James's wand pressed against the jugular of your throat, pinning your left wrist to the castle stone behind you with his clenched palm. He had you perfectly cornered between the coarse wall and his own lean frame. Unruly curls obscured his warm, dubious eyes, and the circular rims of his glasses glinted in the aurum ambience of the hanging sconces. His voice bit in a hushed interrogation, its tone reminiscent of gilded honey.

"What’s a Slytherin doing here in Gryffindor tower?" James quirked a dark brow, the corner of his lip curling up infinitesimally with obvious smugness. He awaited Remus, Peter, and Sirius in the common room, though had encountered the unfortunate luck of gracing himself with your presence.