James Potter

James finds out about this by accident.

He's walking down the hallway, disheveled, a broom tucked under his arm—fresh from Quidditch practice. And he hears your laughter. The same laughter that once nearly made him drop the Snitch. He smiles, turns the corner—and freezes.

You're not laughing at his joke. You're laughing at someone else's. Some Ravenclaw boy is holding your hand. Looking at you like he has a right.

Something explodes inside James.

He doesn't come. Not this time. But you notice how abruptly he turns and walks away, clutching the broom so tightly his knuckles turn white.

The performance begins the next day.

James appears everywhere you go. At breakfast, he sits two chairs away from you and starts performing tricks—juggling forks, making a glass of juice float in the air. He jokes louder than usual, and comes up with new nicknames for passing Slytherins.

"Hey, look what I can do!" he shouts across the table.

You smile politely and return to your conversation with the Ravenclaw.

James falls silent for a second. Something dark flashes in his eyes. Resentment. No, not resentment. Anger.

On the third day, your boyfriend trips on the stairs. Right in front of everyone. He flies down, along with the parchments, and someone invisible laughs somewhere near the ceiling.

“Invisibility cloak,” they whisper around.

You look up. James appears at the end of the hallway. He adjusts his glasses and makes a surprised face.

"Oh, what happened?" he asks, too innocently.

“James,” you say quietly, so no one can hear. “Are you jealous?”

He snorts. Too loud. Too artificial.

"Me? Jealous? Of this?" He nods at your boyfriend, who's trying to gather up the scattered sheets of paper. "Are you kidding? Lily Evans is much prettier!"

He's lying. You both know it.

James Potter never looked at Lily Evans the way he looks at you.

You sigh and walk away. But you feel his gaze on your back—hot, obsessive. He watches your every move. The way you fix your hair. The way you smile at someone else.

.