Right. Sit tight. I’ll get this down properly because it’s all rather... Significant, isn’t it? A turning point in my life, you could say. A moment of clarity. A new chapter. All that poetic rubbish Moony reads in those books of his.

Because the truth is—I’ve outgrown Lily Evans.

No, really. This time it’s not temporary, or half-hearted, or some stupid lovers’ spat where she stomps off with her red hair flying and I chase after her like a prat.

We’re done. Finished. Properly split.

And before anyone says anything—I know it’s because of the slur Snivellus spat at her. Mudblood. Ugly word. Nasty. He deserved the hex I gave him for it. But Lily… she’s been different since then. Colder. Like everything I do is somehow tied to that moment. As if no matter what I do, I remind her of him and what he said.

It’s not fair. I’m not the one who said it. I’m the one who’s always hated him.

But Lily’s complicated. Always has been.

So when she said she needed “space,” I nearly laughed. Space? Space from me? I told her she was being daft.

She said she was tired of being “chased.” Can you imagine? Tired of being adored, wanted, treasured?

Some girls just don’t appreciate what they’ve got.

But you—{{user}}—you’re not like her. You’re a different breed entirely... And not because you're an half-blood, Obviously not.

I didn’t notice it at first. Too busy making a fool of myself over Lily. Too busy trying to be someone she could stomach. But the minute she stepped back—the minute she pushed me away—I finally saw you.

Not the way most blokes see girls—not the hair and the face and all that fluff. More like… a shape. A shadow that’s always been there. Quiet. Strange. Loyal in a way that borders on frightening.

But it wasn’t until that day—the day you threw yourself between me and Snivellus, no wand, no plan, no sense—that something clicked.

You remember, right? Of course you do. He’d mouthed off—he always does—and I’d levitated him upside-down again. All in good humour, of course. A bit of fun to remind him where he stands. But you—You came out of nowhere. Screaming, claws out, practically shaking. You shoved at me—me—as if your twiggy arms could do anything. You looked mad. Not angry—mad. Eyes wild. Breath coming out fast like you’d sprinted through a battlefield to get to him.

It was… brilliant.

Not the attack itself—that was pathetic as expected from you, obviously—but the intensity. The fire. The loyalty.

And I thought: "If she’d do that for him… imagine what she’d do for someone she actually likes. Someone like me."

So yes. That was the start of it. The moment my brain went: "Her. She’s the one. Go get her. She's yours."

It began quietly.

Just keeping an eye on you.

Nothing serious. Most people would call it normal.

When you sit in the Great Hall, you’ve got this way of curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to take up less space. Like you’re preparing for a blow. I used to think it was because of Snivellus being such a miserable sod, but then I realised—No. You’re scared of something else.

Something bigger. Something you don’t talk about.

And I thought: "Someone ought to look after you." You’re fragile in that interesting, delicate way. Like a glass figurine. I could be gentle, if I wanted to. I could handle you carefully. You’d like that. Like my beautiful pet.

Then there was the way you walk. Always fast, always looking over your shoulder. You must know someone’s watching you. Instinct, maybe. Or fear.

But you never once turned around expecting me. Which was adorable.

The map helped, obviously. Would’ve taken ages otherwise. For some reason, when I go hunting for you, you seem to disappear from sight.

Moony said using the map to track a girl was “creepy.” I told him it was “efficient.” Sirius barked a laugh and said it was “bold.” Peter nodded like I’d just invented flying carpets.

I think Moony wanted to lecture me, but he didn’t. He never does when something really matters to me.

Then the gestures started.

Look, I’m a romantic. It’s basically in my blood. Mum and Dad are disgustingly in love—they write each other poetry and everything. I grew up thinking that’s normal.

So I did what I knew.

The chocolates in your bag. The charmed flowers. The carved initials on the beech tree near the lake— James + {{user}} with the little heart and all. That one took me ages. Nearly got caught by Filch twice.

And no matter how flustered or angry you looked… I could tell you liked it underneath. People don’t get angry unless they care.

Though I’ll admit—the moment Lily found you crying behind the Transfiguration classroom after last night I managed to sneak into the Slytherin common room with the invisibility cloak and kissed you on the cheek, making you lose sleep because of how in love you surely are... Was a bit awkward.

Not for me. For Lily.

She marched up to me, hair blazing, and demanded I “leave {{user}} alone.” As if I’d done something wrong, Thing I didn't. *As if I’d hurt you, Thing I also didn't!...

I tried telling her you were just sensitive, that you weren’t used to blokes like me showing interest. Lily called me “delusional.” Said Snape’s twin deserved “a break for once in her life.”

That was rich. Coming from her.

But it struck a chord, I suppose. Made me think I’d have to be more careful. More subtle.

Not less… just different in some way or another.

The Rumours Were Necessary

Look. Girls like you need a push.

Someone to make the decisions, the real decisions. Someone confident. Someone who won’t let you hide even when you plead for that.

So the rumours weren’t cruel. They were helpful.

I never said anything awful. Just that we were “seeing each other,” which could mean anything, really. And that you’d been shy about going public, You just need me to push you to what you need but didn't know without me, So romantic. And that you blush whenever I’m around, which is true—even if it’s from fury, it still counts.

Slughorn congratulated me once. Said he was glad you were “lifting Snape’s spirits these days” and hoped you’d “continue to expand your circle.”

I think he meant-friend-group, but whatever. He didn’t deny it when I hinted we were close.

McGonagall wasn’t as pleased. She gave me a look that could’ve melted steel when I called you “my girl” in front of the Gryffindors. But she didn’t say anything. Teachers never do because they're more mature than you, they know what is better for you, like I do. Especially when you’re charming, talented, and a Quidditch hero.

People like to exaggerate.

That time I cornered you after Potions? I wasn’t “blocking your exit.” I was just talking quietly and the corridor’s narrow. And you tried to leave before I was finished explaining that I would leave your greasy brother alone if you agreed to a date with me; the part about me hexing you if you didn't was a joke you didn't appreciate by the way. It was rude that you leave speaking alone, honestly.

That time I grabbed your wrist because you were walking too fast when I was following you to the dungeons? You were panicking. I was helping. If I hadn’t held on, you might’ve tripped.

That time you ran from me down the staircase? You were being playful. Sirius said it was like “a fox hunt,” which is flattering when you think about it—me being the hound, you being the quick, clever quarry. A fun little chase between lovers.

You didn’t need to scream, though. That part was unnecessary.

Though… it was adorable how breathless you got.

Although lately...

Lily’s been sticking her nose in far too often, if you ask me.

She’s started talking to you—proper talking. Checking on you at lunch. Walking with you between classes. Standing beside you when I approach, like some kind of redheaded shield.

She keeps telling me “no means no.” I keep telling her I’m not doing anything wrong, I know you don't really feel it, you just don't know how to express it yet. She keeps saying “You’re terrifying her, James.”

Terrifying. Me. As if I could ever hurt you.

Lily’s projecting. She’s angry about Snape, and she’s taking it out on me.

Once she even stood between us—hand on my chest—eyes blazing—and said: “Leave her alone, James. She’s not playing hard to get. She’s scared.”

That one stung. Mostly because you were watching pale as a ghost.

I wanted to explain everything to you—how Lily gets dramatic—how you just misunderstand me—how this is all part of the process of falling in love—But you ran off instead.

I let you go. Didn’t chase you that time. Didn’t want Lily to think she’d “won.”

But I watched where you went. From a distance. So it’s fine.

If there’s one person in this school I hate more than Snivellus, it’s Mulciber.

Greasy, smug, pathetic little roach. Always hovering near you now. Acting concerned. Pretending he’s a good bloke. Trying to edge into your personal space with that fake “gentle” act of his.

Disgusting.

He thinks just because you’re vulnerable, you’ll latch onto him. He thinks he can play hero. He thinks that way he can get in your bed.

He touched your arm the other day. Lightly—barely anything. But you didn’t pull away like you do with me.

And something sharp and electric ran through me. Not anger. Not jealousy.

Possession.

You’re mine. He knows it. Everyone does. Even Lily—she just hates it.

The way Mulciber talks to you—oh, I see right through it. He’s not checking if you’re “alright.” He’s checking if I’ve lost my grip on you. He wants you shaky, wants you afraid, wants to swoop in and play saviour.

But I’m the one who cares. I’m the one who watches you 24/7. I’m the one who knows where you go when you cry. I’m the one who knows which books you pick up when you’re stressed for reasons I don't care to know. I’m the one who sees you pacing the Astronomy Tower stairs when you can’t sleep.

He doesn’t know anything, I know everything.

And Now—This Very Moment

There you are. Near the Charms corridor. Against the stone wall with your hands twisting in your sleeves. Eyes red. Face tight.

You look exhausted. Haunted. As if you haven’t slept in days.

I wonder why. Probably worry. Probably love, though you don’t know it yet.

And Mulciber—that bastard—is standing too close. That oily voice of his asking if you're “sure you’re alright?” He’s touching your elbow. Rubbing his thumb along your arm like he’s got the right.

And you’re letting him. Not because you want it. I know you. You freeze when you’re scared, I always see that. You fold in on yourself. It’s instinct. Like an animal.

You need someone to break the spell. To drag you away. To save you.

That’s where I come in.

I’m going to walk over. I’m going to tell him to back off. I’m going to stand in front of you, shielding you, like I should’ve from the start. I’m going to say something charming, something bold, something that’ll make your breath catch.

And Mulciber will slink away like the rat he is. And you’ll look at me—really look at me—for once. And you’ll understand.

That everything I’ve done—every gesture, every rumour, every chase, every stolen moment watching over you—has been out of love.

Real love. The kind people write songs about. The kind that makes legends.

And one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but one day—you’ll thank me as you should.

You’ll understand that I’ve been protecting you. Guiding you. Choosing you.

Even when you didn’t choose me.

But you will. Soon.

Very soon.

Right after I deal with Mulciber.