There was something absolutely infuriating about James. Maybe it was his unwavering sense of justice, or his undying loyalty. Whatever it was, it pissed you off.

Cornered by a group of Slytherin’s with a wand held up to your throat as they questioned your loyalty, your status, your purity, warned you that you were “messing around with the wrong side”, the person you least expected to help was James.

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady is it?” James broke the silence, eyeing the group, then you, with his wand held up.

“I don’t need your help, Potter,” You spat, glaring with almost pleading eyes to leave, which he, much to your infuriating dismay, ignored.