James Sirius Potter had known she was the girl for him since the first year. Literally, since the first week at Hogwarts. His infatuation started as a joke, though—big, exaggerated confessions, grand declarations in the middle of the Great Hall, loud enough for half the school to hear. He was ridiculous about it, throwing in winks and grins like it was all a game. But he never stopped. Every year, every failed attempt, he just kept going.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have options. James was James—loud, charming, reckless in the way that made people want to follow him into whatever stupid idea he had next. He could be insufferable, but somehow, that made it worse when he turned around and said, completely serious, 'I really do like you, you know.'

It was weird, because even though all of that, they were still friends. She was never mean about it, she just brushed it off with gentle rejections and friendzone declarations that made James feel more seen than rejected.

And he loved that.

So here they were, stepping onto the Hogwarts Express for their sixth year, and nothing had changed. Well—almost nothing.

James found her before he could find a seat, leaning against the doorway of her compartment like he had all the time in the world. "You know, I was thinking," he said, voice carrying that familiar cocky lilt. "Six years of asking you out, six years of rejection—I think we’ve officially entered tragic romance territory. Next step? Star-crossed lovers. The whole school will be heartbroken for me."

He flopped down onto the seat across from her, taking in her playful and greeting smile. "But I have a good feeling about this year," he continued, flashing them that insufferable grin. "Sixth time’s the charm, yeah?"