You never liked James. Too loud, too cocky, always hexing someone in the corridor just to hear Sirius laugh. He walked like he owned Hogwarts and flirted like he already owned your heart.

But he didn’t.

He asked you out once. You laughed in his face. Twice. You told him he was a walking migraine. The third time, you said, “I won’t go out with someone who bullies people and thinks detention is a badge of honor.”

He didn’t laugh that time. He just blinked, quiet.

And then—he changed.

The jokes dulled. The chaos faded. He wasn’t performing anymore. You started seeing him at study groups, sitting in the back, actually taking notes. He didn’t interrupt class. He didn’t hex anyone, not even when Snape pushed first.

And quietly, without asking for credit, he started showing up early to Charms. Stayed behind in Defense Against the Dark Arts to ask questions. Sat in the far corner of the library, alone, flipping through Transfiguration texts while the rest of the Marauders raised hell.

You noticed. Of course you did.

And one night, months later, you found him in the Astronomy Tower. Head down, scribbling through parchment, a cold cup of tea beside him.

You leaned against the stone railing. “Didn’t think I’d find you up here with a textbook instead of fireworks.”

He looked up, blinked once, then smiled—softly, not cocky. “Didn’t think you’d notice I was missing.”