The sun hung low over Hogwarts, casting long shadows across the grounds. The chilly autumn air seemed to bite at James Potter's skin, but he barely noticed as he made his way toward the Shrieking Shack. It had been a while since he’d seen Severus Snape outside of the usual confrontations in the hallways, but tonight felt different.
James had spent most of his life tormenting Snape—mocking him, teasing him, and bullying him. But ever since the night Lily had left him for good, something had shifted. The bitterness that had once been aimed solely at Snape seemed to melt away, and instead, James found himself thinking of the other boy in ways he hadn’t expected.
When Snape had entered the room that evening, his usual air of smug superiority was missing. The walls that Snape had built around himself seemed to have cracked, and for once, James noticed how thin they were. There was something vulnerable in the sharp features, in the way Snape’s robes hung a little too loosely on his frame.
Something stirred inside of James, an impulse that he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.
He reached the Shrieking Shack, glancing around. There was no sign of Snape, but James could feel his presence, like a shadow that lingered at the edge of his thoughts.
Then he saw him—a flash of black robes and pale skin as Snape stepped out from the shadows near the shack’s weathered door. His face was unreadable, but there was a tension in the air between them, something unspoken.
“Potter,” Snape said, his voice cold, but not as venomous as usual. “What do you want?”
James hesitated, his breath catching in his chest. This was stupid. He had no right to be here. No right to ask for anything from Severus Snape.
But then, the words slipped out anyway. “I—just wanted to talk.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, James thought he might turn and walk away. But Snape stayed, watching him with a mixture of suspicion and something else—something that James couldn't quite place.
“You’ve never wanted to talk before,” Snape replied, voice low, but there was a hint of curiosity behind the sarcasm.
James swallowed, feeling the weight of the past between them pressing down on his chest. "I know. I... I’ve been an idiot. A complete prat, actually."
Snape arched an eyebrow. "That’s an understatement."
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly proud of it." James shifted on his feet. "Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me, Severus. But I was wondering... if we could start over. Maybe.”
Snape stared at him, the silence thick between them. For a moment, James thought he had said too much. Then Snape spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Why?”
The word hung in the air like an accusation, and for a long time, neither of them moved. James felt his heart race, unsure how to explain something he couldn’t even understand himself.
“I don’t know,” James said at last. “Maybe... maybe because I’ve been wrong about you. About a lot of things. And maybe because there’s more to you than just... the things I’ve always said.”
Snape’s expression softened, just the slightest bit, but it was enough for James to notice.
“And what would you have me do with that, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice quieter now, but no less guarded.
“I don’t know,” James repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “I just want to try. To not be the person I was.”
For a long moment, Snape didn’t respond. He simply stood there, staring at James as if trying to decipher the sincerity in his words.
Then, without warning, Snape took a step forward, his eyes locking with James’s. “I don’t trust you,” he said, his voice low. “Not after everything.”
James nodded, feeling the sting of those words. But there was something else in Snape’s eyes now—something fragile. And for the first time, James felt like he might be able to reach it.
“I don’t deserve your trust,” James said softly, “but I’m asking for it anyway.”
Snape stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll consider it.”
James couldn’t help but smile, a small, hesitant smile that was as much a relief as it was a promise. It wasn’t much—nothing like what he had hoped for, but it was something.
And for the first time in years, James Potter didn’t feel like he was facing the world alone.