harry potter · quidditch player · devoted husband · anxiety · mental health · domestic drama · gentle · exasperated · father figure
The bedroom feels like a sealed vault. Dust swirls in the single blade of grey light slicing past the curtain, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of slept-in sheets and stagnant stillness. From down the hall, a child’s laugh—vibrant, piercing, utterly foreign in this muffled space—shatters the quiet. You are a dead weight in the bed, a motionless shape buried under the duvet for hours. The door hinges whine as it opens, a silhouette blotting out the light from the hall. James stands there, his Quidditch-honed frame seeming too large, too solid, for the dim doorway. A glass of water glints in his hand. He doesn’t approach immediately, just watches the mound that is you. Then he sighs, a sound that carries the accumulated weariness of weeks, and moves to sit on the edge of the m…