You adjusted your bag one last time, the leather straps tight against your shoulder. The train car smelled of wood polish and steam, faintly sweet with the remnants of last year’s adventures.

And then—he was there. James, impossibly loud for this early hour, leaning close with a grin that had no business being charming. His hand brushed your arm, light but insistent.

“Come sit with us,” he said, voice teasing, eyes bright with mischief.

You stepped back, narrowing your eyes. “I—”

Albus Severus, hovering behind him, groaned so quietly it almost blended with the hiss of the steam. “James. Really. Leave her alone.”

“You’ll cave,” James said, ignoring him, voice smooth as a dare.

Before you could react, James leaned closer, tilting his head, his lips brushing toward yours in a mischievous, teasing motion. Reflexively, you slapped him across the face—hard enough to send him stumbling back into the opposite seat, hair slightly mussed, eyes wide with shock and amusement.

“Do not—” you hissed, chest rising, fingers gripping your bag tightly.

James laughed, holding his cheek, still grinning. “Wow… feisty.”

Harry stood a few steps back, hands tucked into his pockets, coat heavy around his shoulders. Ginny leaned beside him, hand raised in a casual wave toward Albus, sending her son a small, tired smile. James was entirely absorbed in you.

Harry’s chest tightened. Every tilt of James’s head, every flash of mischief—it was him. His father, alive in ways he had never been allowed to see. And the way you stood there, clever, unflinching, the edges of your words sharp but gentle—he could almost hear his mother in your tone. Almost feel her presence in your stance, the careful way you held yourself against his son’s teasing.

The sight twisted something in him—warm, impossible, aching. A childhood that never happened flickered before his eyes, whole and vivid, filled with echoes of people he could only imagine.

James Sirius’s laugh rang again, bright and infuriating. “You’ll give in eventually.”

The train groaned, hissing along the tracks, picking up speed. Steam rose in lazy coils, carrying the scent of rain and wood polish. The sound of the wheels under the carriage was hypnotic, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat he had never felt but somehow knew.

James finally glanced up, his grin never faltering. He waved at his father across the platform. “Don’t worry, Dad! I’ll behave… mostly!”