The house is quiet tonight. A rare peace blankets the rooms, interrupted only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the sitting room. The shadows stretch long across the walls, flickering with the firelight, casting fleeting shapes that remind you of how fragile this moment feels. It’s been months since the wedding — months since you found yourself standing at James' side, bound by duty, not love.

James, the boy who once tormented you with pranks and sharp words. James, the man who now shares your home. James, the father who tucks his son in each night with whispered promises of safety.

And yet, despite the passage of time, the air between you remains taut — stretched thin by unspoken words, lingering resentment, and something neither of you is willing to name.

The weight of old grudges clings to you both like a second skin. Memories of Hogwarts flash in your mind: the smug tilt of his head when he bested you in class, the way his laughter rang out as you fumed over another one of his pranks. But the man you live with now is different. The war has stripped away much of that boyish arrogance, leaving behind someone quieter, more guarded, and deeply vulnerable.

You see it in the way his hand lingers on Harry’s shoulder, in the haunted look in his hazel eyes when he thinks no one’s watching.

Tonight, though, it’s not Harry who stirs the silence. It’s James. You hear him before you see him — footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, as if he’s weighing whether or not to disturb the uneasy peace.

He appears in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the warm glow of the fire. His hair is as wild as ever, glasses slightly askew on his nose. He’s dressed casually — a soft, worn sweater that looks far too comfortable for someone who carries as much tension as he does.