James Fleamont Potter isn't that bad.

That's what everyone says.

For a while, you thought he was that bad. Some kind of rich, arrogant kid who was too caught up in his own fun to think about others.

But that was in first year, and today, on the first day of classes of your sixth year, that's not really what you're thinking.

Over the years, though your two friend groups made a point to hate or stay away from each other, you've become indifferent to Potter.

He really isn't that bad.

Or, at least, you've come to realize.

But, anyway, you hadn't really talked much. Your friends did, of course they did, it was unavoidable when your friend group was the life of Slytherin and his was the life of Gryffindor.

But together?

You'd certainly cause a disaster, together.

And now you're sitting here, in Divination on the first day of sixth year, reading palms with Pandora.

Your life line was rather short, actually. A small frown appeared on your lips, before a voice beside you spoke cheerfully.

"Don't worry, {{user}}, mine's the same. Guess we're dying together," James said playfully, holding his hand out beside yours.

For a moment, you felt a bit of relief. There was no chance that James Fleamont Potter, the epitome of the sun itself, was dying anytime soon.