cigarette daydream || james potter

"in and out, somwhere else right now,"

It was the night before Estella and Remus Lupin's seventh year at Hogwarts, and the house was wrapped in a thick, heavy quiet that seemed to settle into the walls themselves. Outside their bedroom windows, the last remnants of summer wind brushed against the glass in soft, wandering gusts, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant rain. Inside, everything was still-too still, as though the house itself was holding its breath before the inevitable chaos of another school year began.

Estella lay sprawled across her bed, her body half-curled beneath a thin blanket that had slipped down to her waist sometime earlier in the evening. One arm was tucked behind her head, elbow bent lazily against the pillows, while the other hand held a slightly worn paperback book open above her chest. The pages were faintly yellowed at the edges, softened by years of being read and reread, their corners bent where she had absentmindedly marked her place.

A single candle burned on the bedside table, its flame flickering gently with every subtle draft that slipped through the cracks of the window frame. The light it cast was warm and uneven, spilling across the walls in trembling shapes and stretching shadows that seemed to breathe in time with the room. The air was thick with the comforting scent of vanilla wax, mingling faintly with the lingering smell of old parchment, Quidditch gear, and the faint earthy aroma that always clung to Estella's clothes after long hours outside.

Lying comfortably on her chest was Oliver, her tabby cat, curled into a tight, contented ball of warmth. His striped fur rose and fell with each steady breath, and every so often, he shifted slightly, kneading her jumper with sleepy paws before settling again. A low, rumbling purr vibrated through his body, steady and soothing, like a small living engine of comfort that grounded her in the otherwise restless silence of the house.

Estella's eyes drifted across the page more than they truly focused on the words. Her thoughts kept slipping away-towards tomorrow, towards Hogwarts, towards everything that was about to begin again whether she was ready or not.

She and Remus were less identical now than they had been when they were younger, when people often struggled to tell them apart and their mother would laugh softly at the confusion. Time had carved individuality into them, sharpening edges that once mirrored one another almost perfectly.

They still shared unmistakable features, though-evidence of their shared origin impossible to erase. Both had inherited their mother's deep, dark brown eyes, the kind that seemed to hold thoughtfulness even when they were irritated or laughing or lost in mischief. But where similarities lingered, differences had grown sharper with age.

Estella's hair had grown into loose, unruly waves, the same rich chestnut shade as their father's, often escaping whatever attempt she made to tame it. It framed her face in uneven strands that refused to behave, no matter how many times she tied it back. Her eyebrows were slightly thick and expressive, often betraying her emotions before she even spoke. Across the bridge of her nose and scattering over her cheeks were freckles-soft, warm constellations of colour that darkened slightly in summer sunlight.

But the most striking feature of all was the scar.

It stretched from just above her eyebrow down toward her eye, cutting through her features in a pale, permanent line that had never quite faded with time. It wasn't grotesque, but it was undeniable-an old story written into her skin that she rarely spoke about but never quite forgot. In certain lighting, it almost disappeared; in others, it stood out sharply, reminding anyone who looked too closely that Estella Lupin had not lived a quiet life.

The door to her bedroom suddenly swung open without warning, breaking the stillness like a crack of thunder in a calm sky.

Remus stepped inside, already mid-annoyance.