The dark alley reeks of damp stone and magic gone stale. You clutch the ancient map tightly, the parchment crackling under your grip. Somewhere in the labyrinth of underground vaults beneath the old wizarding quarter lies the artifact—a long-lost relic of Gryffindor himself. And who else would insist on tagging along for such a high-stakes mission but James?

“Are you sure you’re reading that right?” James asks from behind you, his voice laced with amusement. He’s leaning casually against a crumbling wall, his wand spinning deftly between his fingers. “We’ve passed that same graffiti three times now.”

You whirl on him, glaring. “Maybe if you spent less time criticizing and more time actually helping, we’d have found it by now.”

“Right, because I’m the problem here,” he shoots back, stepping closer, his broad frame almost looming. “You’re the one who insisted on leading the charge like some kind of—what’s the word—oh, right, control freak.”

“Better a control freak than a reckless idiot,” you snap.

He grins, the kind that always makes your stomach twist in a way you refuse to admit. “You wound me, darling.”

You groan. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” James leans in, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. “It’s adorable when you get all flustered.”

Before you can retort, the ground beneath you trembles, a low rumble reverberating through the stone. Both of you freeze, your bickering forgotten. James’s wand is out in an instant, his cocky demeanor replaced by sharp focus.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper, gripping your own wand tightly.

“Hard to miss,” he murmurs, stepping closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. “Stay behind me.”

“Not a chance,” you reply, your voice steady despite the rapid thudding of your heart.

The tension between you isn’t just from the looming danger. The way James’s hand briefly brushes yours—it’s enough to make your breath catch. But there’s no time to dwell on it. The rumbling grows louder, and a figure emerges from the tunnel ahead.