The Gryffindor common room was loud.

It always was, but tonight was particularly chaotic—someone had started a game of exploding snap near the fireplace, a group of second years were arguing loudly about Quidditch statistics, and several students lounged across the sofas doing homework they absolutely intended to ignore in about five minutes.

In the center of it all stood James Potter.

And he was absolutely in the middle of a story.

“So I told McGonagall—very respectfully, of course—that if she wanted someone to demonstrate proper broom control, she should really—”

A hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

James paused mid-sentence.

It wasn’t the touch that stopped him—it was the warmth behind it.

He turned, and immediately met {{user}}’s eyes. They sparkled with something bright and genuine, not amused the way most people looked when he was boasting. Something softer. Her scent drifted around him as she stood close enough that his voice instinctively lowered.

Before she even spoke, he found himself leaning slightly toward her without meaning to.

“You carry so much joy with you, James,” she said warmly. “It’s truly infectious.”

James Potter froze.

Mid-boast.

Mid-sentence.

His mouth stayed slightly open for a moment as if his brain had completely forgotten how conversation worked.

His hair—normally a chaotic storm of messy black—actually seemed to fall flatter, like the confidence powering it had momentarily shut off.

The common room continued buzzing around him, but James barely noticed.

No one ever said things like that to him.

They laughed at his jokes. They cheered his Quidditch plays. They rolled their eyes at his arrogance.

But joy?

His ears turned red first.

Then his neck.

Then his entire face followed.

“Th—”

James cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he finally managed, voice oddly smaller than usual.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the carpet beneath his feet. For once, James Potter—Gryffindor star, self-proclaimed legend, future Quidditch icon—looked genuinely flustered.

He tried to recover his usual grin.

It came out softer.

And far less cocky than usual.