James Potter sat at the edge of the couch, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. Sirius sprawled across the cushions beside him, boots kicked up on the armrest, while Remus had his nose in a book. Peter sat cross-legged on the rug, munching on a chocolate frog.

James cleared his throat dramatically, breaking their lazy silence. “Alright, lads. Tonight’s the night. No more stammering. No more butterflies—”

Sirius snorted so loudly Remus’s book wobbled in his hands. “Butterflies? Merlin, Prongs, that was last week’s disaster. Or was it puppies? Or baby goats?”

“Baby goats?” Remus chuckled, setting his book down. “I missed that one.”

Peter grinned around his chocolate frog. “She asked about homework, and he said—what was it, James?—oh, ‘Goats are nice. I like goats.’”

James flushed scarlet, glaring at all of them. “Brilliant, yes, thank you for the supportive recap of my epic failures. Exactly what I needed before the big moment.”

Sirius leaned back, smirking. “The big moment? Oh, this I’ve got to hear. Do tell us, oh fearless leader, how you intend to sweep our dear new student off her feet this time. Gonna serenade her about barnyard animals?”

Remus chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “Honestly, James, we are rooting for you. It’s just… you do lose all sense of coherence around her.”

James straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest, though his ears were still red. “Laugh it up, but mark my words—tonight I’ll ask her out. Properly. None of this nonsense. A casual, confident, sophisticated invitation.”

“Right,” Sirius drawled. “Sophisticated like your hair. Completely wild and hopelessly doomed.”

Before James could retort, the portrait hole creaked open.

She stepped in. The new student. Bright-eyed, cheeks flushed from the chill of the corridors, and her smile—her smile had James’s bravado disintegrating faster than a sugar quill in hot tea.

James froze mid-breath, Quidditch-honed reflexes utterly useless against the thundering of his own heart. His mouth opened—surely to deliver the polished line he’d rehearsed—and instead, out tumbled:

“Did you know butterflies taste with their feet?”

The common room went dead silent. Sirius dropped his head back on the couch and howled with laughter. Remus pressed a hand over his mouth, failing to hide his grin, and Peter nearly choked on his chocolate frog.

The girl blinked, then tilted her head with a curious smile. “...Do they really?”

James’s face went crimson. “Er—yes! Absolutely! Fascinating creatures, aren’t they? I mean—not that you’re a butterfly, obviously, but—well, you are fascinating—erm—”

Sirius slid off the couch in a fit of hysterics. “Oh, Prongs. You’re hopeless.”