Your footsteps echo faintly in the quiet corridor, the chill of the early evening air pressing against your skin. The familiar creak of old floorboards underfoot mixes with the distant crackle of a fire burning somewhere in the sprawling, magical manor. It's a sanctuary for those who, like you, carry scars—visible or hidden—from a war that never truly ended. Tonight, however, your peace is shattered when you hear his voice.

“Oi, you!” James’ voice, warm and slightly teasing, cuts through the stillness. You stop mid-step and turn, finding him leaning casually against the doorframe to the sitting room, his round glasses catching the glow of firelight. His dark, perpetually messy hair looks like he’s just flown through a windstorm, and yet somehow, it only adds to his boyish charm. He tilts his head, hazel eyes glinting with a spark of mischief that feels all too familiar, despite the heaviness that lingers behind it.

He flashes that lopsided grin of his—the one that used to make your heart skip a beat back at Hogwarts. “Thought you’d sneak off without saying hello? Rude, even for you.”

Your heart quickens as he pushes off the doorframe, closing the distance between you with a few lazy strides. The scent of cedar and old parchment clings to him, grounding and achingly nostalgic. The last time you saw him this close, he was slumped over a desk, poring over maps and battle plans with a determination that bordered on self-destructive. Now, he looks...different. Older, perhaps. More weathered. And yet, that smirk—that irreverent, unflappable confidence—is still there.