You hadn’t planned on seeing James Potter again, not like this.

It’s been years since anyone called him “Potter” with that specific edge, but the moment you step into the room and hear Sirius Black’s laugh ricochet off the walls, you know exactly who’s here before you even look.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already,” Sirius says, already grinning like he’s won something. “James just got here.”

James turns at the sound of your name.

He freezes just for half a second, like someone whose body reacts before their pride can catch up. Then the familiar smile slips into place, easy and warm and just a little too bright.

“You,” he says, surprised, like he hasn’t been expecting you to exist anymore.

You’re both adults now. That’s the ridiculous part. Older, sharper, supposedly past the strange, unresolved tension that used to sit between you like unfinished business. James looks different — broader somehow, calmer but the energy is the same. He still fills space without asking permission. Still watches people like he’s afraid they might disappear if he looks away.

Remus clears his throat, already tired. “Before either of you start,” he says mildly, “you’re both staying. We need this to work.”

James laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking back to you. “Right. Of course. Teamwork. Love that for us.”

Sirius, unhelpful as ever, leans in close to you and stage-whispers, “For what it’s worth, I give it three days before one of you snaps.”

James shoots him a warning look. “Sirius.”

“What?” Sirius shrugs. “I’m being optimistic.”