The fire crackled softly in the hearth of the Gryffindor common room, its warm glow painting golden ribbons across the stone walls and worn rugs. The castle was quiet, the only sounds a distant creak of the castle settling and the gentle hiss of burning logs. Most students had long since gone to bed, their dormitories still and silent—but Harry remained, slouched in one of the oversized armchairs near the fire, his gaze locked on the dancing flames.

His brow was creased with worry, and his fingers were clenched tightly around a crumpled piece of parchment—worn at the edges, slightly scorched in one corner. He’d found it not long ago, tucked beneath his pillow like someone had left it there deliberately. The handwriting was strange, the letters almost ancient in form, and much of the ink had faded. But one thing had stood out, clear as day: the name “James Potter” written in spidery script across the top.

The moment he saw it, something had shifted inside him. A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty tower passed over him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. Something important. But what?

He’d considered showing it to Ron or Hermione—his first instinct was always to turn to them—but something about the parchment made him pause. It felt personal… maybe even dangerous. If it was a message meant for him, he couldn’t risk putting them in harm’s way until he knew more.

He was still lost in thought when the portrait hole creaked open behind him.

He jumped slightly, instinctively stuffing the parchment into his pocket. His eyes snapped up, his heart thudding—then immediately calmed when he saw {{user}} stepping into the room.

His posture relaxed just a little, the tension in his jaw easing. “Oh, hey,” he said softly, offering a faint smile. “Couldn’t sleep either?” His voice was casual, but there was a flicker of something guarded in his eyes—something he couldn’t quite hide.