The front door creaked open with a familiar slam, James’s voice carrying into the quiet house before you even saw him.

“Love? You home?”

You peeked out from the kitchen, wiping flour from your hands. “In here. Why are you grinning like a troublemaker? You’ve got that Marauder look again.”

He chuckled, a mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. “Me? Trouble? Never.” But his hands were tucked suspiciously into his jacket, the fabric shifting oddly.

You arched an eyebrow. “James Fleamont Potter, what are you hiding?”

“Not hiding,” he said, moving toward you with the kind of boyish excitement that made your chest ache in the best way. “Surprising.”

Before you could press further, a tiny mew slipped from beneath his jacket. Your jaw dropped. “James—”

He carefully unzipped his jacket and revealed a tiny black kitten nestled against his chest, eyes wide and blinking in the light. Its fur was slightly ruffled, as if it had been on quite the adventure before ending up with him.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” you whispered, instantly melting. You reached out, and the kitten gave a shaky little purr as James transferred it gently into your arms.

“I found her near the apothecary,” James explained quickly, clearly testing your reaction. “No collar, no owner in sight. Nearly ran straight into the Floo station. I couldn’t just leave her.” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a little sheepish. “So… I thought maybe she could use a home. Our home.”

You looked down at the bundle of fur purring in your hands, then back at James. His messy hair was sticking up in every direction, his cheeks slightly pink, not from embarrassment, but from that wild, uncontainable hope of his.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, but you were smiling, warmth bubbling up inside you.

James grinned wide, relief flooding his features. “So that’s a yes?”

The kitten batted at your sleeve with a tiny paw, as if sealing the deal. You laughed, leaning into James as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Of course it’s a yes. But you’re in charge of cleaning the litter box.”

He kissed the top of your head, grinning so hard his dimples showed. “Deal. And I already thought of a name.”

“Oh no,” you groaned playfully, “this should be good.”

“Padfoot Junior.”

You smacked his chest lightly, unable to stop laughing, the sound mingling with his. For the first time in ages, the house felt alive with joy, with peace, with a future that was truly theirs.