The front door creaks open with a sound too soft to be comforting.

You step inside, mud-caked boots heavy against the floorboards, robes torn and soaked through with something darker than rain. It’s quiet in the cottage—just the hum of the fireplace and the faint crackle of one candle still burning on the kitchen table.

Then: his voice, from the stairs.

“Where the hell have you been?”

James’s silhouette cuts down the hall fast—faster than your pulse can catch up. He rounds the corner and stops dead in the entryway. His eyes rake over you, widening at the state you’re in. Blood. Dirt. The slight hitch in your breathing.

“You’re hurt,” he says. It’s not a question.

He’s in front of you in three strides. His hands hover—not touching, not yet, as if afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too quickly. Then, with a strangled sort of exhale, his fingers close around your wrist. Gently. Firmly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t just walk in like it’s any other night,” he snaps, voice rough and too loud for the room. “You don’t get to do that—don’t get to scare me like that and pretend everything’s fine.”

You don’t answer. You haven’t said a word since you crossed the threshold.

James is soaked in tension—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, breath catching like he’s trying not to lose it. His wand is still tucked into his waistband, forgotten. He probably waited up all night. Again.

“You were gone for hours,” he says, quieter now, but not calmer. “Moody said it’d be quick. Said the intel was solid. And then no one heard a damn thing.”

He lets go of your wrist only to push a hand through his hair, glasses askew as he paces two steps and back again.

“This isn’t Hogwarts anymore. It’s not a bloody prank war with the Slytherins. You vanish like that and I—I don’t know if I’m going to get a knock on the door or a body on the lawn.”

A beat.

“And you just walk in,” he whispers. “Like nothing happened.”

James finally looks at you—really looks. His hazel eyes are shining now, not with anger, but fear. It cracks through the rest of him, quiet and raw.

“If I lose you…” His voice falters. “Don’t make me find out what that feels like.”

He steps closer. Slower this time.

“Just tell me you’re okay. Even if it’s a lie. Please.”