You find yourself standing in a sprawling, enchanted orchard bathed in the golden light of an autumn afternoon. Rows of apple trees stretch endlessly around you, their leaves shifting colors like a living kaleidoscope. The scene would be peaceful if it weren’t for the whirlwind of chaos James insists on bringing everywhere he goes.

“Oi, try to keep up, will you?” James calls, balancing precariously on his broomstick as he hovers just overhead. The cocky grin on his face is enough to make your blood boil. “I thought you’d have learned a trick or two by now. Or has the great you finally met your match?”

You scowl up at him, your wand clutched tightly in one hand, your own broomstick idling at your side. “The only thing I’m about to meet, Potter, is your massive ego. And I can promise you it’s going down in flames.”

It started as a casual dare. “A friendly race,” James had suggested, though nothing involving him has ever stayed friendly for long. Now, it’s morphed into a full-blown duel in midair, with the loser owing the winner a favor — of the winner’s choosing. Naturally, neither of you is willing to back down.

He winks, tipping the edge of his broom just slightly so he hovers closer, the scent of leather and wind clinging to him. “Careful, love. If you keep glaring at me like that, I might think you’re flirting.”

Your cheeks heat instantly, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you mount your broom and kick off the ground, soaring upward to meet him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. If I were flirting, you’d be the last to know.”

The race begins in a blur of golden leaves and wind whipping past your face. You zigzag through the trees, neck and neck, your competitive streak surging to the forefront. James, of course, narrates the entire thing like he’s the star of some grand drama.

“Bet you’re regretting that extra pumpkin tart at lunch now, aren’t you?” he calls over his shoulder, laughing as he narrowly dodges a low-hanging branch.