The lights dimmed, the crowd buzzing like a storm about to break, and James Potter leaned into his bass, fingers dancing over the strings. The Marauders were in their element—Sirius shredding his guitar, Remus keeping the beat on drums, Peter nervously glancing at the setlist—but all eyes, somehow, always found James. He grinned, hair wild, leather jacket catching the stage lights. The concluding riff hit, low and groaning, vibrating through the floorboards, and James could feel it in his chest, in his bones.

——-——

The roar of the crowd faded behind the curtains as the last lights blinked out. James was still buzzing, fingers tingling from the rush of the last riff, when someone leaned casually against the edge of the stage. He glanced up—and there she was, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, a smirk playing on her lips like she’d known this moment was coming all along.

Without missing a beat, James slung his bass over his shoulder, stepped closer, and grinned. “You’re so hot you’re hurting my feelings.”

She laughed, the sound cutting through the haze of adrenaline and sweat, and suddenly the chaos of the concert didn’t matter. The Marauders were packing up, the amps humming softly, but James? He was just caught in her eyes, still riding the high of the music—and something a little more dangerous.