Here we are…not too bad of a wait.
Oh, joyous day! Calloo, callay!
The wonderful inevitable has occurred – you and Wilkes have finally separated. Not that the entire day has been wonderful, of course – you were quite upset when you two started screaming at each other from opposite ends of the dinner table tonight, but I was so focused on the fact that you weren't screaming at me for once that I couldn't really be too fazed.
I still can't figure out what he did to get you so angry, but I definitely don't envy him. You can really sink your teeth in when you want to. I am curious what the argument was about, though. I swear I heard you hollering something awful about "personal space" and "popping the bubble". Not sure what the last one meant, but I can certainly guess.
…No wonder you hate me.
Moving on, your foul mood stuck around for the rest of the day. We were seated next to each other in Potions, which would have been great if you hadn't spent the hour impaling beetles on your desk with a knife. I'm fairly sure that you were imagining Wilkes' head scuttling around in front of you.
"Are you alright?" You looked up as you put the beetles into your mortar and began to grind your pestle into them with unnecessary force. "I mean, if you wanted to talk, or…"
"Shut it, Potter," you grunted.
To any other man in the school, that would have been off-putting, but I'm especially devoted to my darling. "Are you sure I can't do something?"
"Why are all men so bloody daft that you can't understand two very simple words?" Your voice had reached a hysteric high point and Remus turned around, staring at me in bewilderment. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Hey! That's – "
"All I am asking you to do is shove off. Please, Potter – just for a bit."
As you went back to your beetle, I came up with a brilliant plan – a dating service called Blokes with Brains, filled with entries of the many personalities of yours truly. I mentioned it out loud and you simply took one look at me, dumped your beetle paste onto the front of shirt, and walked away.
I'm starting to think you'd prefer Wilkes to me.
—James