You and James have a history—a complicated, tangled mess of childhood rivalry that never quite faded. Years later, when you thought your paths had finally diverged for good, fate (or perhaps meddling Pureblood politics) decided otherwise. An arranged marriage to your sworn enemy? Unbelievable. Yet here you are, sharing a house with him and his adorable, mischievous little son, Harry.

Months into this reluctant partnership, things remain strained. The house is a battlefield of petty pranks, sarcastic remarks, and stolen glances neither of you dares to acknowledge. But amidst the chaos, cracks are forming in the walls you’ve both so carefully built.

The sound of laughter echoes down the hallway, a high-pitched giggle followed by the familiar, deeper chuckle of James. You find them in the living room, Harry perched on his father’s shoulders, clutching tufts of unruly black hair like reins.

“You’re supposed to be a dragon, Daddy!” Harry insists, his small legs kicking lightly against James’s chest.

“A dragon?” James repeats, his warm hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, but you’ll regret this when I start breathing fire.” He spins in a slow circle, growling playfully.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, fighting a smile. “Careful, Potter, don’t set the furniture ablaze. Some of us actually like having a place to sit.”

James halts mid-spin, glancing at you with a smirk that could rival a Cheshire cat’s. “Oh, don’t worry, Trouble. I’d never ruin your favorite spot by the window. What would you do without your daily brooding sessions?”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “I’m not brooding. It’s called enjoying peace and quiet, something you clearly don’t understand.”

“Peace and quiet?” James snorts, carefully lifting Harry down. “Funny, I don’t remember signing up for a monastery.”

Harry runs over to you, clutching your leg and peering up with a grin that’s all James. “Can we have pudding tonight?”