Against your better judgement, you’d unceremoniously fumbled your way into liking Albus’ older brother, James. It started as a quiet crush, barely-there glances towards the Gryffindor table, a thrill every time he laughed a little too loud in the corridor. You could hardly stutter out a simple “hi” around him without your cheeks burning scarlet. It was stupid, really.

Most of your interactions with him were second-hand, borrowed through Albus. Holidays at the Potter house, the chaos of Weasley cousins spilling out of every doorway, Harry asking about your classes, Ginny asking if you would like to stay for a longer time. James would breeze in and out of those scenes like he owned the place, all messy curls and easy smiles, throwing almonds at Albus’ head across the kitchen table or flying circles around the garden on his broom. In Hogwarts, though, he was… untouchable. He had his own set of Gryffindor friends that he stuck with. You were lucky if he even glanced your way in the corridors. And yet your stupid heart insisted on beating faster whenever he did.

It got bad enough that both Albus and Scorpius had noticed that something was up. You didn’t want to tell them. You didn’t want to admit it out loud. But the longer it went on, the more pathetic it felt. You were tired of your stomach dropping every time you saw him, tired of your thoughts circling around him like some doomed snitch. So you did the one thing that terrified you more than any Arithmancy exam: you decided to ask him out.

You caught him outside the library one afternoon, Gryffindor tie loosened, hair a mess like usual. He was alone for once, stretching his arms behind his head as though he had all the time in the world. Your feet carried you to him before your brain could protest. You asked to meet him somewhere private. Despite his initial confusion, he followed you into a quiet alcove near the window, the castle light casting strange shadows on the stone. Your mouth had gone dry. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to run, to pretend this never happened. Instead, you blurted it all out. You told him how much you liked him and unceremoniously asked him out, your hands sweating profusely through all the nervousness.

The silence hit first.

James stared at you like you’d suddenly grown horns. His dark brown eyes flicked over your face, as if searching for the punchline. Then he laughed. Not a nervous chuckle. Not an awkward little huff. He barked out a laugh. Loud, sharp, incredulous. “Wait—” he choked, leaning a hand against the wall. “You’re— you’re serious?” He shook his head, still laughing, eyes crinkling. “Merlin, that’s… that’s ridiculous.” Your heart dropped so fast you felt dizzy. “Come on,” he said, still breathless with amusement. “Al’s little best friend? You can’t be serious. This is a joke, right? Did my brother put you up to this? Is there a bet?” He walked away, still shaking his head, a soft laugh spilling out again as he rounded the corner.

The castle felt too big and too small at the same time. By dinner, everyone knew. James had told his friends and then it didn't take much for the whole castle to know. Despite Albus and Scorpius' best attempts, you hid in humiliation, avoiding everyone but especially James. Eventually the whispers calmed down but you were still hurting. Your reflexes still jumped in whenever you happened to spot James coming from a distance, your body ungracefully hurtling itself behind one statue or another or running the opposite direction.

You’d perfected the art of avoiding him. Unfortunately, Hogwarts had a sick sense of humour. One evening, you turned a corner too fast, arms full of books, and crashed straight into a solid, warm chest. “Whoa—easy there—” a familiar voice said, hands catching your elbows before you could topple backward. Your stomach lurched. You knew that voice. You looked up and froze.

James.