The immediate, cold dismissal in the Great Hall left James reeling. He didn't just feel rejected; he felt mystified by the sheer, absolute denial from Severus. That evening, back in the sanctuary of the Gryffindor dormitory, James was a whirlwind of frustrated energy, pacing as he tried to articulate the incomprehensible.

"He lied," James insisted, scrubbing his hands over his face. The faint, silvery marks on his wrist felt like a mocking brand. "He had to. He felt the bond, I know it. But he looked at me like I was trying to trick him into a duel."

Remus was meticulously folding a stack of clean robes, watching James with a careful, thoughtful gaze. "James, you spent four years humiliating him. Why would he ever admit to a magical bond that forces him to be near you? He thinks it's a new, more refined form of torture."

Sirius, perched on his bed, looked skeptical but had lost the earlier hysteria. The truth was too undeniable. "So, the greasy git is actually your soulmate," he muttered, shaking his head. "The universe really does have a sick sense of humour, Prongs. But Moony's right. He saw the truth, but he saw it through years of trauma you inflicted. You can’t just expect him to drop his guard because of a few sparkly lines."

"But this is a Marauders' Mission now," James announced, suddenly stopping his pacing, his eyes alight with reckless determination. "It’s not just about me; it's about destiny. We need a strategy. We need to make him realize that this isn't a prank, it's a permanent feature of his existence."

Peter, surprisingly, piped up from his desk. "But what kind of mission? We can't use jinxes or potions—that'll just make him run faster."

"Exactly. We use kindness," James declared, though the word felt foreign on his tongue. "We start with subtle, constant presence. We show him I’m everywhere, but harmless. We shadow him until he admits the truth."

Over the next two weeks, the Marauders executed the "Unwanted Pursuit" with all the logistical brilliance they usually reserved for mapping secret passageways.

Attempt 1: The Subtle Safety Patrol.

The Marauders began taking frequent, conspicuous walks down the corridor leading to the dungeons. James would position himself slightly ahead, wearing an expression of intense, almost painful sincerity. When Severus and his allies passed, James would simply stop, offer a slight, awkward nod, and try to make direct eye contact, hoping to project "Soulmate Safety" with his stare.

Severus and his group would sweep past, Severus’s dark eyes meeting James’s for a split second before looking away with a look of withering, surgical disdain. Narcissa or Evan would often block Severus’s line of sight entirely.

 Result: Failure. Severus maintained a flawless expression of cold indifference, making James feel like a particularly dull piece of furniture.

Attempt 2: The Academic Intervention.

Knowing Severus valued his studies above all else, James tried to 'help.' In the library one evening, James noticed Severus struggling to reach a rare tome on advanced rune-based warding on a high shelf. James, seeing his chance, raced over.

"Here, Snape, let me get that," James offered, reaching for the book.

Before James could even touch the spine, Regulus, who was sitting nearby, casually flicked his wand. The book sailed off the shelf, landing perfectly in Severus’s waiting hand.

Severus stared at James, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What a marvel of helpfulness, Potter. Did you truly believe I am incapable of summoning a text? Or perhaps you thought that my failure would grant you some sort of pathetic moral high ground? Get lost."

 Result: Failure. Severus and his allies perfectly anticipated the move.

Attempt 3: The Public Apology (Sirius’s Reluctant Plan).

Sirius, tired of the lack of progress, suggested a brief, shouted apology in a crowded hallway. "At least he'll know you mean it," he argued.

The next day, James cornered Severus near the Charms classroom. "Snape! Listen! I am sorry! For everything! I know I was awful! Please just talk to me about the mark!"

Severus stopped, looked around at the curious students, and then turned back to James with a look of deep, dramatic pity. "Potter, if this is your new strategy—publicly faking a mental breakdown to elicit a response—it's truly beneath you. Find a hobby. Stop harassing me." He then walked off with Narcissa, who threw James a look that promised long-term bodily harm.

Result: Failure. Severus played James's sincerity off as theatrical harassment.

Two weeks of total, humiliating failure later, the Marauders were back in their dorm, dejected.

"He's like a fortress," Peter muttered, picking at a loose thread on his bedspread.

"He's not a fortress, he's a highly intelligent individual who knows exactly how to manipulate the situation to his advantage," Remus corrected, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "He's banking on the fact that you won't use magic against him, and he’s using your past cruelty as a shield."

James sat slumped on the bed, staring blankly at the map of his soulmate on his wrist. "Every time I try to be kind, he throws my history back in my face. It's working. I feel like the least deserving person in the world to be his soulmate."

Sirius leaned forward, his face serious. "You have to be smarter, Prongs. You've established the ceasefire. You've established the denial. Now you have to find a way around the wall, not through it."

"He spends all his time with the Slytherin inner circle," James mused. "We need to get him alone, away from the protective shields of Black and Rosier."

"That's nearly impossible," Remus warned. "They guard him like a dragon guards its hoard."

James looked up, a familiar glint of scheming returning to his hazel eyes. "Then we target the circumstances, not him. What's the only thing that would force him to be isolated and vulnerable? What’s the only place he can't bring his entire security detail?"

He pointed a finger at the center of the Marauders' Map, which had been unrolled on the floor. "He's always in the Potions Lab on Tuesday nights after curfew, working on Slughorn's private projects. Alone. And Slughorn doesn't care who is in the dungeons, as long as the work gets done."

"The dungeons," Sirius breathed, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. "High stakes. High risk. No witnesses."

"This isn't about dueling him, Padfoot," James stated, his voice firm. "This is about forcing a genuine, private conversation. No denial, no audience. Just him and me, and the bond we share. Remus, can you find a way to distract Slughorn? Peter, we need a diversion near the Slytherin entrance."

James finally looked down at the silver constellation on his wrist, a determined, almost desperate conviction settling over him.

"Operation: Dungeon Confession is a go. Failure is no longer an option."