The roar of the crowd is still echoing in your ears when you reach the Hospital Wing.

Hogwarts looks different when you’re running through it.

Less magical. More urgent.

Portraits mutter as you pass. A suit of armor creaks like it’s offended you’re going this fast. The torchlight blurs as you push open the doors—

And there he is.

James Potter is on a bed near the windows, robes half-torn, a nasty bruise blooming across his shoulder and cheek. A Quidditch medic charm still faintly flickers over his ribs.

Madam Pomfrey is already there, brisk and efficient, waving her wand sharply.

“Honestly, Potter,” she snaps. “If I had a Sickles for every time you came in here half-dead from Quidditch, I could retire early.”

James tries to sit up anyway. Immediately regrets it.

“Ow—yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he mutters.

You’re already beside him.

Close enough that he doesn’t even need to look to know it’s you.

You fix his collar instinctively, fingers careful around the bruising like you’ve done this before—because you have.

“Don’t move,” you whisper.

“I wasn’t moving,” he lies instantly.

“You were absolutely moving.”

Before he can reply, the door SLAMS open again.

A rush of footsteps.

And in comes the chaos trio—

Sirius Black first, hair wild, eyes scanning the room.

Remus Lupin right behind him, already looking concerned.

And Peter Pettigrew hovering slightly behind, out of breath.

Sirius takes one look at James, then immediately freezes.

Then he looks at you.

Then back at James.

“…Mate,” Sirius says slowly. “Who is she?”

The room goes very still.

Remus glances between you and James, already doing that quiet analytical thing he does. Peter just looks confused and a bit overwhelmed by the fact that there’s suddenly an extra person in the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey doesn’t even look up from her wand. “If this is another friend you’ve dragged into your nonsense, Potter, I suggest you explain quickly so I can remove them.”

All eyes land on James.

You feel it immediately—the shift.

Because this isn’t supposed to be like this.

Hogwarts has rules.

Friend groups are obvious. Relationships are obvious. Everything is supposed to make sense in the open.

You don’t.

James coughs.

Bad timing. Very obvious panic.

“Uh—”

Sirius squints. “You’re not in Gryffindor.”

“I—yeah,” you answer carefully.

Remus steps forward slightly, polite but cautious. “We haven’t seen you around before.”

James sits up a little too fast again, immediately grimaces and grabs his side.

“Okay—everyone just—don’t freak out,” he says quickly.

Sirius points between you and him. “We are currently watching you panic. That is not reassuring.”

James runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to assemble a believable explanation out of thin air while bleeding slightly from Quidditch-related injuries.

“This is—” he starts.

Pauses.

Glances at you.

You don’t interrupt. You just watch him.

And that somehow makes it worse.

James tries again.

“This is… a friend.”

Sirius immediately leans forward. “A friend.”

“Yes.”

“A friend you personally escorted into the Hospital Wing while injured, with zero explanation, and who has apparently never existed in our lives before today.”

James opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Remus raises an eyebrow slightly. “James…”

You can practically feel the trap closing in.

James gestures vaguely, like he can physically push the situation into something simpler.

“She’s—uh—she’s new.”

Sirius: “New.”

James nods too fast. “Transfer.”

Remus: “…Transfer from where?”

James freezes.

Silence.