#hex

James reached for his quill, missed the table entirely, and slapped the air like he was trying to swat an invisible fly. “I can see just fine.”

“Sure,” Sirius said, “about as well as a troll in a snowstorm.”

The portrait hole creaked, and Remus stepped in with his usual mountain of books. He froze mid-step, blinked at the sight of James squinting hard enough to wrinkle his entire forehead, and sighed like a man twice his age.

“What happened?” he asked flatly.

“Prongs got hexed. Glasses exploded. Won’t go to Pomfrey,” Sirius said, absolutely delighted.

“I am not refusing,” James protested, sitting up so quickly his knee smacked the underside of the table. “I’m just saying she’ll make it a whole production. She’ll fuss, keep me overnight and drown me in fucking potions. I don’t need all that.”

Remus bent down to rescue the inkpot James had nearly killed. “James, you can’t even see the wall right now. You do need all that.”

“I’ll manage,” James said firmly, though he was still squinting vaguely in Remus’s direction.

Sirius grinned like Christmas had come early. “He’ll manage, he says. Moony, he just called me Evans five minutes ago.”

“I did not!” James snapped.

“You did!” Sirius said, hand pressed dramatically over his heart. “And then you asked me out again, which, honestly, was flattering.”

Remus shot Sirius a look that could’ve cut glass. Sirius ignored it, of course.

“You’re both fucking insufferable,” James muttered, ears red.

“You love us,” Sirius sing-songed, leaning forward like he couldn’t possibly miss James’s scowl (though James couldn’t actually see him).

James made another grab for his quill, overreached, and this time properly knocked the inkpot. Black splattered across the parchment. Sirius nearly fell off his chair laughing.

Remus muttered something under his breath — it sounded a lot like “idiot” — and fixed it with a quick charm. “Honestly, James,” he said, exasperated, “either let Pomfrey fix it or… find someone else to help.”

James slumped back, dragging a hand through his hair until it stuck up in even worse angles. His pride told him to keep insisting he was fine, but Merlin, he hated this. Hated how Sirius’s jokes were funny because they were true, hated feeling like a useless lump. He was James bloody Potter. He wasn’t supposed to be the one stumbling around blind.

Sirius’s grin softened a little. “Alright, alright. We’ll sort it. Can’t have you walking into walls, mate. Doesn’t suit your whole… image.”

James didn’t answer. Just muttered something like “brilliant” under his breath and squinted harder at the fireplace until it blurred into one big orange blob.

And that was the sorry state you’d find him in later: James Potter, Gryffindor’s golden boy, reduced to making messes while Sirius rattled on about monocles and Remus rubbed his temples like a weary dad.

James was still sulking at the table, chin propped in his hand, quill abandoned beside him. Sirius had finally gotten bored of teasing and was now trying to balance a cushion on his head, while Remus buried himself in a book to avoid getting dragged into it.

That was when you came down the staircase from the dorms. You’d been in the library for hours, arms full of books you didn’t strictly need, when you spotted the scene. James Potter, usually the center of every room he walked into, was slouched like a kicked Kneazle. Ink stains dotted the table in front of him, and his glasses — or what was left of them — lay in a sad little pile.

You frowned, slowing your steps. “What on earth happened to you lot?”

Sirius immediately perked up, grinning like a cat who’d found cream. “Ah, perfect timing. Our dear James here has gone blind. Utterly, completely, tragically blind.”

“I’m not blind,” James said quickly, sitting up straighter. He aimed a glare at Sirius but overshot it by several inches, scowling at the empty space to Sirius’s left.

You blinked, then bit back a laugh. “Right. And yet you’re glowering at the wall.”

Remus made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, though he didn’t look up from his book.

James’s ears went pink. “It’s temporary,” he muttered, fumbling for the broken frames. “Someone hexed my glasses after practice. I’ll fix them later.”

“Sure you will,” Sirius said, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Except you can’t see a thing. He called me Evans earlier, you know. Asked me out and everything.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to seem like it didn’t trigger jealousy in you. “Did he really?”

Sirius grinned wider. “Oh yes. Quite romantic, actually.”

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Just go fuck Remus already, Pads.”

You set your books down on the arm of the sofa and crossed the room, ignoring Sirius’s snickering. “Give them here,” you said, holding out a hand.

James hesitated, his pride warring with his common sense. “I can—”

“You can’t,” you cut in gently, soft enough that it didn’t sound cruel. “You’ll just stab yourself in the eye with your wand or end up with a monocle. Come on, Potter.”

Remus looked up then, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Sirius let out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s doomed.”

James shot him a half-hearted scowl, then carefully passed the broken glasses to you. His fingers brushed yours, warm and hesitant, and you felt him watching, well, trying to watch ,as you sat down beside him.

Up close, he looked smaller somehow. Still James Potter with his wild hair and crooked grin (though the grin was nowhere in sight), but the bravado had cracked. He was… human. Vulnerable. And you doubted he let many people see him like this.

“Alright,” you murmured, turning the frames over in your hands. “This isn’t too bad. A couple of charms should do it. Just… don’t breathe down my neck while I work.”

James let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Okay.”

Sirius leaned forward like he was about to add something outrageous, but Remus kicked his shin under the table. Sirius yelped and sat back, pouting, but stayed blessedly quiet for once.

You pulled your wand, muttering the first of the repairing charms. The frames wobbled, then clicked back together. A lens followed with a sharp snap, though it was still a little crooked. James leaned in unconsciously, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

“Better than Pomfrey already,” he murmured.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not done,” you said, biting your lip in concentration. The second lens trembled, then slid neatly into place. With a final whispered charm, the cracks sealed, leaving the glasses looking almost new. Almost.

You turned to hand them back, but James was already watching you — or at least, aiming in your general direction. His expression was softer than you’d ever seen it, pride set aside for once.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, and the way he said it made your chest warm.

Before you could answer, Sirius flung himself dramatically across the couch. “And lo! Our hero is saved! By none other than—”

Remus threw a cushion at his head.

James, still pink around the ears, just slipped his glasses back on. He blinked a few times, the world sharpening around him again, and the first thing he saw clear as day was you.

His breath caught, but he covered it quickly with a grin. “Well. Look at that. You’re even prettier when I can see properly.”

You rolled your eyes, though you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. Sirius groaned loudly about “true love” while Remus muttered something about leaving before it got worse.