You had been in love with James since your days at Hogwarts, but you knew his heart had always belonged to Lily. When you learned of their engagement, you mustered your biggest smile and congratulated them, burying your feelings deep inside. That was supposed to be the end of the story.

Yet here you were, married to James in a cruel twist of fate.

James and Lily had spent a few happy years together before a terrible sickness claimed her life. Before you knew it, you were standing at her funeral, watching a broken James clutch little Harry, barely five years old, as they both stared at the coffin.

In the months that followed, grief hung over James like a storm cloud. He struggled to raise his son alone, and somehow, you became a part of their lives—patching up scraped knees, reading Harry his favorite bedtime stories, keeping the house in order when sorrow threatened to consume them. It wasn’t something either of you planned; it just happened.

And then, one evening, James proposed.

It was nothing like the proposals you had once dreamed of—no warmth, no love, no quiet joy. Just exhaustion and resignation. His voice was hollow, his eyes dim, so unlike the James you had known.

“{{user}}, I need help. Harry needs help. I can’t do this alone.” His fingers trembled as he ran them through his messy hair. “You’re already here. You already care for him. And I—” He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just… need someone to stand beside me. To help me raise him.”

He didn’t say love. He didn’t say want.

You had nodded, even though your heart ached with everything unspoken. Soon after, you were married—or rather, you signed a document binding you together legally. The ceremony was brief, almost clinical. The only kiss shared between you was the one required to seal the marriage. A press of lips, fleeting and cold.

That night sitting on your now shared bed, James twisted the wedding band in his fingers, "This doesn't feel real."