Wow, this is late. My hiatus ended up lasting longer than I originally anticipated it would ...

Anyway, how is everyone? Happy? Healthy? Thriving? 

This one shot was requested by _hypnotized_ what feels like a decade ago.

Please overlook any mistakes. I hope it was worth the wait!

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Sometimes, there were those days when you realised just how much work you had put in to reach where you stood, right now. Sometimes, it was just looking at the front door of a family home that reminded you how close you were to achieving your goal and yet, simultaneously how far you had left to go. It had taken countless letters back and forth, exploring various avenues of contact until I reached my current destination; the Potter family home.

They were just a few of the people that I needed to interview for my newspaper article but somehow it felt especially poignant that the man who was once known as the 'Boy-Who-Lived' was willing to give an interview for an article commemorating the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course, I understood the significance of the man who was so tightlipped about his experiences being willing to share them with me, and I felt honoured to be entrusted with it. There was no doubt that our thoughts aligned on this; Mr Potter too wanted the wizarding world to know the lingering effects and the trauma that school children had suffered through to protect wizarding Britain. How could they go through that, how could children take up arms to fight a war, without coming out as different people? But that wizarding world wasn't ready to address that yet.

Before I could lose myself in my thoughts, as I was prone to do whenever I thought about the sheer lack of knowledge about mental health in the wizarding world, I knocked on the door. Waiting patiently, I checked my watch to make sure that I hadn't arrived late; the last thing I needed was to make a bad first impression. Thank Godric I had somehow managed to make it with five minutes to spare.

I didn't wait long. Mr Potter opened the door, greeting me with a smile. "Come in."

"Thank you," I said, watching the older wizard step aside so I could enter his family home. As I passed him, I made sure to say, "and thank you for taking the time to see me today."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to give you the most eloquent answers," Mr Potter confessed, shutting the front door behind us. He offered me a self-deprecating smile that was so out of place in the few public images there were of him in his adulthood. But I understood it all the same; this was difficult. Understandably so.

"Even still, I understand that it's a difficult thing to talk about." I offered him what I hoped was my most reassuring smile.

Leading me through his home, Mr Potter considered my words for a moment before relenting. "Yes, I suppose, but it's important that people know what happens to children that are made to fight in a war."

We settled in the front room with Mr Potter taking a seat across from me. Putting my bag down beside me, I sorted through it to retrieve my Quick-Quotes Quill and notepad, ready to begin the interview. Flicking to a blank page, I did Mr Potter the courtesy of making no comment on the way he shifted in his chair, a physical representation of his discomfort. He settled for clasping his hands on his lap.

"If there's anything we discuss today that you don't want in the article, please just let me know," I assured him softly.

"Thank you." Mr Potter nodded shortly. The warmth of the smile that had greeted me at the door had faded and before me sat the Head Auror baring all a small fraction of his difficulties. It had to be a discomfortingly vulnerable feeling. "Should we begin, Miss Perez?"

"Of course." Crossing my legs at the knee, I eased into the interview. "Once again, thank you for taking the time to speak to me. You're free to end this at any point."

Without further preamble, we settled into the interview. Mr Potter was frank in his honesty, holding nothing back as he opened the tortured, tormented parts of himself to me. He was so earnest in his answers that I was immensely grateful for his willingness to answer every question I had, even when his responses were, even to an observer, extraordinarily difficult for him to say. Still, he persevered and we reached the end.

"Thank you," I said once more. It felt like it was something I was saying countless times and yet, there were no other words for it. How else was I supposed to respond to the saviour of Wizarding Britain who was exposing the parts of himself he'd sheltered for over two decades?

Mr Potter just nodded, and I got the vaguest inkling that he hadn't actually heard my words. I watched, wordlessly, as Mr Potter rubbed a hand over his face and let out a sigh. Once that hand dropped back to his lap, his mask was once more in place and he offered me a little smile.

"I hope that wasn't too heavy for you," he said as if I was the one that was carrying his burdens on a daily basis.

"Not at all," I assured him.

I averted my eyes from Mr Potter, allowing him the grace to gather himself without feeling like he was being observed. Instead, I focused on the parchment and looked over the notes from our interview. Satisfied that it was all there, I started to put my belongings away.

The quiet of the room was shattered instantly by the sound of the floo activating, followed shortly by hurried footsteps and a deep call of "Mum! Dad!"

The eldest Potter boy clambered out of the fireplace, searching the room only to fall silent at the sight of his father. He went to approach his father, only for his eyes to settle on my seated form. James stopped still. My eyes, despite my rationalisations, were sticking to the up-and-coming quidditch player who I hadn't set eyes on in the year since we had left school. Unbidden, my eyes catalogued the changes in him, taking in the broader width of his shoulders and the lithe muscle that he'd gained from his strict training regime. And yet, he still seemed the same; there was the same messy dark hair that bordered on the side of too long and those gloriously mischievous eyes.

Stopping myself short, I forced my attention back onto my task. I didn't even let myself acknowledge that James had been busy with his not-so-secret appraisal.

"Perez," James greeted at last.

"Potter," I returned the greeting, making him smile with blatant amusement. Godric knew I was fighting my own smile.

"I didn't realise I was interrupting."

"You're not," I assured him, taking the chance to rise to my feet. "I was just heading out. Thank you again, Mr Potter."

"Anytime," Mr Potter said as if he actually meant it. I highly doubted he did. It couldn't be easy to share what he had shared and yet, now that his son was in the room he looked the portrait of peace. Gesturing towards his son, Mr Potter said, "Maybe see Miss Perez out James, so she doesn't get lost? I'll see if I can find your mum."

"Yeah, of course, Dad."

"Oh there's no need," I tried to protest, but the Auror was already walking out of the room and leaving me with his son. The same son who was watching me with knowing eyes, head tilted as he studied me.

Before James could say anything, I turned on my heels and started to walk out of the room. James was quick to join me, matching his paces to mine. As I walked, I couldn't help but study him from the corner of my eyes; had he gotten taller?

Eventually, when he realised I had no intention of speaking first - or at all - James spoke up, "Sorry again. I completely forgot that Dad was interviewing for the article today."

"It's fine," I assured him, "we were done before you arrived."

"I didn't realise you were the one that would be interviewing him." When I glanced curiously at James, I found his eyes already on me. Coming to a still in front of the front door, James made no move to reach for it. Instead, he continued to watch me steadily, as if I had all of his attention. That had always been one of the most dangerous things about James; his ability to make you feel like you were the centre of his everything. "Then again, you always spoke about wanting to be a journalist and look at you now."

Smiling faintly at the realisation that he'd remembered, I pointed out, "You always spoke about wanting to be a quidditch player and look at you now. Forget looking at me."

"I don't think I want to forget looking at you," he said so easily that it took me back. "I think I want to keep looking at you, Perez."

"James," I said with a sigh, and before I could say anything else, he opened the front door. I took the silent prompt, unable to bring myself to finish the sentence, especially when I knew James wouldn't have wanted to hear it either.

**********

My article had grown legs. At some point, word about my work, about what I was trying to achieve had spread and more and more doors were being opened. It seemed that once people knew that Mr Potter had spoken to me, others soon followed. I'd had an inkling that would be the case and yet I'd never quite expected this, to receive an invitation from the Minister for Magic and her husband to their family home for an interview.

It was daunting, absolutely intimidating in a way I hadn't anticipated to find myself standing across from the pair of them. Minister Granger's eyes, warm as they were, still had me struggling to meet them. Good Godric, the last thing I wanted was to come across like an idiot to a woman who had at one point been known as the brightest witch of her age. Although I silently hoped her husband would be an easier man to address. Still, the pair allowed me into their home.

Minister Granger was the first to speak, "It's a phenomenal idea, simply inspired if you don't mind my saying, Miss Perez."

"Of course not, Minister," I assured her, matching my paces and trying to keep my eyes fixed solely on the older woman; I didn't want to be caught studying her home. It wouldn't do for them to think I was being nosey.

"The lack of understanding regarding mental health is extremely worrying," she continued, "and I'm all for increasing the awareness."

"Thank you, your support is greatly appreciated."

She acknowledged my words with a small smile but said nothing further as we approached the living room which, from the sounds echoing into the corridor, was occupied. It hardly seemed like an ideal place for this interview, and it wouldn't allow for any privacy to discuss anything that needed a great deal of sensitivity or tact. Minister Granger didn't appear to share my concerns, ushering me into the room where I found the Granger-Weasley children - although they were now far from children - sitting. Rose was curled up on the sofa, her eyes fixated on the tome open before her and Hugo - my eyes settled all too steadily on Hugo who sat at the table playing a game of chess with James. The same James who had never, and I was certain still didn't, have any patience for chess.

The truth of it was glaringly obvious and yet I would refuse to address it; James had to have known I would be visiting his uncle and aunt today. I wasn't sure how he knew it, but I was confident that it was the explanation. I was all too familiar with James's behaviour when he was on his so-called chase.

Minister Granger chose that moment to speak, forcing me to draw my attention back from her nephew who certainly did no such thing. James's eyes continued to linger on me as his aunt spoke, "Why don't you wait here, Miss Perez? Let me go and find Ron."

She left the room before I could speak, leaving me with her children and their tagalong cousin who, no doubt realising his opportunity, tipped over his king piece and resigned from the game. Hugo gave an irritated sigh but said nothing when James crossed the space between us. I clutched my bag, contemplating turning around and leaving standing like a fool. It would certainly cut things short. Except, when had I ever been the sort of person who fled? It wouldn't be very Gryffindor of me.

"You're really not as subtle as you think," I chastised as James came to a stop in front of me.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he denied with an innocent shrug, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Oh please, you're only here because you knew I was interviewing your aunt and uncle," I accused, lowering my voice so his cousins didn't hear my words.

"I did," he agreed with the same straightforward honesty that had always, without fail, effortlessly put me on the back foot. James gave me a teasing smile, one that was so reminiscent of the very smile that had started our very first interaction.

Shaking my head and struggling to fight my smile, I asked, "What are you doing, James?"

"Nothing."

Fighting back an incredulous laugh, I settled for narrowing my eyes on him. He should have known better.

"James."

"I saw how you were looking at me," he said firmly, refusing to allow me to bat away the words. As if knowing that I was going to protest, he stepped even closer to me, closing the space between us and forcing me to tilt my head so I could look up at him. His voice was soft as he continued, "And I know you saw the way that I was looking at you. If you tell me to walk away right now, then I will."

The arrogant bastard was looking at me as if he hadn't said something that left me speechless, as if I should've been able to respond all too easily to what he said, what he had implied. It had always been his most horrendous habit, his ability to rid me of my words and well, for someone of my profession, my words were all too important.

He had the grace to dim his smile, no doubt remembering how frustrating I found it when he managed to rob me of my words. Still, he didn't relent as he continued, "I don't think you want me to walk away either."

"James." How frustrating that the only thing I managed to say was his name.

"We're not in school anymore," he pointed out as if it was a simple statement. And perhaps it was, but not to us, not with our history. But he had a point.

We weren't in school anymore. We weren't parting ways, facing opposite directions as we strived to make names for ourselves in our respective professions. To varying degrees we had started our career journeys and the reminder had me smiling with pride. Only, the pride wasn't necessarily for myself. Instead, it was for James who had made it off of the reserve bench and onto the first team for the previous two games he'd played in, the same James who had dedicated himself to Quidditch with a drive so wholehearted that everything else had paled in comparison.

He returned my smile all too easily, peering gently straight into my soul with those eyes of his. I swore that I felt his fingers brush against the back of my hand, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from his eyes to check. Only I was forced to look away at the sound of someone harshly clearing their throat. Mortified beyond measure, I turned to find Mr Weasley standing a short distance from us, with an amused smile on his face.

How unprofessional, to have been caught -

Clearing my throat as I tried and failed to hide my flush, I hurried away from James and approached the older couple. Not that it mattered, I could feel his eyes on me the entire way.

**********

Sometimes I surprised myself and today was no exception. My impulsivity had driven me into making more than my fair share of rash and often bad decisions, but of course, there were times when my rash decisions had paid off. I wasn't sure whether today would be one of those times. How could I be sure when, against all reason, I had agreed to meet with James? I certainly had no reason to be meeting him. But when James had asked to meet my impulsive brain had kicked in and decided for me before my rational mind could even hope to interject.

Now here I stood, standing in front of my bedroom mirror and feeling very much like a seventh year again as I tried to think of what to do with my hair. Godric's ghost it made absolutely no sense for me to be agonising over this, it was hardly a life or death decision. And yet I was agonising over it, turning the decision over and over in my head. Did I leave it out, like I wanted to, or did I tie it up in the way James had always liked? And even if I did tie it up because I wanted to, would he remember that he'd even told me he liked my hair when it was a certain way? Of course, he would.

"This should not be this difficult," I grumbled to myself, running a brush through my hair yet again. It did nothing to change the fact that this was an annoyingly difficult decision. And of course, even if I didn't want to admit it, I knew why.

It didn't matter how often I did this, how often I found myself in the same position, standing in front of the mirror that my dormmates and I had decided was joint property, it was always the same debate. Hair up or hair down? Not that I was able to continue my debate for too long.

My dormmates, completely over being a spectator to my same struggle before every Hogsmeade weekend, took me by the arms and frogmarched me down into the common room and settled down on the sofa. Not that I blamed them; we all knew that if the decision wasn't made for me, I would've been stuck there for ages. I remained standing, eyes trained on the staircase for any sign of James.

Distantly listening to the conversation my dormmates were having - setting out a detailed plan of their day from the sounds of it - I brushed my hands through my hair as a makeshift comb. Maybe it was better to tie it up, just to keep it out of the way? I didn't dare peek at my dormmates, already knowing that they were probably rolling their eyes at my usual indecision when it came to this one part of my appearance.

Gathering my hair at the base of my neck, I reached for the hair tie that I was certain I had on my wrist, only to find it empty. Before I could ask to borrow one, I let out a startled sound at the feeling of arms wrapping themselves securely around my waist. James's arms held me so securely that I couldn't turn to face him, to stop what I knew was coming next. Not that I was sure I wanted to. Still, James leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on my exposed neck. Satisfied that he'd achieved his goal, James released me.

Turning to face James, I reached out instantly and swatted his arm. "There are kids in the common room!"

"Oh please," he said, straightening to his full height and grinning handsomely down at me. "No one saw a thing."

"Somehow I doubt that," I muttered dryly, returning my attention to my now abandoned task. Smoothing my hair into a low ponytail, I gathered the hair in one hand and went to ask for a hair band.

James held out his right hand, showing me the tie on his wrist, "Here."

"How did you know?" Removing the hair tie from his hand, I made quick work of securing my hair. When he didn't answer me straight away, I met his eyes and arched an eyebrow. I pretended not to notice the way his own had softened as they watched me. "Well?"

"You always forget," was his soft response. Reaching out a hand, James made quick work of pulling out the shorter strands at the front of my face and letting them frame my cheeks. "Are you ready now?"

"Ready?" I repeated, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the heat that filled my face at his actions. "For an afternoon of putting up with you? To be honest, I'm not so sure about that."

"I don't know why I expected anything else," James said, shaking his head with an incredulous smile. Taking my hand in his, James interlinked our fingers and led me towards the entrance of the common room. "Come on, let's get you your hot chocolate."

Dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, I cast a glance at the clock; I was running late. Grabbing a hair tie from my bedside table, I gathered my hair in a loose ponytail at the base of my head. Reaching for my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and hurried down the stairs, taking just enough time to make sure I didn't miss a step to end up tumbling down them. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I fidgeted with the hair at the hairline, releasing the shorter bits from their confines.

My parents startled at seeing me rush around, looked questioningly at me. I offered them a partial explanation, "I'm meeting up with a friend."

"Have fun," Dad said before returning his attention to the newspaper open in front of him.

My mum's attention lingered for longer as she asked, "Do you know when you'll be back?"

I hesitated to answer, to give her the uncertainty of not knowing when I would return. But the last thing I wanted was for Mum's own lived experience of the war to flare up, to keep her awake all night with her worries. Dad, having lived in blissful ignorance in the muggle world, had no such memories that kept him awake.

"I'm not sure," I said truthfully, "but I'll be with friends the entire night."

"Okay." Mum nodded slowly, forcing herself to accept the uncertainty. "Stay safe?"

"Of course."

Crossing the space between us, I kissed both of my parents on the cheek and then hurried out of our home; I really was running very late. Walking towards the nearest apparition point, I lingered long enough to make sure that there were no nosy muggles on the lookout. Satisfied that I wouldn't be breaking the statute of secrecy, I apparated from my street and reappeared outside of the pub where I had agreed to meet James.

He had insisted that it was low-key, that we would be able to talk but as I pushed the doors open and stepped inside, I doubted that he'd been completely correct. I located him the moment I searched the room, finding him sitting across from a group of young kids who appeared to be talking his ear off. If James had wanted to be undetected then he had made a very bad choice of location. Still, he nodded along to whatever was being said to him, smiling at something that was said.

Before I could take the opportunity to admire him from afar, not that I wanted to, James's eyes shifted as if feeling the weight of my appraisal. They sought me out in a heartbeat, lingering for just a moment before his features brightened even more. He raised a hand, waving me over, the gesture drawing the attention of his entourage. The young kids turned in their seats to watch as I headed towards the table.

James stood as I drew closer, stepping out of the booth and gesturing for me to slide in. Making myself comfortable, I looked questioningly between James and his crowd. Not that I got any answers.

One of the kids that sat furthest from me, asked pointedly - and far too noisily - "Is this your missus, then?"

"No," I said pointedly when James let the question linger without answering it. He appraised me silently, meeting my eyes teasingly when I shot him a look. "Absolutely not, we're old friends."

"Yep, we're old friends," James repeated, sounding amused.

The young kids didn't appear to be satisfied with the answer, but they accepted it regardless. They lingered for a little longer before picking up on James's silent prompting and returning to their families that they had abandoned as soon as they spotted 'one of my favourite players, I swear'. Even though we were now alone, James remained sitting close to me. I shot him a pointed look that he paid no mind to.

"You said you wanted to talk," I said. "So? What is it?"

"Come on now," he mock admonished, "don't pretend that you haven't clocked that I was asking you out."

I could have feigned ignorance, I could have insisted that I was surprised, that I hadn't known his true intentions, but he wouldn't have bought it for a single moment. So I didn't bother. Instead, I motioned for him to stand.

"Let me go and get some drinks," I said.

James wasn't fazed by my non-response, rather I wouldn't be surprised if he'd expected it. "No, let me."

He stood before I could protest, heading off to the bar after double-checking what I wanted to order. I watched James as he walked away as if he wasn't aware of the eyes that followed his steps, wanting to see what he did next. He might have been early on in his career, but he still attracted attention wherever he went. And unfortunately, because I was attached to him this evening, some of that attention and scrutiny was settled on me. Good Godric, did people have nothing better to do with their lives?

James returned after a short moment, our drinks held in his hands. Setting them on the table, James settled once more in the booth, sitting just as close to me as he had before he left. Only this time, he wrapped an arm easily around my shoulder and drew me effortlessly into his side. He was acting as if this wasn't strange.

"Tell me about your work," James said when I shot him yet another look. He was peering down at me with an infuriatingly charming smile.

I let out a disbelieving scoff, "I don't think you want to talk about my work James."

"You're right," he agreed before confessing, "but my mind is currently hyper fixated on something that it shouldn't be."

Searching his eyes, I caught the moment they flickered down to my mouth as I spoke, "And what's that?"

"That's a dangerous topic," he warned.

"Somehow I doubt that." I nudged him with my elbow, prompting his eyes back to mine. I almost wished he hadn't; the look in his eyes alone had me shifting slightly in my seat. "James?"

As if reading the silent dare in my eyes, James admitted, "Right now I'm just thinking about taking you home."

He'd laid it all out there and it shouldn't have taken me by surprise that he had been so straightforward, and yet it did. And yet -

This didn't have to mean anything. If I agreed, it didn't have to be anything. James didn't have to be an ex-boyfriend that I'd gotten back into contact with. He could be just a random good looking guy who was looking at me like I was currently everything he wanted. James could just be a guy whose eyes were filling me with warmth and setting a torrent of butterflies loose in my belly.

"Are you still living with your parents?" I asked.

James's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise as he said, "No. I've got a flat."

"How far?"

Shifting closer, he promised, "Not too far."

**********

For the first time in a very long time, it wasn't the sound of an infuriating alarm that woke me up in the morning. Rather it was the sunlight hitting my face that did it. Rolling over to bury my face in the pillow, I stilled; my pillows didn't smell like this. Every night, without fail, I sprayed my pillows with my lavender sleep spray so I would doze off quicker, but there was no lavender to be found. Lifting my head, I screwed my eyes shut for a little longer to adjust to the sunlight.

Finally opening my eyes fully, I searched the unfamiliar room with furrowed eyebrows but that was only until I remembered with a little too much clarity. Smothering a groan in the pillow - James's pillow - I let the mortification sweep through me in an all-consuming wave. How could I let myself get so swept away like that?

Gathering my senses, I searched the room again; James was nowhere to be found. At least I hadn't been forced to see him this morning, that would have just tipped me over the edge on the scale of embarrassment. Although, as I remained lying in his admittedly comfortable bed, I could hear him moving around the flat. I needed to be smart about this; how did I leave this flat without putting myself in an even more embarrassing situation?

The first step was to get out of this bed and find my clothes. Keep an ear out for the sound of the bedroom door opening, I stood from the bed and rushed to gather my clothes which were scattered in a rumpled pile by the door. I changed into them quicker than I had ever done before and found my wand. Tucking it safely into my back pocket, I summoned the courage to open the bedroom door. Peeking out into the hallway, I briefly entertained the thought of finding James to let him know that I was going to bed leaving. But what exactly was I supposed to say to him in this situation?

Thanks for last night, now I need to go. For some reason that didn't sit well with me. I'd just leave and send him an owl later - if that was even needed.

When I was satisfied that there was no sign of him, I retraced the steps we had taken last night, hoping I found my way to the front door without too much fuss. Once I'd made it that far, I could put my shoes on, grab my bag and leave. Rounding the corner, my steps came to an abrupt halt at the sight of James who, startled at the sight of me, caught me by my shoulders. Not that his surprise lasted for long. Looking over my admittedly dishevelled state with amused eyes, James gave me a knowing look. So much for managing to leave without being caught.

Before I could say a word, James steered me around with my shoulders, so I was facing the direction I had just come from. He led me insistently towards his bedroom but stopped at the door on the left. When he at last released me, I turned questioningly towards him.

He gestured towards the closed door, "Bathroom's in there if you want to freshen up. Breakfast will be ready in a bit?"

"Breakfast?" I repeated, mildly frustrated that it was the only thing I could think of saying.

James's smile grew even wider at my confusion but he nodded still. He was taking far too much pleasure in this. Although I thought as I looked him over, he looked far more put together than I felt. Just how long had he been awake?

I didn't need to be prompted again. Moving around James - who certainly didn't help the feat by staying so close to me - I headed into the bathroom. He remained standing in the open doorway, watching as I looked around.

"Clean towels are on the towel rack, and the blue toothbrush is new. It can be yours."

"Thanks," I said, tying my hair at the back of my neck. I stepped out of my trousers, all too aware of his eyes on me, but what did it matter when he'd already seen me naked multiple times? "You're talking about the toothbrush like I'll need it more often."

"You never know," he said simply before I could respond leaving me to continue undressing.

Stepping into the shower, I washed away the lingering traces of last night. Although, from the pleasant aching in my joints, I knew I'd be feeling the reminders for the rest of the day, and if it wasn't the aching, it would be the scent of James's shower gel that reminded me. Dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, I thoroughly cleaned my body. The door opened briefly once more with James popping his arm in to put some clothes on the counter before he shut it resolutely behind him. Washing away the soap from my body, I turned the shower off.

Stepping onto the bath mat, I dried myself with the clean towels and sought out whatever moisturiser James had on hand; I absolutely refused to go around with dry skin. Lathering the body lotion onto my skin, I reached for the clothes he'd given me. Or rather, the piece of clothing; it was a t-shirt, one I was certain I'd seen him wear multiple times whilst we were at school. Slipping it over my head, I was grateful that it hit me mid-thigh.

Before leaving the bathroom, I double-checked that I hadn't made a mess of it and then sought out the occupant of the home. I followed the sounds of Jaems's movements and found him in the kitchen. Whilst we'd been at school, I never would've imagined that I'd ever see James Sirius Potter of all people in a kitchen.

He was washing his hands in the sink when I reached the threshold and looked up at the sound of my approaching footsteps, "So you still like to sleep in then?"

"Only sometimes," I admitted, crossing the space between us. I sat at the island, making myself comfortable on one of the stools. "Usually when I'm tired."

The corner of his mouth drew up into a pleased smile, "Should I apologise for tiring you out then?"

"You did no such thing. Work is tiring."

He didn't sound convinced. "Sure."

Knowing that there would be no changing his mind, I watched him move around the kitchen and said, "I thought you couldn't cook?"

"I can't."

"So you're trying to poison me then?"

"Now why would I want to poison you if I plan on keeping you around?" He asked from over his shoulder.

The silence that followed his question grew; James was waiting for an answer to his insinuation and well, I'd once more been robbed of words. Instead, I watched his shoulders as they stiffened when I still said nothing.

Clearing my throat, and hoping that I'd heard him wrong, I asked, "You want me to stick around, Potter?"

"Yeah, if you want to." He turned to face me then, crossing his arms over his bare chest and resting against the counter behind him. James's eyes were steady as they held mine. "But there's no pressure, it's whatever you want."

"James." I tried not to sigh as I reminded him, "We've done this before and we didn't work out because we had different priorities."

"No, we didn't. We had careers we were chasing after. Careers that we're now in, mind you." Drawing in a long breath, James was silent before reminding me, "Besides, you were the one that said we couldn't make it work, I never said that."

Before I could say something, anything to defend a decision that had simultaneously been one of the hardest to make but also the right choice, James walked towards me and set a bowl of cereal in front of me. He braced his arms on the island, ducking his head slightly to match my gaze.

He offered me that damned soft smile of his as he assured me quietly, "Like I said, no pressure."

Needing to say something, but not knowing how to progress, I asked through a warring mind, "It took you this long to make cereal?"

"You know I can't cook." He grinned, but his eyes remained soft. "Perez?"

"Let's see, let's take it slow." It was the only compromise I could make in the dispute between my rational mind that knew this wouldn't work, and my faithful heart that was still tied to his. "How does that sound, Potter?"

"Sounds perfect."

**********

When I first set my sights on becoming a journalist, I never once imagined that it would involve so many late nights leaning over parchment as I wrote up endless notes from my interviews and article drafts. I never contemplated that my fingers would be stained with ink with callouses forming on my dominant hand, or that there would be seemingly perpetual bags developing under my eyes from sleep deprivation. And yet, there were many late nights, just like last night, where I had spent far too long writing and re-writing my notes from my interview with Professor Longbottom. My once head of house had been an open book with his words there had been just so much to get my head around. Now I was paying the price for my dedication.

My eyes, heavy with sleep, wanted desperately to close once more. I fought against the urge with everything I had. Groaning quietly, I raised my hands to my face and forcefully rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Stretching my arms out on either side, I looked at the clock.

Sitting up abruptly, I stared at it in shock. Midday. How was it already midday?

"Godric's ghost," I swore, throwing my duvet off of my legs and clambered out of bed.

If I lingered any longer, I'd slip into another restful, unproductive slumber. And I absolutely couldn't have that, not when - James. I was supposed to have met James hours ago.

Rushing through my room, I gathered a set of clothes and started to get ready for the day. For half of the day, really. I'd managed to lose so much of it already and had unintentionally made James lose hours of his as well. I'd clearly been so tired last night that I'd forgotten to set my alarm. I was ready in record time. I practically ran out of my bedroom and down the stairs, not risking a look in the mirror to check my reflection on the way; I was sure I looked a state.

Making it to the fireplace, I clambered in and floo'd over to James's flat. Stepping out into his front room, I brushed the soot off of my clothes.

"James?" I called out into the empty room, looking around and searching him out. There was no sign of him. Still, I made my way through towards the door, keeping a careful ear out for the slightest hint of movement. "James?"

"Perez?" came back the surprised call of my name.

I turned in the direction of his voice in time to see James coming out of his bedroom with a bag strapped over his shoulder. He stopped still at the sight of me, eyebrows rising a little as if disbelieving that I had finally decided to turn up. Not that I could blame him for his dubious appraisal; I was hours late. Still, James didn't move to approach me. He remained rooted to the spot.

"Sorry I'm late," I said instantly, crossing the space between us. The explanation started to flow out of my mouth with such speed that I couldn't be sure he was able to make sense of what I was saying. "I spent the entire night up and working on some of my research and by the time I go to bed, I was clearly so-"

"It's okay," James said, cutting my rambling short. He offered me a small, if strained smile, as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "I figured that you had something important to do."

I couldn't refute his words, they weren't entirely true, but I couldn't contest them either. Not that it seemed like James wanted a response to his words either.

I gestured to his bag. "Are you heading off somewhere?"

"I've got an appointment with the team's physio," he explained, casting a brief glance at his watch. "I should probably get a move on or else I'll be late."

Unsure of what to say, or how to navigate some of the tension between us, I stepped aside and said, "Don't let me keep you. When do you think you'll be back? If you're coming back after your physiotherapy?"

"Why?" His eyes flickered back to mine, holding them steady. The smile on his lips softened as he asked hopefully, "Are you going to wait for me to come back?"

At last, I let myself smile. "If you're back before my meeting at 3."

"I should be back around lunchtime. I'll see you then." His words sounded like a promise as he walked around me to head into the front room.

I half expected him to kiss me or to even try to kiss me, the way that he usually did, but he didn't. Even when I followed him into the front room and watched him enter the fireplace, James didn't kiss me, even if his hand did reach fleetingly for my fingers. I watched James floo away before casting a glance at the clock; what was I going to do to occupy myself for the next 3 hours?

And yet I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to try and repair the rift that had unintentionally formed. If only to show that I was trying. But then again, what exactly was I trying for? We weren't much of anything, we technically weren't anything. The uncomfortable prickly feeling didn't sit right with me, it never had. It was far too reminiscent of the feelings that had prompted the ending of our relationship in the first place.

Shrugging away the feeling, I started pacing the empty flat, looking for something, anything to keep myself busy. Making it into the kitchen, I contemplated for a brief moment before I could second-guess myself. Searching through the cupboards, I gathered ingredients to make a quick lunch, at least something that could be ready quickly, in case James came back fairly soon.

Once the food was prepared, I set it under a stasis charm and found myself waiting once more. Left with nothing to do, I caved to my curiosity and settled on the sofa and resorted, out of sheer desperation, to reading the quidditch magazines that littered James's coffee table. Some of the articles made little sense and yet I read through them regardless, making silent notes to myself on the differences between my writing style and the style of the articles authors.

Making it to the end of the third article I had read - one contemplating whether the International Association of Quidditch had gone health and safety crazy with the latest suggestion that the ground of quidditch stadiums be charmed to be softened to ease the impact on the bodies of unfortunate quidditch players who slammed into it - I looked at the clock. It was time I got a move on and still, there was no sign of James.

Resigning myself with a sigh, I returned to the kitchen. I searched for some spare paper, attempted to summon some, and upon coming up empty, I ripped off some kitchen paper. Thankfully I was able to find a quill and resorted to jotting a quick note on the kitchen towel telling James to enjoy his lunch and set it beside the food.

Satisfied that I'd done the best I could've considering James had no paper - what sort of person had no spare paper in their home - I hurried to the fireplace and returned home. I had a very important meeting to attend.

**********

Without meaning to, and certainly, without planning to, I found myself in a seemingly endless roundabout with James where we just missed each other each time we intended to meet. We would attempt to arrange something, only for James to be called into an abrupt practice, or I had been called in to freelance and fill the gap of another journalist. Even when we had planned to spend the night in each other's arms since it was so difficult to actually spend time together, something or another got in the way.

I was beginning to think that it was a sign from the universe, a blaring bright red and gold sign that things were supposed to fizzle out and end here, that perhaps they should have remained cold when they had ended years back. Not that I had shared those thoughts with James. Not that I needed to. I was certain James already knew it, which explained the sudden upshoot in the very evident effort he was putting in to patch whatever gaps were falling into place. He was ever the chaser, even now.

But I refused to let him be the only one that was fighting for this - whatever this currently was. Regardless of whatever label I could give our ... situation, I still agreed to whatever plan he came up with and tried to arrange something myself. Eventually, it seemed like the universe was giving us a break and things were clicking into place. Finally.

Sitting on the sofa with my legs curled up under me, I trained my eyes on James who was walking towards me, with two mugs of tea in his hands. Coming to a stop beside me, he outstretched one towards me and I accepted it easily. Curling my hands around the warm mug, I watched as James took his place beside me. Setting his tea on the coffee table, James wordlessly reached for my legs. Unprotesting I let him manoeuvre my legs so they were settled across his lap.

Blowing on the hot liquid, I raised my tea to my lips and took a testing sip. Still, I kept my eyes trained on James who rolled his neck, one of his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing at the exposed skin between the hem of my jeans and my socks. His eyes closed briefly.

"You look tired," I said, taking another sip of my tea.

Snorting in response, James peeked an eye open and turned his head towards me. "Thanks," he said dryly.

I held his eyes. "Anytime."

He chuckled and the warmth of it brought a brief light to his features, taking away any indication that he was tired. If only for a little bit. Shifting in his seat, James lifted his head and considered me with a gaze so steady that I grew a little hesitant under his eyes. James Potter rarely looked so serious, and when he did ... well, it usually came before something significant. I had a half mind to steer the conversation away, onto something safer, something of my choosing, but that wouldn't be very Gryffindor of me.

"That look usually means some trouble, Potter," I warned, raising an eyebrow.

"Usually, but not always." He accepted steadily. "There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm listening."

"There's a training camp coming up," James said, drawing his words out a little. I continued to watch him silently, waiting for him to elaborate, because so far I couldn't see anything that could explain why James was being so hesitant. "In Valencia for about a month."

He ended it there, unwilling to elaborate any further. Although, I wasn't sure he needed to. It meant that whatever was going on between the pair of us had to come to an end, because it certainly couldn't carry on with him in another country, needing to focus completely on his pre-season training. The logistics of it didn't make sense. Almost as little sense as the way I felt. I had no reason to be feeling like a hollow pit had formed in my stomach, to feel like there was a shallow ache forming inside of me. It made no sense and I had no right to be feeling this way.

Still, I forced myself to smile at him, to at least keep my internal turmoil from showing on my face, "At least you'll get to enjoy some heat. Godric knows the weather has been horrendous lately."

"Not that I would have to enjoy it by myself." For the first time, James hesitantly averted his eyes, staring fixated at the clock mounted on the wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. "You could always come with me."

"I can't," I said instantly, taken aback by the force with which the words came out. I certainly hadn't intended for it to sound like that.

Before I could soften the blow - although I wasn't sure how to do that - James's eyes were once more settled onto mine. Gone was the hesitance. Rather, that typical stubborn streak was back. Only. this time I had the inkling that it was heightened by his displeasure at my tone. Not that I could blame him for that.

"Why not? Why can't you come with me?"

"My article, James?" Surely that was answer enough. In case it wasn't, I added. "I've got so much more left to do before it's perfect and I don't have the time."

"You don't have the time to take a break?" He watched me disbelievingly. "You can't even take a few days off from the article?"

"You know I want the article to be published in time for the 25th anniversary," I reminded him with a sigh. I tucked my legs under me once more, and James let them go without any protest. "I don't have the time to take a break, this is really important."

"And my training isn't?" he demanded, turning to face me, "It's important to me and I'm trying to share it with you."

"I didn't say that." I sighed again, wracking my brain for something to say - anything, really - that would stop the conversation from becoming further derailed. "But you're the one that's making it seem like my work isn't important."

His response was instantaneous and sharp, "I didn't say that. Don't even try and imply that I said that."

"James-"

Shaking his head, James crossed his arms across his chest and rested against the sofa. His jaw clenched briefly before James spoke again, his words spoken into the room as his eyes once more found the clock, "I just thought it would be nice to spend a weekend away, but whatever. Forget it."

"Thank you for asking me James," I said softly, "but I can't give up on my work to follow you around."

**********

The man sat before me, baring his soul as he talked about some of the darkest times of his life, was unable to lift his eyes from the floor. Mr Malfoy sat with immaculate posture, his hands clasped in his lap as he spoke. But from the moment he had started to speak, Mr Malfoy's eyes had fallen to the floor and not once had he raised them. Still, I let him speak, uninterrupted, as he talked, his words slow as if each was taxing him. I had the faintest inkling that he was sharing parts of himself that he had locked away decades ago, parts of himself that he hadn't ever wanted to revisit. And yet now, he was sharing them with me, with such candour and honesty that I was infinitely grateful.

Mr Malfoy carried his shame with him as if bearing the pressure of it on shoulders that refused to buckle. It was his weight to carry, he had said as much, after all. He had refused to acknowledge that he had been a child.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," I said, as our interview finally drew to a close. I wanted to thank him for all he had shared but I doubted he would appreciate it.

"No, thank you for taking the time to see me," Mr Malfoy said, at last lifting his eyes to mine. He straightened his shoulders out, safely tucking away the most vulnerable parts of himself, locking it all back away once more. "And for your willingness to be objective."

"Of course."

He offered me a polite smile, but his gaze was far away. I took that as my cue to begin taking my leave, leaving Mr Malfoy to his reflections. He had returned to a hidden part of himself for the sake of my article and now the least I could do was allow him to patch himself together in the way that best suited him.

Returning to the safety of my home, I walked into my bedroom and set my bag on the bed. I wanted peace, for only a little moment, to be able to sit with everything Mr Malfoy had shared, to let myself process the atrocities that a boy - young and vulnerable and scared - had been made to endure, to take part in. In all of my careful planning, led purely by my noble intentions, I hadn't even once considered the impact my research would have on me. Perching on the edge of my bed, I dropped my head into my hands with a heavy sigh. Winding my fingers into my hair, I rubbed circles into my scalp.

A rhythmic tapping forced my attention back to the present. Lifting my head, I looked at the window to find a familiar owl perched on the window sill. Sighing, I stood and approached the window, opening it so James's owl could step in. It did, all too willingly. Dropping the letter, it turned and flew away without waiting for even a moment. Clearly, it had become impatient whilst waiting for me.

Opening the seal at the back of the envelope, I read through the short letter, one that seemed to have been written in the morning. It was from James, informing me that he was waiting so we could spend the day together. A day that was rapidly coming to an end.

Had he been waiting for me since the morning? Had I forgotten that we'd had something planned? Although, I was coming up blank.

Sighing again, I set the letter aside and rubbed my eyes. Returning downstairs, I headed straight for the floo and made my way to James's flat. Stepping out of the fireplace, my eyes instantly settled on James who was seated on the sofa. The sound of the floo had James's eyes seeking me out instantly, but he didn't smile straight away. Rather, he looked irritated, as if I had kept him waiting. And perhaps I had. But, once he got a good look at my expression - one that I knew told him that I wasn't in the best mood - his features shifted. It took a few seconds for James to give me a soft smile.

"Did we have plans?" I asked abruptly.

"No." James drew out the answer, making it sound more like a question.

"Okay, so-" I did my best not to sigh, or to put my hands on my hips as I came to a stop in front of James. He remained seated, looking up at me as I stood over him. "Well then, is everything alright then? I just saw your letter and I thought we had plans and I'd kept you waiting. But if that's not the case, is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured me steadily. James outstretched a hand, reaching for one of mine and intertwining our fingers. His eyes were fixed on my features, studying my expression which was struggling to remain composed. "I just wanted to spend the day together. Only it's evening now."

This time I couldn't stop the sigh. I had spent hours, hours sitting across from a man as he bore the darkest parts of his life to me and I hadn't even had the time to decompress from it all before I'd come here. And now here I was, standing in front of yet another grown man who appeared to be borderline pouting that his day hadn't gone to plan.

"James," I tried to say with composure, "I told you didn't I that I was interviewing Mr Malfoy today? That it would probably be a really heavy interview?"

There was a short silence where I could see James trying to remember. Eventually, he reached out to take my other hand, like he knew that I wanted to draw back. Sounding apologetic, James admitted, "I guess it must've slipped my mind. I didn't really think that you'd be working. You know what it can be like; I guess since I'm not training today I kind of assumed you'd be free today as well."

He was honest, I would have to give him that. And yet today, after the day I'd had, I wasn't sure that I appreciated his honesty or his lack of empathy. Today had been a difficult day for me and I didn't appreciate it. Without a word, I held James's eyes for a long moment and whatever he saw in them had James holding my hands steady.

"What are we even doing, James?"

"Don't say that." He said abruptly, his tone harsh as he rose to his feet. Now I was the one forced to look up to hold his eyes as he demanded, "Don't you dare say that to me again. The last time you said that you broke my heart."

I stiffened, unable to deny his words. Even still, I forced myself to persevere and ask again "James, what are we doing?"

"Dating." He drew in a heavy breath, before admitting, "And well, I'd like you to be my girlfriend."

Some part of me had expected it, especially considering that this wasn't anyone else, this was James. James who was looking at me and waiting for an answer that I wasn't sure I could give him. How could he ask that of me, or even partially ask that of me, when we were struggling like this so often? It seemed, since things had begun, that there were more difficulties than there were smooth days.

"I thought we were taking things slowly," I reminded him unnecessarily. "It hasn't been that long."

"If you consider how long I've known you, it's been years."

"Come on James." I fell silent for a brief moment, trying to gather my thoughts, to think of something to say that would make this entire encounter pause, to stop it from devolving any further or progressing any further. "I'm in the middle of writing an article that could launch my career and yours is gearing up. We're not in the right place to be in a relationship."

He released my hands in the face of my rationale. Drawing a hand through his hair, James stepped away from me, rounding the sofa to stand behind it. He watched me disbelievingly as he leaned his palms on the back of the sofa. Neither of us spoke, not right away. My words were out there in the open, settled between us and he would be the one to decide what happened now.

"What are we doing then, Perez?" he demanded. "Why entertain this with me if this was always going to be your answer?"

"Because this wasn't supposed to become anything serious!" I exclaimed defensively, watching him in disbelief. "We both agreed that we were having fun, that we were spending time together."

"I don't want that and you know that I would never settle for that." Straightening to his full height, James reminded me, "You know I'm the relationship sort."

"I do know that," I acknowledged, but the words came out just short of a whisper, "but I can't be in a relationship with you, James. Not right now."

"Hearing that from you a second time doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"I'm sorry, but I won't be able to give you the time that you want." I pretended not to notice the hurt that flickered over his features until he managed to shutter it away. "But that's the honest truth."

**********

My mind refused to cooperate. It should have focused so completely on the parchment in front of me, on the draft of my article that was finally finally taking shape, but it would not. It had taken more effort than I'd originally anticipated to keep my attention on the article, to have even completed the draft in the first place but my mind would not have it. The moment my attention began to falter even slightly, my mind would search out any and every thought of a dark-haired chaser who had taken residence in my mind.

James Sirius Potter was not easy to banish from my mind - or my heart, for that matter. But his residence in my mind was the most pressing matter. The first time around it had taken nearly months even to gain some semblance of control, to stop my brain from drifting to thoughts of him and I just knew that the second time around would be even worse. Good Godric, I had to get a grip.

Shaking my head as if to physically dispel thoughts of James from my head, I turned my focus back onto the parchment spread out before me. The margins were littered with corrections and amendments written in red coloured in; there was still so much work to be done, and I had no time to be thinking about James. Rubbing a hand over my tired eyes, I started to read where I had left off from. Coming to the end of the paragraph, I reached for my quill, dipped it in the red ink and marked under the final sentence, punctuating it with a large question mark. I wasn't sure what was wrong with it, only that it sounded wrong and out of place and -

Dad determined to break my productive streak, joined me at the table. He chucked today's paper onto the table in an action made to get my attention. When I lifted my eyes instantly towards him, he gave me a disapproving look.

"You need to take a break," he warned, setting a cup of tea down next to me. He silenced my protests with a firm look, "None of that, you've been sitting at the table for hours now. Get up, walk about a little, or just do anything else."

Knowing better than to protest that just because I'd been sitting here didn't mean I'd been productive, I accepted the tea with a thankful smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"Well, it's what I'm here for, to keep you women sane," he said as if it was the toughest job in the world. The teasing smile that curled at his lips softened his features.

Rolling my eyes for him to see, I watched as Dad walked out of the front room and retreated to another part of the house. No doubt he was heading upstairs to his so-called man cave to finish off his latest craft. Left alone once more, I glanced curiously at the paper he'd discarded moments ago. Now that I was giving myself a forced break, it was even harder to fight against the urge to seek out anything that had even the slightest association with James. Although, maybe giving in just this once would sate the urge enough for me to actually get some work done? And well, it wasn't exactly in my nature to always do the rational thing.

Reaching for the paper, I flicked mindlessly through the first few pages, scanning each of the headlines to see what sorts of stories were running. Not that I was paying that too much heed overall. I could at least admit to myself that my real purpose was finding the sports section.

Finally reaching my destination, I set the paper down on the table and leaned over slightly to start my search in earnest. It was the first article in the section, recounting the last quidditch match that James's team had played in and won. Towards the end, the journalist had taken the time to make special note of his performance during the game and commended him for being the team's star chaser, despite being a new addition. And to think, I hadn't even known that he had returned from his overseas training, let alone that he'd made it into the first formation this season. My lack of knowledge made sense, it had been a while since I'd encountered James in any capacity, whether that was in person or via written word. Still, that did little to ease the ache.

Closing the newspaper and folding it in on itself, I shoved it aside once more, hoping that it would take the thoughts of James with it and that if it was far away enough, those thoughts would also become out of reach. I rubbed my hand absentmindedly over my sternum as if that would do anything to ease the non-physical ache that was there. Instead, I tried once more to return my attention to my work.

Not that it lasted long at all. I tried to pick up where I had left off, to continue reading from the next paragraph but each time I made it to the end, I realised that I hadn't actually been paying the words any attention. Forcing myself to start over again, I soon realised that my attention was refusing to stay fixed on my unedited article.

"I just need to clear my head," I said to myself in a quiet murmur. If I said it aloud, maybe it would become true.

Standing from the table, I piled my parchment together and set them inside my bag. Securing the lid on my inkwell and reaching for my quill, I stashed them inside my bag as well. With my bag safely on my shoulder, I decided to head out of the house and walked towards the nearest apparition point. A change of scenery would do the trick.

Reaching the apparition point, I apparated to the nearest wizarding town and navigated my way to a coffee shop. Walking into the thankfully not busy shop, I headed for the till and placed my order. Drumming my fingers on the countertop as I waited for my drink, I let the smell of the coffee beans seep into my bones, to give me an extra boost of productive energy. After paying for my drink, I carried it over to a table in the corner of the room and made myself comfortable.

Putting the drink down on the table, I retrieved my article from my bag. The papers, having become disorganised in the short journey, took some sorting to arrange and as I made sure the page numbers in the corner were sequential, my ears latched onto the passionate conversation of the teenagers seated on the table a short distance from mine. They were stuck in an intense debate about the game they had watched last night.

Good Godric, even here I couldn't escape James.

**********

Somehow, despite my inability to concentrate, and with nothing short of a miracle, on the morning of the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, my article was published in the Daily Prophet. I wasn't completely satisfied with it, although I doubted I could ever have found it to be perfect, and it certainly wasn't lauded as a front-page story once I'd handed it to the editor, but it was there. About halfway through the paper, tucked away behind an article talking about the exploits of some overzealous and privileged socialite, my labour of love (and at times, my absolute nemesis) was there. To my immense surprise, the responses came almost instantly.

In the days following the publication of the article, I found myself receiving letters from readers and some of these letters had even found their way onto the editor's desk before making their way to me. It was all completely overwhelming, so much so that I wanted to hide away, to field the questions asking for a solution to the truths I had uncovered - because that certainly wasn't my job - but it was also validating. It was proof that I hadn't sunk hundreds of hours into something fruitless, that I hadn't sacrificed socialising with friends or ... or with other special people in my life for nothing.

The buzz would be short-lived, I knew that. Once wizarding Britain had its next fad, the letters would stop, but I could only hope that whilst everyone was finally talking about mental health in the wizarding world, the wheels would be set in motion and some support would begin to crop up. For now, I would appreciate the buzz and all the letters that came with it and I especially appreciated that I had been offered an office to work from that I readily accepted. An office that I had spent the last week or so trying to arrange, to make it comfortable. I doubted that I would ever foster the same level of comfort that I felt when writing at the dining table in my childhood home, but it would be good to have a room solely dedicated to my work. At least then, when I left here at the end of the day, I could leave my thoughts about work at the threshold. Or rather, that was the plan anyway.

Reaching for the new pile of letters that I had received today, I stacked them steadily before adding them to the collection that was steadily growing in the bottom drawer of my desk. Later, when I had the time, I would sort through them and see which I wanted to keep as reminders in case I ever found myself faltering or hitting a writing block. For now, though, they would need to be tucked away.

Shutting the draw with a soft thud, I tried and failed to return my attention to the empty parchment in front of me. Now that my article was handed in, the requests for my next one were already rolling in. It didn't matter that I had spent so long working on the single article before it was published, there would be little downtime before I was expected to put out yet another one. Only, perhaps I could drag it out to, to give myself some breathing space before continuing my writing. Besides, to write an article, I would need to have an idea to start it off.

Reaching for my quill, I doodled random lines and shapes along the borders, forcing myself to concentrate and to come up with some ideas. I knew it was a failed endeavour, and yet I had to try. I was saved from straining myself by a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called out, glancing at the door. I silently prayed that it wasn't my editor, the last thing I needed was yet another prompting visit inviting me to do yet another deep dive into another unasked question.

It wasn't. The witch standing in the open door of my office was a familiar face. The receptionist, one who sat on the first floor of the office building that housed many businesses and not just our newspaper, stood with a bouquet in her hand. She wordlessly outstretched them towards me.

Standing from the desk, I crossed the short space between us and accepted the flowers with a grateful smile. Drawing the bouquet safely into my arms, I smiled thankfully at the older witch, "Thank - "

I was unable to complete my sentence. She turned on her heel and walked away without acknowledging my words. Maybe I needed to thank her for going out of her way to bring these to me? I made a mental note to do just that, as I returned to my chair. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I studied the bouquet, drawing my fingertips across the varying purple and white petals.

Finding the note tucked away amongst the flowers, I retrieved it and recognised all too quickly that the handwriting that adorned my name. Setting the bouquet aside, I leaned back in my chair and briefly deliberated doing the same with the note, at least until I'd had the time to prepare myself for it. But really - what was there to prepare myself for? It was a note, the paper was small, and there was hardly much that could be written on there. I couldn't let myself chicken out.

Breaking the seal at the back of the envelope, I pulled out the short note. It really was short and yet the less than three dozen words stole away my entire focus, ridding me of any other thoughts.

Congrats on the article, Brainbox. It's every bit as amazing as I knew it would be.
You've got an already dedicated reader in me.

Yours,
James

(P.S. I miss you.)

My eyes locked themselves on the final three words of the note. It shouldn't have been so surprising. James had always been the forthright one. He had always been open and honest about his emotions, speaking them with ease and sharing them with ease, even when we were at school. It made complete sense that even in adulthood he would be the same. Matters of the heart were easy for James, but for me ... not so much.

Without the pressing matter of a looming deadline and without my article to keep me occupied, I could allow myself to admit it. I missed James too. I had always missed James, from the moment I'd had to say goodbye to him, I missed him. More than I initially thought I would have.

Forcefully drawing my attention away from the note, I tucked it back into the bouquet. I needed to find somewhere to put them - that was my priority. It certainly wasn't the fact that I contemplated whether James had remembered my favourite flowers or whether it was a coincidence.

It had been years since I'd told him that purple and white pansies were my favourite.

I needed to find a vase. And I also needed to write to James.

**********

I had arrived early on purpose, unable to sit with my anxious energy and bide my time until it would make sense to leave home. It was only because I was certain my anxious energy was rubbing off on my parents, that I left the house early, heading to the pub where I had arranged to meet James. I reached the busy establishment with far too much time remaining but snagged myself a booth. After ordering myself a drink, I entertained myself by swirling the straw of my drink around and around the cup, listening to the tinkling of the ice. I forced myself to keep my eyes on the ice and resolutely off of the clock. The last thing I needed was to watch the clock.

I knew my mind. The longer I spent watching the clock, the more my brain would begin to fill in the time with dozens of questions. It would contemplate if James, despite having readily accepted my request to meet, would stand me up. He wasn't the sort, but what if he did? It would only feed my ruminations that matters of the heart were best kept locked away.

Abruptly, quite out of nowhere, the chatter in the pub picked up. There were clammering and excited, if not giddy, exclamations that finally stole my attention away from my drink. Lifting my head, I glanced to the door where a crowd had formed, surrounding the man who was making his way into the pub. James, looking rather taken aback but obliging, smiled warmly at the people around him as he thanked them for their support. He stopped briefly, surveying the room and his eyes locked all too easily on mine. I swore that even from a distance they softened.

As James made his way towards me, I took the opportunity to fidget with my hair, tucking it behind my ears and keeping it away from my face. I fought the urge to fidget even further. Instead, I snuck a furtive glance at the clock; he was early.

Coming to a still beside the booth, James slid in across from me with a gentle, "Hi."

"Hi," I returned. Reaching for my glass, I fiddled with the straw as I tried not to look away from his searching eyes that were fixed on mine. "Thank you for meeting with me."

His response was a soft, "Of course."

Silence settled between us as I wracked my brain for something to say. I had spent countless minutes practising what I wanted to say, I had framed this initial part of the conversation at least a dozen times in my head and yet now that I was here, sitting across from a waiting James, I didn't know what to say. The words refused to come forward.

"So." James saved me from floundering for much longer. Settling comfortably against the back of his seat, he stretched his legs out under the table. His shoes brushed against mine and I was surprised by how powerful a desire I felt to wind my feet around his. "What did you want to talk about, Perez?"

That should have been the cue to begin talking, and it should have been a straightforward answer to give him, but it wasn't. The words refused to come out. Rather, they remained locked away, kept just out of reach no matter how desperately I tried to summon them.

Instead, I said, "Thank you for the flowers, James. They were beautiful."

"I knew you'd like them," he said with a soft smile. He considered me briefly with a tilted head, "I made sure to get you a bouquet with your favourite flowers. The pansies?"

So he had remembered then. Despite how hard I'd tried to convince myself otherwise, I had hoped that James had remembered, that it hadn't been a lucky accident. This time, when I felt my heart surge with warmth, I let it sweep through me. I had learnt by now that fighting against it would be impossible.

"I only told you that once in sixth year, how did you even remember that?"

His answer was a lazy shrug that he elaborated on after I gave him a probing look. "I remember things about the people I care for."

"Do you," I paused hesitantly. But I forced myself to continue; we were already here now and the conversation was already heading that way. "Do you still care about me?"

"You know I do," James said so resolutely that I felt a little foolish for asking him. I did know he cared about me, that he cared a lot about me and that it hadn't ever been in question. "Just like I know you care about me."

It seemed he didn't have to question my feelings either. Still, when it was James's turn to give me a probing look, I couldn't bring myself to speak. There were fragments of statements running through my brain, that I was trying to make sense of. I was aware that I was overthinking this, that I had always overthought this and yet -

James's hand settled on top of mine, stopping my fidgeting again. My eyes shot towards his waiting gaze. He removed my hold on my straw and held it securely between both of his.

"You know I can't read you when you react with silence," he said quietly. "Come on, talk to me."

"I'm sorry," I said, letting him intertwine our fingers. "I'm sorry for hurting you, James. I got so lost in my work and working on the article."

"That's not something I can fault you for. I'm the same with my work." He gave a self-deprecating smile as he admitted, "I should have been more considerate towards you and your time."

"Me too. I should have been more considerate of your time as well."

"Let's say we were both in the wrong and draw a line under it all?"

Nodding wordlessly at his suggestion, I let myself smile as my shoulders straightened out. It was as if a weight had been lifted, a weight that I wasn't aware I had been carrying, was lifted. But there was still -

I watched James's thumb as it swept soothingly back and forth over the back of my hand. We had agreed to draw a line in the sand, yes, and yet there were still so many questions left to ask, questions I wasn't sure I could bring myself to ask. I couldn't ask James where we went from here and I certainly wasn't shameless enough to ask him to trust me again, to trust that I wouldn't go running again. And if that was the case, I had to put my thoughts into action.

Silently, I tried to draw my hand away from James but he didn't allow it. His hands tightened only slightly around mine, just enough to let me know that he didn't want to let go. He was more than content to hold my hand.

"You know," he started slowly, "they say that the third time's the charm."

"James," I tried not to give a heavy sigh, "you can't be serious. This isn't something that's easy-"

"Why not?"

"James."

"Good Godric Perez, I don't care about anything else. I just want to give it another go. I know that I probably won't recover if you break my heart for the third time, but I also know that I can't see myself dating anyone else, so that's a risk I'm willing to take. So, now it's on you, you decide."

"It doesn't make sense, Merlin it really doesn't make sense, but I think I'd like to try and I promise to try harder."

"Good." James moved then, releasing my hand as he slid across the seats and reached my side. Curling an arm around my shoulders, he drew me into his side as he swore, "I promise to try harder too."

Turning to face him, I peered up into James's face and didn't even attempt to fight my smile. Instead, I closed my eyes briefly when he leaned down to brush his nose softly against mine. If I giggled quietly, then it was no one else's business.

"I missed you," he said quietly, "so so much."

**********

5 YEARS LATER

Being seated in the stadium for a quidditch match was always electric, more so when the match was the first of the season. There was a different sort of rush when it came to sitting in the friends and family section of the stands, watching as loved ones played the game that they so adored. Certainly, when it came to watching James, who played every game so wholeheartedly, almost always with an exhilarated smile on his face, I fell in love with him a little bit more.

And when it was the first match of the season and the first match that James was playing as Captain, well I was growing in my love for him all over again. Maybe I could finally understand why so many of the so-called quidditch partners claimed that it was following these games that they decided to expand their families. Godric only knew that I was absolutely thinking a little more seriously about James's more recent hints that maybe we should begin to think about expanding our family. Especially when following yet another goal he'd scored, James flew straight towards the stands to let me see his beautiful smile from up close. It was outrageous how good he looked when he flew with the wind sending his hair everywhere.

Shortly after James had scored his goal, the snitch had been caught by the opposing team and yet it was James's team who had won the game. And James, grinning proudly and having victoriously led his team to victory, was surrounded by his teammates. Standing from my seat, I watched the team gather together for a little longer before I followed the rest of the family members of the stands and down to the ground. Eventually, once the team were done, they would make their way towards their loved ones to celebrate.

Reaching the stadium grounds, I hung around at the back, watching as the players sought out their loved ones. Drawing my coat tighter around me at a particularly powerful gust of wind, I glanced across the pitch, looking for James. I struggled to find him and as I kept searching for him, my eyebrows furrowed and -

Strong, reassuring arms wrapped easily around me, tugging me towards a sturdy frame. The arms around me were enough to ease my frown and that peace could only be associated with one person. Turning instantly, I faced James, tilting my head up towards his with a grin.

"Congratulations Captain," I said, watching him fight a laugh. Rising briefly to my toes, I brushed back some of the hair that was matted to his forehead. Under my watchful gaze, James's eyes closed briefly as my fingers combed through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. "You've worked hard for this win."

"Thank you." He opened his eyes again when I removed my hands. James leaned down just long enough to brush his nose against the swell of my cheek. "Thank you for coming. I know you had to rush to leave the office after your meeting."

"Don't be silly James, I wouldn't have missed this for a thing. It's not every day that your husband plays his first game as Captain."

"Husband." His grin was absolutely silly as he wondered, "It still makes me smile every time I hear you say that."

"Still? It's been months now."

"Still."

James's eyes flickered in a motion I knew all too well. He wanted to kiss me and good Godric, I wanted to kiss him too and perhaps I would have - irrespective of the people around of, of the journalists milling around - if there hadn't been a distant call of his name. Sighing, James glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the voice. The team manager was calling him.

"I'll be back," he promised, sounding disappointed.

The corners of his mouth turned down in displeasure. Not that it lasted long. Leaning up quickly, I gave James a quick peck and drew back before he could deepen the kiss just like I knew he wanted to. Still, when I opened my eyes again, I found him smiling softly down at me. His hands settled on my hips and squeezed me gently.

"Once I've spoken to the manager and done the after-game interviews, I'll be back," he promised.

I nodded, having long grown used to the post-game routine. It hadn't taken long for me to learn that just because the game had ended, it didn't mean that the quidditch players could stop working. Rather, now they had to put on their second performance for the reporters and their fans. Stepping to the side, I prepared to release James so he could return to his duties. Not that he let me go far.

James's hands remained fixed on me and when I glanced expectantly at him, he gestured towards someone. "Do you see that man? The one dressed in the black robes?"

I followed his motion, finding myself looking at an older wizard who stood talking to a pair of similarly aged wizards. They talked amongst themselves as if they weren't surrounded by quidditch players. I surveyed their features, trying and failing to place them. They had been seated amongst the friends and family of the players and yet I hadn't seen them before.

"James?"

He lowered his mouth to speak against my ear in a murmur, "Do you remember talking about your next article? About how you want to do one on the misuse of funds that were supposed to be funnelled into different organisations that supported squibs?"

"You were listening to me when I was talking about that? I thought you were half asleep?"

"Of course, I was listening," he sounded briefly exasperated before he continued, "Apparently, he may be a good source of information."

"How do you know that?"

"Locker room talk," With that, James dropped a lingering kiss on my shoulder before he left me alone.

I watched as he jogged away from me, heading towards the waiting team manager. Reaching the older wizard's side, James exchanged a few brief words with him before being ushered away to address the reporters. My eye shifted briefly in the direction of the still stranger, the one that James had pointed out to me, before my focus was once more on my husband. Before I hunted down the lead, I wanted to watch James give his first interview as Captain, then I could get to work. 

____________________

So, how was it? Hopefully worth the wait?

The next one shot should hopefully be ready for the 30th. Here are the hints:

* Skilled at Transfiguration

* Talented Quidditch player 

* A seeker