If James Pot.ter had picked Divination, it certainly wasn’t for the visions. He just figured it would be easy—floaty nonsense, fake predictions, and a guaranteed O.W.L. with minimal effort.

He didn’t believe in seeing the future. Except maybe when it came to you. Because James was utterly convinced that one day—eventually—you'd fall for him. Obviously. He'd already planned the part where you’d laugh at his jokes, kiss him behind the Qui.dditch stands, and maybe even wear his scarf when it was cold. It was written in the stars (or, failing that, in his planner).

So when the Professor paired him with you for palm reading, he considered it fate doing him a solid.

Your hand in his was warm. His heart was thumping hard—embarrassingly so. He hoped you couldn’t feel it. But he watched you with quiet awe, amused by how seriously you were studying the lines on his palm, your brows furrowed in focus.

“You’re really taking this Divination thing seriously, huh?” he teased.

But then your expression changed.

Sad.

James’s grin faltered. “What? Did I miss the part where I’m supposed to become Minister for Magic?”

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you gently turned his palm upward again and pointed to the faint, short line cutting across the center.

“Our life lines,” you murmured. “They’re… really short.”

James blinked, trying not to let the chill settle too deep. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “maybe it just means we live really intensely. Like exploding cauldrons of passion. Tragically heroic types.”

You managed a weak smile.

He looked at your hand, then back at his. A joke danced on the edge of his tongue—but it didn’t quite make it

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “If I’ve only got a short life to live… I think I’d like to spend it annoying you.”

And maybe, just maybe, making you fall in love with him.