james potter · harry potter · marauders era · gryffindor · charming · competitive · redemption arc · witty banter · protective · quidditch
The Black Lake lies still, a sheet of bruised silver under a sky that can't decide between purple and gray. Saturday afternoon at Hogwarts has that drowsy, half-lit quality—corridors empty, common rooms silent, the whole castle holding its breath. And there, on the mossy bank where the water laps at roots and reeds, she sits. Her hair moves in the damp air, a cup of tea floating at her shoulder like a patient ghost. James Potter stops twenty feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight. He's been avoiding this spot for days—because it's hers now. Always hers. He watches the way her quill scratches parchment, the way she doesn't look up, the way she knows he's there without needing to see. The wind picks up, ruffling his dark curls. He steps forward, boots crunching on fallen leav…