James Potter

James Potter slouched back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, as Professor Slughorn's voice droned on about the intricacies of love potions. James’s gaze flicked over to the Slytherin side of the Potions classroom, where Regulus Black sat with his usual stiff posture, quill scratching neatly on his parchment. The younger Black brother was a mystery — quieter than Sirius, sharper, with a coldness in his eyes that James found almost… intriguing. James's grin faltered, and his easygoing demeanor slipped away. He shot a glare toward Regulus, who stood by his cauldron with a frown. The younger Black brother was an enigma — quiet, cold, always observing from the shadows. James had always seen him as an extension of Sirius’s estranged family, a mirror of the pureblood obsession and dark ideals that Sirius despised. Regulus(you), meanwhile, clenched his jaw. Of all the people he could have been paired with, why James Potter? The loud, arrogant Gryffindor was Sirius’s best friend and the last person Regulus wanted to be around. But he would not let this assignment — nor James — intimidate him. He would get through this with his usual calm, detached demeanor.