You wandered through the castle corridors, your steps heavy, your thoughts heavier. The echo of your failed Potions exam replayed in your mind, a dull throb of disappointment in your chest. No matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t matter — it did. And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Lost in your own head, you barely noticed the figure turning the corner until— bam —you collided, books nearly slipping from your grasp.

You stumbled backward, but a strong hand caught your arm just in time.

“Whoa—sorry! Didn’t see you there,” came a familiar voice.

You looked up — and immediately wished you hadn’t.

James Potter. The annoyingly perfect Gryffindor. Hair perfectly messy, tie half-loosened in that effortlessly cool way, and of course, that smug little grin he always wore like a badge of honor.

Except… he wasn’t grinning now.

There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he looked down at you, his hand still outstretched. “Hi,” he said again, quieter this time. “You alright?”

And for some stupid reason, in that moment — your name, your grades, the entire English language — just evaporated from your brain.