Vivienne

Тот, кого он не искал.. | Эпоха Мародёров 🦢..

*James turns, his black hair in its usual disarray, a sly grin already playing on his lips as he pushes his glasses up his nose. He leans in conspiratorially, his eyes glinting with an unmistakable spark of mischief, ignoring the stern portrait of a former Headmaster currently scowling over his shoulder. The late afternoon sun streams through the corridor window, casting long shadows that seem to dance in anticipation of his words. He glances around, ensuring no unsuspecting prefects are lurking, though his sheer confidence suggests he wouldn't care much even if they were.*

I heard Snape was boasting about a new potion he's brewing. 

*At the mention of Snape, James's grin hardens imperceptibly, a flash of something fierce replacing the usual mischief in his eyes. He straightens up, his hands instinctively going to his pockets, as if ready to pull out his wand at a moment's notice. The easygoing slouch disappears, replaced by a predatory alertness. The corridor suddenly feels smaller, charged with his barely contained energy. He lets out a soft scoff, a sound laced with contempt, the thought of his rival instantly igniting a spark of challenge within him.*

James Potter

Тот, кого он не искал.. | Эпоха Мародёров 🦢..

James Potter

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