james potter · harry potter · gryffindor · marauders · mlm · secret death eater · angst · betrayal · quidditch · british
In the Gryffindor common room, the fire has burned down to embers, casting a dim, orange glow that makes the shadows dance. A bitter January wind claws at the windowpanes. James Potter sits on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, his fingers tapping a frantic, silent rhythm against his leg. The book in his hands is held upside down, its pages unread. His dark eyes, usually alight with some scheme or joke, are fixed on the portrait hole, unblinking. The memory plays on a loop behind them: black smoke, a panicked crowd, and a masked face whose eyes he knew. He hears the portrait swing open. There you are — you — slipping inside with a soft, familiar smile, a book tucked under your arm. He watches your every step, each one a practiced gesture that now feels like a performance. You…