Seers Secret ✧ James Potter

~Chapter 145~

James Potter POV.

It's Christmas morning.

James has only been awake for a few minutes. Normally, he would leap out of bed, sprint to Sirius's room, and shake him awake without hesitation.

But today, he just lies there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his chest aching with something he can't quite name.

He supposes it's a good thing Alina isn't here. It means whatever she's going through isn't bad enough to make her leave. And yet, James knows her definition of bad is different from his. So whatever it is, she's still dealing with something.

His gaze flickers to the window. The early morning sun peeks through, casting a pale glow over the frost-lined glass. Snowflakes cling to the edges, unmelted.

Then, his eyes land on his desk. A small pile of wrapped gifts sits there, all for Alina. He brought them home from Hogwarts just so his mother could teach him—again—how to wrap them properly.

James inhales deeply, forcing the breath down his throat. Then, with practiced ease, he plasters a smile onto his face and swings his legs out of bed.

He isn't going to let himself mope.

Without another thought, he strides across the hall and into Sirius's room.

The sight of his best friend, still dead asleep, makes James's grin feel a little more real.

Without hesitation, he throws himself onto the edge of the bed and starts shaking Sirius awake.

"It's Christmas!"

Sirius yelps, arms flailing as he instinctively tries to swat at his attacker.

James dodges just in time, laughter bubbling in his chest.

"It's Christmas!" he says again, louder this time.

Sirius groans, blinking sluggishly up at him. "For Merlin's sake," he mutters, voice thick with sleep. "I'm going to kill you."

James only smirks, already darting for the door. "Only if you can catch me!"

With that, he sprints down the hall, knocking on his parents' door before barreling down the stairs—his heart lighter than it was moments ago.

He laughs as he hears Sirius stumble out of his bedroom, footsteps heavy with sleep.

The Christmas tree stands proudly in the living room, decorated with mismatched ornaments, each branch carrying a splash of color. The lights flicker in every shade, casting a soft glow over the room.

James's eyes land on the neatly wrapped presents beneath the tree, each one labeled with careful handwriting.

His chest fills with warmth as he makes his way to the kitchen, immediately setting to work. He brews coffee for his father, the familiar scent filling the air, and lays out ingredients for breakfast.

"Good morning," his father greets as he enters, hair sticking out in all directions, exhaustion still etched on his face.

James grins. "Tired?"

His father lets out a slow sigh. "It's seven in the morning, James. Of course I'm tired." He grabs a mug from the shelf with a weary hand.

"But it's Christmas," James says, as if that explains everything. "You can't sleep in on Christmas."

His father gives him a blank stare. "I can't even look at you right now."

James just laughs, sliding onto the stool across the counter as his father begins making breakfast.

The door creaks open again, and his mother steps inside, holding it for Sirius, who trudges in behind her.

"Too early," Sirius grumbles, dropping into the seat beside James.

"Stop complaining, it's Christmas," James says again, flashing him another grin.

Sirius only sends him a half-hearted glare. James, of course, responds with a cheeky smirk before turning back around.

Breakfast passes quickly. James eats fast, and Sirius—now in a better mood with food in his system—is slightly more tolerable. Soon, they all move into the living room.

Wrapping paper flies in every direction, his father casually using magic to send it straight into the bin as they tear through their gifts.

James receives plenty of things he likes, as does Sirius. He has picked out a new scarf and a plant for his mother, and new glasses for his father.

The morning settles into a comfortable lull, warmth lingering in the air. Sirius sits on the couch, absentmindedly plucking the strings of the guitar James's parents have given him, his expression caught between awe and disbelief.

James leans back against the sofa, watching him, his mother sitting right behind him.

"James," she murmurs.

He turns, humming in response.

Her soft smile carries a trace of concern, the wrinkles around her eyes gentle in the morning light. Her curly hair, streaked with gray, frames her face. "Do you know how Alina is? If she's okay?"

His heart stutters at the mention of her.

His smile falters, just slightly. "She isn't allowed to send letters... I gave her our address, just in case." His voice trails off.

His mother nods slowly. "That's good. I'm sure she's okay." She squeezes his shoulder, her touch warm and reassuring.

James forces a small smile in return, but his gaze drifts back to Sirius.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Remus and Peter stop by in the afternoon, filling the house with laughter and conversation.

But James isn't entirely present.

Because no matter how much he tries to push it aside, his thoughts keep circling back to Alina.

What she's doing.

If she's safe.

And if, right now, she's thinking about him too.