#james taylor swift

[goldrushenthusiast]

crazy how august (the song) is called august because it was all they had. even crazier how we call her august because we don’t know her name and that’s all we have of her. the month was never hers and she’s never ours—or James’—because we only know her as August.

Betty’s song (cardigan) talks about Betty and barely mentions August, and James’ song (betty) talks about James and Betty and barely mentions August. She’s nothing but a memory to them so that’s all she is to us. Even August’s song (august) is barely about August. It’s about August AND James. How James affects August. What August thought about their relationship. That’s IT.

It’s just fascinating to realize how forgotten/unnoticed August is, even in her own world.

[annamatix]

"should've said no" is like "betty" but betty's pov. like i know "cardigan" is betty's pov of the situation but you get what im trying to say right

like the parallels and everything between the two just gives betty's pov

examples (that have no order to them):

("betty" = "should've said no")

"you heard the rumors from inez you can't believe a word she says but this time it was true" = "you should've known that word 'bout what you did with her'd get back to me"

"if i showed up at your party would you have me would you want me" & "betty im here on your doorstep" = "you shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet"

"when she pulled up like a figment of my worst intentions" & "she said 'james get in lets drive' those days turned into nights" = "you said the past is the past you need one chance, it was a moment of weakness so you said yes"

"the worst thing that i ever did was what i did to you" & "when i passed your house its like i couldn't breathe" & "i'm only 17 i dont know anything but i know i miss you" + a shit ton of other lines = "you can see that ive been crying baby you know all the right things to say"

"slept next to her but i dreamt of you all summer long" = "i should've been there in the back of your mind i shouldn't be asking myself 'why'"

"betty i won't make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom but i think it's cause of me" = "yesterday i found out about you even now just looking at you feels wrong"

"would you have me? would you love me? would you tell me to go fuck myself" = "you should've said no, baby and you might still have me"

"will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends" = "but do you honestly expect me to believe that we could ever be the same?"

"in the garden would you trust me if i told you it was just a summer thing" = "before you go tell me this, was it worth it? was she worth this?"

"i was walking home on broken cobblestones .... when she pulled up" & "she said 'james get in lets drive'" = "you should've said no, you should've gone home, you should've thought twice 'fore you let it all go"

[tea-blankets-andstars]

How i imagine the Folklore love triangle

James- Betty

[pqt-tumble]

@ot3-week Day 7: Free Day

For your consideration: Folklore love triangle ends with Betty, James, and Augustine all dating each other!

And just for clarity (I'm sure swifties don't need, but others might). Betty is in the cardigan, Augustine is in the off-white dress.

This was really a really fun project. Thanks for hosting @ot3-week

[areallycoolanduniqueusername]

I understand the James hate, believe me I do, but I've always thought it was more interesting to view him as the morally gray character he is

[escapingrealitywithmatchalatte]

To live for the hope of it all…

[keira-kaz2y5]

Betty and James

[pep-rambles]

So no one else sees the potential for poly folklore love triangle?

That's fine I guess.

[slytherinsimp12]

✩₊˚.⋆��⋆⁺₊ 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James Potter was charming, mischievous, captain of the quidditch team and very popular among the girls at Hogwarts. He had a certain talent for making his presence aware , a charisma that was unmatchable. You didn’t have many friends, no matter how hard you tried, people never seemed to acknowledge you. To put it quite plainly, you were the polar opposite of James. You spent years trying to push out and ignore any romantic feelings you had for him, because come on… there is no way he even knows you exist…. Right?

Warnings: Mild swearing and kissing/ making out.

Author’s Note: Hi my loves, this is part 1 of a mini series called- Gold rush. I will keep updating, as fast as I can. If you like my work, feel free to send in requests and leave comments 💌. Happy reading xx. Part 2 and Part 3 out now! (Comment to be added to the taglist)

The lively chatter of students filled the corridors. Golden light shone on the cold, aged walls. The air was heavy with the scent of old books, dust and a hint of magic. You made your way towards the dungeons, just in time for Potions class. You were fairly late; your usual spot was taken by another student. You scanned the classroom, looking for a vacant seat. Unfortunately, there was only one, at the very front of the class.

You settled in the empty seat, when you noticed the boy sitting next to you. His messy black hair was overgrown, and ruffled in a way that looked purposeful. His hazel eyes appeared large beneath his round glasses. James Potter was unreasonably attractive, that wasn’t a secret. You spent your first few years at Hogwarts trying to deny it, but it was of no use. You tried telling yourself his good looks didn’t make up for his arrogant and vexatious personality. He was insufferable.

You hated the way he paraded around the school, hands casually tucked in his pockets, increasing his voice by a few extra decibels whenever a pretty girl walked by. You hated the way he effortlessly drew attention to himself as soon as he walked into a room. And what you hated the most, was when he would catch your gaze lingering on him for a little too long.

“Good morning students. I will be assigning you your partners from now onwards. You will stick to these arrangements for the rest of the academic year.” Professor Slughorn announced, earning disappointed groans from the whole class.

“I have learned my lesson after the ‘incidents’ young Mr. Potter and Mr.Black have caused.” He continued, causing wide grins to spread across James and Sirius’ faces.

Slughorn spent most of the lesson reading out the pairs he had made. You were growing impatient, he hadn’t called out your name yet, maybe this was the perfect opportunity to finally make a new friend… and you know, make it last this time.

“Mr.Potter and Ms. Y/L/N” The professor called out.

You have got to be kidding me, you thought to yourself, a horrified look plastered across your face.

“Why that face, love? I don’t bite” James said turning towards you, then to Sirius and letting out a laugh.

You rolled your eyes and left class, saved by the bell.

The next day, you decided to spend your free time in the library and catch up on some homework. Immersed in your work, you almost didn’t notice the figure walking towards you.

“Feeling studious, are we?” James asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward.

“I was, until you came along.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself, as you stared packing your things up.

“Wait, where are you going?” James asked.

“I’m sorry, is there something in particular you want from me?” You snapped.

“You’re my new potions partner aren’t you? I thought we could study for the upcoming test together.” He said cooly.

“Right… well, I’m y/n.” You said, extending your hand.

“You’re kidding right?” James asked, with an almost offended expression.

“Why would I be kidding about my name?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Bloody hell… I know who you are y/n!” James exclaimed. “Third year, Defence against the dark arts, fourth year transfiguration and history of magic and fifth year, divination and astronomy. Those are all the classes we had together, do you not remember?” James continued.

“Oh- um… yea, I guess.” You said, dumbfounded. You remembered. You obviously remembered. How could you forget? But the real question was, how in Merlin’s Name did James freaking Potter know who you were? Did you hit your head and fall into an alternate reality, where you were one of the bimbos he noticed?

It had been a week since that unforeseen encounter with James. He would wink at you during meals or purposefully walk too close to you in the corridors, just enough for your shoulders to brush. He would pretend like he didn’t notice you, but you could feel his stare penetrate when you weren’t looking.

The following night, you woke up in a cold sweat. Your stomach was churning with nausea; it must have been the puking pasties a girl named Marlene gave you.

You were in desperate need of fresh air. Careful not to wake your dorm mates, you slipped out of bed, not caring that you’re in your pyjamas and decided to take a stroll around the castle. You had to be really cautious to not get caught, you didn’t want your house to loose points. You made your way to the dungeons, as it had a lovely view of the black lake.

“Light them up before Filch comes!” A voice whispered.

“What if the Slytherins wake up!” A shrill voice filled with fear added.

“Leave if you must , Pete! But do not ruin this for the rest of us.” You could recognise that voice anywhere.

You peaked your head from the corner of a wall, spotting James and his group of friends, ‘the marauders’, they called themselves. How cheesy. They were in-front of the Slytherin common room, with what seemed to be dung bombs and fire crackers in their hands.

‘Bloody hell. They’re mental.’ You thought to yourself.

“Shit! Run!” One of the voices shouted.

The crackers exploded, creating loud sounds and a strong pungent smell. From a distance, you could see Filch running towards the mess. Suddenly, you felt someone grab you from behind. Before you could shout, their hand covered your mouth. You turned your head to see James signalling you to be quiet. He pulled you into a hidden corner as Filch scoured the surroundings, looking for the culprits behind the mess.

He released his hand from your mouth.

“What the hell! What are you guys doing! Have you absolutely lost your minds??!!” You whisper shouted.

“Y/N Y/L/N, are you following me?To answer your question, no our minds are very much intact. Just a bit of sweet revenge on the Slytherins. Nothing special.” James smirked.

You noticed just how close the both of you were standing. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. You could see the soft curve of his lips and the slight flush in his cheeks. You could hear his heart racing.

He lifted his arm, gently brushing a strand of stray hair away from your face.

Whatever gap was there between the two of you, was closed by James. His lips crashed into yours with an intensity that set your skin on fire. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. All the years of pent up emotions you felt for James came rushing. He pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath, the overwhelming force left you reeling.

“Prongs! Prongs, where are you?” A voice hissed.

“Shit.” James said, through clenched teeth.

“Prongs?” You asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Sirius. I’ve got to go. Will you be able to go back to your dorm on your own?” James questioned.

You nodded.

“Catch you later, y/n” He said, flashing you that famous James Potter smile.

That alone was enough to make your heart melt.

(All rights reserved, ��)

[allamericanb-tch]

james “fuck it if i can’t have him” potter and regulus “i might just die it would make no difference” black

[whatonearthisgoingon]

I met the Marauders at a gas station-

I was filling up my car's gas, when a convertible with four guys rolled up at the pump next to me.

The driver was an Indian guy with glasses and curly hair. (James)

In the passenger seat was a tall brunette boy. (Remus)

In the backseat there was a boy with shoulder length brown hair. (Sirius)

Next to him in the back was a blonde boy. (Peter)

As the driver was filling up the car, the boy with shoulder length brown hair was word-for-word singing along to Taylor Swift's "We are never getting back together" as it played from the car's Bluetooth/radio. The blonde occasionally joined in when it was like "Ooh, Ooh-ooh-ooh-ohh" and parts of the refrain. The brunette in the front seat had his head in his hands groaning, occasionally pointing out the other people at the gas station watching them all. And the driver was laughing the whole time.

The fact they match up perfectly with the personalities is insane-

[starktonyx]

Marvel characters as Taylor Swift songs (Part 1/?) series

Bucky Barnes x Who’s afraid of little old me?

[asoftepiloguemylove]

SPEND ALL THE EVENINGS YOU CAN WITH THE PEOPLE WHO RAISED YOU / 'CAUSE ALL THE TIMES THEY WILL CHANGE // ON NOSTALGIA, GROWING UP, AND MOVING ON

Lorde Stoned at the Nail Salon // Djo End of Beginning // Katatsumori (1994) dir. Naomi Kawase (via @octoberdead) // @lettingitlinger1 // Taylor Swift Never Grow Up // 怪物 Monster (2023) dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda // Sam Haft You Will Be Okay (Simon's Lullaby) // Keaton St. James A LIST FOR NIGHTDREAMERS // @chloeinletters // Sylvia Plath Witch Burning from "The Collected Poems" // Aftersun (2022) dir. Charlotte Wells // Lorde Stoned at the Nail Salon // Banana Yoshimoto Kitchen // Moonlight (2016) dir. Barry Jenkins // John Green Looking for Alaska // 방탄소년단 BTS EPILOGUE : YOUNG FOREVER // Stephen Chbosky The Perks of Being a Wallflower // 火垂るの墓 Grave of the Fireflies dir. Isao Takahata

[graynvmbr]

The Alchemy | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: inspired by one line from taylor swift's "the alchemy"

word count: 1.3k

The May sun dipped low on the horizon, bathing the Quidditch pitch in hues of gold and pink. The air was crisp but warm, a perfect evening to cap off an exhilarating match. The Gryffindor team had just claimed the Quidditch Cup in a match so intense it left the crowd breathless and on the edge of their seats. Harry stood at the centre of the pitch, his fingers wrapped tightly around the golden Snitch, his heart pounding not just from the game but from something far greater.

Around him, chaos reigned. Teammates tackled him in celebration, red and gold banners fluttered wildly in the stands, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Yet Harry barely registered any of it. His focus was elsewhere.

He scanned the crowd, his green eyes darting over the sea of jubilant faces until they found yours. You were making your way down the steps of the stands, your bright eyes locked on his. Your radiant smile made his chest tighten. Unlike the bundled-up days of winter matches, tonight you wore a light jumper, the sleeves casually pushed up, your hair catching the last golden rays of sunlight. Harry’s breath hitched as he watched you wave at him, your pride and joy evident in every line of your face.

Without hesitation, Harry broke away from the throng of well-wishers and teammates. He brushed past congratulatory pats on the back and jubilant shouts, his sole focus on reaching you. As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he swept you into his arms, spinning you around in a move so carefree it felt like you two were the only ones on the pitch. Your laughter rang out, a sound that made Harry’s world feel whole.

“You did it, Harry!” you exclaimed as he set you down, your hands instinctively moving to cup his face, your thumbs brushing the dirt smudges on his cheekbones.

“We did it,” he corrected, his voice low. His forehead pressed gently against yours, and his grin was as breathless as yours. “You’re my good luck charm.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your hands dropping to his chest, where his heart thundered beneath your palm. “Pretty sure it was all you. That dive at the end? Incredible.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were watching.”

Before you could reply, he kissed you—a fleeting yet tender touch that sent warmth blooming through your chest. The crowd around you erupted in cheers again, as if Gryffindor’s victory was amplified by their captain’s public display of affection. You pulled back, your cheeks flushed, but Harry didn’t let go. Instead, his arms tightened around you, anchoring you to the moment.

—

The Gryffindor common room was alive with celebration by the time you returned to the castle. Someone had bewitched the lanterns to float and glow in Gryffindor colours, and music could be heard out of the old muggle radio someone had brought. Butterbeer flowed freely, and the room buzzed with stories of the match.

Harry, hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates, looked every bit the hero. His messy hair glinted in the light, and the grin on his face was pure joy. You stood off to the side with Hermione, sipping butterbeer as Ron regaled a group with his animated retelling of the Quaffles he kept out of the Gryffindor rings.

“You’re the only one who can get him to leave this madness,” she joked, nudging you with her elbow.

As if he heard her, Harry’s eyes found yours across the room. His smile softened, the noise of the room fading as his attention honed in on you. Excusing himself from his teammates, he made his way through the crowd, his gaze never leaving yours.

When he reached you, he held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “We’re in the middle of a celebration, Harry. Everyone’s watching.”

He grinned, unfazed. “Doesn’t matter, let them watch. This is our moment.”

Laughing, you let him pull you into the middle of the room. The energy around you hummed with excitement, but in his arms, the chaos melted away. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, swaying gently to the rhythm of the room.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, resting your head against his chest.

“And you love it,” he replied, his lips brushing the top of your hair.

You smiled to yourself, savouring the quiet intimacy in the middle of the party. The world fell away as you danced, and when Harry whispered, “I love you,” it wasn’t just words. It was a promise, woven into every beat of his heart that you felt beneath your cheek.

—

As the party wound down and the last of the laughter and cheers faded into the evening, the atmosphere in the common room shifted. The music softened, the lanterns dimmed, and the once lively chatter turned into quiet conversations. The Gryffindor common room, still glowing with a warm, celebratory aura, now felt peaceful, as if it had wrapped itself in a comfortable, familiar embrace.

You and Harry, both a little tired but content, found a quiet spot by the fire, away from the last few lingering guests. The flames crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls as you sat together on the couch, your fingers entwined.

Harry leaned back, his head resting against the armrest, and you nestled beside him, your legs curled up underneath you. The silence between you was comfortable, the kind that came from years of knowing each other inside and out. You could hear the soft hum of the castle around you—the distant sound of footsteps in the hallways, the occasional flicker of magic, the calming night air that seemed to settle in after the frenzy of the match.

Harry shifted slightly, his eyes drifting to the fire as he let out a content sigh. "You know, it still feels unreal. All of it—the Cup, the victory... and you, here with me."

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "It’s real, Harry," you whispered, "and it’s exactly where we’re meant to be."

His hand found yours again, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gentle caress. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve always been there, from the very start. Even when things seemed impossible.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you lifted your head to look at him, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve always had a way of making everything feel possible, Harry. Even when the odds were against us.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned forward, kissing your forehead gently. “And you’ve always been my home.”

The room felt warmer now, as though your love had filled it completely, and you rested against him once more, the contentment of the day settling over you both. “I think we’ve earned some quiet time,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment, savouring the peace of being together.

Harry’s hand gently stroked your hair as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, comforting embrace. “Just us. No rush. We can take all the time we want.”

And so, as the last remnants of the celebration faded away, the two of you remained there in the quiet of the common room, surrounded by the warmth of your love. There was no need for grand gestures or loud celebrations now—just the two of you, together, in the soft glow of the fire, with the rest of the world waiting patiently outside.

In that moment, it was perfect. And nothing else mattered.

back to my harry potter masterlist

[zrvllya]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

────────────

is it over now, taylor swift

────────────

james potter x reader ! one shot ⏾

how to haunt someone politely

ᵎ!ᵎ angst, emotional hurt, grief/mourning, parental death (mentioned), alcohol use, reconciliation, angst with hope, female rage somehow, trust issues, pining, pensieve, past betrayal, lowercase intended, miscommunication, second chance perhaps?

word count [ 6,800 ]

────────────

the great hall buzzed with morning chatter, but it all faded to white noise as you stared blankly at your untouched porridge. three hundred takeout coffees later—that's how the song went, right? except in your case, it was three hundred breakfasts later, three hundred classes later, three hundred nights of staring at the ceiling while your roommates slept peacefully.

"you need to eat something," remus murmured beside you, his voice gentle but firm. "you've lost weight."

"not hungry," you replied, pushing the bowl away. your eyes unconsciously drifted across the table, landing on him—james potter, laughing at something sirius had said, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners the way they used to when you'd whisper stupid jokes against his neck at three in the morning.

he caught you looking. you didn't look away fast enough.

something flashed across his face—pain, maybe? good. let him hurt. let him fucking hurt like you did.

"he asks about you," remus said quietly, following your gaze. "all the time."

"fascinating," you replied, voice dripping with venom. "tell him to keep asking. i'll keep not giving a shit."

remus sighed. "you know why he—"

"don't," you cut him off. "i don't care if his dad was dying, rem. i would have been there for him. instead, he chose to push me away, to be cruel, to make me hate him. and then he fucked jessica hall at that party two days later."

you stood up abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "i have ancient runes."

"it's thursday," remus pointed out. "you don't have ancient runes until—"

"then i'll be early."

"i'm not leaving," you whispered against his chest, two summers ago at potter manor. outside, rain lashed against the windows, but inside james' bedroom, everything was warm. his parents were downstairs, preparing dinner, and you'd snuck up to his room simply to hold each other.

"ever?" he asked, his fingers tracing patterns on your spine.

"ever," you confirmed, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "they'll have to drag me out."

"good," he murmured, tipping your chin up to kiss you properly. "because i love you more than anything in this world."

"more than quidditch?" you teased.

"infinitely more than quidditch," he said solemnly.

"then i guess you're stuck with me," you whispered.

"promise?" he asked.

"promise."

in ancient runes, you could barely focus. professor babbling's voice washed over you as you stared out the window at the quidditch pitch. james would be there later for practice. you used to watch him practice, bundled in his oversized jumper, cheering him on. now you avoided the pitch entirely.

"miss y/l/n," professor babbling called. "perhaps you'd like to translate this passage for us?"

you dragged your eyes from the window, scanning the runes on the board. your mind was blank.

"i—i'm sorry, professor. i wasn't—"

"paying attention, clearly," she finished for you. "see me after class."

the rest of the lecture dragged on. when the bell finally rang, you approached babbling's desk with reluctance.

"this is the third time this month, miss y/l/n," she said, looking at you over her spectacles. "your marks are slipping."

"i know, professor. i'm sorry."

her expression softened. "is everything alright? you've always been one of my best students."

"just tired," you lied. "i'll do better."

she nodded, unconvinced. "i expect your translation essay on my desk by monday morning."

the library was quiet that evening. you'd claimed your usual corner table, surrounded by ancient runes texts and parchment, trying to focus on anything but memories of him.

footsteps approached. you didn't look up.

"can i sit here?"

your quill froze mid-word. his voice still affected you, still sent electricity down your spine despite everything. you refused to look up.

"everywhere else is taken," james added softly.

"library's big, potter," you replied coldly. "find another spot."

"please," he said, and something in his voice made you finally look up.

he looked awful. well, awful for james potter, which meant he was still unfairly beautiful but clearly suffering. dark circles beneath his eyes, hair more chaotic than usual, tie loose around his neck. he'd lost weight too, you noticed with unwanted concern.

"what do you want?" you asked.

"to study," he replied, holding up his transfiguration textbook. "nothing else."

against your better judgment, you nodded once. he slid into the chair across from you, careful to keep distance between you.

for thirty minutes, you worked in tense silence. you could feel his eyes on you occasionally, but every time you looked up, he was focused on his book.

until—

"your hair's different," he said suddenly.

you touched the ends of your hair self-consciously. you'd cut it after the breakup, a desperate attempt to feel different, to be someone new.

"observant," you muttered.

"i like it," he offered.

"i didn't do it for you."

"i know," he said quietly. "you never did anything for me. that's what i loved about you."

loved. past tense. the word stung more than it should have.

"is there a point to this conversation?" you asked sharply.

james looked down at his hands. "i just... miss talking to you."

"you should have thought about that before you made me hate you."

his eyes flashed with hurt. "is that what you think i did?"

"it's what you did, james," you said, your voice finally betraying emotion. "you were cruel. deliberate. you pushed and pushed until i broke. and then you fucked jessica hall two days later."

"it wasn't like that," he said, so quietly you almost didn't hear him.

"enlighten me, then," you challenged. "tell me how it was."

he opened his mouth, then closed it again. his eyes—those stupid hazel eyes you used to get lost in—filled with something like regret.

"i can't," he finally said.

you laughed bitterly. "that's what i thought."

you gathered your books and stood. "stay at the table. i'll go."

"wait," he said, reaching for your wrist but stopping just short of touching you. "your essay. is it for babbling?"

"what's it to you?"

"you translated this wrong," he said, pointing to a line on your parchment. "it's not 'eternal darkness' here—it's 'temporary shadow.'"

you stared at him. "since when do you know ancient runes?"

a flush crept up his neck. "i've been studying it. i know how much you love it."

the implication hung between you. he'd been learning your favorite subject, even after everything.

"well, thanks," you said stiffly, correcting the translation. then, against your better judgment: "how's your dad?"

pain flickered across his face. "he, uh... he died. last month."

your heart dropped. "james, i'm—"

"don't," he cut you off. "don't say you're sorry. i know you are. it's who you are."

silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

"i should go," you finally said.

"for what it's worth, i never slept with jessica."

you froze, back still to him.

"she passed out on the couch," he continued quietly. "i put a blanket over her and slept on the floor. everyone just assumed..."

"why are you telling me this now?" you asked, still not turning around.

"because i'm tired of you thinking i'm someone i'm not," he said simply. "i'm many things, but i'm not a liar. and i never stopped loving you."

"you're an asshole!" you screamed, tears streaming down your face. three months ago, in an empty classroom, the beginning of the end.

"if that's what you think, then leave," james said coldly, his face a mask of indifference that didn't reach his eyes.

"what happened to you?" you asked, voice breaking. "where is the james i fell in love with?"

"maybe he was never real," he replied, turning away. "maybe this is who i really am."

"look at me," you demanded. when he didn't, you grabbed his arm. "look at me and tell me you don't love me anymore."

he finally turned, his eyes suspiciously bright. for a moment, his mask slipped, and you saw such pain that it stole your breath.

then it was gone, replaced by that cruel indifference. "i don't love you anymore."

the world stopped turning.

"liar," you whispered.

but you walked away anyway, because even if he was lying, he'd made his choice. and it wasn't you.

you didn't turn around in the library. you couldn't look at him, couldn't let him see how his words affected you.

"good night, james," you said, and walked away.

that night, you lay awake in your dormitory, staring at the ceiling. the anger that had sustained you for months was crumbling, leaving behind confusion and an ache that wouldn't subside.

"he never slept with her," you whispered to yourself. "he never slept with her."

but he'd still pushed you away. he'd still chosen to hurt you rather than let you support him through his father's illness. that betrayal couldn't be undone with one truth.

could it?

the next morning at breakfast, you felt his eyes on you the moment you entered the great hall. this time, you didn't look away. this time, you met his gaze across the crowded room.

he looked surprised, then hopeful. cautiously, he raised his hand in a small wave.

you didn't wave back. but you didn't look away either.

it wasn't forgiveness. it wasn't even the beginning of forgiveness. but it was something.

a crack in the ice.

maybe, three hundred more breakfasts from now, you'd be ready to hear him out. maybe you'd be ready to understand why he pushed you away when his father was dying, why he thought hurting you was better than letting you in.

or maybe not.

you picked up your spoon and began to eat your porridge, aware of him still watching you, aware of the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

it wasn't over. not yet.

but whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

three days passed. you'd caught him watching you in every shared class, during meals, in the corridors between lessons. his eyes followed you like a ghost, haunting your periphery.

you still hadn't spoken since that night in the library.

"he's miserable," lily evans said, sliding into the seat next to you in the common room on friday night. your friendship with lily had always been complicated—her history with james, the way she'd become a tentative ally after your breakup.

"that's not my problem," you replied, not looking up from your charms essay.

lily sighed. "i know what he did was awful. but—"

"but what?" you snapped, finally meeting her eyes. "you're going to defend him now? after all the shit you've said about him over the years?"

"people change," she said quietly. "he's changed."

you laughed bitterly. "into what? someone who destroys the people who love him? who pushes away anyone who tries to help him?"

lily studied you for a long moment. "he didn't want you to watch his father die," she finally said. "he didn't want you to see him fall apart."

your quill snapped between your fingers, ink splattering across your parchment. "he told you that?"

"no," lily admitted. "remus did. but only because he's worried about you both."

you closed your eyes, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to drown you. "i would have been there for him," you whispered. "through anything."

"i know," lily said gently. "that's exactly what scared him."

"i think i want to be an auror," you told james, sprawled across his bed that summer before fifth year, his parents downstairs making dinner. "or maybe a curse-breaker."

james traced his fingers along your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. "you'd be brilliant at either."

"what about you?" you asked, turning to face him.

he shrugged. "dad wants me to join the ministry."

"but what do you want?"

james was quiet for a long moment. "i want to do something that matters," he finally said. "something brave."

you reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "you're the bravest person i know, james potter."

he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "only when i'm with you," he whispered. "you make me better than i am."

"no," you said, shaking your head. "i just see who you really are."

he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "swear you'll never leave me," he whispered, vulnerability raw in his voice.

"i swear," you promised. "not even if you beg me to."

how terribly ironic those words would become.

you skipped dinner that night, taking refuge in the astronomy tower. the stars always calmed you, reminded you how small your problems really were in the grand scheme of things.

except this pain didn't feel small. it felt all-consuming.

"i thought i might find you here."

you didn't need to turn to know it was him. james' footsteps were as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

"are you following me now?" you asked, keeping your eyes on the stars.

"no," he said, stopping several feet away. "but i know you come here when you're upset."

"i'm not upset."

"liar," he said softly.

the accusation—so gentle, so knowing—broke something inside you. you spun around, fury rising like a tidal wave.

"don't you dare," you hissed. "don't you fucking dare call me a liar. not after what you did."

james flinched but held his ground. "i deserve that."

"you deserve worse," you spat. "you want to know what upsets me, james? the fact that you decided, all on your own, that i wasn't strong enough to handle your pain. that you'd rather destroy us than let me see you vulnerable."

"it wasn't about you not being strong enough," he said quietly.

"then what?" you demanded, stepping closer. "what possible reason could justify how you treated me?"

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "you want to know how my father died?" he asked, voice cracking. "he wasted away. inch by inch. day by day. until he wasn't my father anymore—just a shell. i watched my mother break apart trying to save him, trying to be strong for him. i watched her lose herself in his suffering."

tears streamed down his face now, but he made no move to wipe them away. "i couldn't do that to you," he whispered. "i couldn't watch you destroy yourself trying to save me."

"that wasn't your choice to make," you said, your own voice breaking. "i loved you. i would have—"

"exactly," he interrupted. "you would have given everything. sacrificed everything. and i would have let you, because i was selfish and scared and falling apart."

you shook your head, anger warring with grief. "so instead you decided to be cruel?"

"i thought if you hated me, it would be easier," he admitted. "for both of us."

"don't touch me," james snapped, jerking away from your hand. two weeks before the breakup, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

"james, please," you begged. "talk to me. whatever's happening, we can face it together."

"there is no 'we,'" he said coldly. "there's me, and there's you, and right now i need you to leave me the fuck alone."

you stepped back as if slapped. "what's happened to you?"

he laughed, a hollow sound that chilled your blood. "maybe i'm finally showing you who i really am. maybe this is who i've always been."

"i don't believe that," you whispered.

"then you're a fool," he replied, walking away without looking back.

later that night, you found him on the quidditch pitch, flying recklessly in the pouring rain. when he finally landed, soaked and shivering, you were waiting with a towel and dry clothes.

he stared at you, something like desperation in his eyes. "why are you still here?" he asked, voice raw.

"because i love you," you said simply. "even when you're like this."

for a moment—just a moment—his mask cracked. he reached for you, pulling you against his wet clothes, burying his face in your neck. "i don't deserve you," he whispered.

"maybe not," you agreed, holding him tightly. "but you have me anyway."

the next day, he acted like it never happened. the walls were back up, higher than before.

"you broke my heart," you whispered in the astronomy tower, stars witnessing your confession. "not when we broke up—i could have survived that. you broke it when you made me believe i never really knew you at all."

james looked stricken. "i'm sorry," he said, and the words seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him. "god, i'm so fucking sorry."

"sorry doesn't fix anything."

"i know," he agreed. "nothing can fix what i did. but i need you to know that everything before—every moment, every word, every promise—that was real. that was the truest thing in my life."

silence stretched between you, heavy with history and pain and love that refused to die, no matter how badly you both had wounded it.

"i saw you," you finally said. "with that ravenclaw girl last week. she looks like me."

james paled. "it's not—"

"i don't care who you fuck, potter," you cut him off. "but at least have the decency not to replace me with my clone."

"she asked me for help with transfiguration," he said quietly. "nothing happened."

"do i look like i care?" you asked, but your voice betrayed you, cracking on the last word.

"yes," he said simply. "you do."

you turned away, unable to bear the honesty in his eyes. "leave me alone, james."

"i can't," he whispered. "i've tried. for months, i've tried. but i can't stop loving you. i can't stop missing you. i can't stop hating myself for what i did to us."

you closed your eyes, fighting back tears. "that's your problem, not mine."

"look at me," he pleaded. "just look at me and tell me you don't love me anymore."

the echo of your own words from months ago hit you like a physical blow. slowly, you turned to face him.

"i don't love you anymore," you said, but your voice shook, betraying the lie.

james stepped closer, closing the distance between you. "liar," he whispered, his breath warm against your face.

"i think i want to marry you someday," james murmured against your hair, both of you hidden beneath his invisibility cloak in the astronomy tower, breaking curfew to watch a meteor shower the winter of sixth year.

you laughed softly. "we're sixteen, james."

"i know," he said, tightening his arms around you. "but i also know what i want. who i want."

you turned in his arms to face him. "you might change your mind."

"never," he said with such conviction that your heart stuttered. "you're it for me. the rest of my life, you're it."

you kissed him then, slow and deep and full of promises neither of you were old enough to make but made anyway.

his proximity was intoxicating, dangerous. you could smell his cologne—the same one you'd given him last christmas. you stepped back, needing distance.

"we can't do this," you said. "you can't just decide you want me back and expect me to fall into your arms."

"i know," he said, not following when you retreated. "i know i have no right to ask anything of you."

"then what do you want from me?" you demanded.

james ran a hand through his hair—that familiar, infuriating gesture that had always made your heart skip. "a chance," he said simply. "not forgiveness, not yet. just... a chance to show you who i really am. who we were."

"i know who we were," you said bitterly. "we were everything. and then we were nothing."

"we were never nothing," he whispered.

you turned away, unable to look at him anymore. "i have to go."

"please," he said, desperation edging into his voice. "just tell me if there's any hope. even the smallest chance."

you paused at the door, not turning around. "i don't know, james," you admitted. "i honestly don't know."

three days later, you found a small package outside your dormitory door. inside was a vial of swirling silver memories and a note in james' handwriting: these are my truths. if you want to see them, pensieve in dumbledore's office. password is 'acid pops.' he knows you're coming.

you stared at the vial for hours, turning it over in your hands, watching the memories shimmer and dance.

did you want to see inside his head? see the truth he couldn't speak aloud?

did you want to risk understanding him?

because understanding might lead to forgiveness. and forgiveness might lead back to him.

and you weren't sure if you were ready to fall again, knowing how badly it would hurt if he let you break a second time.

but that night, as you lay in bed staring at the vial on your nightstand, you made your decision.

tomorrow, you would see his truths.

tomorrow, you would decide if what you had was truly over.

morning arrived with a sense of inevitability. you'd barely slept, the vial of memories a constant presence in your consciousness. by dawn, you were already dressed and waiting for an appropriate hour to visit the headmaster's office.

at precisely eight o'clock, you found yourself standing before the stone gargoyle.

"acid pops," you murmured, and the statue leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase.

dumbledore was waiting, as if he'd been expecting you at this exact moment. his blue eyes twinkled knowingly over his half-moon spectacles.

"miss y/l/n," he greeted. "mr. potter informed me you might be visiting. the pensieve is ready for your use."

you clutched the vial tightly. "thank you, professor."

"memories are curious things," dumbledore mused as he led you to the cabinet where the pensieve sat. "they show us truth, but always through the lens of the one who experienced it. remember that as you view them."

with those cryptic words, he excused himself, leaving you alone with the shallow stone basin.

hands trembling slightly, you uncorked the vial and poured the silvery contents into the pensieve. the memories swirled, hypnotic and terrifying. taking a deep breath, you leaned forward until your face touched the surface, and then you were falling, falling...

────────────

james sat beside a hospital bed in st. mungo's, holding the frail hand of a man who barely resembled the strong, vibrant fleamont potter you remembered from previous summers. his father's skin was pallid, stretched thin over protruding bones, his breathing labored.

"how is school, son?" fleamont asked, his voice a ghost of its former self.

"good," james lied, forcing a smile. "we're top of the house cup standings."

"and your girl?" fleamont's eyes brightened slightly. "when will you bring her to visit again?"

james swallowed hard. "soon, dad. she's... she's busy with exams."

another lie. you watched james' face carefully, saw the pain etched into every line.

euphemia potter entered then, carrying tea. her normally impeccable appearance was disheveled, dark circles prominent beneath her eyes. she looked like she'd aged years in months.

"james," she said, her voice brittle. "your father needs rest. perhaps you should return to school now."

james nodded, pressing a kiss to his father's forehead. "i'll be back next weekend."

in the corridor outside, euphemia collapsed against her son, silent tears streaming down her face. "the healers say there's nothing more they can do," she whispered. "it's just a matter of time now."

james held her, his own face a mask of controlled anguish. "how much time?"

"weeks. maybe a month."

you watched as something hardened in james' eyes—a decision forming.

"don't tell anyone," he said. "not yet."

the scene shifted. james in dumbledore's office, receiving the news of his father's deteriorating condition. "you'll need to prepare yourself, mr. potter," the headmaster said gently. "and perhaps consider who you wish to have support you through this difficult time."

"no one," james said firmly. "i don't want anyone to know."

dumbledore studied him over his spectacles. "isolation rarely eases grief, mr. potter."

"i'm not isolating myself," james argued. "i have my friends. sirius, remus, peter."

"and miss y/l/n?" dumbledore inquired. "surely she would want to support you."

the memory showed james turning away, his voice tight. "especially not her."

another shift. james in the boys' dormitory, sirius confronting him.

"you're destroying her," sirius said bluntly. "and yourself in the process."

"it's better this way," james insisted, pacing like a caged animal. "you've seen what this is doing to my mother. she's fading away right alongside him, sirius. i can't... i can't watch that happen to y/n too."

"so your solution is to make her hate you?" sirius demanded. "that's fucked up, prongs."

"she'll move on," james said, but his voice broke on the words. "she'll find someone better. someone whole."

"you're a fucking idiot," sirius said, but there was no heat in it—only sadness.

the scene changed again. james standing outside the charms classroom, watching you laugh with your friends. the naked longing on his face was devastating. remus appeared beside him.

"it's not too late," remus said quietly. "tell her the truth."

"it is too late," james replied, turning away as you emerged from the classroom. "i made sure of it."

memories began to blur together now—fragments of james receiving owls from st. mungo's, sleepless nights, moments where he nearly broke and ran to find you, only to stop himself. and underlying it all, a sense of desperate, suffocating love for you that he was systematically trying to destroy.

then the party after your breakup. james, drunk and miserable, while everyone around him celebrated. jessica hall approaching him, flirting openly.

"want to go somewhere quieter?" she suggested, trailing her fingers down his arm.

james looked at her through glazed eyes. for a moment, it seemed he might agree—might try to lose himself in someone else.

instead, he shook his head. "i can't," he said simply.

later, jessica passed out on the couch, james covering her with a blanket before collapsing on the floor nearby, tears streaming silently down his face as he clutched something in his hand—a small velvet box containing a ring you'd never seen.

the final memory was the most painful. james at his father's funeral, standing stoic beside his mother as they lowered the coffin into the ground. you weren't there—couldn't be there—because you didn't know.

afterward, in the empty potter house, james finally broke. he destroyed his room in a fit of grief and rage, shattering photo frames of the two of you, ripping down the quidditch posters you'd always teased him about, smashing the mirror where you'd once stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as you both got ready for the day.

when the destruction was complete, he sank to his knees among the debris, clutching a salvaged photograph of you to his chest, whispering your name like a prayer.

────────────

you emerged from the pensieve gasping, tears streaming down your face. the room spun around you as you gripped the edge of dumbledore's desk for support.

it was too much—too raw, too real. the james in those memories was both familiar and foreign. the boy you loved, twisted by grief and misguided protection.

you needed air. needed space to process what you'd seen.

dumbledore was nowhere in sight as you fled his office, running blindly through the corridors until you found yourself outside, the cool spring air hitting your tear-streaked face.

without conscious thought, your feet carried you toward the lake—your spot, where you and james had spent countless hours hidden from the world.

he was there. somehow, you knew he would be.

james sat beneath the beech tree, staring out at the water, looking more vulnerable than you'd seen him in months. he turned at the sound of your approach, hope and fear warring in his eyes.

"you saw," he said. not a question.

"i saw," you confirmed, your voice raw from crying.

silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn't say.

"why didn't you just tell me?" you finally asked, the question that had haunted you for months.

james looked down at his hands. "because you would have stayed," he said simply. "you would have sacrificed everything to be there for me, and i couldn't bear it."

"that wasn't your choice to make," you said, anger flaring again despite what you'd witnessed.

"i know," he admitted. "i know that now. i was... i was trying to protect you from my pain."

"by causing me pain instead?" you demanded, stepping closer. "by making me believe everything we had was a lie?"

james flinched. "i thought it would be easier if you hated me."

"easier for whom?" you spat. "certainly not for me. do you have any idea what it did to me, watching you become someone i didn't recognize? hearing you say you didn't love me anymore with that mouth that used to beg for mine?"

you were trembling now, months of suppressed rage finally breaking free. "that mouth that used to whisper how much you loved me, how you'd never hurt me—and then you turned into a lying traitor right before my eyes."

james looked stricken, each word landing like a physical blow.

"i deserved that," he whispered. "all of it and worse."

"yes, you did," you agreed. "you took everything from me, james. not just our relationship—you took my trust, my belief that i could recognize truth from lies, my ability to let anyone close again."

you sank down onto the grass, suddenly exhausted. "i understand why you did it now," you admitted. "but understanding doesn't erase what happened."

james remained standing, keeping his distance. "i don't expect it to," he said softly. "i just... i needed you to know the truth. even if it changes nothing between us."

you looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time in months. behind the grief and regret, you could still see traces of your james—the boy who had loved you completely, who had promised you forever and meant it.

"it changes things," you finally said, voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the lake. "but i don't know how much."

hope flickered in his eyes—fragile, tentative. "what does that mean?"

you stood, brushing grass from your robes. "it means i need time, james. time to decide if what you did is something i can forgive. time to figure out if there's anything left worth salvaging."

"i'll give you all the time you need," he said immediately. "i'll wait—however long it takes."

you nodded, turning to leave, then paused. "your father... i wish i could have been there. for both of you."

james' eyes filled with tears. "he asked about you," he said, voice breaking. "right until the end."

the admission cracked something inside you. without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him—the first time you'd touched in months. he stiffened in surprise, then melted against you, his body shaking with silent sobs.

"i'm so sorry," he whispered against your hair. "i'm so fucking sorry."

you held him, letting him break apart in your arms the way he'd been so afraid to do. this wasn't forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. a beginning, perhaps. or at least not an ending.

when you finally pulled away, his face was wet with tears, but there was something lighter in his expression—as if sharing the burden had lifted some of his grief.

"i should go," you said softly.

he nodded, not trying to stop you. "thank you," he said. "for seeing. for understanding, even if you can't forgive."

you turned to leave, then looked back one last time. "i don't know if we can ever be what we were," you said honestly. "too much has happened. but maybe... maybe we can find out who we are now."

it wasn't a promise. it wasn't even hope, really. but it was possibility.

and for now, that would have to be enough.

a week passed. you avoided each other by unspoken agreement, both needing space to process what had happened by the lake.

you caught glimpses of him—in the great hall, during classes, across the common room. each time, your eyes would meet briefly before one of you looked away. the air between you was charged, electric with possibility and uncertainty.

your friends noticed the shift. "something's different," lily observed one evening as you both studied in the library. "between you and james."

"nothing's different," you lied, not looking up from your potions text.

lily arched an eyebrow. "you looked at him yesterday. actually looked at him, without that hatred in your eyes."

you sighed, closing your book. "i saw his memories," you admitted. "in dumbledore's pensieve."

"oh," lily said softly. "his father?"

you nodded. "and everything else."

"does that change things?"

you traced a finger along a scratch in the wooden table. "it explains things. i'm not sure it changes them."

but that wasn't entirely true. something had changed—you could feel it every time james entered a room, the awareness that prickled across your skin, the way your body still responded to his presence despite everything.

understanding had eroded some of your anger, but not all of it. in its place was something more complicated—a tangle of hurt, longing, and unresolved desire that made it difficult to breathe when he was near.

"i want you," james whispered against your neck, his hands sliding beneath your shirt. seventh year had just begun, before everything fell apart. you were hidden in the room of requirement, celebrating your anniversary.

"show me," you challenged, arching into his touch.

his eyes darkened as he looked at you, hunger and adoration mingling in his gaze. "tell me what you want," he said, voice rough with desire.

"everything," you replied, pulling him closer. "i want everything."

later, curled against him in the tangled sheets, you traced the contours of his face with gentle fingers. "promise me something," you whispered.

"anything," he said immediately.

"promise you'll always tell me the truth. no matter how difficult it is."

james caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "i promise," he said solemnly.

another promise broken.

the astronomy tower had become your refuge again, a place to escape when thoughts of james threatened to overwhelm you. past midnight on a friday, you leaned against the stone parapet, staring at the stars and trying to quiet your mind.

the door creaked open behind you.

you didn't need to turn to know who it was. weeks of avoiding each other, and now here he was, drawn to the same place as you.

"i'll go," james said quietly.

"stay," you replied, surprising yourself. "if you want."

he approached cautiously, keeping a careful distance between you as he leaned against the parapet. for a long while, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with stars and shared history and things unsaid.

"i miss you," he finally said, the words startlingly honest in the darkness. "every fucking day, i miss you."

you closed your eyes, his voice washing over you like a physical touch. "i'm still angry," you admitted. "i understand why you did it, but i'm still so fucking angry, james."

"you have every right to be," he said. "i wouldn't expect anything else."

you turned to look at him then, really look at him. moonlight sculpted his features, throwing shadows beneath his cheekbones, glinting off his glasses. he looked beautiful and devastated and so familiar it hurt.

"i miss you too," you whispered, the confession torn from somewhere deep inside you. "and i hate that i miss you."

something shifted in his expression—hope warring with restraint. "where does that leave us?"

"i don't know," you said honestly. "i don't trust you anymore. but i can't stop wanting you either."

james inhaled sharply at your words. "y/n—"

"don't," you cut him off. "don't say anything. not yet."

you stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. close enough to see his pupils dilate, to hear his breath catch.

"i'm still so fucking mad at you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "i'm mad at you for lying. i'm mad at you for pushing me away. i'm mad at you for making me love you so much that even after everything, i still can't stop."

james remained perfectly still, as if afraid any movement might shatter this fragile moment between you.

"i need you to understand something," you continued, your voice low and intense. "if—and that's a big if—if we ever try again, it can't be like before. you don't get to decide what i can handle. you don't get to 'protect' me by lying. you talk to me, even when it's hard. especially when it's hard."

"i understand," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"do you?" you challenged, stepping even closer. "because i need to know that you get it, james. i need to know that you understand what you did to us."

"i do," he whispered. "i destroyed the best thing in my life because i was scared and stupid and thought i knew what was best for you."

"and you'll never do that again?" you demanded.

"never," he swore, his eyes never leaving yours. "i swear on my life, on everything i am."

you reached up, your hand hovering near his face without touching. "i want to believe you."

"then believe me," he said simply.

something broke inside you then—the last of your resistance crumbling beneath the weight of need and anger and love that had never truly died. you closed the distance between you, your mouth crashing against his with bruising force.

james froze for a heartbeat, then responded with equal desperation, his hands tangling in your hair as he backed you against the stone wall. the kiss was nothing like the tender exchanges you once shared—this was raw, hungry, almost violent in its intensity.

you bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper on your tongue. "i'm still angry," you gasped against his mouth.

"i know," he groaned, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. "be angry. i deserve it."

your nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt, marking him, claiming him even as you punished him. his hands gripped your thighs with bruising pressure, his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.

"this doesn't fix anything," you warned between kisses, your breath coming in harsh pants.

"i know," he repeated, his lips trailing fire down your neck. "nothing fixes it. nothing except time and truth and proving myself to you every day for as long as you'll let me."

you pulled back, forcing him to meet your eyes. "no more lies," you demanded. "ever."

"no more lies," he agreed, his gaze steady on yours. "i'm an open book to you. always."

for a long moment, you searched his face, looking for any hint of deception. finding none, you pulled him back to you, your kiss softer now but no less desperate.

"i still love you," you confessed against his mouth, the words both surrender and challenge. "god help me, i still fucking love you."

james pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. "i never stopped," he whispered. "not for a single moment."

you disentangled yourself from him, feet finding the floor again. standing face to face, both of you disheveled and breathing hard, reality began to seep back in.

"we can't just pick up where we left off," you said, straightening your clothes with trembling hands. "too much has happened."

"i know," james said, not reaching for you again though his eyes betrayed how much he wanted to. "i don't expect that."

"so what now?" you asked.

james ran a hand through his hair—that achingly familiar gesture that had once made you roll your eyes fondly. "now we take it one day at a time," he said. "we start over. slowly. on your terms."

you nodded, stepping back to create distance between you. your body still hummed with desire, your lips still tingling from his kiss. "i need to think," you said. "i need to be sure this is what i want."

disappointment flickered across his face, but he nodded. "whatever you need."

you moved toward the door, pausing with your hand on the handle. "james?"

"yes?"

"i'm not promising anything," you said. "but i'm not saying no either."

a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "that's more than i deserve."

"probably," you agreed, a reluctant smile of your own emerging. "i'll see you tomorrow."

as you descended the stairs from the astronomy tower, your body still ached with unresolved tension, your mind racing with conflicting emotions. nothing was resolved. nothing was fixed. but something had shifted—hope rising from the ashes of what you'd lost.

you were still angry. you still didn't fully trust him. but beneath it all was the undeniable truth that had never changed, even when you wished it would:

you loved james potter. despite everything, in spite of everything, because of everything—you loved him.

and maybe, just maybe, that was somewhere to start.

[escapingrealitywithmatchalatte]