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It has been six and a half days since I spoke to James Potter. 

One hundred and fifty six hours. 

Nine thousand, three hundred and sixty minutes. 

Five hundred and sixty one thousand six hundred seconds. 

Basically a long time where I have been forced to think I was wrong and an even  longer time to be miserable and too stubborn and stupid to do anything about it. 

I’m supposed to be angry. That’s what everyone thinks anyway. 

The reason I have not spoken to James Potter in six and a half days is because I am angry. 
He told a lie. He told a lie that everybody now thinks it is the truth and I am supposed to be angry about it. Confused? So am I. 

Seven and a half days ago things were perfect. They were complicated but at least it was a private kind of complicated. I was in a happy relationship. 

Happy might be the wrong word. Blissful. It was a blissful, slightly dysfunctional relationship until and a series of strange and totally unrelated events somehow led to the cultivation of this incredible awkward situation where I am angry and he is a liar. 

Thinking back I don’t even know how that happened. I guess it was the first strange and unrelated event. One moment James Potter and I were fighting – err, I mean having a discussion like the mature people we are about a silly question from herbology then all of a sudden he kissed me. 

Or I kissed him. 

I’m not quite sure. There may have been movement from both parties, I’m sure but it doesn’t really matter who kissed who, right? The point was all of a sudden we were kissing. Each other. In case that wasn’t clear enough. 

In hindsight it may have been a mistake to let it happen but at the time I wasn’t really thinking. It wasn’t what I expected. I don’t think I really expected to like kissing James Potter, I mean I thought I hated him but this was different. This was nice. More than nice; catch my breath, heart stopping life altering nice

More surprisingly for once in my life, possibly the first time too, I didn't freak out. I didn't panic or run or even want to slap him. It was like it was normal. 

It felt right. And I told him that and was rewarded with one of those smiles that lit up his whole face and makes him look like an adorable little kid. 

I am pathetic; my knees actually went weak. 

So the next morning after preparing myself for some sort of intense reaction from his friends and admirers and whatnot I found out he hadn’t told anybody anything that had happened. 

Yeah, say what? I know. 

I had sat down to breakfast confused. James was chatting with his friends as usual when he looked up and gave me a nod. 

Well, not so much of a nod but half nods; you know one of those chin lifts that doesn’t really say anything but is more of an acknowledgement. He acknowledged I was there and he did it all without a pause in his conversation. 

At the time the only conclusion I could come to was that he had changed his mind. I had felt sick, humiliated and just a little bit angry. 

I was ready to either fling my eggs at him or storm out and when he laughed at something Sirius had said I opted for both. 

I have never been what you would call emotional but that really got to me and the sight of a shell shocked James Potter with egg on his face (quite literally) was extremely satisfying. 

My stunt was rewarded with a detention before I could undertake the second step of my brilliant plan. And James being James had quickly recovered and started laughing again, which landed him in detention with me. 

Good. 

It made me feel a whole lot better. 

I was still mad when he grabbed my arm and dragged me into an empty corridor after potions and asked/demanded to know what was up with the egg tossing. But he said it with a smile like he still found it funny and I may have called him a jerk or something similar and tried to storm off. 

He had looked surprised to which I explained, rationally of course, that he hadn’t told.
He reminded me I hadn’t either and I had made a crack about having no one to tell except Severus Snape to which he did not look amused. 

I had had a few more witty lines ready when he kissed me again. This time I know it was he who made the first move. 

And I forgot everything I wanted to say. 

“I like this.” He told me after years had passed. 

“What is this?” 

He shrugs. “Whatever you want it to be.” 

“You didn't tell.” I say stupidly. He tells me it he was afraid I had changed my mind; it was only something if I wanted it to be. 

It was kind of cute. 

We were just going to give it a few days to you, know see what happened. 

Except a few days turned into months. Almost six months to be exact.

Our relationship was simple. Keeping it a secret? Not so much. 

We snuck around. We lied and made up dodgy excuses for our whereabouts and behaviour. We were almost caught a million times by being too close, saying inappropriate things or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it was strangely exciting; arranging meeting places or sneaking a moment before tea. We were together where people weren’t. I learnt that after all those years of mischief James knew the castle extremely well. He showed me all the passage ways that lead in and around the castle, took me to hallways I had never seen before and to the kitchens for late night trifle. He even showed me the room of requirements. 

With him I didn't mind breaking the rules. 

And I don’t know how we kept it up, how either of us kept it a secret for that long but the more time stretched the harder it was to go public. For some reason it worked because even though I never thought it would happen I was falling in love with James Potter. 

Well, until five months, twenty two days and something like fourteen hours from that first kiss when the masks finally dropped and our secret was exposed. Game over.

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