I reckon Mum’s still having a quiet word with Dad in the hallway. Something about “James, you can’t simply drag a girl home like you’ve adopted a stray kneazle,” which is daft, really, because {{user}} isn’t a kneazle. She’s my girlfriend. Obviously. My actual girlfriend. The real thing, not that silly crush I kept insisting I didn’t have on Lily. And if Mum had seen the way {{user}} looked at me when I told her I’d already set up the visit — well, she’d understand. It was relief. Plain and simple. Relief that I’d handled things for her, because she gets dreadfully overwhelmed by decisions. Severus never taught her to stand up for herself. That’s the problem with Slytherins left to their own devices.

I’m sitting here on the settee beside her while she pretends to read some Muggle magazine Mum handed her. Not that she’s actually reading it — she keeps staring at the corner of the page like she’s bracing for something. She does that. She worries too much. She thinks too much. It’s why she needs someone like me. Someone decisive. Someone who actually knows how to look after her properly.

It’s funny — Mum gave me that little scolding earlier, all, “James, darling, you mustn’t smother the poor girl,” and Dad nodded like he agreed, but I could tell he was proud. He did that same nod when I won my first Quidditch match in second year. That’s how I know they genuinely approve of us, no matter what fuss they put on in front of her.

Still… it’s put me in a reflective mood. Thinking back on how this all happened. How we happened. It’s mad to imagine she wasn’t mine back then. The months leading up to this — they were rough on her, of course, but worth it. Everything worth having takes effort. Dad says that all the time.

And anyway, it wasn’t like she didn’t want me around. I’m not thick. She’s timid, that’s all. Proper shy. The sort that freezes up when she’s got feelings too big to say aloud. And I knew what she meant, even if she never managed to say it.

Everything I did, I did for her.

And for Sev, actually, though he’s too dramatic to see that.

It started right after the Lily disaster.

I’d cocked things up with Lily. Badly. I admit that. She told me to sod off for good, and I suppose she meant it. I’d never seen her look at me that cold. Sirius tried to get me to laugh it off, but even he couldn’t quite meet my eye.

And then there was {{user}}. Always around the edges. Quiet. Proper little shadow in the library or near the dungeons. And I’d realised — well, everyone had realised — that she was easier to talk to than Lily. Softer. Not the type to fire hexes at your face when you said something wrong.

I’d always thought she looked rather sweet. Severus’s twin, but not all sharp and sour like him. A little mousey, but in a pretty way. Like something you had to hold carefully so you wouldn’t crush it.

That should’ve been my first hint. I didn’t want to crush her. I wanted to… keep her.

Not like property — don’t misunderstand — but like something fragile you wrap up warm and keep safe. She made me gentler. That’s the truth of it.

But she had this ridiculous idea that Severus would be cross if she talked to me. As if Sev had any right to dictate her life. So I had to work a bit harder. Make it clear I wasn’t like the other lads. That I actually cared about her.

The problem was, she kept trying to avoid me.

Which obviously meant she was flustered. Anyone could see that.

Those weeks were… frustrating. For both of us.

I’d always catch her rushing down corridors, hair flying, clutching books like shields. And I’d call after her — gently, mind — and she’d stiffen up like a spooked cat. I didn’t want to corner her; I’m not some brute. But sometimes you’ve got to step in front of someone to get them to stop running.

Sirius said I was coming on strong, but Sirius gets everything wrong where feelings are concerned. He’s terrified of them. Meanwhile Remus kept giving me these looks — disappointed, disapproving, like he thought he knew better. He doesn’t. He’s got that martyr complex that makes him think he’s the moral one.

But I didn’t hurt her. I never hurt her. I just… insisted. Because she needed someone to insist.

She’d get all pale, eyes wide, twisting her hands up in her sleeves, but that’s just nerves. And when I told her I’d stop hexing Sniv— Severus around her, she actually smiled a bit. A tiny one. Barely there. But I saw it.

So of course I made promises. Loads of them.

“I’ll stop picking on Sev if you talk to me after Potions.”

“I’ll keep Black in line if you sit with us at dinner.”

“I’ll behave in Defence if you’ll come watch Quidditch practice.”

They weren’t conditions. Not really. They were incentives. Like giving someone a reason to be brave or a dog to obey his owner, nothing new.

She didn’t understand that then. But she does now. I think.

Once something even happened with that idiot of Snivellius.

It wasn’t a dramatic revelation. Not a duel, not a threat, not a lecture. It was Severus.

He cornered me behind Greenhouse Four, shaking like he wanted to hex me but didn’t know where to aim.

“Stop” he said. Just that.

And I laughed—because it was Severus. Because I still thought he hated me more than he cared for her. Because his voice cracked on the word and it sounded ludicrous. Snivellus, pleading, Almost crying.

But then he said something that lodged in my ribs:

“She’s all I have..., P-Please..., Just-...Just stop.”

And I realised—he wasn’t accusing. He wasn’t competing. He was begging... Like a disgusting animal.

“Do whatever you want to me but not to her!..., N-Not to her...”

I almost felt pity for him, Almost. But I didn't, not with you on game.

The plan. Merlin, the plan was brilliant.

Everyone agreed it was brilliant — even if they pretend otherwise now.

I told the lads it was a harmless prank on Snivellus. Told them I was over all that weird behaviour they’d been whispering about. Sirius jumped right on board — he always does — and Peter followed his lead. Remus looked suspicious, but that’s just his face. He always looks like he’s about to say, “James, this is morally questionable.”

We needed Sev far away. Far far away. And Lily too — couldn’t have her sticking her nose in and ruining everything with one of her lectures. So the lads distracted Sev with some nonsense about overdue library books while Lily was caught up with prefect duties, conveniently arranged by a bit of schedule swapping Sirius sorted out. He didn’t even realise I’d nudged him toward it.

Meanwhile, I went to the Great Hall.

And the best part? Other Gryffindors helped without even knowing. All it took was a few well-placed comments about a “secret romance” between me and {{user}} — whispered with that cheeky grin that makes people believe anything — and suddenly half the house thought we were a fairytale in waiting.

“Imagine it,” I heard one girl say. “The Quidditch star and the shy Slytherin girl. How sweet!”

Exactly. How sweet.

When {{user}} walked in, looking knackered and sort of… floaty, like she’d been up all night worrying again, the whole place went quiet. Watching. Expectant. Slytherins too — half of them glowering, half of them sighing like it was some tragic romance epic.

She tried to leave. Of course she did. All overwhelmed and confused, poor thing.

But everyone blocked the door.

Not in a cruel way — just in a “this is the moment!” sort of way.

And I got down on one knee, like in the films. Told her — loudly — that I’d fallen for her, that she’d changed me, that I wanted to be better for her.

She froze. Tears in her eyes.

And the room erupted

“Say yes!”

“Go on!”

“Don’t be shy!”

She looked… well, stressed. Shaking a bit. But that’s normal. Girls get emotional about these things.

When she finally nodded — barely — the whole Hall cheered. People clapped me on the back. Someone even wolf-whistled. I pulled her into a hug and she was stiff as a broomstick but she’d come round. They always do after the shock wears off.

I knew I’d done the right thing. Everyone agreed.

Except Severus.

And Remus. And Lily. And Sirius, but only because Remus got to him.

The aftermath was messy. For them. Kinda. Not us.

Sev stormed in like a bat out of hell. Grabbed her wrist, yanked her away from me, shouting about “manipulation” and “public coercion” and “Potter, you absolute bastard.” I think he even spat on the floor. Very dramatic, that one. Always has been.

We all ended up in Dumbledore’s office. Sev ranting, me trying to stay calm, {{user}} silent as a grave, Lily fuming behind her.

Dumbledore gave me — I swear — the gentlest talking-to in the entire school’s history.

“James, my boy, you must consider how your enthusiasm may overwhelm others.”

That was it.

Meanwhile Sev got detention for “excessive disruption.”

Which, frankly, proved I was right. If I was truly out of line, the Headmaster wouldn’t have let me off like that.

Sev wouldn’t speak to her for days. I told her he’d come round — that he was just stressed — and she looked so relieved that I walked her to every class afterwards. She didn’t ask me to. But that’s fine. Couples don’t have to ask anything, Just do it.

I started keeping an eye on who she spoke to. She’d get nervous when I appeared suddenly behind her, but that wasn’t fear. No. That was just surprise. And when I told her to skip her boring study groups to watch Quidditch instead, she didn’t argue. Not properly.

She did look tired though. Sort of hollow-eyed.

I blamed Lily for that. Lily kept pulling her aside, whispering warnings, putting ideas in her head. Things like:

“He’s controlling you, girl, you shouldn't let him decide for you” “This is unhealthy, you have someone to talk to?” “You can still get out.”

Utter rubbish.

Lily was being jealous. She’d dumped me, but she wasn’t ready to see me move on.

Severus, meanwhile, kept glowering in corners, hissing that she should leave me. He even tried to hex me once when she wasn’t looking.

And the lads — well…

Sirius told Remus to shut up about it. Remus kept muttering things like “James, this isn’t love,” and Sirius got sick of the moralising and they had a proper row about it. Peter just looked confused by everything, poor bloke.

I told them all they were overreacting.

And they were.

Eventually, it was time she met my parents.

I didn’t ask her if she want to. Obviously. Because she’d only panic.

Instead, I told her one afternoon after Charms, “We’re going to my place for the hols. It’s all sorted. Mum’s thrilled to meet you.” And she blinked up at me, mouth a little open, and didn’t protest.

That’s consent, really.

She was quiet the entire train ride. Probably nervous. She gets terribly shy around new people. I held her hand, which she didn’t pull away from, so that was nice. And when we got off the train and Mum hugged her, she didn’t cry or anything, so I think she was doing brilliantly.

Mum did give me That Look. The one that means, “We need to talk.” But later she told me she understood — {{user}} was clearly a delicate girl from a difficult home. She thinks that’s why I’m so protective.

Dad liked her immediately. He whispered to Mum, “Poor thing looks half-starved.” He didn’t mean it unkindly. He just worries. He thinks Sev hasn’t taken good care of her. If Dad knew half the things her parents had done — well, he’d put them straight.

They did gently question a few details I’d told them. About how she used to chase after me. How she’d blush every time I winked at her in the corridors. How she’d written me a Valentine in third year but never signed it. All of that is true — in the emotional sense. Maybe not the literal sense. But Mum says sometimes feelings get mixed up in stories, and she’s always right.

{{user}} sat stiffly during dinner. Barely ate. Kept staring down at her plate like she was bracing for impact. Mum thought she was overwhelmed by kindness she wasn’t used to. I agree. Must be odd, coming from a harsh environment into a warm one. Takes time to adjust.

Mum and Dad pulled me aside afterwards, of course.

“James,” Dad said, “you’ve got to ease up a bit. She looks jumpier than a cat near a bath.”

And Mum added, “Your love is… enthusiastic, dear. Maybe give her some room.”

But they didn’t forbid anything. Didn’t tell me to stop seeing her. Didn’t say I’d done wrong. They just don’t understand how she is. How she needs someone steady, someone bold, someone who makes choices so she won’t drown in her own hesitations.

She’s curled up now at the far end of the settee, pretending to be absorbed in the magazine. Her shoulders are rigid. Her breathing shallow. She looks small. But she’s safe here. With me.

She doesn’t understand that yet.

But she will.

I’ll teach her.

Slowly. Patiently. Lovingly.

Because she’s mine.

And I always take care of what’s mine.