The Scars of Two Lives

Their plan was simple.

All they had to do was go back to the past and change something— anything and change the future. It was almost laughable how straightforward it seemed, just a single tweak to tip the scales. After all, if time were a river, they’d just be tossing in a small pebble, rippling outward, forcing it to flow a little differently, right? Wrong .

Time, fate, and history —are more like fragile glass. The smallest crack— the smallest change could send it all shattering in directions they couldn’t predict.

The simplest changes could spiral into catastrophic consequences. It wasn’t just a vague theory—it was a law of time called ‘The butterfly effect’ . Harry had read about it in primary school at St. Grogory's, but it was only a fiction ‘A Sound of Thunder’ by Ray Bradbury. Where a man traveled back in time to hunt dinosaurs and accidentally stepped on a butterfly thus altering the future dramatically. This single innocent action disrupted the very fabric of reality, changing the future into something completely unrecognizable.

However, despite all the risk, a part of Harry—a stubborn and very Gryffindor-reckless type of part that maybe, just maybe , this was their chance to give the people they loved a life stolen by war. A chance for his parents to live out their lives, for Harry himself to grow up in a loving household, for Sirius to never enter a prison cell, for Remus and Tonks to raise Teddy,  for the Weasleys to have Fred, for Dobby to have freedom of a lifetime, for Collin to live and continue a photography career, and so many others to have the futures they deserved. 

And beyond that, maybe there was a chance for him, Ron, and Hermione. A chance to live in a world without the weight of battle scars, without the trauma of loss and fear carved deep into their skin and minds. And maybe Draco Malfoy even—would be different. Maybe he won’t have the twisted pureblood ideology or expectations that his family name had imposed on him. Perhaps, in this new world, the 11-year-old Harry would finally accept his hand and accept his friendship.

Now, the three boys leaned over the table, eyes fixed on the parchment spread before them, where Hermione had painstakingly copied down every rune that they would use for this ritual. Though Harry wasn’t as good in runes as Hermione, he could make out some of the symbols. Fix, Past, Rewrite, Future, and Fate.

“Now, all we need is the time and date on where we would send the two of you,” Hermione said, looking at Harry and Malfoy. She wore one of Molly's hand-knitted jumpers with the sleeves slightly too long, and her hair piled up in a messy bun. 

 “What about before the prophecy was made? Maybe if we go back far enough y’know, before it all started.” Ron suggested glancing at his girlfriend. Harry couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes—a sign of what looked like countless sleepless nights spent mulling over this plan of theirs. His red hair was unruly as if he’d simply run a hand through it. He was also wearing a woolen jumper made by his mom, it looked worn and was fraying at the cuffs—despite all this, it looked comfy.

“So, sometime before July 31, 1980, then.” Malfoy leaned back, crossing his arms with a lazy grin. “What if they decide not to have you at all if they learned about it?” He raised an eyebrow at Harry.

No matter how tall Ron than all of them it was Malfoy who truly stood out. Harry took note of his tailored black jumper over a crisp white shirt, sleeves casually rolled up as if he tried to dress it down to look casual, though the blond still managed to look expensive and aristocratic. His platinum-blond hair tousled in a way that seemed effortlessly styled, and his sharp, pale features were both softened and accented by the dim light in the fireplace. 

“That’s…cruel,” murmured Hermione, it took a moment but Harry couldn’t help but snort. The thought was both disturbing and oddly liberating. What if he had never been born? Would it have spared everyone all the pain?

“Why not go back to when the Dark Lord was a baby and—” Malfoy made a gesture as if tying a knot with a wicked grin.

“Well, that was even more cruel.” Ron snorted along with Harry.

Hermione, however, looked horrified. “He was a baby!” she said, scandalized.

“Granger, he was a baby who would grow up to become the darkest wizard in history,” Malfoy argued.

“We do not kill babies, Malfoy,” Harry said, but there was a grin etched on his face. “Though why not kill him before my birth? He’s old enough by that time so we’d have fewer moral dilemmas.”

“Yes we could, but the two of you need to destroy his Horcrux,” Hermione pointed out, “Besides, the ritual will only keep you in the timeline for a limited amount of time. You’ll need to make changes quickly—something small but impactful enough to change history.”

“Dark Lord baby it is then!” Malfoy grinned, but Hermione only rolled her eyes. 

“Or,” Hermione said sharply. “Why not focus on getting rid of Pettigrew first? He’s the one who gave up your parents to Voldemort, and if we stop him… well, maybe we could prevent everything that followed.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and he paused. He had spent years thinking about Pettigrew’s betrayal that resulted in his parent's death and Sirius’s imprisonment. He couldn’t help but feel cheated of a happy life he could have. Now though, that he has a chance to rewrite the past and prevent this betrayal all he can think of is only one answer—he wants to kill Peter Pettigrew.

Kill him before he can betray his parents.

Harry shakes his head sharply, Godrick he needs a drink.

“I don’t think that they’d believe us. He was their friend.” he started. “Besides, we don’t want them to know that we’re from the future, right? If we want to rat out the rat we need to have proof and give it to them without them knowing it’s their son from the future” 

“How so?” Hermione asked, and it was Malfoy who answered.

“Maybe we could show his Mark?”

“We’re not sure when he took the Mark, though. All we know is that things got bad for him after the McKinnons died. He probably became a full-fledged Death Eater around the time I was born, when Order members started dropping like flies.” Harry answered.

“What if we fake a Prophecy to tell your parents about Pettigrew?” Ron said slowly as if the words were forming as he spoke. “Think about it—if we warn them ahead of time, they’ll know Pettigrew will betray them. And if we time it before or along the time the Propechy with you and you-know-who are created, they’re bound to take it seriously, Harry. If they’d kept a closer eye on him from the start because of the fake Prophecy. It would change everything. Your parents might’ve used a better secret keeper—Sirius or Remus when they go into hiding. ” 

They turned to him, their eyes wide and in awe. Maybe Ron wasn’t always as book-smart as Hermione, but he was sure as hell a strategist in moments like this.

“That’s brilliant, Ron!” Hermione exclaimed. 

Ron’s cheeks reddened slightly, toying with the loose end of the couch, his voice a little steadier. “Well, here’s the thing—George has been toying with these experimental prophecy globes lately. They’re more for fun, really, just spouting random nonsense about the next two hours of your life, like ‘You’ll trip on a rug’ or ‘Expect a mysterious letter.’ But if we could get him to make one that sounds convincing, we could turn it into a real warning. One they’d actually believe.”

“Wow, and here I thought that Granger is the only brain in your whole operation for years,” Malfoy said with a smirk on his face.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Ron muttered, his face still red as his hair.

“We could write it out like ‘Beware the rat among friends, for he shall bring despair ,’” Hermione suggested, then putting her hand on her chin and thinking for a minute before continuing. “How long do you think George can make those fake prophecies?”

“Pretty sure he can do it in an hour, I’d go to his shop after today so he can start.”

“Is that all then?” Malfoy asked, “Are we just telling the Order about Pettigrew?”

“If Malfoy and I go back in time, can we have different tasks—or do we have to do one task only?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised at Hermione. “I don’t want to see Pettigrew—I might kill the guy.” He continued grimly.

“No, I suppose you could have two different tasks as long as you return to the designated place before the time.” She answered, “Why do you have a plan?”

“If we go back before my birth, we should find also a way to tell Dumbledore about the Horcruxes as well,” Harry said.

“No offense, Mate. But I don’t think we should only rely on Dumbledore, I don’t trust the old cot not to plan something sinister for his greater good rubbish—”

“Ronald!” Hermione shrieked.

Ron raised his both hands, “What? Dumbledore had always been a cryptic old tosser who pretended to know far more than he actually did.” Harry couldn’t help but agree.

Dumbledore was flawed—a man bound by his desires, mistakes, and regrets. Harry knew that better than anyone. 

He did feel betrayed by the man he trusted and laid his loyalty. The man who he sees as his Grandfather figure. It wasn't just about Dumbledore’s secretive nature, no it was the realization that he had been used as a pawn in a game he didn’t understand for years—only revealing the truth just to tell Harry—that all this time, his only purpose is to die. A sacrifice . He was left in a family that had treated him with neglect and abuse, you could’ve at least left the boy in a loving family if his faith is to die in the end; a few years of love is enough for Harry after all. However, Dumbledore had chosen to leave Harry in that hell, believing it would somehow prepare him for his little chess game. He had made Harry a hero without any real guidance—throwing him into situations he barely survived.

But, despite all this bitterness, Harry understands the old man. For all his secrets and manipulations, he was still the person who had been there to guide him to fight Voldemort. He had crafted a long plan to defeat Voldemort—even though many people died for the cause, he won. They won. Harry could deny it all he wanted but Dumbledore’s cunning and his fucking calculated manipulative choices shaped him into a hero who lived just enough to fight—because if not, he would’ve died in his first year if Dumbledore hadn’t laid it out all for him. Sure testing an eleven-year-old’s bravery with life-threatening puzzles is enough to make anyone question his sanity. And that built Harry into someone who could stand against the darkest of evils, who was ready to give everything—even his own life—for the people he loved. In Dumbledore’s eyes, Harry had to be more than just a boy. He had to be a symbol.

“Maybe we should tell someone in the Order? To make sure that they get the job done?” Harry suggested. Swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Even if we told the Order,” Malfoy said thoughtfully, “Horcruxes are dark magic. The Order’s mostly light families, half-bloods, and muggle-borns. It’s rare, ancient knowledge that only certain pure-blood lines know—like some lines from the sacred twenty-eight. We’d need time to explain it all to the Order, and we don’t have that.”

Harry nodded, Malfoy was right. Horcruxes were one of the wizarding world’s best-kept secrets—magic so dark, even in the shadowy corners of the magical world, it was barely mentioned. Hermione scoured every inch of the Hogwarts library and even attempted a few dark magic books she could get her hands on—and she was only able to get one book. It was Dumbledore’s hints that had been almost all they’d had to go on. 

For a moment, Harry thought about going to the families of sacred twenty-eight and maybe asking them for help. But as quickly as the thought sparked, Harry felt his hope sink. Most of the families from the sacred twenty-eight aside from the Longbottoms and the Weasleys had aligned with Voldemort. Almost all of them had been Death Eaters and loyal to the very person whose Horcruxes they needed to destroy.

A faint crack of apparition was heard and Kreacher appeared. Harry watched the elf place a tray filled with hot tea on the table. Hermione thanked Kreacher but he only moved stiffly and seemed to avoid them. Harry then noticed the fake Slytherin locket on his chest that he still wore to this day. 

Oh .

“What if we go to someone who already knows about them?” Harry quickly said barely removing his eyes from the elf. They all looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to explain further until Ron gasped.

“That’s Brilliant, Mate!” Ron’s said his eyes wide. 

“Wait—what?” Hermione asked, she looked at the two of them puzzled. “Who?”

“The one who understood Horcruxes firsthand. The first one who tried to destroy them,” Harry replied. “R.A.B. ”

“Oh my God!” Hermione’s face mirrored their excitement as the realization hit. Malfoy on the other hand, had his eyebrow raised and seemed to be awaiting an explanation.

“Well, go on. Don’t want to spoil your excitement.” Malfoy said deadpan.

This is a fucking mistake.

That’s what Harry thought as he and Draco Malfoy slammed into the earth, instantly feeling a jolt of pain ripple through their bodies. The tall grass was enveloped by warm gold hues of the sunset that swayed gently brushing softly against their robes as they both sat catching their breath. He glanced sideways at Malfoy, who was gingerly stretching out his arm, muttering under his breath about the state of his robes. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes, he looks perfect what the fuck is he on?  

“Perfect,” The blond muttered, glaring at the surrounding field. “A field. Granger could’ve at least arranged a soft landing—a cushioning charm is not hard to cast. Merlin, My spine feels like it was cracked.”

“Oh God. How’d they even rope you into this?” Harry groans as he tries to fix his hair in place but to no avail. “You hated us—me. I’d think you’d be the last person to sign up for something like this.” Harry said an eyebrow arched as he pointed a finger at himself. “I would also think that you might think that this is stupid.”

“I hated my life more, Potter,” he replied coldly, his gaze flicking away for a moment. “And for the record, I do think this is stupid.”

“Then why did you agree?” Harry pressed, his eyes narrowing at Malfoy.

“My mother,” Malfoy said quietly, his right arm holding out to his left arm where the Dark Mark lay. “And this—I don’t want to look at this anymore.” Harry went silent.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are different sides of the same coin.

While they had been rivals for years, they both knew that they shared the same desperation to end their pain. Before Draco Malfoy was nothing but a bully who took pleasure in the misery of others in Harry’s book, a teenager who used racial slurs as an insult to his muggle-born best friend. But in their 6th year, Harry understood the moment he saw Malfoy that night in the Astronomy Tower. Harry knew that look. Because he saw it every time he glanced in the mirror. A look of desire to end it all.

Harry was dragged into the light to become a warrior and pig for slaughter—the Chosen One of the light side, and Draco was pulled into the dark and forced to serve as a punishment for his father—the Chosen One for the Dark side. Both are bound by marks they didn’t ask for. Harry with his lightning bolt scar and Draco with that searing mark on his arm.

No matter how much they loathe each other, no matter how fiercely they long to tear each other down beneath it all they both share a wish to finally be happy .

“This is your chance then,” Harry said quietly, the words barely louder than the soft rustling of the grass around them. His fingers brushed over the ring with the resurrection stone as he looked at Malfoy, only realizing the blond was looking at him intently. 

“ Our chance,” says Malfoy. “ You deserve to have your mum too. ”

Their eyes locked and for a moment Harry saw the flicker of golden hues reflected in Malfoy’s stormy gray eyes, his face framed perfectly by that annoyingly flawless blond hair—hair that Harry blamed on generations of inbreeding. He looks magnificent, like straight from a Renaissance painting— too tempting to touch.

“Right.” Malfoy hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the Deluminator as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Finally, he glanced up, his gray eyes catching Harry’s. “Take care then, Potter.”

Harry froze mid-motion, blinking as if he’d misheard. “Wait—hold on. Did you just tell me to take care?” Then a lopsided grin spread across his face. “Who are you and what did you do to my Draco Malfoy?”

“You’re so insufferable,” Malfoy scowled, the tips of his ears turning an uncharacteristic shade of pink. “I only wanted you alive because if you get yourself killed, I’ll be stuck here forever. Not everyone is the Master of Death, you know.” 

“Oh, you wound me, Malfoy!” Harry smirked, pretending to clutch his chest in pain. “And here I thought you actually cared about me.”

“I’d rather hug a Blast-Ended Skrewt.” Malfoy rolled his eyes at him, but Harry noticed his lips quirking into a small smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.”

“Too late.”

 “Idiot.” The blonde mutters under his breath. “Die then. See if I care.”

Harry chuckled at the remark, but before he could respond, Malfoy turned on his heel and disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving him alone in the meadow. For a moment, Harry stood there, his smirk fading as he took in his surroundings. 

The air was thick with the earthy scent of grass, the vastness of the field stretching into oblivion as the grass continued to sway along the wind. The sun had set and he could see the moon slowly taking its throne in the night sky. He was about to apparate when something—or someone caught his attention. A soft movement at the edge of his vision.

It was a girl with long blonde hair braided and decorated with flowers, her presence as comforting as the moonlight itself. She had earrings that were shaped like tiny lanterns that flickered faintly and she wore a flowy blue dress that seemed to dance along with the wind.

“Luna?” Harry called in confusion. 

Why is Luna here? Did the ritual fail?

Harry walked closer, peering through the dim light to see her face more clearly. “Luna…” he repeated when he became face to face with her. She looked like Luna but Harry couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation as if something was out of place. 

“Ah, Luna… such a lovely name, like the light gentle kiss upon the darkness of the night,” she said tilting her head a bit, her voice was dreamy yet deeper than the Luna he knew. “I take that would be the name of my daughter then?”

“What?” Harry blinked, struggling to make sense of her words. Luna was always a bit eccentric —but this is different. This is not Luna, Harry thought to himself. Then he remembered, she was the girl in the photo with Regulus Black.

“I always knew I would have a daughter,” she continued, ignoring Harry. “A daughter who would inherit the stars themselves.”

“Daughter…” Harry trailed for a second before continuing. “Are you—you’re Pandora Lovegood.” He stared at her with wide eyes and his mouth gaped open slightly in surprise.

“Well, I am a Rosier for now,” she said with a small smile that barely touched her lips. “But I believe it wasn’t long before my beloved Xeno would finally offer his heart to me.” Her gaze drifted off to the stars with a soft smile as if she already saw the future unfold between her eyes.

“Uhm…yeah, right.”

She was just like Luna but entirely different.

Luna has her Mother’s—Pandora’s ethereal beauty there’s no denying that, they also have the same curious silvery blue-gray eyes that seemed to be always looking at something others couldn’t see. Luna had always been so intuitive and perceptive that she could sense the truth of situations and people. I mean, she even recognizes Harry in Polyjuice at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, just because of his expression. She’s like a natural Legilimens.

Her Mother, Pandora, however, was different—like her eyes see the knowledge that defied time. If you looked straight at her eyes, it was as though she could see your birth and death as if it were painted in your pupils. It was more than intuition; Pandora seemed to carry magic like it was touched by the Gods themselves. A seer—or a Prophet , perhaps? Harry didn’t know.

She looked back at him, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter,” 

Harry frowned. “How did you—?”

“Well, it’s the hair—you have his hair but you have her eyes…” She paused and leaned forward to look intensely at Harry’s eyes. “So green like the heart of the forest, though I can’t help but notice that it was touched by sorrow… many times.”

“Oh, ” Harry doesn’t know what to say. 

“​​But it’s your soul that speaks to me the loudest, Mr. Potter.” She stepped closer, her movements fluid, almost too graceful for a normal human. Harry catches a faint, earthy scent of herbs and wildflowers. She reached into the folds of her dress and gently pressed a small vial into his hand, its surface glimmering like the constellation in the sky.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, lifting the vial. 

“It should help remove Wrackspurts in his head,” she replied softly.

“His head…?” Harry echoed, his brow furrowing.

She didn’t answer him, instead, she leaned forward brushing her fingers through his dark unruly locks and lightly touching over his lightning-bolt scar. “The future you seek is fragile, Mr. Potter.  Be wary, you cannot call upon the past without its price.”

“Always ready for the consequences, am I?” Harry replied, smiling at her.

She chuckled softly. “The future will always ask for its due.” Pandora paused, her gaze flickering back to the sky, her dress fluttering like the wings of a bird. “Time is never kind to those who dare to play with it. But you, Mr. Potter, have always danced with the shadows.” 

“Oh…” Harry murmured, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. “I… thank you?”

It's not like Harry chose this life. It wasn't his fault that a bloody, no-nose, snake-face, crazy, mass-murdering dark lord had made it his personal mission to kill Harry year after year, dragging him into the shadows he never asked for.

"Tell me… when did I die, Mr. Potter?" Pandora asked softly. Harry froze, momentarily stunned by the question. 

“Uh… well—”  He hesitated, inhaling sharply before turning back to her. He’s not even sure if he should tell her, but if he’s changing the reality already why not let Luna have more time with her mother?

“I’m not sure… but Luna said you died when she was nine.” The words were out before he could stop them.

Pandora stilled, her eyes gleamed with sadness and understanding. She didn’t seem surprised, or even afraid. “Ah,” she whispered, a gentle sigh leaving her lips. “What a pity… so little time.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

“Oh, do not pity me, Mr. Potter. My story unlike yours, is simply one note in a greater symphony we called life.” Pandora said softly, still smiling at him.

“But—”

“I think you should go now,” she interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. Then she gave him a knowing smile before continuing.  “I don’t think Reggie is good a swimmer.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Right. Fuck! I—I should go.” He tucked the vial safely into his bag, glancing back at her one last time. “Thank you, Ms. Pandora. For… everything. Oh—and maybe don’t mess around with inventing spells, yeah?” He grinned.

“I think that won’t be necessary anymore, Mr. Potter.” She chuckled softly, “Go on now, the star is waiting for you.”

As Harry stepped into the familiar dark cave, he instantly felt his pulse quickened at the moment he smelled the familiar suffocation of dark magic in the air. However, he decided to ignore it and let his eyes wander around, trying to find a way to cross the lake. His gaze then settled on the small rocky island, where the stone basin stood. It was barely visible but Harry could see a moving shadow—it was probably Regulus and Kreacher. His stomach twisted as he realized the boat was gone and two likely used it to cross. That left him with only one option. 

“Fucking hell…” Swallowing hard, Harry quickly jumped into the water and swam forward without second thoughts. The chill was instant, sharp as knives that sink quickly into his bones. He swam forward with quick and forceful strokes hurrying to reach the stone basin as fast as he could. 

Harry could feel a dark awareness stirring below him—the Inferi, lying in wait below the water. He could almost hear them, the rotting bodies and their hollow eyes waiting for their prey. Harry didn’t even want to acknowledge them, the very thought made his skin crawl as if he could feel their cold fingers grasping his legs.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the island’s edge, dragging himself onto the slick stones, gasping as he clambered onto the shore. However, Harry froze as a faint crack echoed through the cavern, and he knew what it meant—Kreacher had just disapparated, leaving his master behind. There was no time left.

“Wait—no!” Harry scrambled towards Regulus and tried to stop the man from tipping his head backward, but he didn’t seem to notice Harry. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The water rippled and Harry watched the Inferi slowly move, then their hollow and lifeless eyes locked onto him as though they recognized something within Harry. And then, without warning, they stopped—their bony hands frozen mid-reach trembling ever so slightly. Despite their empty, sunken eyes, there was an unmistakable sense of fear in the way they looked at Harry. Not one of them advanced toward him. They weren’t reaching for him. They weren’t hungry for him. No, they weren’t even hungry at all. They were afraid. And they were waiting for him to do something.

Harry's fingers clenched tighter around his wand and a surge of raw magic coursing through him. He raised the wand, ready to cast a spell to fend off the undead creature. Then, in unison, the Inferi slowly moved. Their bony limbs cracked, rotting joints groaned with a sickening rhythm, and their sagging flesh swayed as they lowered themselves.

They were kneeling. 

In front of him.

Harry blinked, stunned. “What…”

The cave echoed with a croak from one of the decaying mouths of the Inferi. It wasn’t a hurl of hunger or a growl of aggression—it was a word. A word that sent shivers racing down Harry’s spine.

“Master…”

The weight of the word settled over him like a heavy cloak drenched by icy cold water. Harry stared at them, his mind struggling to piece together what he was seeing. The Inferi was kneeling before him and they were calling him master. Maybe, if they hadn’t attacked him before he first went here with Dumbledore, he would’ve probably thought that this is how Inferi normally acts. 

And then suddenly a strange awareness inside Harry stirred—something he couldn’t fully explain. But he knows. Harry didn’t know how to explain—but he could feel it. It was after all one of the titles he bore.

Master of Death

Without thinking, his lips parted, and a command slipped out.

“Give him back to me.”

The moment the words left his lips, the Inferi moved. They shuffled toward the lake and slowly dragged Regulus’s body from the water lifting it from the ground with strange care, as if he were a sacrifice being handled to a God. Then the Inferi moved back into the water like shadows retreating from a flame.

Harry then knelt and pulled a small vial—the potion Pandora had given him. Harry leaned in close, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. He tilted Regulus’s head back, forcing his mouth open, and poured the shimmering liquid down his throat.

He watched Regulus’s eyelids fluttered and open slightly. In an instant, Harry noticed just how much Regulus resembled his older brother, Sirius. Even though Regulus’s eyes were filled with exhaustion, he and his brother shared the same storm-grey eyes. Harry also couldn’t help but take note that even at the brink of death, there was still a striking handsomeness to him.

The next moment, Regulus’s gaze seemed to be focused, his grey glassy eyes finding Harry’s face. Then something crossed his face, his brows knitting together and his eyes softened. He stared at Harry like he knew who he was. 

“Y-you’re… you’re here,” Regulus’s voice was strained and barely a whisper. 

With a trembling hand, Regulus reached up, his fingers brushing softly against Harry's cheek, as though he was seeing a ghost. A single tear slipped down from the corner of his eye, tracing a line along his pale skin. Finally, a bittersweet smile curved on his lips—a smile that seemed full of longing and regret. 

“James…"