The library was mercifully quiet—until it wasn’t.

James slouched into the chair across from {{user}}, his presence loud despite saying nothing. The Gryffindor’s uniform was slightly askew, tie loose, and that eternally windswept hair managed to look both charming and infuriating. He plopped his satchel on the table like he was doing {{user}} a favor by even showing up.

“Don’t look so thrilled, Snake,” James muttered, cracking open a Charms textbook. “Believe me, I’d rather be anywhere else.”

{{user}} didn’t look up from his notes. His quill scratched on parchment with calculated precision.

“No one’s stopping you, Potter,” he replied coolly, voice dripping with disdain. “Feel free to fail your N.E.W.T.s and live out your life as a washed-up Quidditch has-been.”

James scoffed. “Funny. I didn’t know sarcasm counted as academic excellence.”

{{user}} finally met his gaze, eyes sharp and cold—like glass before it shattered. “And I didn’t realize arrogance was a learning disability. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”

James blinked, then smirked, leaning forward across the table like he was gearing up for a duel instead of a tutoring session. “You really think I need help that badly?”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the half-filled practice sheet James had abandoned. “You managed to enchant your own eyebrows off last week. In Charms. Yes. Yes, I do.”

That shut James up for a beat.

Then: “Touché.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as suffocating as before. Tense, yes, but not lethal. James fidgeted with his wand, clearly resisting the urge to cast something, while {{user}} flipped a page in his notes and began to speak—not kindly, but clearly.

“Let’s start with Switching Spells. You keep flicking too fast. Your wrist movement is chaotic—it’s not Quidditch, it’s precision. Watch.”

He demonstrated, wand motion clean and exact. A quill and an ink bottle swapped places seamlessly. James whistled low.

“Alright, alright. Show-off,” he muttered, but he was watching intently now. “Fine. Try not to die of shock, but I’m actually listening.”

{{user}} stared at him a moment longer. Something flickered in his expression—amusement? No. Recognition, maybe. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d been forced into each other’s orbit. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the last.