn’t close enough in his opinion.

“Prongs, you good?” Sirius asked with an amused lilt to his voice.

“What?” James snapped, tearing his eyes away from you. You had dressed up so nicely for your date.

“You bent the fork.”

He looked down at his hands, clenched around a now very curved fork. He dropped it with a clatter.

“I’m fine.”

He was not, in fact, fine. He was jealous. Very jealous that a fucking Slytherin had you out on a date and you looked happy to be there. You were laughing and smiling. But at least Martin was keeping his hands to himself. James wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control himself if he saw the boy touch you.

By Wednesday, James had come to terms that every time he said you were a sister to him, he had been lying. He understood what Lily meant when she said he was asking out the wrong girl. He understood what McGonagall meant when she told him to consider if it was familial love. He understood every comment his friends had made. It seemed like everyone saw it before he did.

“Hey, Squirt, can you stay for a few minutes?” he called across the pitch as he landed after practice.

“Yeah!” you yelled back.

You thought that maybe he wanted to run a few more chaser drills, but he didn’t ask Marlene to stay. The rest of the team disappeared into the locker room. You waited for James to walk over to you.

“So, what’s up, Potter?” Your arms were crossed over your chest. “Relinquishing captain duties to me?” you asked with a smirk.

He moved to stand right in front of you. He was close enough that you actually had to tilt your head up to see his face.

“Remember when you asked if I had moved on from Evans?”

“Yeah. Did you finally figure your stuff out?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s the lucky lady? She in my year? Need me to be your wingwoman?”

You were more teasing, but James spoke with a seriousness to his voice.

“She is in your year,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Because that was easier than directly saying it’s you. Then he asked, “How was your date with Reyes?”

“It was good? I think he had a good time too.” You tilted your head. “You looking for a double date type thing? Reyes, me, you and your girl?”

James, more unsure of himself than he’d been in his entire life, reached for your hand. You let him take it. Your other arm still hugged your chest.

“I was more hoping for just you and me.”

Your breath felt like it was knocked out of you. Your voice stuck in your throat. You didn’t say anything, but you also didn’t move. You stood there with James holding your hand and you staring at his face.

After a few painfully silent seconds of James trying to read your face, you said, “My date was good.”

“You said that. I’m not deaf. And I know-” He sighed heavily. “-my timing isn’t great.”

“Isn’t great? James, I just went on my first date.”

“I know,” he breathed. “I guess, I was hoping to be your second.”

James,” you said exasperated. You turned away from him, still not pulling your hand away from him. If you started at him for too long, you feared that everything you felt building over years would bubble up at once and overwhelm you.

“Y/N, please.”

He said your name. Not Squirt. Your name.

Then he gently turned your face back towards him, his other hand guiding your chin. He leaned down to kiss you. You didn't stop him. You weren’t sure if you could; you had fought the urge to kiss him so many times in the past year. His lips were soft against yours, moving in the gentlest fashion. His thumb grazed over your cheek.

When he pulled back, your mouth was slightly parted. You couldn’t think of anything say as all of those feelings you felt for James but didn’t want to think about washed over you and you felt like you were drowned.

“Can I do that again?” James asked, still holding both your face and your hand.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape.

This time when he kissed you, James let go of your hand and grabbed your waist to pull closer to him. You kissed him back. The feeling of his lips against yours was everything you had ever dreamed of and not told anyone. It was every time you blushed simply because you were near James. It was him saying he’d find a way for you to see his home at Christmas, during what he told you his mother called family time. It was him asking if you and Marvin were a thing last year and asking who was flirting with you this year.

This time, it was you pulling back. That had James fearing he had actually ruined your friendship, despite the fact that you were pulling out of his hands away from him.

“I’ll tell Martin it’s not going to work out,” you said.

James let out a strangled-sounding laugh as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Sorry it took me seeing you on a date with someone else to realize that I wanted to be one with that privilege.”

“I have a feeling you’ll make it up to me.”

Lily would find out in the morning that she had won her bet with Remus.

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

#tbr #j.f.p

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marauroon · 2 months ago

Text

terms & conditions

pairing: james potter x slytherin!reader

summary: rivalry was supposed to keep your heart safe — until james potter made a bet to win it

warnings: fluff, kinda enemies to lovers trope, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: thank you for the request and for trusting me with your ideas — it means so much! i had the best time writing this. hope you enjoy reading it just as much <з

ᯓ★ now playing…

niall horan – everywhere

THE AIR OUTSIDE THE GREAT HALL IS THICK WITH MID-MORNING CHATTER, the kind of easy, unbothered noise that only follows a public humiliation. Someone else’s, not yours. You're leaned against a cool stretch of stone wall, arms folded, robes impeccable, a Slytherin constellation in the midst of flickering green and silver. You’ve just walked out of Potions with the satisfied swagger of someone who has committed a petty act of academic violence.

And the victim?

James Potter. Golden boy. Quidditch Captain. Gryffindor menace.

He’d confused powdered manticore spine with crushed scarab beetle – a rookie mistake, really, but an explosive one. His cauldron had burped, hissed, then violently frothed over like it was trying to escape the shame, the room quickly filling with the scent of scorched cabbage and what can only be described as broom bristle cremation.

“Don’t say a word,” he’d muttered through gritted teeth as you glided past his desk, his spectacles fogged with steam and regret.

Naturally, you’d offered him a parting gift: “Nice perfume, Potter. Eau de Incompetence.”

Which brings us here. The corridor. The smugness. The slow approach of James sodding Potter, who walks like he owns the floor, the walls, the bloody ceiling. There’s that look in his eye – the glint that usually precedes some half-brained challenge or unholy prank.

Sirius Black trails behind him, grinning like a man who’s just tossed a lit match into a pile of fireworks. Remus and Peter flank the pair at a safe distance, watching like seasoned war generals preparing for the fallout.

You don’t move. You merely tilt your head and ask, perfectly cool, “Got something to say?”

James stops just short of your boots, his gaze sweeping over you – not lecherous, not exactly admiring, but observant. Calculating, like he’s memorising the shape of a puzzle he intends to break.

“Actually,” he says, voice calm, “I do.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well?”

He smirks, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the words before he says them. “I bet I can make you fall for me by the end of term.”

You blink.

And then – oh, then – you laugh.

A sharp, full-bodied sound that slices through the hallway and turns a few third years' heads. It’s not a giggle or even a snort. It’s the kind of laugh that starts in your chest and spills out like you can't quite believe how stupid he is.

“You think I’d fall for you?” you ask, between peals.

“I’m serious.”

“No,” Sirius calls, still grinning. “I’m Sirius.”

James rolls his eyes without looking back. “You said it last week,” he continues, undeterred, eyes locked on yours. “You’re immune to charm. I’m just testing a hypothesis.”

You narrow your gaze. There’s something alive between you now – not quite fire, but close. A chemical reaction in the air, the kind that makes your skin tingle, like you’ve touched something volatile.

“Let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You think you’re going to win me over like I’m a Quidditch Cup?”

James rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets, cocky and infuriating. “I think I’ve got better odds.”

“You?”

He leans in, just a fraction. Enough that you smell something clean and citrusy beneath the lingering scent of charred potion. His voice drops, soft but smug. “Terms and conditions apply, of course.”

You narrow your eyes. “God, you’re insufferable.”

James doesn’t flinch. He shrugs, but there’s something dangerous in the movement. Something alive. The way he rocks back on his heels, all lazy confidence and feigned indifference, like a boy who’s never had to doubt that the world would spin just slightly in his direction. His grin curves like a blade.

“Still not a no.”

Your arms tighten across your chest, more armor than comfort now. “And what do I get if I win?”

James brightens, like he’s been waiting for that. “Your pride.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they return. “Not enough.”

He pauses, theatrically thoughtful, tapping a finger against his bottom lip. You hate that it draws your attention to his mouth.

“Alright,” he says at last, a glint of mischief blooming in his eyes. “If you don’t fall for me by the end of term, I’ll walk into the Great Hall in nothing but a pair of socks and confess my undying love for Professor Slughorn. Loudly.”

You squint. “Strip and serenade Slughorn?”

He nods solemnly. “In verse, if you’d prefer.”

You try not to smile. “And if I do fall?”

“You kiss me.”

The words land like a lit match tossed into dry grass.

You scoff, maybe to cover the beat your heart just skipped. “You’re awfully confident.”

He doesn’t look away. “Do I have a reason not to be?”

It’s your turn to pause. Just for a second. And it’s not nerves. You don’t get nervous. Not over boys like him.

You know exactly what kind James Potter is. Loud. Golden. Lion-hearted and tragically proud of it. He’s the kind of boy who sets the world on fire just to warm the people standing close. A walking contradiction of heroics and hubris. You’ve seen him flirt with first years to get them out of trouble, charm professors out of detention, win arguments with nothing but a grin and that infuriating Quidditch-captain glint.

He’s a distraction. A glittering, glorious, useless distraction.

And you? You were raised better than to play a game you don’t intend to win.

Still.

You extend your hand and hold his gaze. “Fine. I accept.”

His palm is warm against yours, calloused from broom handles and reckless living. Your fingers curl before you can stop them.

Sirius gasps like it’s the best twist he’s ever seen. Remus mutters, “Oh no,” and Peter’s already betting on how long it’ll take.

James straightens, surprised. “You do?”

You smile, slow and sweet and deadly. “I’m just curious how badly you’re going to embarrass yourself.”

WEEK ONE: HE STARTS STRONG.

By the beginning of the new school week, you’ve already forgotten about the bet with James Potter or at least convinced yourself that you have. It drifts somewhere far in the back of your mind, buried under the comfort of routine.

Your day begins as always: a quick shower in the steamy hush of the bathroom, the usual walk down stone corridors toward the Great Hall, the rhythmic chatter of your friends filling the space around you with gossip about who snogged who over the weekend, and then a mercifully quiet Transfiguration class without Gryffindor. You slip into your usual seat near the back, your fingers already flipping open the worn spine of your textbook, half-listening to the scrape of chairs and rustle of parchment. You’re determined to catch up on the reading, your eyes scanning the familiar lines until something tucked between pages 114 and 115 stops you cold.

There, nestled between the diagrams of spellwork and theory, are white hyacinths. Enchanted, of course, preserved so perfectly they look like they’ve just been plucked from the first bloom of spring. You can smell them even before you touch them – clean, delicate, a little green, like damp earth and warm sunlight.

You stare for a moment too long. They sit innocently in your book, soft and lovely and unmistakably placed there for you. Your stomach turns – just slightly, just enough – and you inhale once more before snapping the book shut.

“Too obvious,” you mutter, your voice flat, and with the same practiced indifference you use for most things that make your heart lurch, you pluck the flowers free and toss them into the nearest bin. Like it means nothing. Like your pulse didn’t catch. Like it didn’t feel like a dare tucked between the pages. And just like that, you forget it again. Or try to.

But if you’ve forgotten, James Potter clearly hasn’t.

Later that same day, in Charms, he makes his next move.

You’re halfway through copying down the lecture when something starts circling over your head – slow, insistent, impossible to ignore. A swan, made of parchment, flapping its delicate wings as it spirals above you like it belongs there. You blink up at it once before looking across the room – and of course, there he is.

Potter, looking irritatingly pleased with himself, wand still in hand. You shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, and he has the audacity to raise his eyebrows like he’s innocent. Professor Flitwick sighs, exasperated, and with a flick of his wrist, the swan lands. You snatch it out of the air with a huff, and for a moment, you consider crumpling it without looking. But curiosity is a trait you’ve never managed to fully extinguish, especially when it comes to him.

So under your desk, out of sight, you unfold the swan with careful fingers, smoothing out its delicate wings and sharp creases. The handwriting inside is unmistakable: neat, confident, slightly slanted, like someone who never doubts his own thoughts.

I bet you smiled.

You didn’t.

(You did.)

If you thought that was all James Potter was capable of, then you were deeply mistaken.

He’s been showing up at the library all week. Always within five minutes of your arrival, like it’s a coincidence. Like he wasn’t just sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table seconds before you stood up. As if he hadn’t slipped away from Quidditch practice early or escaped another one of McGonagall’s detentions. He doesn’t say much when he joins you, just falls into step beside you in the corridor, hands shoved into his pockets, letting the silence stretch between your footsteps. There’s no forced charm, no theatrics, just his quiet presence keeping pace with yours, like it's always been this way.

He always reaches for your books without asking. You raise a brow the first time, caught off guard by the ease of it.

“Chivalrous now?” you ask, arching an eyebrow with just enough bite to cover the small, unwelcome flutter in your chest.

He only shrugs, like it’s nothing at all, like this isn’t wildly out of character for him. He takes your bag from your hands in one clean motion, slings it over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, and keeps walking forward beside you.

“I can’t let you wear yourself out doing advanced Arithmancy,” he says, voice easy, unbothered, like the two of you aren’t supposed to be enemies in some long-forgotten rivalry everyone else has outgrown.

Then there’s the Quidditch match. You’ve always loved Quidditch. Not playing, of course, but watching. There’s something otherworldly about it, something exhilarating in the way players carve through the air like birds born to fly, spinning and diving and scoring in impossible arcs. It’s always felt like a celebration to you. Your father used to take you to matches when you were small, and that sense of magic has never quite left.

But today, the weather is working against it. The sky is a heavy grey, swollen with rain, and the wind cuts straight through your scarf. Still, you sit in the Slytherin stands, your eyes tracking the green and blue blurs as they dart back and forth across the pitch, pretending not to care that your robes are damp and raindrops are crawling slowly, coldly down your spine. You tighten your silver-green scarf around your throat and shiver.

The last thing you expect is to see James Potter here. First of all, it’s the Slytherin grandstand. Second, he’s not even playing. It’s a Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match, and Gryffindor has no stake in the outcome. But somehow, despite all that, he finds you in the crowd. Soaked through, cheeks flushed from the wind, lips pale. And without a word, he presses a mug of tea into your hands – still steaming, warm against your skin.

“I don’t take bribes,” you say, but you wrap your fingers around the cup anyway.

The heat sinks into your hands instantly, comforting in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. You turn your eyes back to the field, willing yourself to focus on the match and not on the curly-haired boy beside you who is looking at you like you're the most interesting part of the day.

James gives a casual flick of his wand, and the rain in your scarf disappears. The fabric dries instantly, soft and warm again against your skin. “Call it community service,” he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s not even the end of it. James Potter seems determined to sabotage your peace, orchestrating one absurd stunt after another until your attention is practically tethered to him by invisible thread. The most outrageous, by far, is when he praises your handwriting in Herbology. Your handwriting. Of all the tactics to employ.

“Are you trying a new approach?” you mutter, bending with him over a fluttering, fanged geranium that snaps at your gloves.

He twirls his quill between his fingers, casual, maddeningly at ease. “Maybe I’m just trying to be nice.”

You glance at him – measured, unreadable, the way you’ve trained yourself to look at things that shouldn’t matter.

He winks at you. That ridiculous wink. The same one that has likely caused an epidemic of fainting spells up in Gryffindor Tower.

You don’t faint.

(But your quill does stutter slightly in your grip.)

Still, you refuse to let any of it cloud your judgment. You’re determined not to fall first. Not for the ridiculous hairstyle, not for the way he suddenly remembers to hold doors open, or the way he’s begun smiling like he actually means it. It’s infuriating. Unnatural. James Potter, gracious? It reeks of strategy. It reeks of a boy who made a bet.

But you’re a Slytherin. And you didn’t get here by being unprepared.

So you begin to plot.

You start small, but clever. Something simple, something certain to break his polished new mask of gentlemanly charm. Something guaranteed to get a reaction. You curse his chair in the library.

It’s a subtle spell, just enough to ensure that the moment he sits, it will moan – loudly, long, and unmistakably suggestive. A moan echoing with the sultry creak of a bedpost in the back room of Madam Puddifoot’s.

He arrives. Sits. And the chair lets out its moan.

You brace yourself for victory.

But James Potter doesn’t flinch. He simply raises one eyebrow and turns his gaze toward you – steady, direct, amused. You expect him to explode, to launch into the familiar rhythm of your arguments, but instead, he catches your eye with unsettling calm and says smoothly: “I didn’t know you were into theater, darling.”

You frown. Heat floods your face like a storm surging through your bloodstream. If you were a mandrake, you’d be screaming loud enough to knock out the entire floor. You’re boiling, silently combusting, and yet the best retaliation you can muster is a crumpled ball of parchment launched at his smug, insufferable head.

He dodges it with ease. And somehow, in the same motion, he flicks a chocolate frog across the table toward you, grinning like he’s already won.

But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t keep trying.

After spending the better part of the night concocting 1001 Ways to Piss Off James Potter (a working title for your increasingly elaborate campaign), you woke in the morning with purpose blazing in your chest and pettiness blooming like a fresh hex. At breakfast, you carefully lace his pumpkin juice with a few drops of a mild truth serum – nothing dangerous, just potent enough to loosen his tongue for five minutes. Just long enough, you hope, for him to say something utterly stupid. Something embarrassing. Something that will unravel that smug composure and trigger the signature Potter fury you’ve grown so fond of provoking.

You don’t touch your food. You barely hear your friend beside you, who is chatting animatedly with a mouth full of toast. Your eyes are fixed on the doors of the Great Hall.

And then – finally – he arrives.

Loud as ever, flanked by his usual entourage, gesturing wildly as he tells some story that has Sirius Black howling and Peter Pettigrew clutching his sides. The morning light slices through the windows just in time to catch in the wild curls atop his head, turning his hair to gold. His smile stretches wide, dimples flashing, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a casual flick of his fingers.

He looks up. Right at you.

Your stomach stutters.

His grin widens, devilish. He winks.And you roll your eyes so hard they nearly fall out of your head.

You hear his laugh echo down the table, and your jaw tightens. He ruffles the hair of a passing first-year, who shrieks in indignant protest. Typical. But you’re not looking at him because of that. You’re watching for the moment – the moment – when he reaches for the pumpkin juice. He always does. First thing, every morning.

There it is.

He takes a sip.

You watch him closely, barely breathing, bracing for the spell to kick in. He pauses. Tilts his head. Then leans across the table toward you like he’s about to reveal some sordid piece of gossip.

“I think,” he says, voice low and maddeningly sincere, “you’re the most annoying and beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

You choke. Loudly. Toast nearly takes you out. Your eyes fly to his face, wide with shock, but James only shrugs, all smug amusement and maddening ease.

“I told you,” he says, lifting his glass in salute, “I’m honest.”

After two failed attempts, you abandon subtlety. You decide it’s time to go for the jugular – destroy what James Potter holds most sacred. And what does he love more than pestering you within an inch of your patience? Quidditch. Obviously. You spend the better part of lunch orchestrating the sabotage, hunched over the Gryffindor equipment trunk with the precision of a criminal mastermind. It costs you an apple, two napkins, and most of your dignity, but you manage to swap the standard practice Quaffles for a set that lets out a piercing shriek with every throw.

You sneak into the stands just in time to watch the chaos unfold. Players drop their brooms in mid-air. One Beater nearly falls off his handle from the shock. The sound is hideous like a mandrake gargling but it’s satisfying. You lean back against the stone, arms folded smugly across your chest, ready for James to finally snap and come storming over with smoke pouring from his ears.

He finds you exactly two minutes after practice starts.

“Smart,” he says, landing beside you like the broom is an extension of his body and not a barely tamed beast. He doesn’t ask if he can sit. Of course not.

You don’t look up. You flip a page in your Divination textbook, feigning intense concentration on a badly drawn palmistry diagram. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” His voice is amused. Too amused. “The screaming Quaffle must’ve just been in the mood today.”

You glance at him, ready to spit something scathing. But he’s just sitting there. Flushed from flying, his cheeks bright from the wind, hair a glorious, messy disaster, and smiling – smiling like he’s proud of you.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, and it doesn’t even sound flirtatious. It sounds like a fact. As if the sun rises in the east and you drive him insane but he’s decided to adore you anyway.

The air leaves your lungs in a soft gasp, and you gape at him like a stunned fish. You want to retort, to insult, to laugh in his face. But all you manage is a pitiful half-squeak as your brain catches fire.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, horrified.

James stands up and stretches, back arching slightly, as if this is just another Thursday. Then, with infuriating confidence, he leans down and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips barely grazing your skin. “See you at dinner, darling,” he says with a smirk that deserves to be outlawed.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You sit there for three whole minutes, stunned and incandescent, heart pounding like you had been flying laps around the pitch instead of just sitting there. Then you stomp back to your dorm in a fury, vowing to destroy him once and for all.

Which is how you come to cross off the final, most extreme item on your list of highly questionable tactics: false rumors.

Because if there’s one thing James Potter hates – truly loathes – it’s being talked about. Especially when the stories aren’t true. So you do what any girl on the edge would do: you casually, loudly, very deliberately spread the rumor that James Potter is secretly in love with Professor Vector.

The next day, while rifling through your bag in the middle of Arithmancy, you find a note tucked between your spare quill and a piece of licorice wand.

Nice try. P.S. You’re prettier when you’re jealous.

You let out a sound that is not a scream but something close – a strangled groan that sends your friend staring. You spend the next hour buried face-down in your pillow, kicking the mattress and muffling curses until your voice gives out. And then you read it again. And again.

You consider setting it on fire next to the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.

You don’t.

You fold it. Smooth the edges. Slip it into your potions textbook and pretend not to smile for the rest of the week.

WEEK TWO: THE BEST DEFENSE IS OFFENSE.

By the second week, you switch tactics. If James won’t fall for your traps, maybe he’ll fall for your victories.

You don’t wait for him this time. You act first.

You sit down opposite Sirius Black like it’s your personal writing desk. Your green-lined swamp robe gleams defiantly amid a sea of crimson. Slytherins never sit at any table but their own. And yet – here you are, surrounded by stunned Gryffindors. A couple of them pause mid-bite. A group of Hufflepuffs whispers behind their hands. Ravenclaws crane their necks. First-years scatter like startled owls as you cross your legs and rest your chin on your hand, as if this was always the plan.

“Well, aren’t you a vision this morning, Black”

Sirius looks up with a mouthful of toast and stares at you like you’ve grown antlers. Suspicious. Intrigued. You flash one of your better smiles – the kind that’s charmed professors out of giving you detention, and helped you avoid several homework assignments in Charms.

He chews. Swallows. Snorts. “What do you want?”

You lean in slightly, voice smooth as treacle. “Attention.”

That makes him bark out a laugh, loud and sudden enough to make a third-year flinch. You raise an eyebrow, unamused. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy this. Sirius downs his orange juice in one go, then starts twirling his fork like a wand, all smirking and dangerous.

“Careful, baby,” he says, glancing at you from under his lashes. “You’re playing with fire.”

Across the table, James Potter chokes on his pumpkin juice so violently you think he might combust.

You don’t even look at him at first. Instead, you lean closer to Sirius, fingers brushing against his chest as you reach up to adjust his red-and-gold tie – smoothing it like you belong there. The moment your hand moves, you feel it. James’s gaze: sharp, molten, unblinking. You meet it deliberately, holding eye contact as your fingers trail back down.

Your body’s blazing, but your face is sugar-sweet. “Is there a problem, Potter?”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin, the motion aggressive, then drops it into his plate like he wishes it were a hex. His eyes narrow like he’s trying to solve a riddle. Or start a fight.

“I just think you have terrible taste.”

Sirius arches a smug brow, enjoying this more than he should. “Careful, mate. You’re making it sound like I’m not your best friend.”

James doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay locked on you. A silent warning. A dare.

You smile and turn to Sirius. “See you later.”

You rise, your skirt swaying just enough to make someone’s breath catch – possibly James’s – and stroll toward the exit without a glance back. Until, of course, you do. You turn just before the doors, catch James’s eye again, and blow a kiss like a threat dressed in lace.

Sirius’s laughter rings out behind you, uncontained.

James Potter watches your back all the way out of the hall.

Later, at dinner, you finally get your revenge.

You bide your time, patient as a Slytherin should be, watching as James Potter animatedly tells Remus and Peter about some ludicrous Quidditch stunt he wants to try at the upcoming match. He’s all flailing limbs and boyish enthusiasm, gesturing wildly with his fork like he’s dueling the mashed potatoes into submission. The poor things cling for dear life, wobbling on the edge with every sweep of his hand.

That’s when you strike.

Leaning back, you slip your wand beneath the tablecloth. A muttered spell, barely more than breath. A flick. A whisper. And then… you wait.

By the time he finishes recounting his story, something about a reverse Sloth Grip Roll and a spiral dive, his hair has turned the color of pond scum. Not even a flattering green. We’re talking true swamp algae. Something that might crawl out of the Black Lake and ask for citizenship.

He’s none the wiser.

Until, of course, you can’t help yourself. You smile. Broad and sharp and unmistakably evil.

Sirius catches the expression first. Then he turns, sees James, and promptly snorts pumpkin juice straight up his nose.

“Oh, Prongs,” Sirius wheezes, practically falling onto Remus. “You look like the love child of a mandrake and a traffic light.”

James blinks. Frowns. Turns to the nearest reflective surface. Unfortunately for him, a silver serving tray that offers no mercy. The sound that escapes him is somewhere between a groan and a growl. A strangled, vaguely inhuman noise of pure betrayal. At the other end of the table, you raise your goblet of pumpkin juice in a slow, mocking toast.

He sees you.

You laugh.

And for just a moment, right before Sirius starts howling again and James runs a hand through his mossy curls in horror, you swear he almost smiles too.

You don’t stop there.

The little reactions you get from James – flushed cheeks, clenched jaw, the way his eyes narrow like he’s trying not to smile – become your new favorite currency. So the next day, you up the stakes.

You steal his favorite quill.

It’s a nice one, made of dark wood with quick-drying ink. He always uses it for Transfiguration essays. He leaves it unattended for precisely two minutes in the library, distracted while chatting with Remus.

He spends the whole day asking around, retracing his steps, even checking under sofas in the Gryffindor common room. But strangely, he never once accuses you. He doesn’t even act suspicious. In fact, James walks beside you to the library that evening like nothing’s happened – quieter than usual, though. His head hangs low, and he kicks a small stone along the path, not really looking at anything. You don’t speak. You just smile to yourself, triumphant.

You take your usual spot in the far corner of the library, now almost a private corner of the world, just for the two of you. But he doesn’t joke this time. Doesn’t lean in to bother you. Doesn’t even touch his parchment. He answers your questions with dry, hollow monosyllables and stares at the table like it's trying to tell him something he can't quite understand.

Something inside your chest twists painfully, but you push the feeling down like you’ve been taught to.

On the walk back, he's still quiet.

He walks you all the way to the Slytherin entrance like always, but before you disappear inside, he stops you. He hands you a little bag of peppermints – your favorite, the ones you can only get from Honeydukes, in the fancy blue-and-silver wrapper.

“We went to Hogsmeade yesterday,” he says, voice softer than usual. “Sirius and Peter were trying every sample like lunatics. I saw these and thought of you.”

He gives you a small smile. Then he turns and walks away, like he hasn’t just spun your whole internal compass off its axis.

You hate the way your heart stutters. You hate that your fingers curl a little tighter around the bag. But most of all, you hate the way that, when you get back to your dorm, you don’t toss the candy aside.

You place it carefully on your desk.

You unfold a fresh roll of parchment.

You pull out his quill – the one you stole – and write the first line of his unfinished essay in slow, neat script: “The Nature of Change: Mastery Not Through Force, But Will” by James F. Potter

The next morning, just after breakfast, you slip into Transfiguration before anyone else. You place the quill back on his desk. Set your finished essay beside it, tied with a green ribbon. A note rests on top:

The effort is 5 out of 10. Try harder, lover boy.

You don’t stay to see his reaction.

You’re halfway down the corridor when you hear him shout your name – half accusation, half promise. Your mouth curls before you can stop it.

That night, you return to your dorm and find something on your pillow. A lone chocolate frog.

Your dormmates giggle behind their curtains, whispering in that high, conspiratorial way that means they’ve been watching. You approach slowly, like it might vanish if you move too quickly. It’s an ordinary box – except someone’s scribbled over the tagline in black ink. Where it once said “Collect them all!”, it now reads:

Just try to resist me, darling The Terms and Conditions remain in force.

Next to it, there’s a folded note. You sit down on your bed and open it.

“True transfiguration is not a matter of power, but of surrender – of allowing something to become what it was never meant to be, and loving it anyway.”

It’s a quote. From your essay. The one you wrote for him.

You stare at the words until they blur. You don’t know whether to roll your eyes or fall a little harder.

In the end, you crumple the parchment and toss it into the deepest corner of your drawer. Then you open the frog box and bite its head off in one go. It tastes suspiciously of cinnamon and honey.

Your favorite.

Damn him.

WEEK THREE: HE SWITCHES STRATEGY.

He stops playing for the crowd. No more enchanted parchment fluttering overhead with rhymes he knows you'll hate. He no longer bellows compliments in the corridors, doesn’t make grand gestures designed to echo through the common rooms like some headline you didn’t ask for.

Instead, it’s quieter now. Softer.

You’re skipping dinner after hours buried in the library, the kind of night where ink stains your wrists and a headache blooms like a slow, spreading curse behind your eyes. You're too tired to remember what hunger feels like. Your fingers ache, cramped from too many pages of notes.

When you finally shuffle into the common room, bag slipping from your shoulder, you find him there – James Potter. Curled up on the battered sofa, legs tucked beneath him, half-asleep with a History of Hogwarts book pressed to his chest. The armchair beside him bears his invisibility cloak, the silver fabric draped like a secret. On the low table: a plate. Toasted bread, slices of apple, cheese, and a scattered handful of chocolate-covered raisins – Sirius’s stash, no doubt, and you’re sure James didn’t ask permission.

When he hears you, his eyes open, still heavy with sleep, and he presses a finger to his lips. Then he nods to the plate, like an offering.

You cross the room slowly, still watching him as you sink onto the couch. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. But you eat – every last bite, and he stays until you’re done.

When the plate is empty, he rises, stretches with a quiet groan, and winks at you. He mouths a single phrase – you’re welcome – before sweeping the cloak over his shoulders. In a blink, he vanishes.

You can still feel his warmth lingering, stitched into the air around you, until the common room passage creaks open. A draft rolls through, damp and cold, straight from the dungeons.

That’s when you know: James is gone. And this time, he took the warmth with him.

The next day, when you’re trying to study – really trying, even though every word looks like the same broken scribble – he finds you. The library is half-empty, soft with the hush of late afternoon, when even the light seems drowsy. You don’t notice him at first, not until a warm mug is set down in front of you, right at the corner of your parchment. Milk tea. No sugar. Exactly the way you take it.

You blink up at him, caught off guard, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite form in time.

James doesn’t say anything. He just drags out the chair opposite yours and sinks into it, flipping open a spellbook like he belongs there. His hair is all wind-tangled from practice, sticking up in every direction, and there’s a flush still blooming high on his cheeks and throat – that pink that comes from cold air and running fast and not caring about the burn in your lungs. His Gryffindor jumper is rumpled, collar askew, a glimpse of bare collarbone where the knit slouches. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t make a scene.

He just turns a page and says softly, like it costs him nothing, like it’s just a thing he knows: "Your hands shake when you've had too much caffeine."

You stare at him then. Not the way you’re supposed to, not with irritation or exhaustion, but with this awful, unwanted warmth spreading in your ribs, slow and heavy and honey-thick. You don’t like that he noticed. That he watches closely enough to know something like that. You don’t like that he cares. You especially don’t like the part of you that… likes it. That wants to ask how long he’s been noticing.

So you don’t say anything. You drink the tea in silence, and it tastes exactly right, which somehow makes it worse.

The next day, your Charms essay comes back with a fat, unforgiving red P slashed across the top. The sight of it is a blow – sharp and sour, humiliation tightening in your throat. You’d tried. You really tried, and for what? You stare at the parchment so long that your eyes blur, but you don’t blink, don’t move, just sit there letting the shame settle, heavy and certain.

Across from you, James is still doodling, his quill skating lazily along the margin of his notes, sketching what looks like a dragon mid-flight. For a moment you think maybe he hasn’t noticed, that you’ve folded yourself into smallness well enough, but then his hand slides across the table. A folded piece of parchment, pushed to the edge of your book.

You hesitate before opening it, already braced for whatever nonsense he’s decided to throw at you. But when you smooth it open, you can’t stop the smile. It betrays you, blooming soft on your lips before you can strangle it. You press your fingers to your mouth, hiding it poorly.

Why did the Hippogriff refuse to duel the Blast-Ended Skrewt? Because he didn’t want to stoop to its level.

It’s ridiculous. Childish, even. And yet. You’re not laughing.

(You’re laughing. Quiet, breathless. Like the sound snuck out before you could catch it.)

When you break your chocolate chip cookie in half at the end of class and wordlessly leave one piece on his side of the desk, you don’t wait to see his reaction. You disappear into the tangle of students before he can say anything back – before you can regret it.

Still, nothing has changed, not really. He remains an unbearable presence. Still bumps into you in the halls with the casual arrogance of someone convinced the earth itself is tilted in his favour. Still calls you darling in that ridiculous drawl, turning the word into something between a provocation and a promise. Still looks at you like he knows something you don’t.

But it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It feels like something steadier. Something gentler, humming underneath everything, like the low, distant pulse of the sea. It doesn’t crash, doesn’t demand. It’s just there, insistent as gravity. Simple, the way a lighthouse is simple: a fixed point you can’t help but see, even through the thickest fog.

And that, you think, is the most dangerous part of all because you can’t remember when you stopped thinking about the bet every time he smiled. But you did.

And now it feels like something is beginning. Something without rules. Something without conditions. Something without reservations.

WEEK SIX: YOU FORGET WHO'S WINNING.

The Astronomy Tower is quieter than usual. No fifth-years sneaking kisses behind the columns. No prefects whispering warnings about curfews, no sharp footsteps echoing up the stairs. Just the two of you and the night, soft and silver-streaked, spreading across the stone floor like spilled ink.

You’re both hiding. Not just from your housemates or your homework, but from something murkier. From what’s happening between you, pressing in like a secret neither of you knows how to say aloud.

There’s a bottle of firewhisky between you, pinched from beneath Sirius’s bed. James had caught you in the hallway after lights out, his grin lazy, his offer simple: “Come have a drink with me”. Now the bottle sits half-finished, warm in the way alcohol gets when too many stories are shared and not enough confessions.

His shoulder touches yours – confidently, thoughtlessly. Like his weight belongs to you. Like it’s always belonged to you.

Overhead, the stars are smeared, blurred like fingerprints dragged across glass. You should be paying attention to them. Measuring the sky, plotting coordinates, marking distances like they matter. Like the universe isn’t already expanding too fast for you to catch up.

Instead, your gaze stays fixed on the wood between your knees, the old grain split and scarred. You trace circles there, over and over, your fingertip moving without meaning.

Your voice comes out low, quiet enough that it might have been mistaken for a thought left unsaid: "Why did you make the bet in the first place?"

You don’t look up when you ask. You keep your eyes on your hand, the dumb curl of your fist like it might shield you from whatever answer is coming.

He doesn’t reply immediately. The silence isn’t awkward. It settles between you both, heavier than the whisky, stretching out like the Tower itself is holding its breath, waiting to hear how this will land. A cold wind ghosts between you, but you’re not cold. Not really. James is too close and the warmth coming off him feels like enough to thaw the whole castle if it wanted.

When his voice finally comes, it’s softer than you’ve ever heard it – a confession whispered to the sky, or maybe to the Moon, like he’s ashamed to give it to you directly.

"Because you looked at me like I wasn’t worth your time."

You blink. The words land sharper than you expect, and it takes a beat before you can even lift your head. When you finally turn to him, he’s not grinning, not smirking, not baiting you into a fight.

He’s just watching the sky. Like he’s trying to memorize it. Like it might save him.

"Does that bother you?" you ask, and your voice is rougher than before. Not sharp, just uncertain.

His jaw clenches. You see it first, that flicker of frustration, before he exhales and lets it go.

"More than it should have," he admits. His gaze doesn’t waver from the stars. "And maybe... I wanted you to take another look."

And Merlin. That’s when it hits you – low in your stomach, blooming up through your chest with a kind of aching clarity. You’re sitting here, heart pounding harder than you’d like, the stars dragging their slow arc overhead, his body warm against yours, steady, unthinking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because somewhere between the taunts and the bets, the shoulder nudges and the tea left waiting, the whispered jokes and stupid, scribbled notes – somewhere between all of it you looked again.

And you didn’t stop.

WEEK TEN: YOU CATCH YOURSELF.

You can see him on the other side of the courtyard.

It's foolishly windy outside. His tie is fluttering like a banner, his hair is disheveled, his cheeks are pink from the cold. A stray cat is sitting on his arm like a royal, purring, and he is humming to her. Obviously, Sir Mittens. He smiles like he has nothing to prove.

And your heart – usually a well-defended fortress of your gut, covered with sarcasm – turns over. Violently.

You tell yourself it's indigestion.

(That's not true.)

You're lying.

You start to notice things – terrible, intimate things that you shouldn't know about. For example, when he reads, his glasses always slide down the bridge of his nose, and instead of adjusting them with his hand, he just squints like a determined mole. Or the way he bites the inside of his cheek when he's trying not to laugh, especially when McGonagall is reprimanding Sirius and he's so close to snapping. Or how he always, always, without delay gives Peter the last chocolate frog from the package, even though you've seen him look at it as if it holds the secret of eternal life.

You tell yourself that it's just an observation. Tactics. Preparing for a counterattack.

(It's not like that.)

Worse, you start looking for him. In the corridors. At breakfast. During the lectures, which you should pay attention to. Your eyes scan the room as if searching for coordinates, as if your system won't calibrate properly until you know where he is.

Sometimes it's not there.

And that's when it really hits you.

You miss him.

Not in a vague, tolerant way. And in particular, why, damn it, it's calmer this way. It's like some part of your day is behind you. It's like your mood is waiting for something – or someone – to come before it can settle down.

You're not sure when it started. You don't know how to stop it. But you're losing. And the worst part, the thing that keeps you awake longer than you can imagine, is that it doesn't feel like a game anymore.

It feels like surrender.

And it terrifies you.

LAST WEEK OF TERM: ARE YOU WINNING (OR NOT?).

It’s the final night of the semester, and it feels like the castle is holding its breath. Like even the walls know something is about to end, or maybe about to break. Outside, snow lashes the tall windows, battering the glass as though winter itself is trying to claw its way in. Inside, the Gryffindor common room glows gold and red, pulsing with the low, heavy thump of music – a heartbeat loud enough to rattle the floorboards. Laughter ricochets off the stone, a little too bright, a little too sharp, like everyone is desperate to be louder than the endings creeping up behind them. Enchanted lanterns bob lazily through the air, and someone’s charmed sparkles burst overhead, dissolving into smoke that shimmers for a second longer than it should.

You came because you wanted to win. You dressed like a warning. Dark green velvet, a slash of silver at your throat, eyeliner winged sharp enough to cut. Your smile is a blade, your voice all silk and teeth. You let two Ravenclaw boys orbit you, laughing too loud at one of Sirius’s wilder jokes, drinking when Remus pressed a glass into your hand. You played the part perfectly – untouchable, careless, victorious before the final move was made.

And all the while, you could feel James Potter watching you.

Across the room, beneath the lazy whirl of the disco ball, his gaze didn’t waver. But something was wrong with it. Wrong with him. The usual light in his eyes, that bright, golden flicker of something like mischief, was gone. Instead, he watched you like you were already gone. Like you were slipping, sliding, vanishing – a shape he couldn’t keep hold of. And behind it, buried deep, was something worse. An abyss. A sadness that looked like it had nowhere left to go.

You felt it. Of course you felt it. But you told yourself not to care.

A few hours more – that’s all that remained. A few hours and you could win. Win the stupid, pointless bet. Prove him wrong. Prove yourself right. A couple more steps and you’d walk away clean, the whole stupid game nothing more than a story you’d tell, some day when it didn’t ache anymore.

So you kept going. You laughed. You danced. You swallowed the firewhisky your friend handed you without so much as a flinch, the burn of it scorching down your throat, pooling heavy in your stomach. You let the music drown out the rawness in your chest. You let some stranger put his cold, unremarkable hands on your waist, let him spin you beneath the glimmer of enchanted lights.

One last night, you told yourself. One more move. Win the game. Walk away untouched.

That was the plan.

So why, then… why did it feel like you were losing?

But it didn’t work.

No matter where you stood, no matter whose hands curled around your waist, no matter how loud you laughed – your gaze always, always found its way back to him. Like a tether you couldn’t cut. Across the room, half-shrouded in the lazy dark of the corner, James was leaning against the wall with the Marauders clustered nearby, though they seemed far from his mind. He barely spoke. The glass in his hand twirled in slow, thoughtful circles, the amber liquid catching flashes of light like it held answers at the bottom.

This wasn’t the James Potter you’d come to know – not the boy who lived with noise in his lungs, the gravitational pull in every room, the storm and the sun and every chaotic thing in between. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t calling attention to himself, wasn’t filling the spaces with his unbearable, inevitable charm. He was still. Quiet. Eyes dark, far away from wherever the party was trying to drag him.

You watched him longer than you meant to. Let your eyes linger for three, four, maybe five seconds too long. Then you swallowed it down and threw your head back, another laugh tumbling out, empty as the glass in your hand.

You kept up the act. Of course you did. You flirted with some boy a year below you – you couldn’t even remember his name, just that he looked at you like a prize. Your dress clung close, soft velvet like a whispered secret, and his hands traveled your hips in time with the music. It didn’t feel like anything. Just motion. Just the weight of someone else’s palms and the prickling trail of goosebumps that felt more like a warning than a thrill. But you didn’t stop him.

And then James found you.

You didn’t see him coming. Just felt it, like a shift in the room’s gravity, the air tightening around you. Your would-be date was already gone, wandered off in search of someone easier, someone less preoccupied. And there James was, pushing his way through the crowd like he’d just decided he’d had enough.

He was flushed, the kind of flush that wasn’t just from drink but from frustration, heat blooming in his cheeks, his neck. His hair was a disaster – worse than usual, a wild tangle like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His shirt hung open at the collar, rumpled and loose, like he’d either tried to fix it and failed or never bothered to try.

And he had two cups in his hands. One of them – your favorite.

He held it out to you, saying nothing. Just standing there, eyes heavy, shoulders slack, offering you the drink like some kind of peace treaty.

You took it. You shouldn’t have, but you did. The glass was cool against your fingers, and you raised it to your lips, taking a small, wary sip.

Your face twisted immediately. Too sweet. Sickly. Off-balance. You turned away from him to hide the frown, to gather yourself before your mouth could betray you.

"It’s too sweet," you muttered, pretending to examine the crowd instead of him, pretending you weren’t unraveling.

He just shrugged. "You like sweets, darling"

You rolled your eyes, sharp and fast. "You don’t know what I like."

And you meant it to sting, you always did, but the blow landed somewhere else entirely. Because when you finally looked back at him, when you risked the glance – he wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t cocky. His eyes, usually burning gold, looked dull, greyed out like something had drained the color from him. He stared at you like you’d taken something from him without realizing, like he was trying to recognize you through a fog he didn’t want to admit was there. Like you were already halfway gone, and he didn’t know how to call you back.

The silence stretched between you, taut and aching. He didn’t argue. He didn’t tease. He just stood there, watching, motionless ike if he moved, you’d shatter.

And it made you nervous. All of it. His quiet. His stillness. It wasn’t like him. James Potter was meant to be reckless and noisy, a boy so loud they could write headlines about him and still not capture the whole of it. But here he was, hollowed out in front of you, like some part of him had given up already.

The lump in your throat was sudden, sharp, impossible to swallow. Without thinking, you muttered some excuse, something flimsy and forgettable, and you fled – drink in hand, pulse tight and fast like it wanted to escape your body altogether.

The taste of the too-sweet drink lingered on your tongue. And so did the way he’d looked at you like you’d already left. And for the first time that night, it didn’t feel like you were winning at all.

You slip into a group of fellow students – familiar faces, easy voices talking nonsense you don’t care about. Some joke about McGonagall’s lectures, another about next term, another about how many drinks it takes to make Slughorn sing. You nod when it seems appropriate, toss in a smirk, sip the too-sweet drink James gave you just to have something to do with your hands. You don’t hear a word.

Because anything – anything – is better than standing there in front of James Potter, staring at the hollowness in his face. You’d rather pretend. You’d rather hide here, surrounded by noise, than look at the boy who always seemed too full of life to ever go quiet.

It’s almost midnight when you leave. The party is still pulsing behind you, but you slide through the corridors like smoke, like shadow, the castle dimming, softening, as if the walls themselves are growing tired. Drunken students have already collapsed into beds, some half-draped on couches, others giggling in corners. The portraits are murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch, and up above, through frostbitten windows, the stars shiver faintly over the Astronomy Tower, sharp and cold as needles.

You don’t know why you’re heading for the library. You just are.

Your heels tap sharp echoes into the empty hallways, each step a hollow sound that bounces back at you, too loud, like the castle is laughing under its breath. The air gets colder, the stone narrowing around you, like the walls themselves are squeezing you forward faster and faster.

The library is dark. Colder still. You pass shelf after shelf, the spines of old books watching in judgment. Dust heavy in the air. But you’re headed for the nook. Your place. The little corner tucked behind two tall stacks, where the light from the high window always falls in soft stripes.

The place where James used to find you. Where he’d sit – sometimes reading, sometimes watching, sometimes talking nonsense about his friends, about Quidditch, about things you’d pretend not to care about but always, always remembered. Where you didn’t have to fight him off with sharp words and sharper looks – you could just sit there, beside him, and forget there was supposed to be a game between you.

You settle into the chair, the dark pressing in around you. The great clock in the tower looms visible through the tall window, its face bathed in moonlight, each tick dragging you forward. You light the stubby candles you find in the little cupboard, their flames small and shaky, like they know they don’t belong here at this hour.

Thirty minutes left. Thirty minutes until the end of the day. The end of the term. Thirty minutes until the bet is over. Until you win.

You exhale, slow. Watch the clock hand crawl forward.

But you can’t see the time for long. All you see is him. James – standing across the room, his eyes drained of light, watching you like you were the one who’d hollowed him out. His eyes follow you still, burned into the back of your eyelids, dull and disappointed, like you’d proved something to him that he wished you hadn’t.

Twenty-nine minutes.

You close your eyes.

Maybe it’s true what they say about Slytherins – that your heart is just a myth. Something you learned to live without.

James Potter finds you ten minutes before midnight.

You don’t even have to open your eyes to know it’s him because the air changes when he walks in, like the room exhales with him. The weight of it shifts – warmer, quieter, as if his presence tucks itself around you like a blanket. Gentle, encompassing. It’s him. Of course it’s him.

You’re curled in your usual armchair, legs folded beneath you, a book sitting untouched in your lap. The candles have long burned down to nothing, puddles of wax cooling in place. The only light now is the moon, spilling silver and pale across the frost-lined windows. You can see your breath when you exhale. Cold, sharp. You pluck the pencil from behind your ear and start rolling it between your fingers like it’s a wand or a weapon. Something to keep your hands busy. Something to pretend you’re still armed.

You feel his gaze before you see it – heavy and patient. He’s standing between the shelves, just watching.

"You’re late," you murmur, eyes still on the book you’re not reading. You say it like you’ve done this before like this is just another evening in the library, just another study session.

"I didn’t know it was planned," he answers, and his voice is soft. Not smug. Not teasing. Just James.

You glance up then, and there he is. Hair a mess from the party, tie loose around his neck, collar rumpled and dotted with faint sparkles that caught in the fabric somehow, as if the party still clings to him. His eyes are steady now, quiet. No wildness, no desperation – just something like peace. Like he’s glad he found you here.

"You look like you’ve been hexed," you say, because it’s easier than telling him what you really think.

He smiles faintly. "You look like heartbreak."

It lodges in you, sharp and sudden. You forget to breathe for a second. The pencil goes still between your fingers. Slowly, deliberately, you close the book on your lap – not that you’d read a single word anyway.

James steps closer, then drops into the chair across from you. He leans forward like he’s going to say something clever, some easy line, but the words don’t come. Instead, he just sits there, elbows on his knees, gaze flicking between you and the candle stump in the middle of the table. The clock ticks on. Five minutes to midnight.

Silence spreads between you – delicate and trembling, like the thread of a spell stretched too thin. It hums around your ears, sharp at the edges, and you can’t stand it anymore.

"Why did you actually do that?" you ask. Your voice is quieter now, thin with something you don’t want to name. "The bet."

He exhales, and it sounds like surrender. His shoulders curve in, and his eyes drop to the candle between you like if he looks hard enough, the wax and flame might hold the truth for him.

"I already told you, darling," he says, the nickname soft and worn-down, missing its usual mischief. "Because I didn’t know how else to make you look at me."

You blink, barely breathing, watching him like if you look away, he might vanish. Your hand grips the pencil tighter beneath the table, as if holding on to anything could stop the shaking just under your skin.

"I thought it was funny," he says, and there’s a crack in his voice he doesn’t bother to hide. "I thought you’d laugh. Roll your eyes. Maybe hex me. I thought it’d be another story to tell – Potter, the idiot who bet he could make the sharpest girl in school fall for him."

He pauses, swallows, his gaze flickering.

"And then you started resisting," he admits, like it still astonishes him. "You didn’t just brush it off. You fought back. And I thought- maybe… maybe that meant I had a chance."

The pencil might as well be a knife between your hands now. You keep your grip on it so you don’t say something dangerous.

Because he’s sitting there, his eyes glassy with everything he’s still trying not to confess. And you’re sitting here, four minutes to midnight, your victory perched on the edge of the hour – so close you could taste it, if not for the too-sweet drink still coating your tongue, and the sour ache curdling at the back of your throat.

You stand. Slowly, deliberately, like there’s a storm gathering in your limbs. The chair creaks faintly as you shift, but you don’t notice. You’re watching him, and James is already on his feet too, like his body refuses to let you rise without him. Instinct. Gravity. A need to match you move for move.

You cross the space between you – not too close, not yet – your expression unreadable, a mask of something dangerous or nothing at all. The candle between you spits and gutters, casting the sharp corners of your face in flickering shadow. The jut of your cheekbones, the curve of your mouth, the glint of your eyes that he still, still looks for.

"And that’s it?" you ask, voice too bright, too sharp-edged to be real. A theater smile curling at your lips. "The final act of your little charade? The last card in the deck?"

He flinches, barely, but his voice stays soft. "Do you think ’bout me like that, darling?"

It startles you. The tenderness in it. The quiet. You dig your nails into your palms. Hard enough that it should sting, but it doesn’t. You grit your teeth, forcing your jaw to stay steady. You want to hate yourself for him – for caring, for being here, for not walking away when you still could.

"We’ve been competing since first year, Potter," you snap, trying to make your voice as sharp as your memory. "You charmed my feathers off my quills. I hexed your broom so it hiccupped mid-air. You brewed me a potion that made cat ears grow out of my head."

His mouth quirks, just barely, and it lights something in your stomach that you don’t want to name.

"I hid your Marauder’s Map in the castle for a week, pretending I didn’t know where it was," you press on, voice rising, cutting. "We were at war, James. And now- … now you’re holding doors for me. Remembering how I take my tea. Bringing me food when I’ve forgotten to eat, making those- those stupid paper swans with their stupid sweet notes-"

"I meant every one of them," he murmurs.

"You flirted with half the castle!" you spit, like you’re trying to make it hurt.

His eyes don’t waver. He steps forward, slow, careful, like he’s afraid too sudden a move will send you fleeing. "It never mattered," he says, and his voice is a whisper you feel in your bones. "No one but you ever did."

You shake your head. Hard. You raise a hand, palm up, as if to block the words physically. You can’t let him do this. You can’t let yourself-

There’s a lump in your throat, rising and rising, so you force an exhale, try to gather up all that old hatred, the easy irritation that always fit so comfortably between your ribs. You close your eyes and reach for it – the biting annoyance, the sharp retorts, the rejection, the pride.

But it’s gone.

All you find is warmth. Gentle, steady, inevitable.

There’s no hatred. No real irritation. Maybe there never was. Maybe it was all a mask to hide the first time he ever smiled at you and you couldn’t stand the way it cracked something open.

All that’s left now is the unbearable, inexhaustible warmth that spreads through your chest every time you think about James Potter. And there’s nothing – nothing – you can do to stop it.

Your world falls apart quietly. Not like glass shattering, but like silk tearing – soft, devastating, irreversible. The walls you built crumble without a sound. And in the space where they stood, something new is rising, rebuilt from warmth and ache and inevitability.

You open your eyes.

Your gaze drifts, dazed, to the clock face high in the dark window. The moonlight pooling silver across its hands. It’s done. It’s passed. And the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, low and clear and final: "It’s after midnight."

James blinks, his brow creasing gently. "Yeah?"

You step closer. Slow and sure, until the space between you hums tight with electricity. Your breath fogs the lenses of his glasses, blurring you both together. And in that hush, that sliver of a heartbeat where he’s still waiting, you whisper, "Which means, technically... the bet is over."

He swallows, throat bobbing visibly. His voice is smaller than it should be. “So what?”

You tilt your head, eyes heavy-lidded, voice velvet-wrapped and dangerous – a blade slipped between ribs. "Looks like you've lost."

And before he can say a single word, before he can even draw another breath… You kiss him.

You kiss him like it’s a battle you’re finally, finally surrendering to. Ferocious, definite, like you’re claiming the ruins of everything you tried to hold onto. His mouth is warm, stunned at first but then he’s moving, kissing you back with a desperation that feels less like victory, and more like relief. Like he doesn’t give a damn who wins, as long as it’s you. As long as it’s this.

You pull away just an inch, barely a breath between your lips and his. Your eyelashes brush the edge of his cheekbone, and when you tilt your head up, his eyes are already waiting – wide, burning, reverent.

And then, so soft, so delicate he almost doesn’t catch it, you whisper, "I think I love you."

James doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Because his hands are already in your hair, his mouth on yours again, kissing you like he’s heard it, like he’s known, like he’s been waiting for exactly this all along. Like the only thing he’d ever wanted was for you to say it out loud.

And now that you have, he’ll never let you forget it

A FEW WEEKS LATER:

The fire in the Gryffindor common room is burning low, all red coals and sleepy embers, the flames licking at the stone like they’ve grown tired. Shadows stretch across the walls, long and swaying, and the only sound outside is the hush of snow as it kisses the stained glass, soft and weightless. Inside, everything is warm – thick socks, threadbare rugs, laughter drifting faintly from the dormitories upstairs. The castle is folding itself into curfew, but no one’s come to usher you out yet.

You should be in your own common room. You’re not.

You’re here, pressed against James Potter like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you belong here, tangled with him, folded into his warmth, your head tucked beneath his chin. And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

His jumper smells like parchment, mint, and boy – that specific, careless scent of someone who lives out of a satchel and a Quidditch locker and never remembers to cap his ink. His fingers are moving slowly through your hair, not with purpose, but with a lazy kind of affection, like he’s got nowhere to be but here. Like he can’t imagine a better place to be.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice a low echo against your temple, "I really thought I’d have to confess to Slughorn."

You laugh – soft, stifled, your breath catching where it brushes his collarbone. "I almost let you."

James leans his head back, grinning up at the ceiling like it’s shared in on the joke. "It would’ve gone down in history."

"You still can," you tease, your fingers idly tracing the seam of his shirt, a gentle map of something familiar. "Gryffindor student arrested for indecent behavior in a public place and unforgivable taste in bets."

"Hey," he protests, mock-wounded, "you’re injuring my pride."

You tip your head back to look at him and of course he’s already watching you. He always is. It’s in his gaze, the way he looks at you like you’re something improbable he’s still not entirely convinced isn’t a dream. Like if he blinks, you’ll vanish.

"I kissed you, didn’t I?" you murmur.

"You did," he says, and his smile is soft, reverent. Not smug. Not victorious. Just… grateful.

You hesitate, fingers pausing in his hair. Your voice drops, lower, more fragile than you meant it to be.

"It wasn’t a fair bet."

His brows lift slightly, curiosity crinkling at the edges. "No? Why not?"

You shift, turning to face him more fully. The firelight paints him gold and shadow, haloed and human all at once. And something fierce presses tight behind your ribs – the terrible, beautiful ache of loving someone in the quiet, when there’s no one left to witness it but the dark.

"Because," you say, your voice slow, your hand slipping into his hair like you’ve done it a thousand times in another life, "I think I liked you from the very beginning."

You feel him freeze – just a breath, a second, the air hitching between you. And then his smile spreads, wide and unstoppable. Not prideful. Not like he’s won. Just… joy. Pure and warm and so achingly James.

"Yeah?" he asks, and his voice is just the faintest bit hoarse.

"Yes."

He kisses you then. Softly. Carefully. Like he’s still learning the shape of the word yours on his tongue.

There’s no argument this time. No clever retort, no battle to win. No conditions.

Just the terms of a heart freely given – and returned in full.

thankx for reading <з

if you enjoyed it, i’d love to hear your thoughts – comments, likes, and reblogs mean the world and help more people find my work. <з your support keeps me writing!

– your santi 🪐

james m.list // main masterlist

#i love a little ‘bet’ trope 🤭#red’s recs 🔖#j.f.p

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