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He is yours and you are his.
For as long as you can remember, your parents have told you that you are promised to James Potter. And that being so is a great honor. You don’t really understand, but it means that there are lots of playdates with him while your mothers have tea. He shows you how to play with dragons. You don’t mind. It’s more interesting than playing with dolls, like you have to do when you visit your friend Amelia.
When your seventh birthday comes, you sit in a room full of girls in pinafores and boys in short pants all sitting properly. You’d prefer to run around and get dirty, but your grandmother disapproves and tells you young ladies don’t act like that.”
But still, you’re not really sure you want to be a “proper young lady” if it means you don’t get to play hide and seek in the garden and feel the wind in your hair. At least, there’s cake.
James comes up to you and holds out a package. “Here, Alice. My mum said to give you this.”
He thrusts it into your hands, turns and runs. You want to follow. You want to play, as you always have. But you don’t, because your grandmother would frown and you don’t want to bring shame on your house, not today.
When you are ten, you stand in uncomfortable shoes, annoyed with having to hold your back straight for so many hours. Your dance instructor, Madam Fawley isn’t very nice and dance lessons aren’t that fun. But you’ve been told that they necessary, so you know how to carry yourself. At least James makes them somewhat fun, as he imitates Madam Fawley whenever whenever her back is turned. You get in trouble for laughing, but it was worth it, you decide.
He is yours and you are his.
It’s only natural that you would be sorted into Gryffindor, too. After all, you are bold and brave and fiercely independent. James welcomes you with a pat on the back and then sets to ignoring you, not really interested in the friendship you thought you had. After all, he’s got a whole year of experience at Hogwarts on you.
He wears glasses now, although his hair is just as wild. What’s more interesting is his group of friends; Sirius you already know, but the others are new. You’re surprised by the antics they seem to be able to get away with, and glad that James is your intended, if it means that you’re not often on the receiving end of their pranks.
Your roommate, a muggle-born, thinks it’s odd to be eleven and know that your spouse has already been picked out. But, that’s just the way of things, and you don’t know how else it would be.
James finds you in the library sometimes, mainly to ask you to correct his essays. “Thanks,” he calls as he runs off with his friends, stuffing the parchment in his bag. You aren’t sure if he really means it. But sometimes he comes to find you and just sits with his hand on his chin, looking at you. “Do you ever wonder what it will be like, Alice?” You shake your head, because you know it’s a rhetorical question.
Somewhere along the way, you have realized that James is rather good looking, in an easy casual way, although he’s also a bit of a git. The other girls tell you that you are so lucky to be promised to him. But you see how he treats other people sometimes and think whether lucky is the right word.
There’s always talk in your dorm room at night about who is currently snogging who. You wonder if his name might come up. And if it did, how you might feel about it. Not that anything matters right now, you’re only fourteen.
But then, over Christmas Break, as you are walking in the garden after tea, he stops and tilts his head, and suddenly he kissing you. And at that moment, you couldn’t care less how he treats other people, if he makes you feel like this.
Before he leaves, he puts a bracelet around your wrist. “A promise gift, for my girl,” he explains.
He is yours and you are his.
Or so you think. But there’s a rumour about James and your roommate, Lily Evans, and suddenly neither of them will meet your eyes. But you figure, that’s not really your problem. A promise gift doesn’t equate to a sealed bond. And maybe it’s better to figure it out now, before he graduates, rather than later. No one wants to be someone’s second best, although maybe that is what you are now.
You toss the bracelet into the bottom of your trunk, and ignore the fact that there’s not as much talk in the room at night. If it’s a little harder to focus on your homework due to the whispers in the library, at least you are thankful that this is the year between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. You have your heart set on becoming an Auror, and you don’t need the distraction from your studies.
But every now and then, when you are lying in your bed, you wonder if he was really ever yours at all or if you’re even interested in being his.
Over Easter Hols, his parents come by to visit without him, and you hear your father’s raised voice behind the closed door. Your mother doesn’t leave her bedroom for two days after they leave.
He sends you an owl. A most un-Gryffindor action, you think, as you unroll the scroll. For as long as you have known each other, he could have said whatever he had to say to your face. You deserve that.
Sorry, Alice. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
But you think that maybe instead you’ve been set free. For once, you aren’t sure what the future may bring, and for that, you are glad.