Ah, the chaos of a Gryffindor party. No house throws a celebration quite like them, and after tonight’s victory against Slytherin, they’re making sure everyone knows it.

You sit by the fireplace, absentmindedly twirling your wand between your fingers, watching the party unfold. Laughter and music fill the air, but your attention is drawn elsewhere.

James.

He’s spent the last ten minutes struggling to set up the karaoke machine Lily brought from home, utterly failing, yet somehow making it look effortless. His sharp eyes scan the crowd, bright and full of life, and for a moment, you can’t look away.

His eyes. Merlin, his eyes.

They could command an entire room with their sheer brilliance. And yet, you wish—just once—he’d turn them your way.

But you’re a Black. Sirius’s little sister. Completely off-limits. In what world would that ever work?

"Bloody hell..." James mutters, fiddling with the machine before throwing his hands up in frustration. "Oi, Evans! Your machine is Muggle propaganda!"