james was sure he’d never felt more smug in his life.

he knew that for most of your academic career you had despised him. he was cocky, reckless, and honestly a twat. he spent more time planning foolish pranks than he did on schoolwork. he knew it peeved you, how he acted.

still, he’d noticed you in the stadium during his quidditch match. gryffindor had won, of course, hence why the gryffindor common room was crowded with students. there was music and drinking, and a number of people had clapped james on the back, right on the potter on the back of his jersey, congratulating him on his win.

of course he’d had to approach you. hell, he hadn’t even expected you to attend the party.

he certainly hadn’t expected you to be receptive to his flirting.

and he absolutely hadn’t expected you to follow him out into the stairwell and down a hallway. then you’d kissed him, and he was sure he could’ve died happy doing so.

he pulled away after a moment, cheeks flushed and glasses askew. he wanted to make sure you were alright. he hadn’t tasted alcohol on your lips, but he knew your track record of hating him went strong.

“you alright, love?” he mused.