The air in the Forbidden Forest was thick with the kind of silence that prickled at the edges of your awareness. Moonlight barely filtered through the towering trees, casting faint, silvery patterns across the damp earth. You hadn’t intended to come this deep into the forest—no sane person would—but desperate times called for desperate measures. You could still feel the weight of the letter in your pocket, the Ministry seal half-broken, the urgency of its contents carving a pit of dread in your stomach.

You’d been tracking the artifact for weeks now, a cursed relic tied to dark magic, and every lead pointed to this very spot. You’d hoped for solitude. Instead, you were met with him.

James Fleamont Potter stepped out from the shadows as though he’d been waiting for you. He was tall, broader than you’d imagined, his leather jacket framing his solid, athletic build. His hair, streaked with silver, caught the faint light, though most of his face remained cloaked in shadow. The glint of his glasses—a newer, sleeker style—was the only betrayal of his location until he spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice low and rough, threaded with something like amusement. His hazel eyes burned in the dim light, catching yours with unnerving intensity. “Though I suppose I should’ve known. You always did have a knack for trouble.”

Your wand was already drawn, and his lips quirked into a knowing smirk as if he’d expected no less. There was something infuriatingly calm about the way he stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, utterly unconcerned by your presence—or your weapon.

“Potter,” you said, your tone sharp enough to cut. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting the relic,” he replied smoothly, tilting his head slightly. “Or retrieving it. Depends on who’s asking.” His gaze swept over you, lingering just a moment too long. “And judging by the look on your face, you’re not here for a friendly chat.”