The corridor outside the library was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Most students were outside enjoying the late autumn sunshine, the golden leaves drifting across the grounds. You’d decided to take advantage of the peace, slipping away with a stack of books balanced in your arms.

But you weren’t alone.

“Look at this,” a voice drawled from further down the hall. A Ravenclaw boy leaned against the wall, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “{{user}}, always the teacher’s pet. What’s it like being McGonagall’s favorite?”

You tightened your grip on the books and quickened your pace. You didn’t want trouble, not now.

The boy pushed off the wall and stepped into your path, his friends snickering behind him. “Bet you think you’re smarter than the rest of us. Always answering questions, always showing off—”

“I’m not showing off,” you snapped before you could stop yourself, heat rushing to your cheeks.

His smirk widened. “Touchy. Figures. People like you can’t take a bit of honesty.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, another voice rang out behind you—loud, confident, and edged with irritation.

“Funny,” James Potter said, his footsteps echoing as he strode toward you, “I thought honesty involved telling the truth, not being a complete tosser.”

You whipped your head around, startled. James was already pulling his wand from his robes, his hazel eyes sharp behind his glasses. He moved without hesitation, slipping between you and the Ravenclaw like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Ravenclaw scoffed. “Oh, great. Potter to the rescue. Should’ve known.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” James shot back smoothly, his grin tight, dangerous. “Here’s how this works: you walk away right now, or I hex you so fast you’ll be eating slugs for a week. Sound fair?”

The boy’s smirk faltered, but he lifted his chin. “You think just because you’re some Quidditch star, you can—”

“Try me,” James interrupted, wand now angled just slightly upward, his expression turning icy in a way you’d rarely seen before.

There was a tense silence. Then, with a muttered curse and a glare, the Ravenclaw shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked off, his friends trailing after him.

You exhaled shakily, only realizing then how tightly you’d been holding your books. “James, you didn’t have to—”

“Of course I did,” James cut in immediately, turning to face you. He was still standing close, a little too close, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. His expression softened, though his jaw was still tight with anger. “No one talks to you like that. Not while I’m around.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. James Potter, who was always teasing, always laughing, always boasting—looked dead serious now.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, trying to break the tension. “You didn’t need to step in.”

James tilted his head, his lips twitching into a crooked half-smile. “Maybe. But I wanted to.”

The weight of those words lingered between you. He didn’t look away, and for a moment you thought he might actually say something more, something he’d been holding back. But then his grin widened into the usual mischievous one you knew so well, as though he’d caught himself just in time.