You knew James Fleamont Potter- Or you thought you did. Over the many hours you’d spent in his arms or the time you’d have talked over the phone, you would have thought that you knew him a lot.

But in reality you knew the smallest percentage of the truth; Yes he loved Queen, his guilty pleasure was Fleetwood Mac, Dairy milk was his favourite chocolate and his favourite animals were deer. You knew he loved Christmas and especially Halloween- but the reasons were unknown.

You never felt the need to know more, for he had no special reason for telling you. He met you in a pub ‘78 new years eve, with his circle glasses over his eyes and his hair messy- James’ look you had familarised yourself with over the year, the on and off relationship, only for notes through the letterbox that he needs to be alone for a while or phonecalls where he got Remus to speak to you, to him knocking on your door weeks later just to kiss you and be held.

He was tricky, almost too open to ever hold secrets- yet he held the most important one, his magic. But to despite that, you were laying between his legs on your couch, watching the television.