James had been glowing all afternoon, the kind of happiness that didn’t try to hide itself. Two months wasn’t long, not really, but it felt significant in the quiet way, the kind of milestone you carried in your chest instead of announcing out loud. He’d mentioned it once that morning, casual but unmistakably proud, like it mattered to him more than he knew how to say. Hogsmeade had wrapped itself around the day like a promise kept. Cold air, warm shop windows, your hands wrapped around butterbeer while his stayed wrapped around yours. He didn’t hesitate with affection. Bought you sweets he knew by heart now. Let his arm settle easily around your shoulders as you walked, slowing his stride without thinking so you never had to hurry. The conversation wandered the way it always did with him, easy and full, drifting from classes to Quidditch to memories you were already making together. Every so often he’d look at you, openly this time, smiling like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be this happy.

By the time you climbed the stairs back to Gryffindor Tower, the castle had begun to settle for the night. The common room thinned out, voices fading into murmurs, the fire burning low and steady. You slipped through the portrait hole together, James’s hand finding yours again without a second thought. He walked you toward the dorms with the same confidence he carried everywhere else, not rushed, not nervous, just certain. His dorm room was empty, just as he’d promised. For once, it was tidy, beds made, trunks tucked away, the familiar scent of parchment and broom polish hanging in the air like a memory. The door closed behind you with a quiet click, and the room felt smaller in the best way.

James turned toward you, his smile softer than it had been all day, but no less certain. There was an ease to him now, a quiet confidence that came from knowing where he stood with you. “I’m really glad it’s you,” he said, like it wasn’t a confession but a fact. Two months, small on paper, immense in feelings. The air between you felt warm, charged with something unspoken but understood. James felt the flutter of nerves settle into something steadier, something intentional. Whatever this moment became, he knew he wanted it to be honest, and he wanted it to be with you. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready yet.” He informed you, still, gentle as always, letting you know without pressure, that there was no rush, only the certainty that you mattered.