James has a real knack for pretending his birthday is no big deal. You know this because he announces it loudly at breakfast, standing on the bench with his arms spread wide like he’s addressing the entire Great Hall. “Another year older, another year being devastatingly handsome,” he declares, earning a chorus of groans and a thrown roll from Sirius.

By lunchtime, half the school seems to know. By dinner, there’s a cake enchanted to set itself on fire and extinguish in dramatic bursts, courtesy of the marauders. James takes a bow like he’s just won the Quidditch Cup. But you notice the way he keeps glancing toward you, like he’s waiting for something he won’t ask for.

Later that night, you catch him slipping away from the common room, laughter trailing behind him. You follow, finding him on the Astronomy Tower, leaning against the stone, party noise distant, and dull.

“Running away on your birthday?” You tease.

James shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Needed air. Too much everything.”

You pull a small package from your pocket. “Close your eyes.”

He obeys instantly. No questions. When he opens them, you press the gift into his hands: a simple thing, but thoughtful. Something you knew he’d like.

For once, James is quiet.

“Blimey,” he says softly. “You actually-”

He stops, swallows, and then looks up at you with that familiar grin. Smaller now, warmer.