Abnormal ?James Potter?

Chapter 9: Misunderstood

James Potter was still buzzing with the energy of the match as he stepped out of the changing rooms, the roar of Gryffindor's victory echoing faintly in his ears. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden glow across the grounds. The satisfaction of leading his team to victory usually left him euphoric, but today, an unusual weight lingered beneath his triumph.

As he made his way back toward the castle, his eyes caught on a figure sitting on a stone bench near the pitch. Cassiopeia Black.

She was an unexpected sight—perched elegantly with a book open on her lap, her polished posture and dark silhouette unmistakable. What struck James most, though, was the title on the spine of her book: A Chaser's Guide to Advanced Defensive Tactics. For a moment, he stopped, unsure of what to make of her. It was the exact book from the days prior when he saw her last.

He had half a mind to walk past without saying a word. After all, this was Cassiopeia, a Slytherin, and Sirius's cousin—the same cousin who never let him forget it. And yet, something about her sitting there alone tugged at him. Perhaps it was their last conversation that held him there, or perhaps it was the way she intently looked at the book like her life was dependent on it.

"Didn't think you were the type to pour over Quidditch strategies, especially ones that have to do with yours truly. Doesn't exactly line up with your denial of how your interest in quidditch didn't have anything to do with me, huh?" James called out as he approached, his tone tinged with both curiosity and a tint of unwarranted happiness.

Cassiopeia didn't look up right away, flipping a page with deliberate calmness before finally glancing at him. "And I didn't think you were the type to make assumptions about someone's interests," she replied smoothly. Her voice, as always, was steady and cold, but there was something in her eyes that seemed less certain. "Like I said, nothing to do with you."

James tilted his head, crossing his arms as he stopped in front of her. "I'm just saying that other than your interest being because of me... Well, it's just hard to imagine you taking an interest in the sport, that's all. Always thought Quidditch was too... plebeian for the noble House of Black."

She snapped the book shut with a quiet thud and raised a single eyebrow. "Maybe I simply wanted to understand what all the fuss is about."

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Understand the fuss or understand me? I've already told you, you can ask me any–"

Her expression hardened, though her voice remained calm. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. Not everything is about you."

"Could've fooled me," he quipped, though his smile softened when he saw the flicker of irritation cross her face. "Alright, I'll bite. Why the sudden interest in Quidditch if it has nothing to do with me? Seems... out of character."

Cassiopeia leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. "Out of character, or simply not the character you think you know?"

That gave James pause. He studied her, noting the faint tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers lingered on the edges of the book as if she were bracing herself.

"I suppose I don't know much about you," he admitted, surprising even himself with his honesty. "But then, you've never exactly given me a reason to try, well not until recently."

Her laugh was quiet, almost bitter. "Because you think you already know everything there is to know, don't you? Sirius's cousin. A Black. Slytherin. Ice queen. It's all very tidy."

James's jaw tightened at the mention of Sirius. He sat down on the opposite end of the bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You're right," he said after a moment. "That's how I've seen you. But it's hard to imagine you're much different when all you ever do is push people away."