#monserelates

“Drunk words are sober thoughts” they said.

pairing: f!reader x james potter

summary: Y/N and James Potter have been in love with eachother since 3rd year and it’s common knowledge to anyone except them. But what happens when James gets a tad bit too drunk on a party?

warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff, idiots in love, use of y/n, girlhood, marauders banter, alcohol consumption, idk what elsee

a/n: oh my god in genuinely so mad it literally erased the WHOLE STORY AND I HAD TO REWRITE IT WHST TJE FUCK hope you enjoy anyway chat 🙏🏻

The sky over the Quidditch pitch is an angry gray, rumbling low and threatening, but it doesn’t stop the crowd from roaring like a stadium on fire. Rain drizzles steadily, soaking scarves and robes, but no one seems to care. Every eye is locked on the blur of red and blue circling high above the pitch, faster and faster—bludgers whizzing past, players shouting, the wind slicing through the stands like a knife.

You’re at the front of the Gryffindor section, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the chant thundering around you:

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”

There’s no mistaking him.

Even from here, you can see the wild mess of black hair, the scarlet robes plastered to his skin from the rain, the glint of determination in his hazel eyes as he leans into the dive of his life.

James Potter looks like a firework seconds before it explodes.

And then—he catches it.

One hand, mid-air, golden wings trapped in his palm.

The pitch erupts.

Gryffindors launch to their feet like they’ve been stunned. Red and gold streamers shoot from somewhere above, and someone behind you yells so loudly they lose their voice on the spot. You don’t realize you’re screaming, too, until your throat burns.

The sound of celebration rises like a tidal wave—but your eyes don’t leave him. Not even for a second.

He’s grinning, eyes wide, hair dripping, arm still raised with the Snitch clenched between his fingers—and then he’s looking straight at you.

And your breath catches.

⸻

In the professor’s box…

“There it is,” McGonagall murmurs, a little smug.

Slughorn groans and drops three Galleons into her hand. “Every bloody time.”

Sprout passes Flitwick a folded bit of parchment with something scrawled on it—probably a prediction. “I had them getting together before the end of the match.”

“Too optimistic,” Flitwick says. “He’ll probably declare his love by Christmas. Or next century.”

Kettleburn frowns at the field through his rain-splattered spectacles. “Are we still talking about the Quidditch score?”

“No,” McGonagall says flatly. “We’re talking about Potter and Y/L/N. The will-they-won’t-they of the bloody decade.”

⸻

Back on the pitch, James doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of his team dogpiling each other in celebration.

He doesn’t stop to gloat, or bow, or wave at the crowd like he usually does.

He runs straight toward you.

Through the mud, through the noise, through everything—and you’re barely down the stairs when he barrels into you, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

“Did you see that?!” he shouts, voice buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.

You can’t stop smiling. You’re soaked to the skin, freezing, and buzzing like you’ve been hit with a cheering charm. “James, that was insane! That dive—I thought you were going to die!”

“I would’ve died dramatically!” he declares, spinning you in a ridiculous circle, his laugh echoing against your ear. “And you would’ve said I looked brilliant doing it.”

“You did look brilliant.”

He pulls back just far enough to see your face, his hands still on your waist, warm even through the rain. His grin falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so seriously.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Say it again.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. “You’re brilliant, James.”

“Again.”

“James—”

“One more for luck, come on.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist and swings it gently between you two like you’re seven years old again on the playground.

⸻

Somewhere a few feet away, Sirius Black is groaning dramatically into his hands.

“This is torture. This is literally slow-burn hell.”

“They’re going to kill me with this,” Peter mutters, wrapping his scarf tighter around his head to muffle the scene in front of him.

Remus crosses his arms and sighs. “They’re standing in the rain. Holding each other. Making heart eyes. And neither of them has any idea.”

“Tell me again why we’re not legally allowed to interfere?” Sirius asks.

Remus shrugs. “I think it falls under cruel and unusual punishment if we force them to kiss before they figure it out.”

⸻

You, meanwhile, are still standing there with James, the rain now falling in soft silver sheets around you.

He’s grinning, breathless, flushed from the cold and the win and something else—something softer.

“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?”

“Is that why you always play better when I’m watching?”

“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending it’s a joke.

Your heart stumbles.

But before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, Sirius whistles from the sidelines.

“Oi! Lover boy! Save the swooning for the afterparty!”

James flips him off cheerfully and takes your hand.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go get absolutely wrecked.”

You let him drag you off the field, hand in hand, heart still thudding against your ribs like a snitch trying to escape.

You don’t know it yet, but that’s the moment every professor marks on their mental betting sheet as the beginning of the end for your denial.

..

The Gryffindor common room looks like a postcard from chaos.

Laughter ricochets off the walls. Firewhisky sloshes dangerously close to priceless magical tapestries. Red and gold streamers dangle from floating lanterns, and the Fat Lady is two notes into an off-key drinking song from her frame before someone silences her with a silencing charm (she keeps singing anyway).

You’re curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath you, cheeks flushed from the heat and the firewhisky and maybe the fact that James Potter has just collapsed beside you like he belongs there.

(He does. But don’t say that out loud.)

His head lands against your shoulder with a groan. “Merlin, I can’t feel my spine.”

You snort into your butterbeer. “You just won a full-on war match. What’d you expect?”

“A parade. Chocolate. You serenading me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

He lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin. “Delusion looks good on me, though, yeah?”

He’s too close. Not in a bad way. Just in a dangerous way. His face is warm, hair still damp from rain, and his cheeks are flushed a little from drink and laughter and you.

He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“Told you what?”

“That I was brilliant.”

You stare at him.

He stares back. Wide, innocent eyes. He’s not even joking.

“I literally told you that on the pitch—”

“I know. Say it again.”

“James—”

“One more time. For my ego. It’s fragile. Ask Remus.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he says brightly, and then immediately frowns at himself. “Wait, no. Not like— I meant, like—your ridiculous. As in. You own me. Platonically. Friendly-like.”

Your face burns.

He blinks at you, like his brain is just catching up to his mouth. “Unless you don’t want that? The—uh. Friendly ownership?”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Then open it again, because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. And it’s maddening. And wonderful. And unfair.

“James,” you say, voice a little softer, “You’re always brilliant. Match or not.”

His entire face lights up. Like a sunrise, like a Patronus, like you just gave him a love potion by accident. His grin is all teeth, all joy, like he just heard something he didn’t even know he needed.

“Well,” he says, blinking hard. “Now I definitely need you to say it again.”

You groan and drop your head into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Say it with more affection next time.”

You don’t move. It’s warm here. You’re tucked against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he’s just—letting you. His hand comes up instinctively, curling over your knee like you’ve sat like this a hundred times before. Like this is just what you do.

You’re both quiet for a beat.

Then—

James shifts, speaking into your hair, barely above the music.

“You looked really pretty today.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“After the match. Or during. Or always.” He says it like he’s thinking it out in real time. “In the rain. With your hair all messed up and your voice all loud. It was really distracting. I nearly flew into a goalpost.”

You pull back to look at him, heart beating a little too loud in your ears.

His smile wobbles, almost shy now. “It’s not fair, you know. How you make it so hard to focus.”

You’re about to say something—what, you’re not sure—when Sirius crashes down onto the couch beside you both, dramatically sprawled like a dying Victorian maiden.

“Will you two just kiss already?!”

You and James spring apart like you’ve been hit with a Stunning Spell. Your knees knock. The blanket slips off your lap. James nearly falls off the couch. Your face is on fire.

“Sirius!” you hiss.

Remus appears behind him, dragging him by the collar. “Sorry, sorry, he’s had four drinks and zero impulse control.”

“I’m right, though!” Sirius yells as he’s hauled away. “This has been a seven-year buildup! You’re killing me!”

James is still staring at the spot where you were just curled into his side, like he’s unsure if it happened or if he dreamed it.

You clear your throat. “Anyway. Butterbeer?”

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

You both stand awkwardly, side by side.

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Neither of you notices the way you mirror each other’s nervous gestures.

Neither of you knows that the whole common room is quietly taking mental bets now.

You just walk toward the drinks table—shoulder brushing shoulder, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to fall in love again in front of everyone.

Too late.

..

It’s been, maybe, thirty minutes since you last talked to James — maybe less — and he’s now reached the level of intoxication where he’s bouncing from couch to floor to table like a golden retriever stuck in a Quidditch locker room. A loud golden retriever.

And you, unfortunately, are the center of his universe.

“Y/N,” he’s saying to a poor first-year who clearly only came over for crisps. “Y/N Y/L/N is a genius. A gift to magical academia. She’s rewriting the rules. Have you read her last essay on spell layering? I read it for fun. I highlighted things. I made notes. NOTES.”

The first-year bolts.

Across the room, Sirius groans. “He’s reached stage four.”

Remus raises a brow. “Already?”

“He’s talking about her footnotes again.”

You, meanwhile, are curled into a chair with Lily and Dorcas, sipping from a butterbeer and watching this trainwreck in motion.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you murmur, wide-eyed.

Dorcas snorts. “That’s the problem.”

James turns next to Marlene, wild-eyed and swaying like a tree in a hurricane. “She’s going to change the world, Mar. I’m just some twat with a broom, but she’s—she’s like a wand-core in human form. Powerful. Regal. Glowy.”

“Glowy,” Sirius repeats, deadpan.

“She deserves her own holiday,” James says gravely. “With no homework. And themed pastries.”

Peter, lying starfish-style on the floor, just mutters, “You said that already.”

James ignores him.

“Moony,” he says suddenly, stumbling over. “Did you know she reads magical theory books for fun?”

“I did, yeah,” Remus says calmly. “She’s in our study group.”

James gasps. “You’ve studied with her?! In real life?!”

“Every Tuesday.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were.”

“I WAS?!”

Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Don’t answer that. He’ll cry.”

James wipes his face. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“I would pay to be in a group with her,” James continues, wildly unaware. “Like actual Galleons. Maybe my Firebolt.”

“You’d trade your broom for study rights?” Sirius asks.

“I’d trade my dignity,” James replies, deadly serious.

“You already have,” Peter mumbles.

“Okay but she’s just so incredibly amazi-”

Sirius sighs so loudly his soul escapes for a second. “Mate, please, for the love of Merlin—take a breath.”

“I can’t!” James cries, hand on his heart. “She just talked to me, Sirius. She said I looked brilliant out there. Brilliant. She said it. Out loud. With her mouth. To me.”

He’s swaying. There’s a butterbeer bottle dangling from one hand and a crumpled bit of parchment in the other — no one knows where it came from, or what it says. He keeps trying to read it dramatically, but it’s blank.

He lurches toward Lily now, grabbing her shoulders with too much emotion for someone this off-balance. “Evans. Lily. You’re smart. You get it. Tell me she’s the most magnificent human being to ever live.”

Lily looks him dead in the eye. “She’s alright.”

James’s jaw drops. “Alright?! You take that back right now.”

Dorcas cackles. “Lily, you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“I just think Marlene’s got better cheekbones—”

“HOW DARE—”

James starts climbing the arm of the couch like it’s a podium. His butterbeer spills onto Sirius’s leg.

“I would die for her,” he declares to the room, fully ignoring Sirius screaming “MY TROUSERS, JAMES!”

“I would go to Azkaban for her!”

“I think you’d go to Azkaban for knocking over that table,” Peter says mildly.

“I would invent new spells for her! Emotional ones! With poetry built in!”

“You don’t even remember the counter-hex for hiccoughing,” Remus mutters.

“I’d learn!” James insists. “For her? I’d learn anything. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Goblin dialects—anything.”

Marlene sips from her cup, eyeing him like a science experiment. “Should we be worried he’s going to propose tonight?”

“No, no,” James says quickly. “Not tonight. I have to make it special. You only get one first proposal. I’ll probably need a broomstick and a dragon.”

A pause.

“Maybe two dragons.”

“James,” Sirius says slowly, like speaking to a spooked Hippogriff. “You do know she’s still here, yeah? At this party?”

James freezes.

“What.”

“She hasn’t left,” Remus adds. “She’s literally by the fireplace.”

He turns slowly.

Y/N is laughing again — head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut — and it hits him all over again like a rogue Bludger.

He turns back to them, hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I have to tell her she’s amazing.”

“NO!” all four of them yell at once.

Sirius grabs him by the collar. “You already did! At least five times! Just now! You were very loud!”

“I was?!”

“James,” Remus says gently. “If you tell her again tonight, she’ll never take you seriously ever again.”

James frowns, gaze flickering. “But she’s just so—look at her. How is a person allowed to be that capable and that pretty? At the same time?! While breathing?! It’s not fair.”

“Neither is this hangover you’re about to have,” Peter mumbles.

You’re across the room, sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene near the fireplace, laughing at something. Your head’s thrown back, hand curled over your stomach, cheeks flushed from drink and heat and happiness.

James sees this.

And promptly gasps.

Loudly.

“Did—did you see that?” he whispers furiously to no one in particular, swatting at Sirius’s arm.

“See what?” Sirius blinks.

“She just—” James gestures vaguely in her direction. “She laughed. Like a—like a goddess. Like something out of a romance novel. Did you see that?!”

Remus raises an eyebrow, sipping from his butterbeer. “James, she’s laughed like that since First Year.”

“Yes,” James says, grabbing Sirius’s face. “But this time it was at my joke.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter pipes up from the floor. “She was laughing at Marlene.”

James doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy sinking deeper into the cushions, clutching a half-empty bottle and sighing like someone just recited a Shakespearean sonnet into his soul.

Sirius grabs him. “Alright, Casanova, let’s sit back down before you give McGonagall a reason to revoke your Prefect badge.”

James collapses onto the couch but doesn’t stop talking. He’s now mumbling into a throw pillow.

“She’s so smart. Her brain is like—like a Pensieve made of diamonds. And her eyes? Unfair. Illegal. Should require a license.”

You bury your face in your hands.

“Don’t look at me,” you groan. “Don’t even look at me.”

Dorcas leans into your side, grinning. “You’re not embarrassed. You’re thriving.”

“I’m combusting.”

Across the room, Lily narrows her eyes. “Okay. Who gave him the last bottle?”

Dorcas smirks. “He nicked it from Peter when he was doing that thing with the singing frog.”

“Oh no,” Marlene says, already turning to watch.

“Oh yes,” Sirius says gleefully, patting James on the back like he’s winding up a toy.

“Did I ever tell you,” James says, swaying forward with the glass raised like a toast, “that in Third Year, Y/N got an Outstanding on that bloody Transfiguration essay—without extra credit? And then she apologized for ‘only’ getting one foot over the minimum length. Like some sort of modest academic angel.”

“You have,” says Remus, dryly. “Twice a month. Every month. Since Third Year.”

“She’s just so…” James trails off, blinking at nothing, trying to summon language that doesn’t exist. “She’s like… if the library came to life and had really nice hands.”

“Poetic,” Peter murmurs.

James leans his head against the back of the couch, watching her from across the room like she’s the only star in the sky.

“And her handwriting,” he slurs, dreamy and devastating. “She dots her i’s with perfect little circles. Not hearts, thank Merlin, she’s not insufferable. But like. The neatest circles you’ve ever seen. I’d kill to be one of her i’s.”

Remus spits out his drink.

Sirius is laughing so hard he has to bend over.

“Mate,” he wheezes. “You are so far gone you’re about to become a sonnet.”

James frowns, eyes still locked on her. “She deserves one.”

“Write her one, then,” Remus says, exasperated.

James shrugs. “Couldn’t do her justice.”

Across the room, you start to stand up, clearly preparing to come over. James perks up immediately, nearly launching off the couch, except Sirius holds him down with one hand.

“She’s coming this way,” James whisper-shouts, scrambling to fix his hair and elbow Remus in the ribs. “Do I look tragic? In a romantic, yearning sort of way?”

“You look like you just got hit by a flying book,” Peter says.

“That’s very her-coded,” James whispers urgently. “She’ll love it.”

Y/N appears in front of them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”

“Depends,” James says brightly. “Are you real or did I dream you up in Charms class again?”

You blink. “What?”

“What.”

Everyone freezes.

Lily, from across the room, covers her face. “Oh my god.”

Dorcas kicks Marlene under the table. “We’re witnessing a historical event.”

“James,” you say slowly. “You dreamed about me in Charms class?”

James’s face goes bright pink. He blinks. “No.”

“James.”

“…Yes.”

Remus drops his head into his hands. Sirius is making a strangled keening sound beside him.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just stare.

James, meanwhile, is staring up at you with the dumbest, dreamiest smile in all of wizard history. “Y’know, you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Like music. Not like bagpipes. Like—like harps. But funny.”

You press your hand to your face. “James, you’re sloshed.”

“But still honest!” he says, raising a finger. “And if I die tonight, which is a real possibility—someone needs to tell you. You’re absolutely—stunning. And terrifying. And the best person I’ve ever met.”

You go very still.

“You deserve everything,” James says, serious now. “Every top mark. Every bloody award. And—and someone who worships the ground you walk on.”

Sirius points dramatically at James. “Like this guy, for example!”

James waves weakly. “Hi.”

You stare at him.

Then you shake your head with a disbelieving smile, cheeks burning.

“I’m getting you water,” you mutter, turning on your heel.

As you walk away, Sirius leans in. “Well?”

James is still smiling like an idiot.

“I love her,” he mumbles.

“You think?” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Across the room, James looks up like he’s just spotted a unicorn.

“There she is,” he whispers reverently, eyes locked on you. “Look at her. Laughing. Being intelligent. Breathing air.”

He turns to the boys. “I’m going to tell her she’s amazing again.”

“No, you are not,” Sirius says, throwing an arm across him.

“You already did,” Remus adds.

“You said you’d invent spells with poetry built in,” Peter says, eyes closed. “That’s enough vulnerability for one night.”

“But I didn’t even tell her about the way her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed,” James insists, distressed.

“YES, YOU DID,” the entire group yells at once.

James flops dramatically back onto the couch, gaze still on you, hand pressed to his heart.

“I hope I never get used to it,” he mumbles.

“To what?” Sirius asks, too tired for this.

“Her. Being… her.”

Silence.

Then:

“That’s it,” Lily whispers to you. “I’m putting a Galleon down that he confesses within the week.”

You snort. “He’s not going to remember any of this.”

“Oh, he will,” Remus says, already conjuring a camera. “Because we’re going to make him.”

..

James is soft in the firelight.

Slouched on your lap, staring at you with those dreamy eyes while you run your hands through his hair. His eyes are glassy, smile sleepy. There’s an empty butterbeer bottle rolling somewhere near his foot.

You think he might fall asleep mid-sentence, right until he says it:

“I’m in love with you.”

No teasing. No grin.

Just the truth — dropped into your lap like a glass heart he doesn’t think you’ll keep.

You stare at him. Everything in you flickering, still, glowing.

And maybe he’s tipsy, and it’s way too late, and maybe you’ve spent years convincing yourself not to say anything — but your mouth opens before your doubt can shut it.

“I’ve been in love with you since third year.”

James turns to you fully now, dazed.

“You have?”

You nod, heart thudding so hard it nearly knocks you over. “You—” your voice catches, and then it softens, wavers at the edges. “You helped me carry six books back from the library. I was too proud to ask anyone. You didn’t even say anything. Just took half of them out of my arms like it was nothing.”

He blinks. “You’re telling me I won your heart with library logistics?”

You laugh — really laugh — the kind that curls into your cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled at me like I already mattered. I think I’ve been trying to catch up with that moment ever since.”

James stares at you like you just rearranged the stars.

And then you add, softer, thumb brushing along his knuckles:

“You’ll probably forget this tomorrow.”

He shakes his head so hard his curls flop. “No. Not this. Not you.”

“You said that last time you got drunk.”

“Yeah, but that was about pineapple on pizza, which is totally so wrong by the way, and this is about you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.”

You blink, throat tightening.

He exhales like the truth has been sitting on his chest for years. “You make everything better just by existing. Like—I look at you and forget what I was mad about. Or scared about. You just—calm the chaos.”

You nudge his knee with yours, voice watery. “You’re drunk and romantic and a little bit sappy.”

He nods solemnly. “And I still know you’re the girl I want to marry.”

Then, quieter:

“Kiss me tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”

You smile, curling closer to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Only if you remember the third year library incident.”

“Deal.”

He tucks his head into your shoulder.

And in the dying firelight, with the castle quiet around you and the taste of unsaid things still sweet in the air, you let yourself believe it.

Tomorrow, he’ll remember.

Because love like this doesn’t get drunk. It waits.

..

James wakes up like a man reborn.

Which is to say: violently, dramatically, with a sharp inhale and a jolt upright that knocks his glasses off the nightstand and sends his pillow flying to the floor.

He blinks at the ceiling, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

The sound echoes through the boys’ dormitory like a spell misfired. Peter lets out a strangled yelp and rolls off his bed with a thud. Sirius groans, dragging a pillow over his face.

Remus, who’s reading some poetry book, even with a hangover, doesn’t look up.

“Unless Dumbledore’s tap-dancing at the foot of your bed, I swear to Merlin, James—”

“SHE LOVES ME.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned, not-this-early silence.

Peter pokes his head up from behind his blankets. “Who? The librarian?”

“Y/N!” James yells, launching himself out of bed and spinning like he’s in a Disney film. “Y/N loves me. She told me. Last night. Right here.” He points aggressively at his chest. “In the heart zone.”

Sirius groans louder. “It’s too early for this level of optimism.”

“She’s loved me since third year!” James says, nearly tripping on his own shoe in excitement. “Third! Year!”

“You’re shouting,” Remus says, very dry. “Please don’t shout.”

“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!” James howls with glee, climbing onto Sirius’s bed. “She said I make her feel calm. I make her feel calm! I am a human soothing draught!”

Sirius whacks him with a pillow. “You’re a human disaster!”

James falls dramatically to the floor, arms spread wide like he’s been shot. “A loved disaster!”

Peter squints. “Wait, are you sure this wasn’t a hallucination?”

“Hallucinations don’t tuck their heads into your shoulder and promise to kiss you in the morning.”

Sirius sits up at that. “Wait. Did you kiss?”

“No,” James says reverently, like it’s sacred. “We’re saving it.”

Sirius throws himself back down. “Merlin, just kill me.”

“I’m going to marry her,” James says suddenly, with the confidence of a man who can barely tie his tie in the morning.

Remus finally puts his book down. “Maybe eat breakfast first.”

“I’m going to buy her breakfast. Then marry her.”

Peter groans into his hands. “I hope she knows what she’s signed up for.”

“She does,” James says, dreamy, like the thought of you just rewrote his entire brain chemistry. “She’s perfect. Life is perfect. Life is great.”

And then he sprints to the bathroom singing something that vaguely sounds like a love song but might also be the Gryffindor Quidditch chant.

The Marauders exchange a look.

Sirius sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what the worst part is?”

Remus raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not wrong.”

..

You find him by the lake.

He’s sitting under that same tree you always gravitate toward when the castle feels too full — hair still messy from sleep, tie loose, legs stretched out like he’s been waiting all morning. Because he has.

When he sees you, his face lights up like the bloody sun.

“You came.”

“I figured you’d be here,” you say, soft.

He grins. “Course I am. This is where I first realized I was doomed.”

You blink. “What?”

“Third year,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I watched you lug about twenty kilos of books up the hill after the library kicked us out. I tried to help, and you gave me that look — the one that’s all, ‘I’m fine, but I’ll murder you if you tell me I’m not.’”

You can’t help laughing. “Sounds like me.”

“You dropped a book on my foot,” he says fondly. “A heavy one. Arithmancy.”

“I remember.”

“And I remember thinking—” his voice dips lower, gentler, “—that I wanted to carry your books forever. Even if you hexed me for it.”

Something warm stirs in your chest.

You sit beside him in the grass, close enough that your knees brush. The lake glitters beside you like it knows this is a moment worth shining for.

“Did you really remember everything from last night?” you ask, quieter now.

He nods immediately. “Every word. You said you loved me since third year. That I make you calm. That I smiled at you like you already mattered.”

Your breath hitches.

“You do matter,” he says. “Always have.”

There’s no one around. Just the wind and the water and him looking at you like you hung the constellations he memorized for Astronomy.

You lean in.

“You asked me to kiss you, remember?”

“I said to do it if I meant it,” he murmurs.

“So I will.”

And then you kiss him.

It’s not a firework — it’s a sunrise. Soft. Certain. Familiar in all the ways a first kiss shouldn’t be, but is, because you’ve loved him for so long you’ve practically memorized him.

He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for three years straight.

You pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his, both of you smiling too hard to speak.

“You’re not dreaming,” you whisper.

His voice is just as quiet, just as real. “No. I’m finally awake.”

You link your pinky with his — that’s all it takes.

“Let’s go back,” you say. “We’ve got Charms in ten.”

James smirks. “I’ve already won.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I got the girl who dropped an Arithmancy book on my foot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and he grabs your hand properly this time as you both head back toward the castle — together, finally, ridiculously, completely in love.

..

Up on the Astronomy Tower, half-hidden by a stone balustrade, six faces are squished into a far-too-small window view, watching the scene unfold by the lake.

When you and James finally kiss, Sirius lets out an unholy screech.

“YESSSSS! FINALLY! THE ENEMIES-TO-BEST-FRIENDS-TO-SOULMATES PIPELINE IS REAL!”

Marlene punches the air so hard she almost falls off the ledge. “WE CALLED IT. WE CALLED IT IN SECOND BLOODY YEAR.”

Dorcas screams into her scarf. “Do you know how long I’ve had to listen to Y/N say ‘It’s not like that with James’ while doodling his name in her notes?!”

Remus smiles, smug and knowing. “Took them long enough.”

Peter nods solemnly. “I would like financial compensation for emotional damages.”

Lily is beaming, arms crossed, looking like the proudest mum of two tragically slow children. “I’ve had a toast prepared for this day since Fifth Year.”

Sirius wipes an imaginary tear. “They kissed like they’ve been in love since third year.”

“They have been in love since third year,” Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Remus chorus at once.

“Oi!” James shouts from below, turning around with you still tucked under his arm. “We can see you, you know!”

Sirius immediately cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WE DON’T CARE! GET MARRIED!”

“NAME YOUR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME,” Dorcas adds.

Remus chuckles. “Get ready for uncle Moony!”

Meanwhile, in the staff lounge, Flitwick glances out the window and gasps so loud he almost falls off his stack of books.

“They did it! They finally kissed!”

McGonagall doesn’t even look up from her tea. “About bloody time.”

Sprout pulls out a dusty betting chart from under her gardening apron. “Alright, who had post-Quidditch-match, lakeside, mid-June?”

Slughorn sighs dramatically and tosses a Galleon into her palm. “I said Hogsmeade weekend. Close, but no cigar.”

Kettleburn peeks over his newspaper. “Still talking about the students?”

“Yes,” they all say in unison.

Flitwick smiles fondly. “They were always going to find each other.”

McGonagall watches you and James walk back toward the castle, hands clasped, smiling like you’ve just cracked the code to the universe.

“They just needed a few years. And a few footnotes.”

THE END

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it—twice—, please reblog and give feedback! / requests are open!

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: For seven years, James Potter and Y/N have battled for the top spot at Hogwarts—dueling in essays, out-charming each other in Charms, and exchanging biting remarks sharp enough to cut through goblin armor. But when Professor Flitwick pairs them for a final NEWT project, they’re forced to work together. As rivalry turns into tension, and tension turns into something far softer, James realizes he doesn’t just want to win anymore—he wants her.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, mutual pining, one-sided rivalry, academic rivals, lmk if I missed something!

a/n: this is inspired on a post i reblogged, i can't quite remember the username but it gave me a really good idea so credits to them!

⇨ word count: 4.2k

The corridor outside Professor Flitwick’s classroom buzzed with post-exam nerves, students crowding around the enchanted parchment hovering just above eye-level, names scrawled in fine ink.

“Oi, move it, Remus—can’t see!” James shoved his way to the front, dodging Peter’s elbow and Sirius’s bored yawning. “What’s the damage?”

Remus stepped aside with a faint smirk. “You’ll love this.”

James leaned in. His eyes scanned the top of the list.

1st Place: Y/N Y/L/N — 97% 1st Place: James Potter — 97%

He groaned. Loudly. “Oh, for Merlin’s bloody beard—again?”

Y/N’s voice floated past his shoulder, honey-laced and smug. “You sound surprised, Potter.”

He spun around, already bristling. She stood there, hair pulled back with ink-stained fingers, a book tucked under her arm and a look on her face that said I already know I’m better than you, but it’s cute that you keep trying.

“I was hoping you’d finally crack under pressure and miss a question,” James said, folding his arms. “You know, let me win alone for once.”

She arched a brow. “Sorry to disappoint. But I’d rather be buried alive in centaur dung than hand you the top spot on a silver platter.”

Sirius gave a low whistle from behind them. “And they say romance is dead.”

“Shut it, Black,” they snapped in unison.

James turned back to her, expression narrowing. “Admit it. You’d die without me pushing you.”

Y/N smiled, all teeth. “I’d thrive. You’re the academic equivalent of a hangnail.”

“Elegant,” he said dryly. “You writing poetry now?”

“No, but I am writing our Charms paper alone if you don’t keep your ego in check.”

He blinked. “Our what now?”

That was when Professor Flitwick waddled out of the classroom, a parchment rolled in his hand.

“Excellent work this term, everyone! For your final project, you’ll be working in pairs—chosen at random, of course!”

Y/N and James both stiffened.

“Please tell me he’s joking,” she hissed under her breath.

James was already shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Flitwick wouldn’t.”

He would.

He did.

“Potter and Y/L/N!” Flitwick called cheerily. “You’ll make quite the team. Fire and fire. Try not to burn the castle down.”

Sirius let out an obnoxious laugh. Peter snorted behind him. Remus, ever the peacemaker, looked like he was already preparing a disaster management plan.

Y/N’s eye twitched. James looked like someone had kicked him in the shin.

“Great,” she muttered, brushing past him.

He turned to watch her go, jaw clenched.

This project wasn’t going to kill him.

But she just might.

..

The library was silent. Unnaturally so.

Even Madam Pince seemed to have retreated into the Restricted Section, leaving behind only the echo of ticking clocks and the occasional ghost of an annoyed sigh from Y/N.

James sat across from her, leaning back in his chair, wand spinning lazily between his fingers.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out like a curse, “how exactly are we starting this joint paper on advanced protective charms?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “By not waiting until the night before it’s due.”

“Wow. Genuinely stunned by that creativity,” he deadpanned.

Her quill paused.

“If I hex your tongue to the roof of your mouth, will you be more productive or just quieter?”

“I don’t know,” he grinned. “Wanna test it?”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. But the flick of her wand did knock his textbook to the floor.

James smirked as he picked it up. “You’ve always had terrible impulse control.”

She tilted her head. “And you’ve always been too comfortable being second best.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Flash. First Year. Y/N raises her hand just before James. She gets the point for Gryffindor. He scowls across the room. Professor McGonagall smiles quietly at her parchment and murmurs, “This’ll be fun to watch.”

Flash. Third Year. They both volunteer to represent Gryffindor in the inter-house spellwork trials. Slughorn chuckles, “Can’t have one without the other, can we?” James wins by half a second. Y/N doesn’t speak to him for two days.

Flash. Fifth Year. They’re assigned opposite sides in a mock Wizengamot trial. Y/N obliterates James’s argument with cold precision. He stares at her across the room like he’s seeing her for the first time. Professor Vector nudges Flitwick. “They’ll end up married,” she says matter-of-factly. Flitwick grins. “Or kill each other first.”

Back in the present, James squinted across the table.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like working with me?”

Y/N looked up at last, brow arched.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like me?”

Silence.

And then—tick, tick, tick—the library clock sounded louder than ever.

For the first time that night, James didn’t have a comeback. Just the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She blinked, caught off guard by the stillness of it.

They sat in the flickering candlelight, ancient books between them, parchment abandoned, and for a breathless second—neither was trying to win.

It was almost peaceful.

Then—

“Fine,” she said briskly, breaking the spell. “We start by researching counter-reversal layering. You handle the incantation roots, I’ll take defensive overlap theory.”

“Bossy,” he muttered.

“Efficient.”

He watched her dive back into her notes like her heart hadn’t just paused mid-sentence.

James Potter, top of the class, Chaser, chaos incarnate, leaned back in his chair and thought: I’m so completely screwed.

..

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual din of lunch hour: clattering cutlery, enchanted platters refilling themselves, and the occasional bang from a misfired spell at the Slytherin table. But at the Gryffindor end, the tension was less about house rivalries and more about two seventh-years sitting much too close for anyone’s comfort — or sanity.

“Your footnotes,” Y/N said, calmly buttering a roll, “are almost as weak as your wandwork.”

James choked on his pumpkin juice.

Across the table, Sirius cackled. “That’s what we’re starting with today? Already?”

Remus didn’t look up from his book. “They’ve been arguing since breakfast. She insulted his margin spacing.”

Y/N lifted her cup. “Because it was criminal.”

James wiped his mouth, scowling. “Funny, coming from someone who thought a Confundus Charm had four syllables.”

“I was twelve.”

“And yet, here we are. Still wrong.”

“Still smug.”

“Still smarter.”

“You wish.”

“Every night.”

There was a brief, stunned silence.

Marlene dropped her fork. Dorcas blinked once. Twice.

Even Lily looked up from her schedule, eyes narrowed.

James cleared his throat, ears flaming. “That was—that came out weird.”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “Bit desperate there, Potter.”

God, he loved when she called him Potter. He'd never admit that out loud, of course.

Sirius leaned forward, elbows on the table like he was watching a Quidditch final. “Do either of you realize you flirt like people who think books are foreplay?”

“Shut it, Black,” they snapped in perfect unison. Again.

Lily sighed dramatically. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Dorcas smirked. “At least the idiots have chemistry.”

Remus turned a page. “Explosive chemistry, judging by the time they set their project notes on fire.”

“That was her fault—” James started.

“You jinxed my inkpot—” Y/N shot back.

Peter looked between them, biting into a treacle tart. “Are you two even working on the Charms project or just verbally hexing each other until something explodes?”

“Bit of both,” James muttered.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’re efficient.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re predictable.”

He leaned in, a little too close, voice lower. “You keep memorizing my spellwork patterns. Don’t act like you don’t watch me.”

She held his gaze, unbothered. “I study my competition.”

“And yet you never beat me.”

A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Top of the class says otherwise.”

“Tied,” he corrected, grinning despite himself.

Sirius threw a bread roll at them. “For Merlin’s sake, just snog already so we can eat in peace!”

The roll bounced off James’s shoulder. Y/N smirked but didn’t look away.

“Not until he learns how to cite a source properly.”

“I will end you.”

Lily leaned toward Marlene. “Ten Galleons says they’re shagging by the end of term.”

Marlene smirked. “Two weeks. Tops.”

And across the table, as James muttered something snarky under his breath and Y/N volleyed it back with a wicked smile, the rest of their friends could only watch the slow-burn disaster unfold like a well-scripted duel.

Except with more footnotes. And far more tension.

..

James slouched against the desk, flipping his wand through his fingers with the kind of practiced boredom that drove Y/N insane.

“You know,” he drawled, “if you’d just let me finish the Scintillating Shield Charm instead of shouting over me about pronunciation, we wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N didn’t look up from the scroll she was untangling. “If you knew how to pronounce ‘scintillating,’ we wouldn’t be here.”

“I do.”

“You said skintillating.”

He scowled. “It’s a regional dialect.”

“It’s a load of bollocks.”

Lightning flashed outside, throwing jagged shadows across the room. The flickering torches made everything feel too quiet, too intimate, like the walls were holding their breath.

She hated it.

He hated that he didn’t.

Professor Flitwick had locked them in for an hour—“To encourage cooperation,” he’d said, smiling in that way small professors with big ideas often do. The charm on the door wouldn’t lift until the classroom was properly reorganized, scrolls alphabetized, and the explosion mark from their earlier duel cleaned off the ceiling.

James pointed his wand upward. “Scourgify.”

Nothing happened.

He frowned. “You try.”

Y/N stepped beside him, barely suppressing an eyeroll. “Tergeo.”

Still nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Did we maybe, possibly, irreparably damage the ceiling?” he asked, very quietly.

She gave him a look. “Did you maybe, possibly, reverse the wand movement like an idiot?”

“Oh, please, your grip on counterclockwise patterns is dodgy at best.”

They were close now. Too close. Close enough for James to notice the freckles on her nose. Close enough for Y/N to hear the hitch in his breath when her sleeve brushed his.

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Like a migraine.”

He smirked. “You know, you flirt worse than you duel.”

Her wand jerked toward him automatically. “Say that again and I’ll—”

The tip sparked—literally. A small shock burst out, fizzled, and ricocheted off the wall, lighting an entire stack of scrolls on fire.

Y/N shrieked. “James!”

“I didn’t do anything—you sparked first!”

“Put it out!”

They scrambled together, casting water charms and batting at the flame with their sleeves. It smelled like burnt parchment and panic.

By the time the fire was gone, they were both soaked, breathless, and covered in ash.

James doubled over, laughing. “You tried to murder me with your wand and nearly took down the curriculum!”

Y/N pushed hair from her eyes, glaring. “I hate you.”

“Sure,” he said, still laughing. “Right up until the part where you don’t.”

That quieted her.

He straightened, grin fading just enough to soften. “Why does it matter so much?” he asked, voice low. “Beating me. Being better.”

She blinked. And for a moment, she looked almost tired.

“It’s not about you,” she said, quieter now. “It’s about... proving I deserve to be here. That I’m not just lucky or a fluke or—”

She caught herself, lips pressed tight.

James stared.

“You’re not,” he said, after a second too long. “A fluke. You’re terrifyingly smart. Annoying as hell. But brilliant.”

Her eyes flicked to his, unsure. Searching. Then—

“Your ceiling charm still sucks.”

He grinned. “And we’re back.”

They worked in silence after that. No more bickering. Just two wands, two minds, side by side. The air still smelled a little like smoke.

When the door finally unlocked with a click, James turned to her.

She was already halfway out.

“Y/N.”

She paused.

“I don’t mind losing to you,” he said. “Just... don’t burn the castle down doing it.”

She didn’t smile.

Not exactly.

But she didn’t slam the door behind her, either.

And James stood there, watching the spot she’d left behind, thinking that maybe—just maybe—he was starting to lose for real. And not just in grades.

..

The clock above the fireplace chimed softly. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

James blinked blearily from the stairwell, squinting into the dim glow.

He hadn’t meant to come down. Had just wanted water or maybe some space from his own brain. But something had felt off—too quiet, too still.

Then he saw her.

Y/N sat curled on the far end of the couch, surrounded by towers of parchment, textbooks spread like fallen soldiers, quill dancing madly across a scroll. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, half-defeated messy bun that somehow made her look even cuter. Her robes were wrinkled, ink on her wrist, candlelight flickering against the sharp cut of her jaw.

She didn’t notice him.

Not at first.

She was mumbling spells under her breath, voice hoarse, like she’d been at it for hours. Notes surrounded her in a chaotic constellation—diagrams, equations, citations in perfect form.

James stepped closer, slowly, like he might scare her off if he made too much noise.

She jumped anyway when he said her name.

“Y/N?”

Her head snapped up.

Merlin, her eyes were bloodshot.

“Potter,” she said, voice scratchy. “Go away. I’m fine.”

He didn’t move.

“You look like you haven’t blinked in two hours.”

“I haven’t,” she said flatly.

He raised a brow. “Should I be impressed or deeply concerned?”

She sighed, pushing her notes away with more force than necessary. The quiet crackle of the fire filled the silence between them.

“I need to get this right.”

James stepped closer. “It’s not due for three days.”

She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the ink-stained page like it might disappear if she blinked too hard.

“I don’t care,” she muttered. “I’m not giving them a reason to call me lucky. Or distracted. Or… just second to you.”

He exhaled. “Is that what this is? You think it’s about me?”

She finally looked at him. Not angry. Not smug. Just… tired. And honest.

“Everything I do, Potter—every extra footnote, every late night in the library, every time I correct you—it’s because I have to be better. Not just than you. Than everyone. Or else I’m just the girl who almost kept up.”

James blinked. The pieces rearranged themselves in his mind. She wasn’t competing with him.

She was surviving against something bigger.

And suddenly, the game wasn’t fun anymore.

“I don’t want you to lose,” he said, quietly. “Not like this.”

Y/N scoffed, looking away. “Spare me the pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he said, stepping in front of her. “It’s respect. You fight harder than anyone I’ve ever met. I just—” he ran a hand through his hair. “—I didn’t realize it cost you so much.”

She paused.

And for the first time, she didn’t have a sharp retort. Just silence.

Just the sound of the fire cracking.

Then:

“I don’t know how to stop,” she admitted.

It was soft. Honest. Unapologetic.

James sat beside her, careful not to disturb the paper maze.

“You don’t have to stop,” he said. “But you don’t have to do it alone either.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t lean into him, didn’t cry, didn’t collapse like some tragic heroine. She just… let the silence settle. Let herself be seen.

That was all.

And somehow, it was enough.

James reached over, plucked a scroll from the pile.

“Your citation format is unnecessarily aggressive, by the way.”

She snorted. “Still better than your spell diagrams.”

They stayed there—two stubborn, brilliant, exhausted minds—side by side in the flickering dark. Not competing.

Just existing.

Together.

..

The Great Hall, transformed for the final Charms presentations. A raised platform. Judges' table filled with Professors. Rows of students buzzing with whispers. The pressure is suffocating — and they look like they were born to handle it.

James adjusted the cuff of his robes with a confidence that barely masked the adrenaline. Y/N stood beside him, spine straight, wand steady, jaw set like a general before battle.

Professor Flitwick clapped his tiny hands. “Our final presentation: Potter and Y/L/N.”

A hush fell over the room.

They stepped forward in tandem. No glance exchanged. They didn’t need to. Their movements were already in sync.

James gave a low bow. “Today we’ll be demonstrating integrated layering of advanced defensive charms—”

“—with a focus on counter-reversal timing and double-helix incantation structure,” Y/N finished crisply.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even McGonagall raised a brow.

James flicked his wand. A glowing outline of a shield structure shimmered in midair.

Y/N followed, weaving a second spell into it without hesitation. The colors spiraled together — blue and gold, steady and brilliant — forming a lattice that pulsed like it had a heartbeat.

James cast again — a simulated hex, fast and sharp.

Y/N intercepted before it reached the shield, layered her charm directly into his, countering and absorbing the impact without a ripple.

Flitwick sat forward in his chair.

Their final flourish: a timed counterstrike that bent around the shield like a ribbon, hitting a target dummy with such precision it vanished in a burst of light.

Silence.

A long, stunned silence.

Then—

The hall erupted in applause.

Even Dumbledore looked mildly impressed. (Which, from him, might as well be a standing ovation.)

Flitwick beamed. “Brilliant! Flawless structure! Seamless transitions! I daresay — top marks, without question!”

McGonagall folded her arms, trying not to smile. “I suppose constant arguing has some academic merit after all.”

James looked at Y/N. Really looked at her.

She was glowing.

Not just from pride — though she deserved every ounce of it — but from something gentler. Softer. Her gaze met his, steady and quiet, and for the first time since First Year…

They weren’t rivals.

They were equals.

They were a team.

He leaned toward her slightly, voice low, words just for her.

“If beating me means that much to you,” he murmured, “I’ll let you win. Just this once.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She kissed him mid-sentence.

Quick, firm, certain.

When she pulled back, the corner of her mouth lifted.

“You already did.”

The applause roared on, but James barely heard it.

He was too busy watching her walk off that stage, head high, magic still humming between them like a promise.

He followed.

Because after all those years of chasing first place, he’d finally realized:

He’d rather come second if it meant coming with her.

Okay some extra blurbs because I really enjoyed writing this trope w James

Sirius Black: Official Ship Captain:

Gryffindor Common Room, midnight. James is sulking. Sirius walks in and sighs theatrically.

Sirius: “You’ve got it bad.”

James: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius: “Oh, please. You looked at her like she invented magic. And then she corrected your Aramaic pronunciation and you got all flustered.”

James: “I was not flustered.”

Sirius: “Mate, you turned red. You went through five shades of blushing, and I think one of them was maroon.”

James groaned. “Do you ever shut up?”

Sirius: “No. But you should probably snog her before she ends up with someone who pronounces Aparecium correctly.”

Jeeealousss Jamesss

James: internally "Stay cool. You’re cool. You’re not gonna do something irrational—"

Y/N laughs at something the Ravenclaw says.

James: already walking over "I am absolutely going to do something irrational."

He slides into the conversation like a thundercloud in a Quidditch uniform. “Hey, Y/N. Just checking—didn’t we agree that anyone who uses revision flashcards in public is automatically disqualified from intellectual conversation?”

The Ravenclaw frowns. “That was uncalled for—”

James: “So was that tie.”

Y/N: “James.”

James: “Sorry. Reflex.”

Y/N gives him a look but she’s smiling. A little.

Y/N and her girls

Y/N flopped back on her bed with a groan. “I swear, if James Potter says ‘we’ scored the highest one more time, I’m going to hex his ego into next Tuesday.”

Lily raised an eyebrow from her mirror. “You mean our James Potter?”

Marlene snorted. “The one who only learns Latin verbs to outdo you?”

Dorcas, teasing: “Or the one who stares at you in Potions like you’re the answer key?”

Y/N tossed a pillow at her. “I hate all of you.”

“Sure,” Lily said, stretching. “And that’s why you spent thirty minutes fixing your hair before ‘accidentally’ running into him in the library.”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it.

Marlene grinned. “Just admit it.”

“I don’t—” Y/N hesitated. Then, quietly: “I don’t know what it is. I just… when we argue, I feel like someone sees me. All of me. Even the parts I don’t show anyone.”

Dorcas leaned over. “That’s not rivalry, babe. That’s a relationship with extra steps.”

Lily smiled softly. “You deserve someone who matches you stride for stride. Even if he’s a little smug about it.”

Y/N blinked at the ceiling, heart doing that stupid tight thing again.

“…I think I’m in trouble.”

Marlene tossed a Chocolate Frog at her. “Big trouble. Massive. Keep us updated.”

Jealous Y/N

Y/N flipped a page in her textbook with unnecessary force.

“Wow,” Dorcas said beside her, not looking up from her Divination charts. “That book really hurt you, huh?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N snapped.

Marlene leaned back, eyes flicking to the hearth. “Totally. It’s not like Potter’s arm just accidentally brushed that girl’s shoulder or anything.”

“She’s sitting in his chair,” Y/N said flatly. “Who does that?”

“She’s just talking to him,” Lily offered gently.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the way the girl was giggling. Touching James’s forearm like she’d earned it.

That was her armrest. She’d leaned there during their study sessions. She’d fallen asleep next to it once.

She slammed the book shut.

“I’m going to bed.”

Marlene smirked. “Oh? Thought you were waiting to ask James something about Flitwick’s notes.”

“I changed my mind,” she said crisply.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—

James’s laugh. Loud. Warm. The one he only did when he was really amused.

Something sharp bloomed in her chest.

She turned around before she could talk herself out of it.

Walked straight across the common room.

“Potter.”

James looked up, surprised. “Y/N. Thought you were—”

“I need your notes. The Charms appendix.” Her tone was clipped. Dismissive. Cold.

He blinked. “Uh, yeah—yeah, they’re upstairs.”

“Then go get them.”

James tilted his head, brows lifting. The Ravenclaw girl shifted awkwardly.

“You alright?” he asked slowly.

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. Just forgot how… generous you are with your time lately.”

James stood, and for a second something flickered between them. Tension. Electricity. History.

Then he leaned a fraction closer.

“Say what you actually mean,” he said, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Y/N didn’t blink. “You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

He smirked. “And yet here you are. Pulling me away.”

Her hand brushed his wrist, casual and not casual at all. “That seat’s not hers, by the way.”

James’s smile faltered. “No?”

She met his gaze, unwavering. “No. It’s mine.”

Then she turned and walked upstairs like nothing had happened.

And James, still standing there — watched her go, grin slowly blooming like fire behind his eyes.

The Ravenclaw girl cleared her throat. “Was that…?”

“Yeah,” James said absently, already halfway to the stairs. “That was her being polite.”

Prefect's Closet

“Nice going, Potter,” Y/N hissed, stumbling into the tiny closet as the door slammed behind them. “Brilliant plan, truly. Five stars.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t want to get detention again because someone can’t stop hexing Slytherins in broad daylight—”

“I was defending your honor, you absolute git—”

They were chest-to-chest. Breathing hard. The light of his wand cast flickering shadows on the cramped walls. He smelled like cedar and adrenaline.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “This is your fault.”

He caught her hand mid-air. “Then punish me.”

Silence.

Breath. Crackling tension.

Then—

She surged forward.

Their mouths crashed, all fury and teeth and too many things unsaid. It was messy — glorious — her back hitting the wall with a thud as his hands found her hips, anchoring like he’d been waiting seven years for permission.

Her fingers raked through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into her mouth.

“You’re so—” kiss “—infuriating—” kiss “—and smug—”

“And you love it,” he rasped, chasing her lips again.

She didn’t deny it.

His hands were everywhere — tugging at her jumper, fingertips skimming bare skin beneath her shirt. Her legs bumped a bucket, nearly tripping them both.

They laughed. Breathless. Dazed.

And then he kissed her again, slower this time, but no less intense — a hand cradling her jaw like he needed to memorize the shape of her.

“Say you hate me now,” he whispered against her lips.

She smiled darkly. “I hate how good you are at this.”

He bit back a grin. “Let’s test your theory.”

He kissed her like he wanted her undone — and she let him, melting into it, into him, into years of denial crashing all at once.

The closet was too small. The air too thin.

And somehow — not nearly enough.

part 4 of the p.s. series

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: The girls have decided to help you (against your will) with your love story, will their plan turn out or wll destiny have another thing planned for you?

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, lowkey confusing timeline angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters/

⇨ word count: 2.9k

The fire crackles like it knows something you don’t. Which is fitting. Everyone seems to know something you don’t. Or worse—something you do, but can’t bring yourself to say out loud.

“Okay,” Marlene says, arms crossed and eyes dangerous. “We need a timeline, a location, and two distractions. Then we strike.”

Lily frowns. “This isn’t a murder plot.”

“It might as well be,” you mutter from the couch, buried under three textbooks you aren’t reading and a guilt you can’t shake. “It feels like I’m planning to bury someone alive.”

Dorcas throws a sock at you. “Stop being dramatic. You’re not murdering anyone.”

“I’m emotionally decapitating myself,” you say flatly. “That's worse.”

“Sweetheart,” Lily says, folding herself onto the floor beside you, “if you were truly over Potter, you wouldn’t still be carrying around a letter you wrote in fifth year and never sent.”

You stiffen.

Marlene winces. “Too soon?”

“Yes,” you say.

“No,” Dorcas says at the same time.

Lily sighs. “Look, all we’re saying is—it’s eating you up. And him too. Peter told us he barely slept last night.”

“Peter should mind his business,” you mutter, face heating.

“He’s part of the intervention,” Dorcas says cheerfully. “No one gets to be Switzerland in a romantic meltdown of this magnitude.”

Marlene plucks the forgotten letter from where it’s half-tucked into your Arithmancy book. The parchment is worn, corners softened from how many times you’ve opened it. She clears her throat before starting to read in a dramatic-soap-opera accent,

"My Dearest James,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’ll never read it. You’re probably laughing with Sirius somewhere, chasing Bludgers or charming your way out of detention.And I’ll keep pretending I don’t--"

You snatch it back before she gets to the end. "Marlene, I will literally jump your ass." “I wrote that before Amos. Before anything. I was stupid.”

“You were in love,” Lily says, gently.

You press your lips together. “And now I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be.”

Silence.

Then Marlene sighs. “I was gonna save this for later, but—James reread his letters too.”

Your heart drops. “What?”

“Peter caught him with the box. The one with the envelopes. Said he’d been staring at the second one for twenty minutes.”

The second one. The one where he let you go.

You don’t say anything.

“Listen,” Lily says quietly. “We know you feel guilty about Amos. And scared. And maybe a little angry that none of this happened when it was supposed to. But life doesn’t happen on time. Love sure as heck doesn’t.”

“I’m not ready,” you admit, voice small. “Not to forgive him. Not to—feel this big again. Not when I was just starting to forget.”

Dorcas leans in. “So don’t forgive him. Don’t do anything, if you don’t want to. But don’t pretend like it didn’t mean anything. To either of you.”

Footsteps sound from the boy’s staircase. The Marauders are descending.

“Here we go,” Lily mutters.

“Act natural,” Dorcas hisses.

“I am natural!” you whisper back, definitely not naturally.

Sirius enters first, talking with Remus about someone hexing the suits of armor into singing Celestina Warbeck. James follows, dragging a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you.

He stops.

You don’t look away.

You should.

Yeah, you definetly should.

But you don’t.

The air goes still.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t scowl either. Just… watches. Like he’s remembering too.

Sirius is the one to break it. “Alright, why does it feel like something deeply manipulative is happening in this corner of the common room?” He glares at the girls.

“Because it is,” Peter says brightly, earning himself three glares.

James slowly makes his way to the hearth, settling opposite you but saying nothing. Your friends all pretend to do other things, horribly.

“So,” he says finally. “You’re here.”

You blink. “I live here.”

“Right.” He looks away. “Right.”

More silence. More tension.

You think of the letter. Of the way your name looked in his handwriting. Of how he said he didn’t feel good enough. Of how much easier this would be if you didn’t still love him.

But you do.

You hate that you do.

And somehow, the fire keeps crackling, like it’s waiting.

..

Everyone’s still pretending nothing is happening.

The problem is, everything is.

James is now at the far end of the couch, legs stretched out, fingers twitching against his knee like he’s holding back a Quidditch reflex. You’re across from him, trying not to look every time the firelight catches his eyes. (You fail. Twice and counting.)

You’re meant to be reviewing Transfiguration theory. Instead, you’ve read the same sentence five times and still don’t know what a Vanishing Spell’s molecular cost is.

Across the room, Sirius mutters something to Remus and cackles. Remus doesn’t even try to look innocent. Lily shoots them both a death glare. Dorcas is scribbling something into her planner that looks suspiciously like a timeline labeled “J+Y/I.”

You lift your eyes. James lifts his too.

A beat. You both look away.

It’s been like this all week.

After the letters, after the fights, after Amos... You’d thought maybe silence would feel like peace. Instead, it feels like a scream neither of you is ready to release.

“Hey.” His voice startles you.

You glance over. His gaze is gentle now, less tense than earlier, but still wary. Always wary.

“You, um—drop this.” He holds up a parchment. Your parchment.

You freeze.

It’s the edge of the letter you wrote. The one from fifth year. My dearest James...

“Nope!” Marlene snatches it so fast her wrist nearly cracks. “Sorry. That’s—mine. Old homework. Rubbish, really.”

James blinks. “...Right.”

You feel like you might combust. Lily’s hand lands on your shoulder, subtle but grounding.

“So,” Sirius cuts in, dramatically flipping onto his stomach like a cat, “this is cozy. Almost romantic. Firelight. Study books. Long, lingering glances.”

“Sirius,” you and James say at the same time.

He grins. “There it is! The unspoken synchrony.”

Dorcas: “Gross.”

Remus: “It’s like watching a Shakespeare tragedy in slow motion.”

James mutters, “You lot are actual demons.”

You shake your head. “Don’t encourage them.”

Another glance. Longer this time.

He’s still wearing the sweater you like. The one with the worn cuffs, the sleeves too long. You remember falling asleep beside him in that sweater once, years ago, before anything had names.

You look away again.

The silence returns. But it’s not the awful kind. It’s filled with almosts.

And maybe that’s what tonight is. Not a beginning. Not a confrontation. Just... circling.

Too aware. Too afraid. Too much, too soon.

But not nothing.

Definitely not nothing.

..

“Okay,” Lily whispers. “So we plant it. He finds it. We gauge his reaction. Nothing explodes. That’s the plan.”

“I’m sorry,” you blink, “what part of this isn’t emotionally reckless?”

Marlene, lying upside down on her bed, grins. “All of it. That's the point.”

Dorcas holds up your fifth-year letter. The one you never sent. The one Marlene found by accident. The one that begins: “My dearest James, I don’t even know why I’m writing this…”

You almost snatch it back. You don’t.

“This is ridiculous,” you murmur. “What am I even hoping to get out of this? That he reads it and goes, ‘Oh, brilliant, I’ll fall madly in love now, thanks for the stationary’?”

“Maybe not,” Lily says carefully. “But don’t you want to see? Just... see?”

You hesitate.

The parchment is soft now, worn from your hands. You’ve read it so many times the words have lost their shape. But the feeling is still there. Still clinging.

You exhale. “Fine. But we do it my way.”

Later That Night – Common Room

You slip the letter into his Transfiguration textbook. Third page in, just tucked enough that it won’t fall but not so hidden it won’t be found.

The girls watch you like you're defusing a bomb.

“This is going to backfire spectacularly,” you mutter.

“Probably,” Dorcas shrugs, sipping from a stolen pumpkin juice bottle. “But it’ll be spectacular.”

“Where’s Sirius?” Lily asks suddenly.

Marlene: “He’s with Remus. Plotting something ridiculous, probably.”

Too late.

“I KNEW something was up!” Sirius Black appears behind you like a wrathful older brother summoned by the gods of gossip and poorly made choices.

You shriek. “Have you been eavesdropping?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest. “I’ve been watching. You think I didn’t notice the tragic moon-eyed stares and the sudden ‘accidental’ brushing of hands over breakfast jam jars?”

Remus, following behind him, holds up toast. “She did literally knock the jam into his lap two days ago.”

Sirius points. “Case in point!”

You cover your face with both hands. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he says cheerfully. “You love me. Because I’m the only thing standing between you and public humiliation. Well—besides yourself, obviously.”

He eyes the letter, now pressed in James’s book on the table.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” he asks, softer now. “Because if he hurts you again, I’m hexing him into next Tuesday.”

You smile, wobbly. “I’m not sure about anything.”

Sirius nudges your shoulder. “At least you’re not boring.”

Remus, unusually amused, leans in. “You know, you could just... talk to him.”

Everyone stares at him.

He shrugs. “What? I can be emotionally healthy sometimes.”

Marlene: “You helped Peter throw a dungbomb at his ex last week.”

“Healthy boundaries.”

Lily shakes her head. “Let’s just focus on the drop.”

“Already done,” you say quietly, eyes flicking toward the book. “Now we wait.”

Dorcas sighs dreamily. “I feel like a war general.”

“You are a war general,” Marlene says. “Of feelings.”

You collapse into the couch, nerves starting to settle.

Then the door opens.

James walks in, running a hand through his hair, yawning.

And that’s when it hits you.

The letter’s in there. Waiting. Silent and still and dangerous.

You suddenly feel like you just rewrote the future with a flick of a wrist.

Sirius leans over. “Too late to chicken out?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “Way, way too late.”

James walked back into the common room, yawning, one hand raking through his hair — a picture of casual obliviousness.

And that’s when it hits you.

The letter. It’s in there. Waiting. Silent and still and dangerous.

You suddenly feel like you’ve rewritten the future with a flick of your wand. One moment of insanity — one letter slid between pages — and now you’re staring at the boy you love, wondering if your entire life is about to shift.

Sirius leans over to whisper, “Too late to chicken out?”

You nod, wide-eyed. “Way, way too late.”

James plops onto the couch, textbook already in hand. Your stomach free-falls. He opens the cover.

And just before he can flip the page—

“Mate,” Peter says suddenly, way too loud, “fancy a trip to the kitchens?”

James blinks. “What?”

“I want a tart. Or five. Please come with me. You know I can’t talk to the painting alone.”

James raises an eyebrow. “Can’t believe I’m being emotionally blackmailed by a snack.”

Sirius is already standing. “Actually, sounds like a great idea. I could really use some jelly slugs.”

Remus smirks. “Yeah, some chocolate sounds good.”

James sighs. “Fine. But five minutes. Then I’m studying.”

You don’t exhale until the portrait hole swings closed behind them.

The girls all lean in instantly.

Marlene whispers, “If he finds it tomorrow morning, I give it three hours before he shows up at your door like a Victorian poet.”

Dorcas grins. “Do we think he’ll cry? I’m hoping he cries.”

“Shh,” Lily says suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”

Two boys climb in through the portrait hole. Ravenclaws. Seventh years, probably. Loud. Thoughtless. Not noticing the group of girls curled by the fireplace.

“—I mean, you can’t even blame Diggory,” one of them is saying. “She’s been staring at Potter like she’s in heat since the start of term.”

The other laughs. “Maybe she just likes a challenge. Must suck to go from Diggory to a bloke who won’t touch her.”

You stood so fast your chair nearly tipped.

Marlene grabbed your wrist. “Don’t. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

But it wasn’t you who stormed back through the portrait hole.

It was James.

His face was a mask of fury, lips thin, fists clenched.

Sirius was right behind him. “James—mate—wait—”

But James didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the first boy by the collar, and slammed him hard against the stone wall.

The entire room gasped.

“Say it again,” James hissed.

“What—?”

“Go on. Say it again. Say something about her.”

The other boy reached for his wand. “Back off, Potter.”

James didn’t even hesitate. He threw the first punch — fast and sharp and full of something he’d been bottling for months.

Okay, hot-- No. Now was not the moment.

Sirius and Remus were suddenly there, dragging him back, shouting. Peter moved to stop the other boy from retaliating. Someone screamed. A prefect ran for a professor.

The boy James hit was on the floor, lip bleeding, swearing furiously.

“You don’t ever talk about her like that,” James snarled, still fighting Sirius’ hold. “You don’t look at her like that. She’s worth ten of you.”

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t breathe.

Somewhere between the firelight and chaos, he looked at you — just for a second. And whatever rage he carried melted into something softer. Sadder. Still burning.

And then he let Sirius drag him toward the stairs, shoulders heaving.

Remus turned back briefly. “Don’t worry. He’s not sorry.”

Lily touched your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

But you didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat was tight, your hands shaking. You hadn’t cried all week — not when you broke up with Amos, not when you found the letter, not when your girls conspired to rescue your love story with ink and parchment.

But now, watching James fight the world for you like he was born to do it?

You did.

You cried.

Soft. Quiet. Shattered.

And the letter was still waiting.

..

The fire’s nearly out.

A faint glow flickers over your face as you sit cross-legged on the rug, letter in hand. The one your lovesick, fifth year self wrote. The one you helped plant, then second-guessed so violently you’re now contemplating throwing it straight into the flames.

Your thumb brushes over the parchment's edge. You don’t open it—you know what it says. You wrote it. You helped bait him. And now, after what happened outside the kitchens, it feels cruel.

The words echo again in your head.

"She left Diggory for Potter. What a joke. What a slut."

And then James, practically flying across the hallway. Fists clenched. Fury painted across his face like war.

You flinch at the memory. Not because he scared you—but because it scared you how much it mattered. How fast he ran. How much he cared.

The portrait hole creaks behind you.

You don’t turn. You' already know it’s him.'re to immersed in your own thoughts to notice.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there in the dark, probably unsure if he should even come closer.

Finally, James says, “You’re still up.”

You hum. “So are you.”

A beat. He walks toward you, then sits beside you on the floor, not too close, not too far. His hands rest on his knees. His knuckles are bruised.

You eye them. “You alright?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t hit him as hard as I wanted.”

You snort, despite yourself. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Silence wraps around you both for a moment. Not hostile. Not heavy. Just… hesitant.

James swallows. “I didn’t do it for the drama, you know. I didn’t do it so you'd see.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even realize what they were saying until—” He cuts himself off. “I didn’t like hearing them talk about you like that.”

You finally look at him.

“I didn’t like watching you believe them.”

That makes your chest tighten.

James shifts, glancing at the parchment in your hands. “Is that it?”

You nod.

He gestures to it. “You’re gonna burn it?”

“I thought about it.”

“Why?”

You laugh under your breath, bitter. “Because it’s pathetic.”

He looks at you like you’ve just stabbed him. “It’s not.”

You raise a brow. “You haven’t even read it.”

“Don’t need to.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t need to read it to know it’s not pathetic if it came from you.”

You exhale shakily.

James leans back on his elbows, looking up at the dying firelight painting shadows across the ceiling.

“I messed everything up,” he says. “I waited too long, and, as much as it hurt, I watched you fall in love with someone else."

“I wrote a letter too, James.” you say quietly.

“I know that now.”

Another silence. This one hurts more. This one tastes like every moment you could’ve had but didn’t.

James sits up. “Can I ask something?”

You nod.

“If I told you… that I never stopped meaning what I wrote in those letters. That every day since fifth year has been me trying to pretend I didn’t care too much—”

You hold your breath.

“—would you hate me?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He looks at you then, full-on. “Would you still love me?”

It comes out barely a whisper: “I never stopped.”

The letter crumples in your lap.

James reaches for your hand, slowly, like you might bolt. When your fingers meet, it’s soft. Familiar.

Not desperate. Just real.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your eyes close. “Me neither.”

And for the first time since fifth year, everything feels still.

Not perfect. Not fixed.

But finally, finally honest.

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status: completed

pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨ summary: It starts with a duel. It ends with a magical curse no one knows how to break. You and James Potter are bonded—emotionally, magically, and very much against your will. It was supposed to be harmless. It was supposed to be funny. It was supposed to be nothing

It wasn’t.

Now your feelings are tangled. And it turns out you have a lot of those where James is concerned.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, accidental magic injury, mild angst, shared emotions, denial, mutual pining, professors whispering about it in the staff room.

part 1 - bound

part 2 - magnetic

part 3 - tangled

part 4 - echo

⇨ f! reader x james potter

part 3 pf the p.s. series

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues. Secrets uncover.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters.

a/n: okay i actually loved this episode, includes more girlhood than all that but i promise things will get more exciting.

⇨ word count: 3.2k

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter — clinking cutlery, owls swooping low with parcels, a third-year bursting into tears over a Transfiguration essay. And yet, for Y/N, everything was muffled. Distant. Like watching the world through glass.

She sat beside Lily, toast untouched, fingers wrapped too tightly around her cup of tea. It had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she had. She just didn’t care.

Across the hall, Amos Diggory laughed at something a friend said. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look up.

They had broken up the night before.

No fighting. No drama. Just… stillness. She told him she wasn’t in it anymore, and Amos, Merlin bless him, had nodded like he already knew. Like he had for a while.

Y/N hadn’t slept.

“You okay?” Lily’s voice was quiet, almost apologetic. Like she knew better than to pry but couldn’t stop herself.

“Yeah.” Y/N’s voice came out thin. Too smooth to be honest. “Just tired.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t push, but the air between them tightened anyway.

Down the table, Marlene and Dorcas were trying — and failing — to act normal. Marlene sent her a sideways glance every few seconds, lips twitching with the effort of not asking a thousand questions. Dorcas offered her a slice of marmalade toast without a word. Y/N shook her head.

Then came it. The shift.

James Potter walked into the Great Hall, hands jammed into the pockets of his robes, hair looking like he’d fought sleep and lost. He moved like someone who was trying not to look for something.

But then his eyes found her.

He faltered. Just a step. Just for a second. Enough to notice if you were paying attention. Y/N didn’t meet his gaze, but she felt it — heavy and loaded and ..knowing?

The boys followed behind him like shadows. Sirius cracked a joke that made Peter snort and Remus roll his eyes. But James? James didn’t laugh. He barely sat down.

He was at the middle of the table. She was on the edge. It might as well have been inches. The silence between them buzzed louder than the entire hall.

She could feel the weight of the unsent letters burning behind her eyes.

He knew she’d seen them. And now he did not know how to act.

James stood suddenly, muttering something to Remus, who gave him a look but didn’t argue. He walked past her on his way out.

And for a fleeing second, he slowed.

The scent of him—vainilla, broom polish, and something sharp like cinnamon—brushed past her. Her fingers curled around her teacup. Her breath caught.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look at her.

The moment passed, and he was gone.

Lily whispered, “You’re allowed to talk to him, you know.”

Y/N shook her head once. “Not yet.”

Her tea had gone ice cold by the time she tried it.

..

James spotted her the moment he turned the corner — standing outside the library, arms folded, books clutched tight to her chest, face unreadable. The flickering torchlight caught in her hair, and for a second, he just stared.

He didn’t plan this. Or maybe he had. He'd been walking aimlessly for the last fifteen minutes, telling himself it was coincidence. But here she was.

And he couldn’t not try.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet. Careful. Like she was something made of glass.

Y/N didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her face was polite. Too polite. He knew her, for God's sake, he spent and still has every waking moment thinking about her.

“Potter.” A nod. Distant. Like he was someone she used to know.

James winced at the way it sounded — his surname, formal and sharp like an old scar reopened. Not James. Not even nothing—just Potter. Like he was a stranger. Or worse, not important. It cut deeper than he’d admit.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the wall, trying to seem casual. He hated how stiff his voice sounded.

"Why would you even say that James, are you dense?" He said to himself.

She offered a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “It’s a library, James. Not exactly a secret location.”

He laughed once, short and nervous. “Right. Yeah. Just meant—never mind.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

James shifted, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I, um—How’ve you been?”

Y/N blinked slowly. “Great.”

It was a lie. They both knew it. But she said it like it was fact. Like it would be embarrassing to suggest otherwise.

He nodded, staring down at his shoes, then back at her like he wanted to say something else. Something important. “Listen, I—”

But she was already stepping away.

“You don’t have to pretend, James,” she said softly, almost kindly. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

That smile again — brittle as ice.

And then she was gone. Disappearing into the library without giving him the chance to finish the sentence that had been burning in his throat for days.

James stood there a while longer, staring at the spot where she’d been. Then he let his head thump gently against the wall behind him.

“Brilliant,” he muttered to no one. “Absolutely brilliant.”

..

The dorm was quiet for once. Marlene and Dorcas were off at practice. Lily was probably finishing some Prefect patrol. And Y/N… Y/N sat alone on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her uniform still rumpled from the day, her tie barely undone. Suddenly all the feelings tumbled onto her--not in a loud, thunderous way, but settling into her heart, aching.

The late afternoon sun spilled across the room in long golden stripes, catching dust motes that floated lazily in the still air.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the drawer where she’d hidden the letters.

His letters.

They were still there. She hadn’t dared to read them again since that first night. As if rereading them would somehow make it worse — like letting the words echo again would seal something irreversible.

She stood up, walked over to the full-length mirror beside her wardrobe, and stared.

She looked the same. Slightly tired, maybe. Her cheeks were a little hollowed, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. But otherwise — unchanged.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

“What do you want?” she whispered to herself.

The reflection didn’t answer.

“Do you want him to chase you?” she asked, softer this time, voice tinged with frustration. “Do you want him to hurt the way you know he did?”

Still nothing.

“Because he is hurting. And you know it. You see it.”

Her jaw clenched. A familiar ache bloomed behind her ribs.

“You loved him,” she said, bitter now. “Before Amos. Before the letters. You loved him when he didn’t know what to do with your feelings. When he laughed too loud and looked at other girls and never looked at you the way you looked at him.”

A beat.

“And now he has looked at you like that. You know he did. You read it. Every word of it.”

She shut her eyes tightly, like she could squeeze the memory out of her brain. But it stayed. Every “I couldn’t say this out loud,” every scribbled “I miss her,” every stupid little drawing in the margins of his letters.

Her voice cracked.

“So why does it still feel like I’m the one losing?”

She pressed her hands against the mirror, fingertips smudging the glass.

“I broke up with Amos,” she whispered, her voice wobbling. “I don’t even know if it was because of James or just because I couldn’t lie anymore. But I did it. I did the right thing. So why do I still feel like I’m in the wrong?”

She dropped her head.

Silence.

And then, in a breathless murmur, like a confession too fragile to say out loud—

“Do you still love him?”

Her reflection blinked back.

She didn’t answer.

Because she already knew.

What she did not know is what she was going to do about it.

..

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual early evening chatter — games of Exploding Snap in the corner, someone practicing levitation charms too close to the drapes, the crackling fire casting gold across the walls.

But the mood around the two friend groups? Tense. Observant. Completely distracted by the same two people pretending the other didn’t exist.

James was slumped in a chair by the window, chewing the end of a sugar quill like it owed him money, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the sofa near the fireplace.

Y/N sat curled there, a book in hand, but her eyes hadn’t moved from the crackling fire in nearly ten minutes.

Lily flopped onto the couch beside Marlene and Dorcas with an exasperated sigh, setting her Charms book aside. “They’re still doing it.”

Marlene didn’t even look up. “Still not speaking?”

“Still not looking.” Lily gestured with her chin. “She’s avoiding his entire aura.”

Dorcas raised a brow. “You know that’s not how magic works.”

“I teach him,” Lily said, deadpan. “You don’t have to be a Seer to feel that tension radiating off him like a bloody fireplace.”

Marlene glanced over her shoulder, then winced. “Oh, Merlin. He’s staring again.”

“He’s brooding,” Dorcas corrected. “Let’s be accurate.”

"I saw them this morning in front of the library, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. I'd rather hex myself than being alone with the two of them in a room-- it's saddening, really." Peter said, staring at the two of them.

Across the room, James’s chair creaked as he shifted, pretending to be very invested in his notes. Sirius, sprawled beside him, didn’t bother hiding his disgust.

“You’re a mess, mate.”

James didn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You’re rewriting the same sentence for the fifth time.”

“It’s a thesis statement, Pads. It matters.”

Sirius snatched the parchment, reading it aloud with mocking flair: “The Patronus Charm is a deeply emotional piece of magic, rooted in joy, hope, and— Merlin’s balls, is this about her?”

James lunged for the paper. “Give it back.”

Remus, seated nearby, sighed into his book. “You’re both exhausting. Just talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk.”

“She doesn’t know you want to talk.”

James gave him a pointed look. “She knows I know she knows.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—she doesn’t know that you know that she knows.”

James froze. “Wait. She doesn’t?”

Sirius dropped his head into his hands. “I swear, if I hear the word ‘know’ one more time—”

From behind them, Professor McGonagall’s voice cut in, dry as parchment. “If you boys spent half this energy on your actual coursework, you might pass your N.E.W.T.s.”

They all snapped to attention.

She sipped her tea. “And yes, Potter. She knows. We all know. The portraits know.”

She walked away muttering, “Honestly. It’s like watching two Hippogriffs do a mating dance and missing every cue.”

Remus winced. "I did not enjoy imagining that."

Back on the girls’ side, Y/N had shifted in her seat, one arm curled around her legs as she pretended to read. Lily watched her quietly.

“She’s cracking,” she said softly. “Bit by bit.”

“She was never really okay,” Marlene replied. “Just… patching herself together with pride.”

Dorcas looked at them both. “What do we do?”

Lily gave a helpless shrug. “We wait. But not forever.”

A beat.

Then, softly, as Y/N’s eyes flicked to James — just for a second — and then away again:

“This is getting really hard to watch.”

..

Marlene hadn’t meant to snoop.

She really hadn’t.

She was just looking for the missing tube of starshine lip balm they all passed around—and Y/N’s trunk had been half-open anyway. It wasn’t like she’d planned to stumble across a folded, time-worn letter tucked between an old copy of Hogwarts: A History and a forgotten Chocolate Frog card.

She nearly put it back.

But then she saw the handwriting.

Y/N’s.

And at the top, two words—"James Potter."

The breath caught in her throat.

She hesitated only a second longer before slipping it out, fingers already trembling.

December 18th, 1975 Somewhere between courage and heartbreak

My Dearest James,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’ll never read it. You’re probably laughing with Sirius somewhere, chasing Bludgers or charming your way out of detention.

And I’ll keep pretending I don’t care. Because that’s what I’m best at—pretending.

But if I don’t write this down, I think I’ll come undone.

The truth is—I think I love you. And it’s ruining me.

You get under my skin in the most infuriating, impossible way. You make me angry and breathless and terrified and so alive I don't know what to do with myself.

Every time you grin at me like I’m the sun, like your world revolves around me, I want to scream. Because how do you not see it? How do you not see that I’ve been yours for longer than I care to admit?

But then you’ll joke. You’ll flirt with someone else. You’ll be so effortlessly you, and I’ll remember that I’m just the girl who rolls her eyes at your antics, who never says the things she really means.

You make it easy to hide, James. Because if I say it out loud—if I say I love you—then what?

What if you don’t love me back?

Or worse… what if you do?

Because I’m not ready for that kind of truth. Not when I still don’t know how to quiet the voice in my head that says I’m not enough. Not for you. Not for the kind of love you’d give.

You love big, James. Loud. Brave. Unapologetically. I don’t know how to do that.

All I know is that I dream of you more nights than I don’t, and every time you touch my hand—even by accident—my whole world stutters.

I’m scared. Of ruining things. Of wanting more. Of losing you.

So I’ll fold this letter. I’ll hide it. I’ll pretend it never existed.

Just like I’ll keep pretending I’m not in love with you.

But maybe… If one day you feel it too—if one day this all makes sense to you—

Then maybe you’ll understand why I never gave this to you.

And maybe then, you’ll come find me.

Yours always,

Even when in doubt,

– Y/N Y/I Y/L/N

By the time she finished reading, her hands were shaking.

Marlene sat back on her heels, staring at the parchment like it had scorched her. Her chest felt too tight, her eyes glassy.

“Merlin,” she whispered.

She pressed the letter against her chest, heart hammering. It had been written in fifth year. Fifth year. Y/N had been carrying this—feeling this—for years, and none of them had known. Not Lily. Not Dorcas. Not her.

And James?

He had no bloody idea.

Marlene blinked back the sting in her eyes. It felt like looking at a map of someone’s heartbreak, carefully hidden in the dark for so long it had almost fossilized.

“No wonder you’re scared,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You’ve been bleeding for him this whole time.”

She didn’t know whether to feel furious or heartbroken or helpless. Maybe all three.

Because this? This wasn’t just a crush or a passing heartbreak.

This was a girl who had loved in silence—too afraid to speak, too brave to walk away. A girl who had written her soul onto a page and buried it because she thought she’d never be enough for James Potter.

Marlene exhaled shakily.

She folded the letter back with slow, reverent hands, like it might shatter. And for a moment, she just sat there, knees drawn up to her chest, clutching it in the quiet.

Then, almost silently, she asked the room:

“What the hell do I do with this?”

..

The girls' dorm was too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

The moment she stepped inside and noticed her trunk slightly ajar, her heart dropped like a stone in her chest.

She lunged toward it, yanked it open—empty.

The letter was gone.

“No—no, no, no.” Her voice cracked. “No.”

Her eyes darted around the room like she might’ve just misplaced it, like maybe her brain was playing a cruel trick, but deep down she knew.

The letter. That letter. Her fifth-year ghost of a confession—the one she never meant to send, never meant for anyone to read—was gone.

Her door creaked.

“Marlene?” Y/N’s voice snapped like brittle glass.

Marlene paused in the doorway, a half-eaten chocolate frog in her hand, suddenly very, very guilty.

Y/N didn’t wait. “Did you take it?”

Marlene blinked. “Take what?”

“The letter,” Y/N hissed, the panic sharpening her words. “You know which one. Don’t lie to me.”

Marlene shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t—technically—take it.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed. Her hands flew to her hair. “Did you read it? Did you SHOW him?”

Marlene flinched. “Of course I didn’t show him! I’m not evil.”

“But you read it.”

Silence.

Y/N’s knees hit the edge of her bed. “I trusted you. Marlene, I trusted you with that part of me.”

“You left it in your trunk,” Marlene said quietly, “like you didn't mind if it was found.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

Marlene stepped closer. “You still aren’t. That’s the problem.”

Y/N’s voice broke. “He can’t read that. Not now. Not when I don’t even know what I want.”

Her lip trembled, and then the tears came fast and hot, making her swipe at her cheeks furiously like she could erase the entire moment.

Marlene sat beside her and didn’t speak for a while. She just offered the last piece of her chocolate frog, which Y/N took, sniffling.

A few minutes later, Lily and Dorcas burst into the room, summoned by one very cryptic howler Marlene had sent earlier that just said: "Emergency. Emotions. Bring snacks."

They took one look at Y/N’s blotchy face and the tension in the air and immediately knew.

“You told her?” Dorcas asked Marlene.

“She figured it out.”

Lily folded her arms. “What letter?”

Marlene reached under her pillow and pulled it out—Y/N's old, aching confession, still folded, still dangerous.

Lily read the first few lines and gasped. “Bloody hell.”

Dorcas whistled low. “You were in it.”

“I was fifteen,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “And delusional.”

“No,” Lily said, sitting on the floor dramatically. “You were in love. That’s not delusional.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It's cinematic,” Dorcas corrected.

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“What are we going to do with it?” Lily asked. “Because you can’t keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Y/N. And neither can he.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Dorcas raised a brow. “So we intervene?”

Marlene smirked. “Subtly.”

“Soft chaos,” Lily nodded.

“Ethically ambiguous meddling,” Dorcas agreed.

Y/N stared at them like they were mad. “You’re not actually planning something.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” Marlene said.

Y/N groaned. “Guys—”

But her protests were drowned out by the sudden sound of parchment unfurling, ink bottles uncorking, and the rapid-fire clatter of girlhood conspiracy.

Plans were already being made. Timelines. Locations. Distractions.

“If they won’t fix it themselves,” Marlene muttered with a wicked grin, “we bloody will.”

And in that moment, Y/N realized something chilling: she might have just lost control of her own love story.

But did she love her girls? Obviously.

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part lll of the series Dumb Decisions

⇨ summary: The bond starts pulling. Literally. You and James struggle to stay more than a few feet apart without the universe throwing a tantrum. The professors are watching. The Marauders are plotting. And your friends are catching on way too fast for your liking.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, reader has hair long enough to put in a bun, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?), accidental magic injury, mild angst, shared emotions, denial, mutual pining, professors whispering about it in the staff room, platonic marauders x reader shared sensations, magical tether hijinks, accidental touching, denial galore, platonic friendships, magnetic bond effects, chaotic Marauders.

⇨ a/n: hope you enjoy this chapter and I apologize in advanced oopsss

⇨ word count: 4.2k

The first thing James registered was warmth.

Not the kind of warmth you get from blankets or firewhiskey, but the kind that curled into your chest and stayed there. Something soft—hair, maybe—was tickling his jaw, and a steady rhythm of breathing matched his own.

He cracked one eye open.

And nearly went into cardiac arrest.

Y/N L/N was sprawled across his chest in the Hogwarts library, arm slung over his middle like they’d been together for years. Her legs were tangled with his, her cheek pressed right against his Quidditch jersey, and her fingers were curled slightly, like she’d fallen asleep mid-spell.

James blinked at the ceiling. Hard.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t panic.

The memory trickled in slowly. The two of them had been studying—well, “studying” in the loosest possible sense of the word. She was trying to write an essay. He was trying to distract her. A lot of eye-rolling. Some very dramatic sighs. Then a shared yawn. Then—

Boom. Sleep.

In the restricted section.

With her on top of him like a bloody lullaby.

James knew he should move. Say something. Wake her gently. Something gallant and respectful, like "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

But then she let out the tiniest sigh and nestled closer.

Nope. He was staying here forever.

Unfortunately, fate—or more specifically, Professor McGonagall—had other plans.

“Mr. Potter.”

The voice was crisp. Deadly.

James’s soul left his body.

Y/N stirred.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said again, this time from above, hands folded and expression as unreadable as a locked Gringotts vault. “Miss L/N.”

Y/N blinked herself awake, eyes unfocused, then froze as realization dawned. Slowly—horrifyingly slowly—she lifted her head from James’s chest and sat up, face turning the shade of a particularly ripe tomato.

“I—uh—we—” she stammered.

“It’s not what it looks like,” James tried.

McGonagall’s eyebrow rose to unprecedented heights.

“Oh, so the bond dragged you into a nap? In the library? With her leg wrapped around your calf like ivy on a castle wall?”

“Er,” James said eloquently.

“Let me make myself clear,” McGonagall said, voice silky in a way that promised eternal doom. “If I catch the two of you tangled in a broom cupboard, corridor alcove, or library again, I will start docking points. And no, Mr. Potter, I don’t care if the tether dragged you there.”

She paused. Then added, “I am this close to creating a ward that shocks the two of you every time you touch unsupervised.”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at James like this is your fault, which—fair.

McGonagall turned on her heel, robes swishing like thunderclouds. “Detention tomorrow after class. For public entanglement.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

Then James whispered, “Public entanglement?”

Y/N shoved a book at his face. “Don’t.”

He grinned anyway.

..

McGonagall enters the staff room with a neutral expression and a teacup in hand. The chatter dies down as she clears her throat.

"For anyone keeping track—Miss L/N and Mr. Potter have just earned themselves detention for being found... intertwined... in the Restricted Section of the library."

A dramatic silence.

Then—

Flitwick nearly falls off his chair. Sprout lets out a scandalized gasp. Slughorn cheers. Binns wakes up.

Professor Vector immediately slaps five Galleons into Hooch’s hand.

“They made it to the Restricted Section?!” Pomona cackles. “Oh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Did you dock points?” asks Flitwick.

“No,” McGonagall says. “But I did threaten to.”

She sips her tea with an infuriatingly satisfied smirk.

In the corner, Dumbledore is slowly pushing a lemon drop toward the “Engagement by June” betting box.

..

He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t.

James Potter, Quidditch Captain, top of his year in Transfiguration (well, tied with Remus), and alleged heartthrob of half the Hogwarts female population, did not get nervous about detention. Or girls. Or girls in detention. Especially not girls he maybe-sort-of-possibly-wanted-to-kiss again. Especially not Y/N L/N.

...Bloody hell, he was so nervous.

He reached the dungeon door, hand hovering over the handle like it might explode. A moment later, it creaked open on its own.

Y/N was already inside.

Of course she was.

She sat cross-legged on the stone floor, arms crossed, hair pulled up in that loose bun that gave him chest pains. The firelight flickered across her skin like something straight out of a poem. She’d shoved her hair behind her ear three times in the last two minutes. Each time, James had to stare at a dusty bookshelf to keep from combusting.

He could still feel the way she curled into him. Her face in his chest. His hand resting on her hip like it belonged there.

He’d barely slept since.

Because when he saw her, he didn't see the fierce, independent, surprisingly good at quidditch girl she showcased, but instead the actual Y/N. The one who defended first years when the mean seventh years started taunting them, the one who cared a little bit too much about her grades but wouldn't say anything, the one who makes sure to buy something for everyone every time she goes on a trip so no one feels left out, the one that made him fall hopelessly in love with her.

Now, she sat across from him, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her wand levitating a sponge over the floor like it offended her. Her lips were set in a tight line. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. Her silence was worse than hexes.

He scrubbed harder.

“Could you not flood the entire corridor?” she said flatly, glancing at his over-saturated mop trail.

James huffed. “Could you not levitate your way out of actual work?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you’re Head Boy and a certified martyr.”

He looked up, smirk sharp. “You’re one to talk, Miss I-Sleep-In-The-Restricted-Section-With-My-Soulmate.”

“Not my soulmate.”

“Yet.”

She threw her sponge at him. He dodged it, but just barely.

It splatted against a bookshelf behind him and slid dramatically to the floor.

They stared at each other.

Neither moved.

Something shifted in the space between them. The air snapped, thick and electric. Her breathing hitched. His fingers curled against the tile. The bond wasn’t tugging, not physically—but he felt it. Like gravity. Like inevitability.

“You said my name,” James murmured. “In your sleep.”

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

She looked away. “It didn’t mean anything.”

James stood. “Then why haven’t you looked at me all day?”

She stood too fast. “Because you’re annoying, Potter.”

He took a step forward. “Because you’re scared.”

“Of what?” she snapped.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her—wide-eyed and stunned by how beautiful she looked when she was angry. Her hair was frizzy from the humidity. Her cheeks were pink. Her lips—God, her lips.

And she was looking at him like she hated how much she wanted to kiss him.

James swallowed hard. “I’m not going to blame the bond.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m not doing that,” he said. “I’ve blamed it for every little thing these past few weeks—every glance, every touch, every time I wanted to crawl into your bed and just stay there. But not this. If I kiss you, it won’t be the bond. It’ll be me.”

A pause.

The candles flickered.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she whispered.

He kissed her.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was hands-on-skin, teeth-on-lip, pressed-against-shelves desperate. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands gripped her waist, pulled her closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. She moaned into his mouth, and he lost the thread of every thought except her.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss you came back from.

It was the kind that changed everything.

She pushed him against the shelf, breath ragged. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, and she gasped when he found the place behind her ear that made her knees buckle. He caught her. They moved like they’d always been meant to.

Like fate was done waiting.

And then—just as quickly—it ended.

They broke apart.

Panting.

Shaking.

Not looking at each other.

The silence was deafening.

James took one shaky step back. She didn’t say a word. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes glassy. His heart was pounding so loud it made his ears ring.

He cleared his throat. “Right. So that… must’ve been the bond.”

“Sure,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

James nodded. “Definitely.”

Neither believed it.

He could feel it in his chest—an ache blooming somewhere behind his ribs.

Because if it was just the bond, then maybe he could survive this.

But if it wasn’t?

If she’d kissed him back because she wanted to, not because magic made her?

Then he was already too far gone.

He sat down and picked up his sponge, pretending to focus on the floor like it held the answer to every spiraling thought in his head.

Ten minutes later, the door burst open.

“Oi!” Sirius’s voice echoed off the stone walls.

James winced, shoulders stiffening. He didn’t look up.

Footsteps approached.

“Are they… scrubbing?” Remus asked, confused.

“They’re not hexing each other?” Lily added.

Marlene popped into view. “Wait—they survived?”

Dorcas elbowed past her. “Is the Restricted Section still standing?”

James kept scrubbing. Y/N had gone statue-still beside him.

Sirius sniffed the air dramatically. “Why does it smell like regret and unresolved sexual tension in here?”

Lily elbowed him. “Shut up.”

“They’re being weird,” Peter whispered. “Even for them.”

“They’re being guilty,” Marlene muttered.

“I give it three days,” Dorcas said under her breath.

“I give it one,” Remus replied.

“Put me down for twelve hours,” Sirius grinned.

“Put me down for never,” James finally muttered.

Everyone paused.

Then laughter erupted.

Sirius looked smug. “Ooh. What did you two do?”

But before anyone could investigate further, Lily grabbed them all. “Alright, let’s go. Give them space. They look like they need it.”

“They look like they need a cold shower,” Dorcas quipped.

The group filed out, voices trailing behind them. “Oi, Remus, you owe me five Sickles—”

“Only if they stay together—”

“They’re not even together—”

“They’re definitely something—”

And then the door shut.

Silence again.

James dropped the sponge back into the bucket and sat with a heavy thud.

He didn’t look at her.

He couldn’t.

Because if she only kissed him because of the bond, then breaking it would ruin him.

But if she kissed him in spite of the bond…

Then he was already in love with her.

And that, frankly, was much worse.

..

The moment the door shut behind them—Sirius and Lily and all the bloody banter echoing away down the corridor—she broke.

Not out loud. Not dramatically. But quietly, like a crumpling letter. Like something precious folding in on itself, unread and discarded. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until she noticed how tightly she was gripping the edge of the desk.

The one he’d kissed her against.

She let go like it burned.

Because it did.

Everything burned. Her lips. Her chest. Her throat. That place behind her eyes where the tears kept pressing, threatening to spill but refusing to fall. She didn’t want to cry over him. Over James Potter, who had kissed her like he couldn’t breathe without her, and then blamed it on the bloody bond like it was nothing.

“Right. So that… must’ve been the bond.”

And she had nodded.

Like an idiot.

Like she didn’t feel his hands trembling when they touched her face. Like she didn’t taste the hesitation and longing on his tongue. Like he hadn’t told her just hours ago:

“If I kiss you, it won’t be the bond. It’ll be me.”

Well.

Apparently that was bollocks.

She made it back to the girls’ dorm in a daze. Didn’t even remember walking through the corridors or saying goodnight. It wasn’t until she was sitting on the floor of her dormitory, back against the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, that she realized her legs had been shaking the whole way up the stairs.

She stared at the carpet.

And then she hated the carpet for being beige.

And then she hated herself for hating the carpet when the real problem was that James bloody Potter had kissed her like she was his whole world and then ripped it away like it meant nothing.

Footsteps approached. The door creaked open.

“Y/N?”

Lily.

Of course it was Lily. Lily-who-could-read-through-Y/N-like-a-book-Evans.

There was a pause. Then: “Oh no.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N croaked.

“Yeah, and Sirius is subtle.” Lily shut the door behind her and padded across the room. She crouched in front of her, frowning. “What happened?”

Y/N opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood.

“He kissed me.”

Lily blinked. “Wait. He kissed you?”

She nodded.

“Like… actually kissed you?”

Y/N gave her a look. “Do you think I’m crying like this over a hypothetical kiss, Evans?”

“Right. Fair. Just checking.” Lily sat beside her, tucking her legs under her skirt. “So he kissed you. And then what? He panicked?”

Y/N snorted, a bitter, broken sound. “He blamed the bond.”

“Oh,” Lily whispered.

“Yeah. Oh.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Y/N pressed her palms into her eyes. “He said—earlier, he said if he kissed me it wouldn’t be the bond. It would be him. He looked at me like it was him. Like it was real. And then right after—immediately after—he just backed off and blamed it on the bloody magic.”

Lily made a sound of sympathy.

“I can’t even be mad at the kiss,” Y/N whispered. “Because it was perfect. It was…” She swallowed. “It was like everything I’ve ever wanted and didn’t know how to ask for. I felt seen. And wanted. And then he just… took it back.”

Lily nodded slowly. “Maybe he’s scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of how much he wants you.”

Y/N let her head fall back against the mattress behind her. “He could’ve just… not said anything.”

“James?” Lily snorted. “Not saying anything? Love, you’re asking the sun to stop shining.”

They both laughed, but Y/N’s faded fast.

“I hate that I still want him,” she admitted quietly. “Even after that. Even now.”

Lily’s expression softened. “Do you think it was really just the bond?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate, fierce. “Not that kiss. That wasn’t—couldn’t have been—just magic. I know what fake feels like. That wasn’t it.”

“And if it wasn’t the bond?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

“Then he lied to get away from me.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Then Lily said, gently, “And if it was real, and he’s just pretending it wasn’t so he doesn’t have to deal with it?”

Y/N blinked. “Then… I guess I’ll find out when the bond breaks.”

“And if it breaks,” Lily said slowly, “and he still wants you?”

Y/N closed her eyes.

“Then he’s going to have to do more than kiss me and run.”

She exhaled shakily. “Because the next time he kisses me… it better not be something he can blame away.”

Lily leaned her head against Y/N’s shoulder.

And neither of them said a word for a long time.

Because really, what could they say?

Y/N had gotten everything she wanted… and it still didn’t feel like enough.

Not when the boy she loved kissed her like a confession— and walked away like it was a mistake.

..

James Potter was fine.

Perfectly fine.

He had kissed Y/N in a dusty classroom during detention, and sure, it had been intense. Sure, she’d looked at him like she felt it too. And fine—maybe, maybe—his heart hadn’t stopped hammering since. But that didn’t mean anything.

It was the bond. Obviously.

Obviously.

He was FINE.

So why was Sirius looking at him like he’d grown a second head?

“Mate,” Sirius said, lounging on James’s bed and tossing a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, “you’ve been scrubbing the same spot on your glasses for ten minutes.”

“I like clean lenses,” James muttered, turning away.

“Clean lenses don’t make you pace for an hour,” Remus said without looking up from his book.

“I wasn’t pacing.”

Peter nodded helpfully. “You’ve circled the room nineteen times. I counted.”

“Okay, first of all—creepy. Second of all, I’m just thinking.”

“Thinking about her,” Sirius said.

James glared at him. “No. I’m not. I’m thinking about Quidditch.”

“Quidditch?” Remus snorted. “You haven’t mentioned Quidditch once since the cuddle scandal.”

“Which was—again—because of the bond,” James snapped.

“Oh, now it’s the bond?” Sirius raised a brow. “You mean the same bond you said wouldn’t matter if you ever kissed her?”

“That was before she turned into a bloody enchantress and hexed my brain.”

“She didn’t hex your brain,” Peter mumbled.

“I don’t like her!” James exploded.

Silence.

Then Peter stood up and started ticking off fingers.

“You know her schedule by heart. You wait for her after every class. You gave Peeves detention because he startled her once. You growled at Amos Diggory when he looked at her. You’ve written her name on your parchment more times than I’ve written mine on essays.

"Oh! And you bought her favorite chocolate last week even though she never told you what it was.” Sirius added.

Remus looked up from his book. “And you sleep-talked about her last night.”

James turned red. “That’s not—That’s—You don’t know that.”

“We do,” Sirius said. “You said, ‘Don’t leave. The library floor’s comfy if you’re here.’”

James covered his face with both hands.

“This is getting out of hand.”

“Mate,” Sirius said gently, “you’re in love with her.”

“I’M NOT.”

They all stared.

“I’m not in love with her!” he insisted, standing up so dramatically he knocked over the ink bottle on his nightstand. “In fact—do you know what? I’m going to prove it.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Remus sighed.

“I’m going to kiss someone tomorrow at the party.”

“Oh God,” Peter mumbled.

“Who?” Sirius asked flatly.

“Whoever!” James declared. “Anyone! Someone who isn’t her. Just to prove I can.”

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

“Right,” Remus said, slowly. “Because kissing a random girl to prove you’re not in love never backfires.”

James ignored them. “You’ll see. I’ll kiss someone at the Gryffindor party tomorrow and feel nothing. And then you lot will finally shut up about Y/N.”

He flopped onto his bed with a dramatic huff.

“I do not like her.”

Silence.

“Sure, James,” Sirius said, patting his shoulder like he was a delusional patient. “Whatever you say buddy.”

James rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

He was fine.

Totally, completely, heartbreakingly fine.

Right?

..

The dorm was alive with Dancing Queen, by ABBA playing, the sound of laughter and glitter.

Marlene had dumped every cosmetic spell she knew onto the floor, Lily was charming curls into Dorcas’s hair, and Y/N—well, Y/N was trying very hard not to think about James bloody Potter.

“Turn,” Marlene ordered, tugging Y/N by the shoulders. “Merlin’s tits, you’re tense.”

“I’m not tense.”

“You’re vibrating like a Niffler in a jewelry store,” Dorcas added, grinning as Lily shoved her head down to finish curling a stubborn strand.

Y/N sighed and sat back as Marlene fussed over her. She let her. The pre-party ritual was sacred.

There were lip glosses floating in mid-air, shoes abandoned mid-transfiguration, and at least three enchanted mirrors arguing over who was hottest. The answer, obviously, was all of them.

“Okay, show me the dress,” Lily demanded.

Y/N hesitated.

Dorcas nudged her with her foot. “Don’t make me summon it.”

“Fine,” she muttered, and stepped out from behind the privacy curtain.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lily’s mouth dropped open. Dorcas whistled low. Marlene clutched her chest like she’d been struck.

“YOU’RE WEARING THAT?” Marlene shrieked. “Y/N, he’s going to combust.”

“No he isn’t,” she snapped, face warm. “And it’s not about him.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Then who’s it about?”

“Myself.”

They all blinked. Then, unanimously:

“Awwww.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but smiled. The truth was, the dress was about her. It was tight in the right places, soft where she liked it, and made her feel—well. Made her feel like she could forget James bloody Potter for five seconds.

If he could pretend nothing happened during detention, then she could pretend she didn’t care.

Even if her heart was still doing somersaults from the kiss.

Even if her lips still tingled.

Even if the bond between them had been vibrating ever since.

“Okay,” Lily announced, standing. “Everyone, get your shoes. This is our villain origin story.”

Dorcas raised her wand. “And our soundtrack?”

“Cursed girl anthems only,” Marlene said seriously. “We're going to ruin lives tonight.”

Y/N grinned.

It was going to be a good night.

⸻

The Gryffindor common room was transformed into a maze of flickering lights, music, and drunken teenage chaos. Someone had spiked the pumpkin juice, Sirius was DJing with a cursed Victrola, and James—

James was spiraling.

From across the room, he saw her enter.

His chest actually stuttered.

Y/N was laughing, glowing, radiant. She walked in like she owned the air. The bond between them thrummed—tight, electric.

And then, as if it sensed the storm coming, it began to flicker.

“You’re staring,” Remus said.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter added helpfully. “You haven’t blinked.”

James turned sharply. “Shut up.”

Sirius appeared, drink in hand. “You okay there, loverboy?”

James scowled. “I don’t like her.”

“Whatever you say mate, It's not like you memorized her class schedule, or her perfume, or that weird thing she does with her quill when she’s thinking.”

“I did not—”

“You hummed the song she braided her hair to last week,” Remus added dryly.

“Okay, that’s—look, I’m fine,” James snapped. “You know what? I’ll actually prove it, I'm not a coward.” he scanned the room."I'm going to kissssss.....Samantha Goldstein. She's hot, right pads?"

Sirius blinked. “I mean yeah but Y/N is lowkey hotter-”

“I don’t care.”

And he didn’t. Or he was trying not to.

So when a drunk Samantha in a glittering silver dress smiled at him from across the room, James did something stupid.

He kissed her.

Right there. Center of the common room.

He didn’t even see Y/N freeze.

⸻

She did.

Y/N had been mid-sip of a drink Marlene swore was “completely harmless” (it wasn’t) when she saw him.

James.

Kissing someone else.

The bond between them, which had been glowing like a golden thread around her ribs, suddenly flared.

Then—

Snapped.

It felt like a whipcrack. Like something inside her had been cut loose. For a second, she couldn’t breathe.

Across the room, James staggered.

Everyone felt it.

The magic in the air shifted—sank low, fizzled, then vanished.

Sirius turned, eyes wide. “...Shit.”

Y/N shoved her drink into Dorcas’s hand and walked straight out of the common room, head high.

She didn’t cry.

Not until she made it upstairs.

⸻

Back downstairs, chaos reigned.

“The bond broke,” Lily whispered.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

James stood in the middle of the room, staring after her like he’d just killed his own Patronus.

Sirius clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, Prongs. You played yourself.”

Samantha looked between them. “Um—should I go?”

“Yes,” the Marauders said in unison.

James didn’t move.

He just kept staring at the stairs she’d disappeared up, still tasting someone else’s lipstick, and hating himself for it.

The bond was gone.

And the worst part?

He still wanted to run after her.

..

The dorm room door slammed open, and in stumbled Y/N, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, laughter spilling out like it didn’t quite belong.

“Hey guys! I’m… I’m perfectly okay!” she declared, swaying dangerously on unsteady feet as Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas hurried after her, breathless from chasing.

Y/N flopped onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, this is exactly what I wanted. The stupid bond? Broken. Gone. Poof.” She waved her hand as if shooing away a bad memory.

“And James Potter?” She hiccuped, giggling like it was a joke only she got. “He can finally leave me alone. Life’s great. Perfect, really. Peachy, even.”

Lily knelt beside her, voice gentle but firm. “Y/N, you don’t have to pretend with us. We saw what happened.”

“I’m fine.” Y/N’s words slurred a little. “I mean, isn’t this what I asked for? Freedom. No magic dragging me around like some… like some… stupid marionette.” Her laugh cracked, turning brittle.

Marlene exchanged a look with Dorcas, then smiled softly. “You’re not alone.”

Y/N’s grin faltered for a heartbeat, then she pressed her fingers to her temple like she could squeeze the pain away. “No, really. I’m stronger without it. Without him.”

“But we saw him,” Dorcas whispered. “Kissing her.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open wide, then she laughed again — but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was the sound of someone trying to break through their own disbelief. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I saw. And you know what? Good. I deserve better anyway.”

Lily reached out, touching her hand. “You deserve so much better.”

Y/N stared at the ceiling, voice distant. “I just… I don’t want to feel anymore. Not the bond, not James, not this stupid mess.” Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the brave act cracked. “I’m supposed to be fine. Right?”

Her girls didn’t answer.

Because no matter how loud she tried to shout it, no matter how many drinks she downed or how many jokes she cracked, they all knew the truth:

Y/N wasn’t fine. Not yet. But maybe, with them, she’d get there.

...

taglist:

@strlightfilms @glittervame @ifilwtmfc @theblindhag @vxyselectric @spirit-of-a-b1tch @shushbruv @glennussy @mp-littlebit

part l of the series Dumb Decisions

⇨ pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨ summary: When Y/N and James Potter end up interlinked by a magical curse no one knows how to break—How is it going to go down?

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?), accidental magic injury, mild angst, shared emotions, denial, mutual pining, professors whispering about it in the staff room, platonic marauders x reader

The duel is supposed to be routine.

You’re barely awake, ponytail crooked from Sirius dragging you out of breakfast by the wrist and shouting, “You’re late! McGonagall’s going to deduct points and I cannot afford more detention, I refuse—

Now you’re standing in the middle of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wand clenched, jaw set. Across from you: James Potter. Twirling his wand like a show-off. Hair messy. Grinning like he’s already won.

Infuriating.

“You ready?” he calls, cocky and golden in the morning light.

You glare. “To destroy you? Always.”

You’ve dueled before. Too many times. Enough that Flitwick once cancelled class and muttered, “The sexual tension is disrupting my concentration, children.”

James laughed for two hours.

Professor Carrow drones something about “modified defensive reflexes,” but you’re already focused. You know James’s tells—his fake lunges, his cocky overconfidence, the twitch in his jaw when he’s about to go for something risky.

You’re ready.

But this time, something goes wrong.

He casts a shield spell—too quick, angled wrong. It ricochets off your Protego and sends sparks flying. You counter with a non-verbal from a book you skimmed last week, heart racing.

And then—light.

Blinding, golden, veined light. Like cracked glass splitting the air. It hits you both. Your bones hum. Magic screams.

You hit the floor.

Hard.

For a moment, the world goes silent.

Even Sirius stops chewing his bloody Sugar Quill.

…

“Are you alright?” Lily’s voice cuts through the haze, knelt beside you, hands fluttering near your head like she wants to touch you but doesn’t know where.

You blink up at her. Your ears are ringing.

Your head is pounding. You sit up slowly. Across the room, James is already on his feet—staring at you like you grew a second head.

Professor Carrow’s gone chalk-white. “Miss Y/L/N, what—what spell did you cast?”

You cough, wincing. “Something Latin. Started with ‘concord…’? It was a tether hex, I think—”

Carrow looks like he’s about to pass out. “You cast a Concordia Vinculum?”

James groans. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It’s not,” Remus mutters grimly. “It means—”

“You’ve bonded,” Carrow interrupts. “Emotionally. Magically. Temporarily, hopefully. Permanently, if we’re unlucky.”

The class erupts.

“What kind of bonded? Like… married?" Peter asks.

"Or kinky?” Sirius adds.

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, “Merlin save us.”

…

That night, in the common room, James won’t stop looking at you.

"You feel anything?" he asks suddenly. His leg bounces beneath the table like he’s trying not to explode.

You don’t look up from your Transfiguration essay. “Just irritated. But that might just be because you’re breathing in my general direction.”

He rolls his eyes. “So nothing new, then.”

Across the room, Sirius leans toward Marlene and whispers, “What are the odds they snog or snap each other’s necks?”

Marlene doesn’t even blink. “Necks. Definitely.”

You push your chair back, grabbing your bag. “I’m going to bed.”

You make it halfway up the stairs before your heart skips—hard—and behind you, you hear a sharp inhale.

You pause. Turn your head.

James is clutching his chest.

So are you.

Neither of you say a word.

You turn away.

Your hand doesn’t leave your ribs for the rest of the night.

…

You burn your tongue on tea—James winces and drops his spoon like it’s hot.

He yawns in Transfiguration—you yawn too, even though you’re wide awake.

Lily catches it first.

You feel her eyes narrowing across the table.

“You two are either cursed or disgusting,” she declares. “Either way, I’m telling McGonagall.”

Sirius gasps. “You’d snitch on true love?”

“It’s not love,” you and James say at the same time—loudly.

Dead silence.

James looks like he’s been slapped. You’re gripping your goblet a little too tight.

Dorcas leans over to Marlene. “Ten Galleons they snog by Friday.”

Marlene smirks. “Twenty says she punches him first.”

…

The bond is intrusive. Personal. Intimate in the most inconvenient way.

You stub your toe—James yelps and spills his toast.

He panics before a quiz—you feel like you’re choking.

You cry watching St. Mungo’s: Heartbreak Unit and James bolts from the room claiming “dust allergy.”

It’s exhausting.

It’s confusing.

It’s dangerous.

Because every time your pulse spikes, every time your heart skips—you don’t know if it’s your feeling…

Or his.

…

“You like her,” Sirius says one night, tossing a Chocolate Frog at James’s head.

James ducks, red in the face. “It’s the spell. Dumb decision. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You know spells don’t make your voice go soft when you talk to her, right?” Marlene adds, sprawled across the rug.

“I’m begging you both to shut up.” Lily exclaims, looking up from her ginger tea.

“We’re not together!” you and James shout at the same time.

Everyone goes still.

Peter whispers, “That was… synchronized.”

Dorcas leans into Remus. “Two weeks, tops.”

Remus just laughs. “You’re being generous.”

…

You lie awake in bed, heart thudding against the bond.

Across the castle, James does too.

He feels your guilt tonight. He doesn’t know why.

You feel his longing. You pretend not to know what it’s for.

Both of you whisper the same thought into the dark:

This was supposed to be temporary.

Just a dumb decision.

Why does it feel like more?

By evening, your emotions feel slightly… not your own. Not not yours. Just… tangled.

You trip on a stair and your frustration spikes—somewhere behind you, James slams a book shut and groans like someone just insulted his mother.

At dinner, he bites his tongue while eating toast. You flinch and knock over your pumpkin juice.

The Marauders exchange looks like they’re witnessing prophecy.

“Think we should tell someone?” Peter whispers.

“No,” Sirius says, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see how long it takes them to crack.”

⸻

That night, you dream in flashes. Not your own.

Red light. Wind in your hair. A Quidditch goalpost. The sound of laughter—his laughter.

You wake up with James Potter’s voice in your ears and a hollow ache you can’t name.

Across the castle, James lies awake, staring at the ceiling, one hand pressed flat over his chest.

He can’t explain why it hurts.

But he knows exactly whose hurt it is.

Meanwhile… in the Hogwarts staff room

A mug clinks on the table.

“I give it six days,” Professor Sprout says, flipping a page of the Herbological Monthly with a smile.

Flitwick scoffs. “Two. Max. Did you see the way she looked at him when he burned his tongue?”

Slughorn beams, swirling his brandy. “Ah, young magic-bound lovers. Happens once a decade if we’re lucky. Delicious drama.”

“I’m not participating in this,” McGonagall declares crisply, sipping her tea with rigid dignity.

Silence.

Across the room, Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “Five Galleons on her hexing him before kissing him.”

McGonagall sighs. Loudly. “Ten says she does both.”

The staff room erupts.

And in the corner, a magical chalkboard updates itself with elegant, swirling script:

POTTER/Y/L/N BETTING POOL ✦ Kiss before punch – 15 Galleons ✦ Punch before kiss – 20 Galleons ✦ Both simultaneously – 30 Galleons ✦ Secretly dating already – 50 Galleons ✦ Never confess – hexed out of the pool

taglist: @strlightfilms

part IV of the series Dumb Decisions

⇨ summary: The bond broke. What happens now? You wake up with a hangover and the sour memory of James making out with a girl who is not you at a party.

⇨ warnings/notes: james is an idiot in this as per usual but he'll make up for it in future chapters i promise, use of y/n, curse words, minor inconsistencies ?),mild angst, broken bond, stubborn!reader, denial, mutual pining, platonic marauders x reader shared sensations, platonic friendships, magnetic bond effects, chaotic Marauders, girlhood final boss

⇨ a/n: hiii hope you enjooy this chapter thank you always for the support and please keep giving feedback because it really motivates me!!! also added more gossiping professorsss

⇨ word count: 3.6k

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

Not the kind that made her shiver, but the kind that settled. That seeped under her skin, behind her ribs, and into the spaces that used to feel like… him. Her fingertips twitched against the cotton of her pillow, as if reaching for something that wasn’t there.

Mascara had bled down her cheeks in the night — proof of the crying she didn’t remember and the war she couldn’t forget. Her throat ached. Her mouth was dry. And her chest—

Her chest was hollow.

Y/N blinked slowly, the ceiling above her unfamiliar in its stillness. No tension tugging her heart toward someone else's heartbeat. No magnetic pulse under her skin. Just absence.

The bond was gone.

Gone.

Something inside her — something that had always been subtly there since the moment the hex rebounded — had vanished in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

A hangover curled low in her skull, but it was nothing compared to the gaping wound in her magic. She reached inward without meaning to, instinctively searching for the thread that had always pointed north.

But there was nothing. Just her.

Just silence.

A soft sniff came from the side of the room. Y/N shifted slightly, and that’s when she noticed them.

Lily. Marlene. Dorcas. All perched nearby, watching her like she might shatter again if they said the wrong thing.

None of them spoke. Not at first.

Marlene was curled on the end of the bed, hugging a mug between her hands, eyes rimmed red. Dorcas looked like she’d sat up all night, one leg bouncing like she couldn’t settle. And Lily — Lily just looked tired. Like she'd aged ten years in one night. The girls loved her so much they ached with her.

Y/N pushed herself upright, the sheets whispering around her, and winced at the dizzy rush in her head.

No one asked how she felt.

They didn’t have to.

Her voice cracked the silence like glass underfoot. “I feel empty. Like something was ripped out of me.”

Her own words startled her.

She wasn’t usually like this — wasn’t the kind of girl who collapsed after a boy or who got too attached, too fast. She was supposed to be fine. Supposed to be strong.

Instead, she just… folded.

She clutched the edge of her blanket like a lifeline and kept her gaze low, fixed on the peeling wood of the floorboards. Her chest rose in shallow breaths, too fast. Too uneven. Like her lungs were learning how to breathe without him.

Because even without the bond — even with that magic thread cut clean and final — she still ached for him.

She hated that most of all.

She hated that he could kiss someone else and still live in her every thought.

“Do you want tea?” Lily’s voice was soft, careful.

Y/N nodded, but the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes weren’t about tea.

They were about James.

They were about the kiss, and the party, and the girl, and the way he looked at her like she didn’t matter. The way he kissed someone else on purpose.

The way he’d made her feel like an accident.

The bond was gone, but the pain had stayed behind — an echo with nowhere to go.

And Merlin, did it hurt.

"Let's get your makeup taken off, love." Dorcas offered her with a warm smile, and Y/N nodded.

"I feel pathetic. Like an idiot."

"Happens to the best of us, sweetheart." Marlene said.

Y/N sighed.

It was going to be a damn long week.

..

James was pacing.

Back and forth across the rug in front of the fireplace — not that he remembered lighting it. Not that he’d slept. Not that he could think straight, really, with everything buzzing in his skull like a spell gone wrong.

He hadn’t changed out of yesterday’s clothes. His hair was messier than usual — not in the deliberate way, but like he’d raked his hands through it a hundred times and might do it a hundred more. His tie was half-off. There was a smear of something dark near his collar. Lipstick?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

The only thing he could focus on was the silence.

She was gone.

He’d felt it happen — not like a clean cut, not like a spell cast and done, but like something ripped. Like a wire snapped inside him, recoiled, and left nothing but static.

The bond had always been quiet, subtle. A warmth at the edge of his senses. A tug when she was near. A hum in his chest when she laughed, when she sighed, when she looked at him like he meant something—

It wasn’t there anymore.

And now?

Now his whole body felt wrong.

Like the magic inside him was confused. Searching. Reaching for a connection that no longer existed.

He kissed someone else to break the bond.

He told himself it was the smart move. Logical. Strategic. If he didn’t like her — if it wasn’t real — then proving it should’ve been easy, right?

Only…

Only when he kissed that girl, it felt like lying. Like betrayal. Like someone had shoved an Unforgivable down his throat and dared him to smile.

And Y/N saw. Of course she saw. Of course she did.

Because she was always watching him when it mattered most.

And now she wasn’t.

Now she didn’t even look at him.

He stopped pacing. Pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until stars bloomed. Gritted his teeth.

He thought ending the bond would make the feelings go away. He thought he’d be free.

But all he’d done was reveal the truth.

It wasn’t the bond that made him feel something. It was her.

It had always been her.

And the worst part?

He'd always known that.

“Mate.”

James flinched.

Sirius stood on the edge of the common room, arms crossed, expression unreadable — but his voice wasn’t joking. It wasn’t smug or teasing. It was cautious. Gentle, even.

That made it worse.

“I—” James started, then stopped. Swallowed hard. “I think I fucked it up.”

“You think?” Sirius muttered.

James rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s gone. Not just the bond. Her.”

Sirius exhaled, slow and heavy. Walked over. Sat on the edge of the couch like he was bracing for an explosion.

“She didn’t even come down this morning,” James mumbled. “Didn’t look at me in class. Wouldn’t— She just… walked right past me.”

Sirius tilted his head. “Yeah, mate. You broke her.”

James closed his eyes. The words hit harder than he expected.

“She trusted you,” Sirius said, quieter now. “Even with the bond. Especially because of it. And you used it like it was some cursed excuse. Like the only reason you cared was because you had to.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

Silence.

James sat. Finally. His legs gave out more than anything.

For the first time in his life, he looked scared. Not of danger, not of getting expelled or losing a Quidditch game.

He looked scared of losing her.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me,” he whispered.

Sirius didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Because James knew it was true.

And he knew that this time, magic wouldn’t save him.

James sat forward suddenly, elbows on his knees, hands laced in his hair. His voice was low. Cracked.

“She kissed me. No—I kissed her. In detention. I said it wasn’t the bond. That I wanted to. That I meant it. And then I—Merlin—”

He let out a laugh, hollow and sharp.

“Then I blamed the bloody bond the second it ended. Took it all back like a coward.”

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

James blinked hard, eyes glassy, like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or sob. “And she looked at me like I was—like I was something she wanted to believe in. Like I was worth it.” He swallowed. “And I ruined it.”

“You kissed her,” Sirius said, slow and stunned.

James nodded, once. It looked like it hurt.

Sirius let out a low whistle. “And then you snogged some random girl at the party after that?”

“I thought it would prove something!” James snapped, standing again, pacing faster now. “I thought if I kissed someone else, it’d go away. That if it was all just the bond, it’d disappear once it broke.”

Sirius stared at him. “Did it?”

James turned, haunted. “No. It just made it worse.”

There was a beat of silence. Sirius leaned back, eyes narrowed.

“You realize what that means, right?”

James didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Sirius stood slowly, voice quiet now. Measured. “You liked her before the bond. You were falling before any of that magic ever hit you.”

James didn’t deny it.

Because he couldn’t.

Because even if he’d spent weeks pretending otherwise, even if he’d run from it, kissed someone else, pushed Y/N away so hard the bond snapped—he knew.

He knew it wasn’t the bond that made him feel like this.

It was her.

And he was losing her.

Worse—he already had.

“She’s never going to forgive me,” James said, brokenly. “Not for this.”

Sirius looked at him, really looked. For once, no mischief in his eyes. No teasing.

Just the truth.

“Then I hope you’re ready to fight like hell.”

..

The classroom buzzed with the usual Monday murmurs — parchment rustling, chairs scraping, students sleepily finding seats. But the moment Y/N stepped through the door, a quiet ripple seemed to pass through the room.

She didn’t look for him. Didn’t need to. She felt him — like muscle memory, like a sunburn that hadn’t finished peeling. That phantom ache where the bond used to pull.

But there was no pull now. Just a hollow quiet.

She had reminisced about when it was him that liked her, maybe life would be easier for her if they had never kissed. If the roles weren't reversed.

Her chin lifted, spine straight, expression unreadable. She walked calmly to the desk beside Lily, ignoring the way her friends subtly shifted to shield her — Dorcas sat behind her, Marlene diagonally across. A silent, strategic formation.

James was already seated when she arrived. He straightened visibly when he caught sight of her. His eyes burned into her profile, searching, waiting—pleading.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. Just opened her notebook and started copying the lesson objective written on the board.

Professor McGonagall walked in, followed closely by Professor Flitwick — today was a joint lecture on Animagus Theory. They began the lesson, but Y/N barely processed a word. Every nerve in her body was buzzing with awareness. Not from the bond. Not anymore.

From him.

From the heavy, smothering weight of James Potter watching her like he could will her to turn around.

She didn’t. Not once.

Halfway through class, she felt it — his foot nudging her chair, tentative. She ignored it. Then a whisper:

“Can we talk?”

She tapped her quill against her desk once, sharply, then went on writing. She didn’t even blink.

Across the room, McGonagall’s eyes flicked up from her lecture notes. She exchanged a knowing glance with Flitwick, who raised a bushy brow. Neither said anything.

But they noticed.

The whole class noticed.

James Potter, golden boy of Gryffindor, Quidditch captain, top of the bloody leaderboard, was getting iced out so completely, it made even Sirius stop doodling in the margins of his notes.

When the bell rang, Y/N stood so quickly her chair scraped. She packed her things with mechanical precision. Lily touched her wrist gently — You okay? — and she nodded once.

James reached for her as she passed his desk.

“Y/N—”

She didn’t break stride. Didn’t even hesitate.

“Please—”

But the only sound was the sharp click of her shoes against the stone floor as she walked away, leaving him standing there like an idiot. Like a ghost.

That isn't a healthy way to deal with your emotions, one might say. But with Y/N? It was probably the easiest one.

Because once you got her to open up and then neglected her feelings?

Let's just say rebuilding Hogwarts without magic is easier.

..

He chased after her like a man possessed.

Books forgotten. Bag swinging off one shoulder. She was already halfway down the corridor, walking fast, like she could outrun him, outrun this.

“Y/N—wait. Just—just stop for a second.”

She didn’t. Didn’t even look back.

He caught up eventually, too fast for her to keep pretending she hadn’t heard. He stepped in front of her, heart in his throat.

She paused. Slowly. Like the mere act of stopping for him cost her everything.

Her eyes lifted to meet his. They were unreadable. Not angry. Not broken. Just… empty.

That scared him more than shouting ever could have.

“Please,” he said, voice low. “I need to explain.”

She tilted her head. Blinked once.

“Explain what? That you kissed me like it meant something and then proved it didn’t? Already got that memo, Potter.”

Her voice wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. It was worse. It was done.

James swallowed. “That’s not— That’s not how it happened.”

She gave him a sad sort of smile, like he’d just confirmed everything she already knew. “Isn’t it?”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“And yet,” she said softly, “here we are.”

For a moment, he saw it — the real emotion behind her eyes. The grief she was suffocating. But it passed just as quickly.

He reached for her wrist.

“I miss the bond. I miss you. I don’t know what to do without it.”

Her gaze didn’t falter.

“Funny,” she said, voice quiet, almost kind. “I thought breaking it meant you didn’t need me anymore.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m not angry, James,” she cut in, taking a step back. “I’m just ..tired.”

That broke something.

Not the loud kind of break — not shattering glass or screaming voices. No. It was the quiet kind. The kind that leaves you standing in the middle of a hallway with people brushing past and a ringing in your ears because someone just took all the air with them when they walked away.

She turned. Walked off.

And didn’t look back.

..

Y/N's POV Gryffindor Girls’ Dormitory, late afternoon

The curtains were drawn. The dorm smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment. Y/N sat curled on Lily’s bed, legs tucked under her, a steaming mug of tea in her hands she hadn’t sipped once.

Lily was pacing. Dorcas sat cross-legged on the floor, absently braiding Marlene’s hair. It was quiet — not heavy, not pitiful — just soft. Careful.

No one mentioned James.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lily asked eventually, voice low.

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She stared into the untouched tea, watching the steam curl like ghosts of something she used to feel.

“I thought the bond made it special,” she said finally. “But maybe I was the only one who felt it.”

Dorcas looked up sharply. “That’s not true.”

Y/N shook her head. “He kissed me. And then kissed someone else to prove he didn’t mean it. The bond didn’t break on its own. I broke it.”

“You had every right to,” Marlene said. “That doesn’t mean you were the only one who felt something.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just set the tea down on the nightstand, curled in tighter, and whispered:

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one hurting?”

James POV Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory, same time

James sat on the floor against his bed, head in his hands. His knuckles were raw — he’d punched the stone wall outside the common room after she left.

Sirius leaned against the opposite bedpost, arms crossed, silent for once.

Remus was seated on his own bed, reading a book he hadn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes.

“Say something,” James muttered, voice hoarse.

“You want honesty?” Remus said. “You fucked it, mate.”

Sirius frowned. “He knows that.”

“No,” Remus snapped. “I don’t think he does. Because if he did, he wouldn’t have kissed someone else to test a theory. She’s not a bloody hypothesis.”

“I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking—” James broke off, raking his hands through his hair. “I thought if the bond didn’t matter, then what I felt for her wouldn’t matter either.”

“And now?” Sirius asked.

James looked up. His voice cracked.

“Now I feel nothing. Nothing but her not being there.”

They were quiet a moment.

Then, quietly:

“We kissed. Before the party,” he said. “Properly. I told her it wasn’t the bond, and I meant it. I meant it.”

Remus closed his eyes like it physically pained him.

Peter muttered, “You told her that… and then you went and kissed someone else?”

James nodded once. A slow, gutting movement.

“I thought… if it was real, it’d survive. But she let go. She doesn’t care anymore.”

Sirius looked him dead in the eye.

“No, Prongs. She does. That’s the problem. She cares so much it’s killing her. And you? You’re just bleeding all over everything hoping she’ll come back to bandage it.”

James didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

He just sat there, curled in on himself, trying to breathe around the truth.

..

Y/N POV

She walked in like she hadn’t cried herself to sleep. Head high. Uniform perfect. Mascara intact.

But her friends saw it — the subtle stiffness in her shoulders. The way she blinked a second too long before sitting down.

She didn’t glance toward the end of the table. Didn’t need to.

She felt him looking.

Dorcas muttered, “Brace for impact,” under her breath as they sat.

Across the room, James Potter’s stare burned into the side of her face like a hex. She kept her eyes on her toast. Buttered it slowly. Mechanically.

Do not look at him. Do not look at him. Do not—

Her eyes flickered up.

And there he was.

Messy hair, uniform askew, fists clenched on the table like he’d physically anchor himself to stop from running to her.

She looked away before he could smile. Or speak. Or ruin her again.

James POV

She wasn’t wearing perfume. He could tell. Not that he was looking. (He absolutely was.)

She looked ethereal. Untouchable. Like someone he used to know. Like someone he used to have.

Like someone he could still have if he wasn't a "bloody idiot"--in Peter's words.

He didn’t touch his food. Couldn’t. Not with her sitting twenty feet away like a ghost he hadn’t earned the right to mourn.

“Just talk to her,” Sirius whispered. “Apologize. Grovel. Grope—wait no, don’t grope—”

“She won’t even look at me,” James muttered.

“You broke the magic tether between your souls, Prongs, not her peripheral vision. Try harder.”

But he didn’t get a chance. Because right then—right then—she laughed at something Lily said, and it was the worst sound he’d ever heard. Not because it wasn’t beautiful.

Because it wasn’t for him.

His heart cracked clean down the middle.

And she didn’t even glance his way.

Cut to: Hogwarts Professors’ Staff Room

Setting: Staff room, moments later Mood: Chaos. Academic gossip. Emotional exhaustion.

Professor McGonagall sipped her tea with the intensity of a woman barely restraining herself from slamming it down.

Flitwick was pacing by the fireplace like a nervous pixie.

Slughorn looked like he’d aged ten years.

“I’m sorry,” McGonagall said, deadly calm. “Did we all see what just happened at breakfast?”

“I did,” Flitwick said, flailing. “You could feel the tension from the Hufflepuff table! Pomona’s poor third-years were crying into their pumpkin juice!”

Slughorn wiped his forehead. “We created this mess. We let them bond magically.”

“You created it,” McGonagall snapped. “I told you experimental spells are a bad idea on teenagers with unresolved sexual tension!”

Flitwick squeaked. “It was supposed to be an academic tether!”

McGonagall threw up her hands.

“It was academic until he kissed her, broke her heart, then kissed another girl at a party like an absolute tosser.”

There was a beat.

Then Slughorn groaned. “They’re in love.”

McGonagall muttered under her breath, “Obviously.”

Flitwick collapsed into an armchair. “This is going to end in fire, isn’t it?”

McGonagall didn’t miss a beat.

“If we’re lucky.”

...

Flitwick was lying flat on the chaise lounge like a fainted Victorian lady.

Slughorn had loosened his tie, sipping firewhisky from a teacup.

McGonagall stood by the window with her arms crossed and murder in her eyes, watching James Potter mope across the courtyard below like the world had ended.

“That boy is going to explode,” she muttered. “And take half the castle with him.”

“They’re combusting,” Pomona Sprout added from the doorway, her cheeks flushed pink. “My sixth years had to meditate after sitting near them in Herbology. They said it felt like standing between two volcanoes that used to be in love.”

“They’re still in love,” Flitwick said mournfully, waving a limp hand. “That’s the bloody problem.”

Slughorn cleared his throat. “We need to… intervene.”

“They’re teenagers,” McGonagall snapped. “Intervening will only make it worse.”

“We intervened by magically bonding them,” Flitwick hissed. “We can’t exactly step back now.”

Sprout nodded. “It’s like watching a Hippogriff limp around with a crossbow bolt in its leg while the other Hippogriff pretends it doesn’t care.”

A silence fell.

Then McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled.

“Fine. We do something. But subtle. No meddling. Just… guided meddling.”

Slughorn’s eyes lit up. “We assign them together again. Force proximity.”

“That’s not subtle,” Flitwick whispered. “That’s psychological warfare.”

McGonagall smirked.

“Exactly.”

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