The moon hangs low in the sky, its pale light spilling over the cobblestone streets of Godric’s Hollow. The village is quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the soft hum of your footsteps alongside James’s. The two of you had left the Ministry late—another day spent sifting through endless reports and dull meetings. You’d noticed the tension in James’s shoulders as the hours dragged on, his humor quieter than usual, his hazel eyes distant. When you suggested a walk to clear your minds, he hesitated at first but eventually relented with a small, lopsided smile.

Now, you’re here, wandering past the old churchyard and the war memorial that magically transforms into a statue of the Potter family when you approach. James slows, his gaze fixed on the statue as a flicker of something—nostalgia, maybe pain—crosses his face.

"You know," he begins, his voice soft but tinged with that unmistakable edge of humor, "when I was little, my mum used to bring me here all the time. She’d tell me the most ridiculous stories about how Gryffindor’s bravery lived on in the bloodline. Said we were destined for greatness or something like that." He pauses, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "Guess she forgot to mention the part where greatness is just another word for exhausting."

You glance at him, unsure whether to tease him or let the silence speak for you. He’s fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, an old habit you’ve come to recognize as his way of grounding himself.

The two of you continue walking, the path narrowing as it leads toward the older, less-traveled parts of the village. The houses here are crumbling relics, their windows darkened and their walls etched with ivy. It’s here that you stumble upon something unexpected—a weathered statue hidden in the shadows of a forgotten square. Unlike the others, this one seems to radiate a faint, magical hum. Strange runes are carved into the stone, glowing faintly as the moonlight touches them.

"That’s new," James murmurs, stepping closer.