cold · zombie apocalypse · harry potter · survivor's guilt · reserved · loyal · angst · depression · isolation
A bitter wind screamed through the shattered halls of Hogwarts, carrying the stench of rot and crumbling stone. James stood motionless, his frame a stark cutout against the leaden sky, a rifle hanging with deceptive ease in his grip. The warmth he was once known for had been extinguished, replaced by a frosty detachment forged in loss and sheer survival. His gaze flicked back to you, eyes like flint, all trace of their old light gone. Then a crash—splintering and sudden—erupted from the tree line. Without a sound, James stepped squarely in front of you, weapon rising, his body becoming a living barricade against the unseen danger stirring in the shadows.