When Hermione got back to her dorm, everyone was already asleep, or at least hidden behind the privacy of drawn curtains. Feeling relieved that things were alright with James, she opened the notebook and finally read through his messages from two days prior. Each line pulled at her heart, his words echoing the mixture of confusion, regret, and deep affection she'd sensed from him before.

Hermione, can you please come back down?

Sorry I didn't say anything. It was just a bit of a shock.

Please?

I'm not upset, just have so many questions.

I know this must be incredibly hard for you.

Look, we'll figure everything out together, alright?

I still stand by everything I said in Hogsmeade.

I love you.

Please say something.

I'd understand if you are angry with me.

The things I said to you regarding how you viewed Peter weren't fair. I should have trusted that you had good reason to think what you did even if I don't necessarily agree with it.

Alright, I'm getting the feeling you aren't reading these.

Try to sleep at least… I know I'll be up all night until I figure out a way to make it up to you.

Or, you know, come up with a plan to fix it all.

I do think it can be fixed.

Nothing is set in stone.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, feeling her heart swell as she read his reassurances and pleas. It was so like James, wearing his heart on his sleeve, so openly determined to take on the weight of the world—and her burdens—with that boundless optimism and confidence that everything could, somehow, be made right.

Taking a deep breath, she scribbled back.

Now I feel stupid for not reading these sooner. I love you too.

She barely had a moment to close the notebook before his response appeared:

You are the furthest person from stupid. Overthinking just comes with the territory, I guess, when someone's as bright as you. Dream of me?

She laughed softly to herself, rolling her eyes but feeling warmth spread through her chest. Despite everything—the weight of secrets, the messiness of time and truth—James had this effortless way of lifting her spirits, grounding her back in the present.

I'll try, if you promise to try and get some sleep too.

She wrote back, hoping he would, though she knew him well enough by now to suspect he'd stay up thinking about everything she had shared with him today. It was a lot to process. But he really needed to sleep. This would be the third night in a row that he barely got any sleep.

Deal

He replied, his words looping across the page with a little flourish at the end.

Hermione noticed that James's messages were written in the purple ink she'd given him, the colour almost glowing softly on the page. Before she could close it, a separate section of the notebook began to flash with new messages. She flipped to it and found Sirius's unmistakable scrawl:

Quit bothering Prongs, you had him all evening. It's my turn.

Hermione bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. Sirius obviously had no idea what James had been messaging her on the other page, but that didn't stop him from getting possessive.

She quickly scribbled back to him:

You'll have to wait your turn, Black. Just because you're his partner-in-crime doesn't mean you can boss me around.

After a beat, Sirius's scrawl returned, messier this time, as if he were trying to write and hold back a grin at the same time:

And just because you're the girlfriend doesn't mean you get to hog him, Prewett.

As Hermione turned back to James's messages, another line appeared almost instantly:

What's Sirius writing to you?

He looks way too smug over there for comfort.

Hermione grinned and decided to tease a little.

Oh, just the usual—something about how I've hogged you all evening and he needs his partner-in-crime back. He's rather possessive, isn't he?

James replied with a wry tone.

Sounds like him. Next, he'll start claiming visitation rights. So… are you going to oblige him?

She laughed quietly before scribbling back:

I was promised a sleeping James in exchange for dreaming of you, how do you propose to manage that against Sirius's demands?

James's response appeared almost instantly:

Well, if I'm going to keep my promises, I'll just have to make it clear to him that he can have me only once I'm properly asleep. I can't exactly hand myself over until then, can I?

Hermione grinned, thinking about how smug Sirius would look if he actually knew what they were discussing.

Quite the predicament. I wonder if he'll be so understanding. After all, he's accustomed to getting his way with you, she teased.

He can try, but let's be real—I'm all yours, James replied smoothly. Sirius will just have to settle for second place, even if he sulks.

Hermione laughed to herself, quickly writing back:

I think you may be in for an earful tomorrow if he reads this. So, Mr Potter, sleep well, and I'll see you in my dreams.

James's last reply was simple but warm:

Sweet dreams, love. I'll be right there.

Sirius wrote to her again, probably in response to whatever James had told him. Snoozefest, the whole lot of you. I guess I'll have to wake Moony up.

Hermione watched the words flash across the page, unable to stop herself from laughing softly as she scribbled back quickly:

Sirius Black, if you even think about disturbing Moony's well-earned rest, I'll personally see to it that you're the one in need of Madam Pomfrey's care tomorrow. Some of us actually respect a good night's sleep.

There was a pause before Sirius replied, undeterred:

Oh, please, Kitten. It's a matter of Marauder pride! Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't keep things interesting? Poor Moony's dreams must be dreadfully boring without me.

She rolled her eyes and fired back:

Sirius, if you want entertainment, go raid the kitchens again or something. But leave Remus out of it. He's more than earned a peaceful night.

Almost immediately, another message appeared, feigning innocence:

Fiiine, I'll leave Moony alone. But only because I'm getting the feeling you're more frightening than McGonagall right now. Kitchen raid it is.

With a satisfied smile, Hermione wrote her final words for the night:

Good choice, Black. Now let Moony dream in peace. And maybe you should try it too, hmm?

Sirius's last reply had her chuckling as she closed the notebook:

Dreams are overrated. But maybe I'll give it a shot. Night, Kitten. Try not to miss me too much.

She shut the notebook with a grin, finally able to settle into bed, the night's strange banter somehow leaving her feeling lighter.

Hermione woke up to the familiar glow of her notebook flashing beside her. She picked it up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and saw a message from Remus:

Why are there over 30 messages in my notebook from Sirius saying he's bored?

Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head at Sirius's persistence. She didn't bother responding, knowing that face-to-face would be quicker. After getting dressed, she headed down to the common room and found Sirius, James, and Peter already lounging there. But, curiously, Remus was missing.

"Where's Remus?" she asked as she approached them.

"There you are, Kitten," Sirius drawled, giving her an exaggerated look of relief. "He's refusing to come down."

"What?" she asked, her brows knitting in confusion.

James chimed in, his expression softer. "Too afraid of what the reactions might be in the Great Hall. He's… worried people are going to make it weird."

Hermione sighed, understanding immediately. "Give me a minute," she said, already turning to head up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. She pushed open the door to their room and found Remus buried under his blankets, the covers pulled up tightly over his head.

"Go away," he mumbled, not even looking up.

She moved closer, carefully sitting on the edge of his bed. "Remus…"

His face remained hidden under the blankets, his voice muffled. "Hermione, please. I know what you're going to say, but I just… I can't."

"You can," she said softly. "And you won't be alone. We're all here, and no one's going to let anything happen. But staying up here only lets you stew in all the what-ifs."

He shifted slightly, lowering the blanket enough to peek out at her. His eyes were full of a weariness she recognised too well. "It's just… Sirius doesn't care what people think. It's easy for him. But for me… it feels different. The stares, the whispers—it's hard not to take it all to heart."

"I get it," Hermione said, her voice gentle but steady. "And I know it's harder for you, but you know Sirius would turn the whole world upside down to make this easier for you. And so would James and Peter. And me." She reached out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "You have a whole team behind you."

Remus managed a small smile, though it was still tinged with doubt. "I know you're right. I do. But…" He sighed, looking up at her with uncertainty. "It's just that little voice in my head telling me I'll never quite fit in."

"You're right where you belong, Remus. With people who care about you. And if anyone has a problem with it, well…" She smirked. "Let's just say I know a few choice spells."

That got a reluctant chuckle from him, and he finally pushed the covers off, sitting up. "Alright," he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I don't really want to leave them all waiting down there."

She grinned, feeling her own relief. "Let's go show them the brave, slightly grumpy, wonderful Remus Lupin we all know and love."

While she was up in the boys' dorm, Hermione spotted Sirius's stack of ink pots on his desk, lined up like trophies. Smirking to herself, she pulled out the hot magenta ink pot she'd bought during their last Hogsmeade visit from her bag and muttered a quick Disguising Charm, turning the magenta to a dignified midnight blue that would only reveal its true colour once the ink had fully dried. With a final flick of her wand to ensure the spell would hold, she replaced one of his usual pots with the trick ink, feeling immensely pleased with herself. Sirius had been getting far too cheeky lately, and if there was one thing he needed, it was a little reminder that he wasn't the only one who could pull off a prank.

The Great Hall… wasn't great, but it wasn't as terrible as Remus had feared, either. There were stares, some whispers exchanged across tables, but within the Gryffindor circle, no one said anything about it. If anything, there was a warmth, a quiet solidarity from the people who mattered most. When they first sat down, Mary bounded up to Remus with a huge smile and hugged him, declaring brightly, "Finally! I'm so happy for you two!" It had taken him off guard, but he managed a soft "Thank you," looking genuinely touched.

The relief from their friends' support carried Remus through most of breakfast, and by the time they were heading to their first class, he looked a little more at ease. Hermione caught his gaze and gave him a reassuring smile.

But on their way to Transfiguration, a Slytherin boy—one of the quieter, nastier ones in their year—passed by, muttering "arse bandit" into his fist, thinly disguising it as a cough. It sent a shock of anger straight to Hermione's core, and before she even registered what she was doing, her wand was out, firing off a well-aimed Langlock hex, silencing him in an instant as his tongue stuck firmly to the roof of his mouth. That made Snape—who had been walking right beside him—raise his brows looking at Lily then at her speculatively, and Hermione wondered what that was about.

The look on Avery's—that was his name—face was priceless as he clawed at his own throat, panic dawning as he realised he couldn't speak. Hermione allowed herself a small, satisfied smile—until she heard the dreaded sound of Professor McGonagall clearing her throat behind them.

"Miss Prewett," McGonagall said, her expression stern, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of understanding. "I believe we'll need to discuss this in my office tonight. Detention at seven o'clock."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, barely able to hide her smirk. She didn't regret it one bit, not when she saw the wave of relief in Remus's eyes.

As McGonagall walked on, Hermione could feel James and Sirius trying not to laugh beside her. Sirius leaned over with a grin. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he whispered.

"Yeah, that was brilliant," James added, shooting her an approving look.

Remus managed a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you," he murmured as they continued to walk to class. "You didn't have to do that."

Hermione shrugged, keeping her voice light. "I would've done worse, honestly. Some things are just worth a detention."

That evening, Hermione made her way to McGonagall's office for her detention, feeling a slight twinge of apprehension. She was prepared to accept whatever consequence came her way, but she certainly didn't intend to apologise for her actions. Knocking on the door, she entered at McGonagall's brisk summons.

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, hands folded, her sharp eyes watching Hermione as she stepped forward.

"Miss Prewett," McGonagall began, her tone clipped, though there was a subtle hint of something softer beneath. "Would you care to explain what you were thinking this morning?"

Hermione held her gaze firmly, keeping her chin high. "I hexed him, Professor. Because he said something vile to Remus. It was…" she hesitated for a brief second but pressed on, "it was wrong, and I wasn't going to stand by and let it happen."

McGonagall's expression remained unreadable as she studied Hermione, her eyes sharp and assessing. "I understand your reasoning, Miss Prewett. But Hogwarts is a school, not a battlefield. Taking matters into your own hands isn't the way to handle situations like this."

"With all due respect, Professor," Hermione countered, steady and unwavering, "there's no excuse for what he said. And I know a detention won't stop him or anyone else from saying things like that again. I don't regret what I did."

A faint crease appeared at the corner of McGonagall's mouth, and for a moment, Hermione thought she saw a glimmer of approval. But McGonagall's voice remained firm as she spoke.

"Be that as it may, Miss Prewett, rules are in place for a reason. If we were all to react this way, we'd have hexes flying through the halls at every insult or perceived slight. We're better than that, and I expect you, of all students, to understand the difference."

Hermione nodded, taking in the professor's words but unwilling to back down. "I do understand. But, Professor, sometimes words can do as much harm as any hex. Ignoring them… it only encourages people like him to keep saying those things. Maybe if he faces consequences, he'll think twice next time."

McGonagall's eyes softened slightly, and she leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the desk. "You may be right, Miss Prewett. But if we are to have any kind of discipline within these walls, we can't have students hexing one another at will."

Hermione stood her ground, her voice clear and determined. "I understand that, Professor. But I would do it again if I had to. Remus… he deserves better than to be treated like that."

There was a brief silence as McGonagall considered Hermione's words. Then, with a sigh, she picked up her quill and jotted down a note. "Have a biscuit, Miss Prewett."

Momentarily stunned, she took a Ginger Newt out of the tin, nibbling on it as McGonagall explained her assignment. "As for detention, you'll help me reorganise the Transfiguration storeroom tonight. And I trust that if a similar situation arises, you'll do your best to approach it with a bit more… restraint."

Hermione's lips twitched in a hint of a smile. "I'll try, Professor."

McGonagall inclined her head, a flicker of a smile crossing her own lips. "Good. Now, let's see if you can keep those hexes to yourself long enough to finish your detention."

As Hermione followed McGonagall to the storeroom, she couldn't help but feel that, despite the reprimand, she'd earned her professor's respect in a way that went beyond her transgression.

"Here's my heroine!" Sirius exclaimed loudly the moment Hermione stepped back into the common room after detention.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't help grinning. "Where's Remus?"

"Prefect patrol," James replied, lounging back comfortably.

Sirius leaned forward, his grin widening. "So… were you in hot water with dear old Minnie?"

"Not that much, no. She even offered me a biscuit. Then just had me rearrange some shelves."

Sirius burst out laughing. "Oh, I love those detentions. The McGonagall Biscuit of Approval!"

"I think I need to reassess everything I ever thought about McGonagall," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Oh, she's strict as they come, don't get me wrong," James said with a chuckle, "but she loves us in her own way. I think we secretly make her laugh."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure anything you two do counts as 'secret' to her. She knows exactly what you're up to."

James exchanged a smirk with Sirius. "It's probably because we brought her tuna from the kitchens once. End of second year, when we caught her on her late-night patrol in Animagus form."

"You didn't!" Hermione looked horrified and amused all at once.

"Oh, we did," Sirius confirmed, eyes alight with mischief. "We thought she might appreciate a little snack, you know? So we tried to offer it as a peace offering of sorts."

"There are like twenty tabby cats in the castle at any given moment—how were you so sure it was her?"

Sirius leaned in, eyes glinting. "Distinct markings, Kitten. Our McGonagall has those fierce little stripes around her eyes. Plus, it was the way she looked at us—just one of those McGonagall Looks, you know?"

"And?" Hermione prompted, barely containing her laughter.

"She gave us a good sniff, probably debated whether or not we were serious, and then sauntered off," James added. "Didn't touch a bite of it. If a cat could roll its eyes, that's what she did."

Hermione shook her head, grinning. "You two are absolutely ridiculous. Did it ever occur to you that maybe she knew exactly what you were doing?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius agreed with a laugh. "But that's the brilliance of McGonagall. She lets us think we're getting away with things, just to see how far we'll take it. She's like the ultimate Marauder ally."

James laughed, giving Hermione a knowing smile. "Maybe that's why she gave you the biscuit. She's got a soft spot for anyone who stands up for their friends—even if it involves hexing a Slytherin or two."

Sirius settled in for what he thought would be a routine task: his Transfiguration essay. He opened the new ink pot with dramatic effect, pleased with its midnight blue sheen, and set to work. It took a bit longer than he liked, but he managed to scribble out the required length, satisfied with the result. Just as he added the finishing touch, the ink began to shimmer.

"Brilliant," he muttered to himself, watching the ink dry. But then, with a distinct hum, the midnight blue started to shift. Sirius blinked in confusion as the letters transformed, one by one, into a vivid, hot magenta, filling the page with a bright glow that could only be described as obnoxiously cheerful.

"What in Merlin's name…" He stared, horrified and impressed, as his entire essay radiated in what could only be classified as eye-searing pink.

"Prongs!" he hissed, turning his head to find his best friend, but James was nowhere to be found. Peter was looking very innocent in the corner. Too innocent. "Did you mess with my ink?"

Peter looked up, shaking his head with a slight grin. "Not me, mate. I'm not clever enough for that."

After poking around the common room and asking everyone within a five-foot radius if they'd tampered with his ink, Sirius found himself facing Hermione, who was calmly reading. She raised an eyebrow when he loomed over her.

"What?" she asked, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

"Oh, don't play innocent. Did you swap my ink?" he asked, holding up the hot magenta-covered essay as evidence.

She shrugged, fighting back a smirk. "Why would I do that?"

Sirius squinted at her, lips curling into a grin. "You're lucky it actually makes the essay look… oddly sophisticated."

"Oh yes, I'm sure Professor McGonagall will find it very sophisticated," she replied, raising her book higher to cover her laughter.

After a moment of consideration, Sirius decided he was too proud of the essay to rewrite it. Nor did he really have the time. Class was starting soon. So, with a gleam of defiance in his eye, he marched it straight into Transfiguration, handing it to McGonagall with the same air he'd use if he'd just delivered a masterpiece.

McGonagall eyed the paper, then looked at Sirius over her spectacles. She scanned the essay, her lips pressing into a tight line that almost—almost—betrayed a smirk.

"Mr Black," she began in her crisp, no-nonsense tone, "would you care to explain why your Transfiguration essay resembles a Puffskein experiment gone wrong?"

Sirius grinned, shrugging. "Thought it could use a bit of flair, Professor. Transfiguration is all about transformation, after all."

She raised an eyebrow, not quite able to suppress the glint of amusement in her eyes. "Indeed. Although I doubt that flair was the intention of the ink manufacturer… or your original plan."

Sirius looked down, feigning humility. "Sometimes magic just has a way of… showing itself, Professor."

McGonagall finally allowed herself a small, approving smile. "While I admire your… unique style, Mr Black, I suggest in future assignments you focus on content rather than colour. But I see no reason not to accept this—provided you maintain the same 'flair' in your studies. Take your seat."

Sirius could barely contain his delight as he slid into his seat, still beaming from McGonagall's unexpected approval. He tossed his bag down with an exaggerated flourish, leaning back in his chair with the smug satisfaction of a job well done.

Hermione, seated across the aisle, met his grin with a mock bow, her eyes glinting with laughter. She straightened, then turned to James, her hand outstretched, palm open, eyebrows raised.

"Pay up, Potter," she said, barely containing her laughter.

James chuckled, shaking his head as he reached into his pocket. "I should've known you'd remember," he admitted, pulling out a few silver Sickles and dropping them into her hand. "But honestly, worth every Knut to see the look on McGonagall's face."

Hermione stared at the calendar, dread washing over her as she realised there were less than four months left until O.W.L.s. How had it crept up so quickly? Determined to turn things around, she spent the next few hours pouring over her textbooks and materials to make an extensive, colour-coded study schedule for herself. Then, in a flurry of inspiration, she made one for each of her friends as well.

When she finally presented them, the reactions were… mixed, to say the least.

Remus took his copy with a look of genuine gratitude, carefully inspecting the meticulous layout. "This is brilliant, Hermione. Thanks. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself." He shot her a warm smile, and she could practically feel the approval radiating from him.

Sirius, on the other hand, burst into laughter the moment he saw the schedule. "Are you serious?" he snickered, holding it up with one eyebrow raised. "Colour-coded, hourly blocks, and—are these optional reading suggestions?" He tossed it behind his back with a grin. "Oh, Hermione, you're hilarious."

Peter took his schedule with a nervous glance between Hermione and Sirius, as if unsure if accepting it would ruin his standing with the Marauders. "Er… thanks?" he said, sounding more than a little hesitant. He quickly stashed it in his bag, shooting a wary glance at Sirius, who just rolled his eyes.

Finally, she handed the last schedule to James. He looked down at it, then back at her, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hermione, I appreciate this. Really. But if you think I'm actually going to follow a schedule… well, let's just say I'm more of a 'wing it' kind of guy." He folded it up and tucked it into his bag, likely never to be seen again.

She sighed, hands on her hips, trying to keep her tone light. "You all know we'll be tested on a vast amount of material, right? Even the best of you can't possibly expect to just… 'wing it.'"

Sirius leaned back, smirking. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Kitten. See, winging it? It's a Marauder speciality. Comes with the territory. Remus, back me up."

Remus chuckled but shook his head. "Sorry, mate, but Hermione's got a point. These exams are important. I don't plan to leave them to chance."

James patted Hermione's shoulder with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Look, we all have different methods. But rest assured, we'll be just fine. And if I ever do pull out your study guide, it'll be because I want to feel closer to you, not because I actually plan to follow it."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. "One day, when you're panicking over some obscure Charms theory, don't come crying to me. I'll be too busy revising."

"Oh, we'll see about that," Sirius quipped, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Because when we're celebrating our O.W.L.s with a toast to 'winging it,' you're going to realise that just maybe there's more than one way to conquer exams."

Hermione shook her head, laughing. "Somehow, I don't see that happening. But when you all inevitably need last-minute help, I'll be waiting. With colour-coded flashcards."

Hermione sat hunched over her revision books in the quietest corner of the library, completely absorbed in her notes. The world around her seemed to melt away, her focus narrowed to the colourful, perfectly organised charts she had drawn up for her O.W.L. revision. She didn't hear the faint footsteps behind her, nor the muffled chuckle as James crept closer, still damp from Quidditch practice and clearly up to no good.

He leaned over her shoulder and whispered, "Behind you!"

Hermione let out a loud shriek, clutching her book to her chest, heart racing. Madam Pince shot up from her desk like a hawk, shushing them with a glare that could have turned a Basilisk to stone.

"Honestly, James!" Hermione hissed, struggling between irritation and amusement as she tried to recover. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Consider it a break from all that intense studying," he said, plopping down in the chair beside her, dripping a bit of rainwater onto her careful notes. She gave him a look, and he held his hands up in surrender, laughing softly. "Alright, alright! Sorry, Kitten. But you've been buried in these books all week. I think it's time for a study break."

She huffed, turning back to her book with an exaggerated sigh. "James, I can't take a break. Do you realise there are only months left until O.W.L.s?"

"Oh, I realise," he said, reaching over and playfully tugging at the edge of her parchment. "Because you've told me. Repeatedly. Now come on, ten minutes won't ruin your perfect score."

Hermione reluctantly glanced away from her notes, casting him a narrowed look. "Just ten?"

"Just ten," he promised, though she could see the mischief glinting in his eyes, promising a much longer distraction.

She glanced at her meticulously ordered pile of books, biting her lip. The responsible part of her wanted to dive right back in and finish her revision plan for the day, but something about James's earnest, hopeful grin weakened her resolve. Besides, her head was starting to ache from all the equations and spell theory.

"Fine," she conceded, closing her book. "Ten minutes."

James's face broke into a triumphant smile as he sprang up, offering her his hand to help her out of the chair. As they tiptoed toward the library doors, he cast a quick look over his shoulder at Madam Pince, who was already glowering at them with suspicion.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he grinned at her. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Yes," she said, though she was smiling. "Now, where exactly are you planning to take me?"

"Outside, where the air isn't full of dust and silence. I'll even show you the best spot to watch the sunset."

"Are you suggesting I need fresh air and sunlight, Potter?" she teased.

"Yes, I am," he laughed, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "And I also know exactly where we can find some hot chocolate. Don't worry, we'll be back before the librarian sends a search party."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, feeling her stress melt away, if only for a moment, as they stepped outside into the cool evening air.

As they stepped outside, Hermione felt the crisp evening air cut through the stuffiness that had settled over her from hours in the library. The grounds of Hogwarts were quiet, bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. She shivered slightly, and James noticed, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.

"See? Already worth it, isn't it?" he said with a playful nudge.

"Alright, maybe you were right," she admitted, giving him a sidelong look. "But I'm holding you to that 'ten minutes' promise."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll keep track," he replied, though his smirk suggested he had other ideas.

He led her down toward the lake, where the water was smooth and dark, reflecting the oranges and pinks of the sky. They stopped at a small, sheltered spot beneath one of the larger trees, and James conjured a soft blanket for them to sit on. He pulled a small thermos from his bag, unscrewing the cap and pouring steaming hot chocolate into two conjured mugs.

"How long have you had this planned?" she asked, taking the mug he handed her and feeling the warmth seep into her hands.

James grinned. "Long enough to know you'd cave for a bit of fresh air, even if you'd never admit it."

She took a sip, savouring the rich, creamy taste, letting it chase away the last of the library's lingering chill. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he said, leaning back on his elbows, watching her with a soft smile as she took in the view. "You know, I've always found the lake calming. No matter what's happening, this place just… grounds me."

Hermione nodded, following his gaze across the water. "I can see why. I suppose I could use some grounding myself. Sometimes it feels like there's just… so much to do."

James studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You know, Hermione, you're one of the brightest people I know. But even you deserve a break now and then."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "If you're trying to convince me to give up on my study schedule—"

"Oh, no," he interrupted, shaking his head. "Wouldn't dream of it. But I think sometimes you're a bit too hard on yourself. I mean, look at you—you're balancing about ten times what any of us are, and you're still top of the class."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced away, a little overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. "I just… I want to be prepared. I want to be… useful."

James's hand found hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "You are useful. And brilliant. And the strongest person I know. But even you don't have to carry the world on your shoulders."

She looked at him, her eyes softening, the weight of her worries easing just a little in the warmth of his gaze. "Thank you, James."

He leaned in slightly, his face close to hers. "Anytime, love."

They stayed like that for a moment, the world around them quiet and still, the distant sounds of the castle fading into the background. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting them in the soft glow of twilight, Hermione felt her worries drift away, at least for a little while, as she leaned into his embrace, savouring the peace of the moment.

James paced back and forth in the Room of Requirement, trying to project an air of authority he didn't entirely feel. Occlumency, after all, was hardly his forte—it was something he'd picked up through pure necessity as the heir to the Potter family, but teaching it? That was another story.

But he had promised, and it really was a necessity, so here they were.

"Alright," he said, stopping in front of Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on a cushion, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "So… Occlumency. Not exactly the lightest subject, but with a mind as brilliant as yours, I'd say you're up for the challenge."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though there was a spark of excitement behind her expression. "I'm not so sure my 'brilliant mind' is going to make this any easier. From what I've read, it's one of the hardest branches of magic to learn."

"Which is why you've got me," James replied with a grin, plopping down onto a cushion across from her. He rubbed his hands together, then pointed at her forehead. "Now, first thing's first—you've got to clear your mind. Sounds simple, right? But, really, it's anything but. It's about… creating a wall, a place no one can access."

Hermione frowned, concentrating as she tried to still the whirl of thoughts in her head. But after a few moments, her brow only furrowed deeper. "James, you're making this sound easier than it is. I have a constant flood of things running through my mind—it's like trying to catch smoke."

"Alright, let's try it another way," James said, scratching the back of his head. "Think of it like… like closing the doors of a house. Imagine every thought, every memory, every feeling, neatly contained in rooms. The goal is to keep them behind the doors. You're aware of them, but no one else can get in."

She nodded, closing her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Alright. House. Rooms. Doors. Everything locked up. Got it."

"Perfect. Now, let's see if you're ready," he said, wand in hand. "I'm going to cast Legilimens, very gently, just to see if you can hold the doors closed. If you feel it's too much, just say the word, and I'll stop."

Hermione took another deep breath, nodding resolutely. "I'm ready."

"Alright. Legilimens."

Almost instantly, he was met with a kaleidoscope of impressions—an oddly structured whirlwind of thoughts and memories, all overlapping in vivid flashes. He saw textbook pages flipping past in quick succession, interspersed with flashes of the Gryffindor common room, laughter, snatches of notes, the ticking of a clock. Some thoughts were incredibly clear—like her colour-coded O.W.L. schedule—but they were surrounded by an almost chaotic tangle of memories and facts, connecting a bunch of things, giving the whole place a cluttered, yet strangely efficient, feel.

"Alright," he said, struggling to keep his focus in the midst of the swirling images. "First, you have a… very organised mind. I don't know if that's the right word… it's like an idea board with strings connecting things together."

Hermione winced, focusing on the idea of a door closing. James felt a slight shift as some of the flashing images dimmed, but he still caught snatches of information slipping through the cracks. "I don't know how you even see things in here," he murmured, "but this kind of organisation—while amazing—is also distracting. Imagine more… compartments. Boxes, maybe."

He watched her try, but the walls still felt thin, and he glimpsed a fleeting memory of her first Potions class—wow, Snape had been a real dick to Harry—and, oddly enough, something about goats. "Hermione, keep focus. Think of sealing each area, even if you're not sure how. Right now, it's like a lot of doors are half-open."

Hermione nodded, her expression one of fierce concentration. She breathed deeply, and, one by one, James felt the different threads start to pull away from him, like doors being shut firmly but individually.

He withdrew, ending the spell and shaking his head with a laugh. "It's wild in there, Hermione. There's so much happening at once, it's almost helpful for keeping people out because it's hard to focus on any one thing. But still… maybe not the easiest way to keep things hidden."

She gave him a slightly flustered smile. "Alright, alright. I'll work on it. But now you understand why revising for O.W.L.s comes so naturally to me—I can sort through multiple subjects at once."

James leaned back, tapping his chin. "I'll admit, it's impressive. But for Occlumency, maybe focus less on organising and more on just… shutting down."

Hermione sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I suppose it's not the worst thing to practise," she muttered, her determination renewed. "Again?"

James grinned. "Always."

By the time she'd reached her third attempt, Hermione's head was throbbing, her concentration flagging with each passing minute. James noticed the way her shoulders tensed, her hands pressed against her temples, and he lowered his wand with a gentle sigh.

"Alright, that's enough for today," he said softly, setting his wand aside. "No use pushing through when it's only going to give you a headache."

She looked up, still frowning, reluctant to admit defeat. "But I'm so close—I just need to keep everything closed, all at once. I was nearly there."

James chuckled, reaching over to take her hands, gently pulling them away from her temples. "Nearly, yes, but you're not going to get anywhere with that crease in your forehead," he teased, pointing at the deep line between her brows. "Let me help. How about a bit of meditation?"

She raised an eyebrow, sceptical but curious. "Meditation?"

"It's a Muggle thing, right?" he said, grinning. "Quieting your mind, clearing out thoughts. Close your eyes and try to breathe through it. I'll talk you through it."

Rolling her eyes but unable to hide her smile, Hermione settled back against the cushion, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. James moved his hands to her temples, his thumbs tracing gentle circles, his touch firm but soothing.

"Alright, breathe in… and out," he murmured, his voice low and calming. "In… and out. Imagine the thoughts drifting away like clouds, or maybe like pages in a book—just let them go."

Slowly, she felt the tension in her forehead ease, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she exhaled, her body softening under his touch. "Not bad," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not bad at all…"

"See?" he said softly, leaning closer. "All you needed was a little help."

When the crease between her brows finally smoothed, James couldn't resist leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She smiled, eyes still closed, and he tilted her chin up, brushing a soft kiss against her lips. Her hand came up, fingers curling into his hair as she returned the kiss, and for a moment, the world felt quiet, free from the mental noise she'd been struggling to contain.

When they pulled apart, Hermione opened her eyes, the haze of the headache finally gone. "You know," she said, her voice hushed, "you might just be better at teaching than you thought."

James grinned, letting his fingers linger in her hair. "Well, I had a very dedicated student. But for now, you should probably take it easy. Occlumency's a lot more taxing than I thought."

She nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder, the comfort of his warmth easing the last remnants of tension. "Next time, I'll do better," she said, more to herself than to him.

He smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. "You already did great."