Absolutely — what I did to Percy was wrong. Ethically, morally, and even by wizarding standards, using Legilimency and then Obliviate on someone without their consent crosses a line. But the world I finds himself in isn't one painted in black and white — it's grey, murky, and filled with shadows that demand choices most would never even consider.
As James lay in bed that night, staring up at the enchanted canopy that flickered with stars — a mimicry of the open sky above Hogwarts — the weight of his actions pressed heavy on his chest.
"What I did… was wrong," James whispered to the silence. "No getting around it."
He turned on his side, curling just slightly as the internal monologue rolled on.
At first, when he'd landed in this world — the magical dreamscape of Harry Potter he once idolised — he was just a boy. A boy who wanted friends. Who wanted to laugh with Harry and Ron, debate magical theory with Hermione, get into trouble, and live the school life he never had.
But things had changed.
His body was growing. Stronger. Sharper. Faster.
But it wasn't just physical.
There was something happening inside his mind.
A… hardening.
A cool calculation that was slowly creeping in.
The warmth of wanting to belong — of childish hope — was giving way to a cold, focused control.
He'd told himself he wouldn't become like them. The manipulators. The schemers. The ones who forced their way into people's heads and altered the world as they pleased.
And yet… he had.
He sighed.
"I'm a hypocrite."
If he hadn't done it, if he'd left it to fate or waited around, no one would've told him what happened to Angelica. And that knowledge — the truth — was worth more than Percy's temporary memory.
Right?
..."Whatever," he muttered. "Sleep."
James rose early — no surprise there. His morning routine had become something of a legend in the Gryffindor common room.
While others were barely opening their eyes, James had already completed his stretching, cardio, weight work, and wand drills before the rest of them had managed to crawl toward their toothbrushes.
He was already at breakfast, seated at the Gryffindor table, scarfing down eggs and toast, when Hermione dropped into the seat beside him with a huff.
"You didn't even save me the blueberry muffins," she complained, plucking a slice of toast off his plate without asking.
"You weren't fast enough," James smirked, sipping his pumpkin juice. "Natural selection, Hermione. Darwin was a wizard, I'm sure of it."
She rolled her eyes. "Stop talking rubbish. Anyway—Snape's problem in yesterday's homework. You used powdered moonstone for stabilisation, didn't you?"
James raised an eyebrow. "What else would I use? Ground dragon scale? What do I look like, a Slytherin on a dare?"
She gave him a half-smile, "I thought so. Malfoy was boasting he used salamander bile."
James grinned. "And let me guess—it blew up in his face?"
"Nearly melted his cauldron."
"Bless."
They walked together toward the dungeons, the usual morning noise echoing off the stone halls. As they entered the potions classroom, the cold, damp air greeted them like always.
Snape was already standing behind his desk, dark robes draped like curtains around him, his expression unreadable as always—except, today, his black eyes lingered just a bit too long on James.
James noticed.
He didn't react, but in his mind…
He's watching me. He suspects. Better not let him think I had anything to do with what happened to Angelica… because I didn't. That much is true.
Still, Snape's gaze was like a vice. It didn't accuse, not outright, but it probed. It assessed.
James sat down with the calm confidence of someone who'd spent his morning sparring with weights and shadowboxing imaginary Death Eaters. Let the man look. There was nothing he could prove.
"Today," Snape drawled, "we shall be brewing a draught of Vigorous Clarity. It is not a potion for amateurs. It sharpens the mind, heightens magical sensitivity… and when brewed improperly, turns your vision bright orange for two days."
There were snickers in the room.
Malfoy, seated a few rows across, glanced at James. For once, he didn't smirk. He didn't sneer. He didn't even offer a snide comment. He just looked… cautious. Thoughtful.
James narrowed his eyes.
No barbs? No veiled threats? Maybe they really have learned not to mess with someone who put two fifth-years and a sixth-year in knickers and knocked them into next Tuesday.
Snape glided through the room, cape sweeping behind him like some menacing wraith. He paused briefly at James's cauldron as the potion started to simmer into the required shimmering blue.
James didn't look up. Didn't speak. He just stirred clockwise once, counterclockwise twice, then added a pinch of the finely ground powdered moonstone.
Poof. A faint spark of light, then the liquid settled into the perfect consistency.
Snape's eyes lingered for a second.
Then he moved on, saying nothing.
Malfoy, meanwhile, was glaring down at his own cauldron with mild panic as a small column of green smoke began to curl upward.
"Too much salamander bile, Malfoy," Snape said dryly from across the room without even looking.
James snorted softly, sharing a glance with Hermione.
She covered her mouth with her sleeve to hide her grin.
Class continued, the atmosphere slowly returning to normal. But James… James remained aware.
He knew Snape had doubts.
But he also knew how to play the long game.
Let them think what they want. The truth is, I didn't lay a finger on Angelica.