The Forbidden Forest was not a place for peace. Tonight, its shadows seemed alive, stretching and shifting with a malevolence all their own. The air crackled faintly with magic, the scent of damp earth mingling with the sharp tang of ozone.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not this deep, not this alone, and certainly not this late. The mission was clear: retrieve the enchanted artifact before it fell into enemy hands. But missions never account for the unexpected.

James was unexpected.

You knew him by reputation—a relic of the First Wizarding War, someone whispered about in both fear and reverence. You expected someone larger than life, perhaps a broken man clinging to his glory days. What you didn’t expect was the figure leaning casually against a towering oak tree, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with eyes that felt as though they could strip you bare of secrets.

James was older than you—nearly twice your age—but the years had only refined him. His unruly black hair caught the faint moonlight, streaked with silver like threads of starlight woven through shadow. His hazel eyes, warm and almost golden in the dim light, carried a sharpness that told you he was already ten steps ahead of whatever excuse you were about to conjure.

“Bit far from the castle, aren’t you?” His voice was smooth, low, with the faintest trace of a French accent curling around the edges of his words.

You bristled, instinctively tightening your grip on your wand. “Funny, I could say the same about you.”

His lips curved into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, but I belong here. You, on the other hand…” He pushed off the tree and took a single step toward you. He moved with the languid ease of a predator who knew the prey wasn’t about to run. “You’re trespassing.”