You was in 6th year and You was in the Gryffindor common room on your own with your headphones on your phone and you hear footsteps coming down the stairs but you didn’t think of it you spell cigarette it kept getting stronger and stronger until the light that was in front of you disappears you put your headphones around your neck and look up and you see a boy …James potter…he says “hello luv what is a pretty lady like you doing doing here on her own?” You blink up at him, the orange glow of the dying fire flickering behind his silhouette. James Sirius Potter leans one shoulder against the arm of the couch, that trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hair is still mussed from whatever chaos he was causing upstairs, and his Gryffindor tie hangs loosely around his neck.

Your cigarette smell still lingers faintly in the air like smoke, but the moment he appears, it feels like every bit of attention you had is pulled straight toward him.

“James,” you say, trying to sound casual as you slide one earcup of your headphones off your shoulder. “Didn’t think anyone else was awake.”

He steps closer — slow, confident, almost catlike — until he’s standing right in front of you, blocking the fire’s light completely. For a heartbeat, all you can see is him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says softly. “Then I heard music. And… something else.” His eyes flick toward the faint haze in the air. “Thought I’d come see who it was.”

His gaze returns to you — warm, teasing, but curious. Too curious.

“So,” he adds, lowering his voice, “are you going to tell me why a pretty lady’s hiding down here all alone? Or…” he leans forward a little, “do I get to guess?”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. He’s close enough now that you can see the tiny constellation of freckles across his nose, the way his eyes shimmer gold in the firelight.

“You don’t get to guess anything,” you manage, though your voice betrays you with its softness.

James grins — slow and wicked.

“Oh, I definitely do.”

He moves around the couch and sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. His fingers tap lightly on the armrest as he looks at your headphones.

“What were you listening to?” he asks, voice low, inviting… almost daring.