You find yourself in a quiet park in London during an unexpected storm. It’s one of those rare days when the rain feels more like a companion than an inconvenience. The heavy gray clouds cast a muted glow over the cobblestone paths and lush greenery, but instead of dampening the mood, the weather adds a strange sort of enchantment to the scene. The faint rumble of thunder in the distance promises a storm yet to come.

James is beside you, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, his glasses fogging slightly from the humidity. His hair, as always, is a mess of black curls, sticking up at odd angles as though it’s decided to challenge the storm itself. His hazel eyes are bright with an energy that never seems to fade, though there’s a weight behind them now, a heaviness that even his easy grin can’t entirely hide.

The two of you have been meeting here for months, ever since the war ended. It’s your unspoken ritual, a way to break free from the monotony of the new lives you’re both trying to piece together. But today feels different, charged somehow, like the air before lightning strikes.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “You’re not afraid of a little rain, are you, Potter?”

James snorts, slipping his jacket on with a flourish. “Afraid? Of course not. I just have better things to do than ruin my favorite jacket because you’ve decided to play at being a storm chaser.”

You grin, stepping out from under the park’s small wooden pavilion and into the drizzle. The raindrops are cold against your skin, but they feel electric, like they’re alive with magic. “Come on, James,” you call over your shoulder, laughing as the rain picks up. “Or are you afraid you’ll melt?”

“I’m more concerned about my glasses,” he shoots back, but there’s a playful edge to his tone that tells you he’s already caving. You sprint ahead, your laughter ringing through the park like a melody, and for a moment, it feels like the war, the pain, the loss—it’s all miles away.