There are only so many let downs you can take.

James Potter knows this, doesn't he? After all, she has turned him down countless times. Brutal rejection after brutal rejection. She doesn't blame him that he's moved on. When someone shatters a heart over and over again, after a while it must stop repairing itself. And because it can't be broken any more, nothing she says or does will make any difference.

She sighs, and picks up her pen.

The irony is, this time she wants to say something he would have wanted to hear.

This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write.

By the time I've finished it, I probably will decide not to send it. But there's a chance, albeit a slim one, that just writing it will make me feel better.

Oh, who am I kidding?

Merlin, you must hate me. For three years I've never even given you a second glance. All you've received from me is downright rudeness, sarcasm and constant let-downs. And I'll admit that, at the time, I didn't care in the slightest. I didn't believe for a minute that you really might have liked me. But now, if I'm honest, I'm beginning to doubt myself.

Maybe, after all this time, you've finally moved on. If that's the case, I'm glad for you. Forget I sent this letter. Letting go is never easy. I know that.

But now I need to admit something. Somewhere in between your constant bugging, and my sarcastic replies, and the over-the-top-gifts and attempted chivalrous gestures, I fell in love with you.

The world's a funny place, isn't it?

I'm being selfish, I know. Writing a cowardly, spineless little letter instead of doing the brave thing and facing up to you. The fact is, I don't think I could stand to hear what you've had to hear from me almost every day for three years. Pathetic, I know.

Moving on would have been the sensible thing to do for you three years ago. But you didn't, and that's the silver lining I needed to muster the courage (if you can call it that) to send this. This may still be too little, too late. But I'm sending it anyway.

I considered yelling it from the rooftops, but settled for this way instead.

I know that if I received something like this, I wouldn't know what the hell to do about it. So I'm leaving it up to you. Just don't feel you have to reply.

If you believe nothing else in this letter, believe that I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

A tear dropped onto the parchment, the edges staining and blurring out the ink. James started, and put his hand to his face in surprise. The letter was not addressed, or signed, but he knew that handwriting like his own.

"Prongs?" Remus' voice cut into his thoughts. James looked up, his expression troubled, to see the concern in his friends eyes.

"What's the matter? What is it?"

James opened his mouth, but no words came out. He wondered what he was still doing, sitting here.

There was determination in his eyes as he sprang to his feet.

"Prongs!" This time it was Sirius, but James didn't even notice. He was already out of the door.

00000

If he was honest, James hadn't the slightest idea where he was going. It was just coincidence when he found her in an empty classroom; a mixture of wandering the corridors and thinking solely about her. Call it providence.

It was getting dark, and she must have been there a while because the lights were still off. Instead, she was sitting on the windowsill, using the half-light to read. He loved the way she looked when she was concentrating. The slight furrow between her eyebrows, and the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The simple characteristics that looked oh, so special when she did them.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me all evening?" She shut her book with a snap, her voice carefully expressionless. Now that James was here, he realised he had no idea what he had come to say. But he couldn't lose her. That much he knew; he had always known.

"You don't have to say anything, you know," she said, without turning towards him.

"What are you reading?" he asked, unable to think of anything else appropriate to say.

Swinging her legs off the sill, she looked at him, strangely, for the first time. "Jane Eyre."

"What's that mean?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "It's a name. A Muggle book."

"Oh." James swallowed hard. "Lily?" he managed.

Ignoring him determinedly, she stood up and picked up her bag. "It's cold tonight, isn't it?"

"Lily," he said, more forcefully. She stood up, finding him an inch away from her. A tear track glimmered on her cheek.

"Don't do it," she whispered, cracks in her voice. "I understand. You don't have to say it out loud."

"Say what out loud?" James asked angrily. "You really believe that I could have stopped loving you? Merlin, Lily. Love isn't logical. I could never have just given up after ten, or twenty, or a hundred rejections. It doesn't just switch off."

"I know that now," Lily murmured.

"The day I stop loving you," he told her, "is the day I know I've become bitter and heartless."

He watched her as she struggled to take this in, staring into his eyes. "You mean that?"

"Every fucking word," James whispered, and kissed her.

She was right, he reflected. Letting go is never easy. That was why he planned to hold onto her until forever.