The corridors of Hogwarts are quiet, the soft flicker of torchlight casting shadows along the stone walls as you make your way toward the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Your steps are unhurried, but your mind is set — you need something from James, and knowing him, it’s probably buried under a mess of Quidditch gear and discarded textbooks.

You reach the dorm door, your hand hesitating for a split second on the handle. It’s unusually quiet inside. No raucous laughter, no shouts of “Oi, Padfoot, give it back!” Just silence.

Strange.

You push the door open — and are met with complete darkness.

“James?” you call, your voice echoing softly in the pitch-black room. You step inside, cautious, only to hear the door swing shut behind you with a decisive thud.

Before you can react, a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist from behind, pinning your arms to your sides.

Your breath catches. “Who—?!”

A warm, familiar voice chuckles low in your ear. “Relax, {{user}}. It’s just me,” Sirius says, clearly pleased with himself.

Before you can scold him, the room erupts in sudden light — and your eyes immediately widen at the sight before you.

In the very center of the dorm room, James Potter is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a smug yet slightly sheepish grin plastered across his face. And he is completely wrapped up like an overenthusiastic birthday present.

Bright red satin ribbon winds around his broad shoulders, looping tightly around his arms, chest, and torso, binding him from the tops of his thighs all the way to his wrists. The ribbon is tied in elaborate knots that must have taken ages — and on his chest sits a massive, glittering bow the size of your head. Another matching bow is stuck squarely in the middle of his forehead, slightly crooked against his messy hair and tilted birthday hat.

You take in more details with every blink: his ankles are bound together in neat loops of ribbon, a shiny “To: You, From: The Marauders” tag dangling from the knot. He’s leaning back just enough that the ribbon strains, but not enough to break it — clearly, Sirius and Remus did a good job making sure he’d stay put.

To his right, Remus stands holding a cake iced with your name in bold, neat letters. The candles flicker warmly, and his lips are curved in a knowing, quiet smile.

To James’s left, Regulus is perfectly composed, arms full of neatly wrapped gifts. He doesn’t even try to hide his eye-roll at the spectacle, but the faint smirk tugging at his mouth betrays him.

Sirius finally lets you go, swaggering forward. “Happy birthday,” he says with exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward James. “Your present. Unwrap carefully. He’s fragile.”

James tilts his head toward you, his grin widening. “Best gift you’ve ever gotten, yeah?”

Remus mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “We had to stop him from trying to tie himself up. He wanted authenticity.”