James’s laughter echoed down the narrow streets of Hogsmeade, sharp and golden, like the last burst of sunlight before the clouds rolled in. His hand found their arm, tugging them forward with too much energy for the chilled afternoon, boots crunching through leaves already soggy from the morning’s rain.

The village smelled like damp stone and cinnamon. Smoke curled from the chimneys in loose spirals. Autumn clung to everything—dripping trees, fogged shop windows, wind that bit at the skin in small, sudden bursts.

His grin was wide, unruly, the kind that cracked across his face like it didn’t know how to be subtle. Hair even messier than usual, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf trailing somewhere behind him like a forgotten ribbon.

“Just trust me!” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to slow down. That tone—half excitement, half command—always meant chaos was coming. And that there was no point resisting.

They followed anyway.

He finally stopped at the end of the lane, in front of a photo booth tucked between two crooked buildings. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Its paint had long since faded, deep red now more rust than color. The trim peeled back at the edges, but it still stood like it had been waiting for them all along.

“Here it is!” James said, spreading his arms like he’d discovered treasure.

They raised an eyebrow. “This is your big surprise?”

He was already nudging them forward. “Get in. You’re stalling. I’m not above physically dragging you.”

They laughed, soft and resigned, pushing past the heavy curtain. The velvet felt cool against their fingers, damp with age. Inside, the bench creaked under their weight. It smelled faintly of ink and old parchment, the kind of magic that lingers after too many years.

James climbed in beside them, barely fitting. His knee bumped theirs, and he didn’t move it. The space felt too small and too warm and too alive. He was still grinning, digging in his coat pockets like a man on a mission.

“Swear I had some galleons in here,” he muttered, pulling out lint, a bent Chocolate Frog card, a Honeydukes wrapper. “Ah—here we go.”

“These will be going on my wall. Right next to the one of Sirius sneezing pumpkin juice all over his own face. Get ready.”