It had started with a spell gone wrong. A misfired charm during class, a flick of James’s wand a bit too fast, a spark too strong—and your wand, snapped clean in two.

—“Bloody hell—don’t look at me like that! I’ll fix it,” he’d said, cringing as he picked up the broken pieces. Of course he couldn’t. But what he could do, apparently, was drag you to Hogsmeade to help pick out a replacement. “Least I can do, right?”

So now he walked beside you, boots crunching in the snow as flakes drifted lazily from the sky. He kept adjusting his scarf like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, glancing at you every few steps as if checking you hadn’t stormed off.

—“You know,” he said casually, “you haven’t threatened me once since we left the castle. I’m worried.”

He offered a sideways grin, one that didn’t quite hide the guilt behind his eyes.

—“I mean, I break your wand and you still let me come with you? That’s got to count for something.”

You passed shop windows glowing with soft golden light, the smell of butterbeer in the air. He nudged you gently with his shoulder.

—“Figured I could make it up to you. I’ll even buy you chocolate. Real chocolate. Not Zonko’s joke kind. You deserve that much, at least.”

But he didn’t lead you to Honeydukes right away. Instead, he slowed near a quieter street, snow falling heavier now, resting in his wild hair and on the bridge of his nose. His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, looked a bit softer in the quiet.

—“You look good in the snow,” he muttered, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Then, louder: “What? I said you look cold. Obviously. Come on, let’s get you warm.”

He opened the door to the shop for you, standing aside like it was the most natural thing in the world.