staggered.

james charlus potter, XVIII, former gryffindor, current order member, unadulterated. "...but it seems in tragedy, that innocence is not enough." – t. h. white

[ofremuslupins-blog]

The Fallout | James & Remus | Dec 5-7, 1978

The olive green apron tied around Remus’ waist was a beacon to everyone within a ten mile radius, giving them permission to be assholes — or so it seemed to Remus. His shift at the coffeehouse was coming to a close, and yet he’d been verbally abused to various degrees more times than he could count on one hand. Their lattes were too hot, too cold; their coffees were decaf when they asked for black, or weren’t strong enough; there weren’t enough chocolate sprinkles when they’d asked for double. Remus could feel a migraine building as he served the muggles there beverages, sliding the styrofoam across the counter with a forced smiled on his face to keep from screaming. He kept reminding himself that he needed the money — already a month late on his rent, he was about to be evicted if he didn’t find some money, and fast. It was difficult for Remus to work on the best of days, but he knew that there was a war going on, a fight in which he should’ve been taking part.

His shift ended with a sigh, and he peeled off his apron and grabbed his rucksack, escaping the building almost at a run. When he apparated back to his apartment, he found a letter sitting on the dining room table (which was actually just an upended crate with a plank of wood on top). Ripping it open, his eyes drank in the words — emergency. Diagon Alley. He had no idea how long the skirmish between the Death Eaters and the Order had been going on, but he threw off his bag, grabbed his wand, and went to apparate but was distracted by a flash of something silver. Remus paused and stood still as a stag bounded into the room — not the physical one that he was familiar with, but a silvery patronus one, and a smile pressed itself to Remus’ tight lips. 

“Remus,” came James’ voice, and he realised that it was a patronus message. “It’s james. I’ve found myself in a bit of a mess from an order mission.” Panic started to bubble in Remus’ chest as he listened. “Can’t exactly move my leg. You’re the first person I thought of since I know you’ve had your fair share in wound mishaps. Find me in Diagon Alley. Thanks, mate.

The silver stag disappeared and Remus stood stock still, staring at the place where it had been standing. James was hurt. Was anyone else? Had Peter been there? Sirius? Lily? Remus apparated without further thought, eyes closed as he was sucked and twisted through the vortex and landed hard in Diagon Alley. His eyes opened to chaos: smoke, fire, and destruction dominated the once-peaceful Alley, and Remus turned on the spot. The Death Eaters were gone, it seemed, but so was everyone else — a few Order members could be seen running, some others tending to the wounding, but it was a head of black hair Remus looked for. He found his friend outside a bookshop, and Remus jogged through the glass and wreckage to reach him, skidding to his knees beside James. “Prongs,” Remus said, eyes taking in the damage — blood spattered his face (was it his?), his hands, his legs — but he was awake, that’s what mattered. “Shit, okay, you’ll be okay. You think you’re alright to apparate?”

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James couldn’t do anything but just lie on the cool, stone ground of Diagon Alley and stare up into the sky, clouded by the dark smoke the flames were still emitting. His first mission, the one that he finally sent alone with the responsibility of helping the Order like he so dutifully pledged to, was not successful. He couldn’t deem it as a failure because nothing else was destroyed apart from the first bookstore that James had no control over and Evan had eve disapparted, clearly wounded. But it wasn’t a victory because Evan was still out there, fully capable of terrorizing more bookstores and more people, and all James could do was stare up at the smoke, immobilized.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to move, but he just physically could not get himself up. The impact of the explosions that Rosier had caused gave James a few clean, deep wounds to his left leg as well as a presumably broken wrist due to the force he was thrown at a wall from the impact of the glass window’s blast. Knowing that he should probably tend to his wounds, he struggled to get his healthy hand out from under a dense pile of rubble. After a bit of a struggle, he finally freed his good arm and shakily reached for his wand that was laying a foot away from his wrist. Thanking Merlin silently in his head that his wand hadn’t been broken upon all the chaos that ensued Rosier’s rage, he closed his eyes and while focusing on one particular memory he had stored in his seventh year, a silver stag formed from the tip of his wand. Whispering to it softly, he delivered a hoarse message to the creation and sent it straight off to one of his closest mates, Remus. He was truly the first person he had thought of, simply because he knew that Remus had to deal with all sorts of small healing mechanisms after his escapades as his other form. And truthfully, he just missed the hell out of his face and genuinely just felt the need to see him again.

With his free leg, James scooted himself back behind a large block of debris upon hearing curious voices begin to echo along the alleyway in response to the ruckus he had just caused along with pops in the air and yells that he instinctively knew were some of the other Order members apparting to the site. Conversely, he didn’t really know why he didn’t want to be seen at the scene of the crime. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be associated with the travesty of a bookshop he could have prevented, or the fact that he just wanted some privacy after such an exhausting affair. Regardless of what the reason was, James made sure that he was hidden out of plain sight for the neighboring witches and wizards that began to look around the site with dark, murmuring tones.

After what seemed like ages, James finally heard a familiar voice and despite all the pain he was feeling, his face lit up. He turned his head up to an incredibly worried expression given by Remus, with even the simplest motion making his head spin a little. Regardless of the uncomfortable sensation, he said, “Oi, Moony, nice of you to join me on this fine afternoon. “ Grinning, he continued a bit weakly with, “I think so. Hopefully I won’t splinch, but I know that it can’t be much worse than the flesh that’s been ripped up on my leg. Fucking Rosier, the man’s bloody insane.” He sighed and gave his best friend a meek smile before lifting up his free arm for him to take.

[demiboydun-deactivated20151107]

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Just Another Night - James & Lily

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If there was one thing Lily Evans hated more than people bullying others, it would be cooking. For as helpful as magic has deemed to be since she had started learning what she could do with it, producing a meal was not something anyone had come up with. If ever there was a skill she should have learned from her parents before she left for a completely new world where she didn’t need to learn such practical skills. Not that Lily ever complained, oh she found making potions was a much better suit for her than grammar lessons. 

Though right now the red haired girl was almost wishing she was back at school so she wouldn’t have to cook. But here she was, in the kitchen of her little apartment, bent down at eye level with a few pieces of raw chicken. “Now you listen here, I will have no funny business out of you.” She started as she gave the food a long stare. “Just cook like your supposed to.” With that, she stood up and pulled her wand out of her back pocket. Sure she was probably losing her mind talking to an inanimate object, but with her luck lately it was more of a pep talk for herself.   

With a few mental commands of spells at her disposal and a flick of her wrist; the pots and pans, bowl of flour, oil, and chicken went up in the air and started following her instructions. With a grin plastered on her face she watched as everything came together perfectly. Oil poured itself into the pan which had situated itself onto the stove, the stove top turned on, the chicken wings had rolled themselves in the flour and had found their place in the pan. “Wonderful.” She commented pretty pleased with herself so far. The hard part was out of the way and glancing at the clock on the other side of the room her guest would be arriving pretty soon.

Taking the few strides it took to make her way to the refrigerator, Lily pulled out salad ingredients and smiled when the familiar sound of a buzzer announcing that someone had requested to be let in. Not bothering to put anything down she instead ran over to the system mounter on the wall by her front door and buzzed James in. She rarely got a visitor that wasn’t the taller, dark haired wizard.  Hastily going back into the kitchen to put what was in her arms down, she got to the door just in time after the knocking had ensued. “Well hello to you too.” The redhead replied with a hint of sass in her voice after his comment about her previous meal planning. Ushering him inside she shook her head letting her red hair bounce around. “You know you don’t have to ask to come inside James. But I’ll have you know that I’ve never seen a casserole deflate so that within itself was a proper victory.” She added with a small giggled escaping her lips, and shut the door behind him.

“Now come on, as much as I’d like to just forget the food and stare at you all night I am determined not to burn anything, tonight.” She made sure to add the tonight since leaving Hogwarts, and her own childhood home had resulted in nearly every dish she had prepared herself with a lovely charred flavor to it. “You can help me with the salad. And tell me what you brought.”

James let out a chortle at her comment, stepping beside her small frame as he made his way into her humble abode. Making his usual route to the kitchen, he called over his shoulder, “Oh yes, I’ve forgotten that deflating a casserole to its fullest extent is something noteworthy. Of special praise. I’ll keep that in mind to thank you while I’m saying Grace.” He laughed again at his own comment, knowing full well that he couldn’t say a single word of the Lord’s Prayer that his mother so forcibly made him say at ever dinner gathering. Nowadays, James was accustomed and adamant about not saying it, that he’d completely forgotten the entire verse. There’s something about daily bread in there, right?

Setting down his grocery bag on the counter top, he briefly closed his eyes and sniffed the air around him, a warm smile spreading itself across his lips. Even though James loved to surround himself in the smells and aromas a successful kitchen provided, he did feel a bit bad about forcing Lily into this sort of tradition he implanted on the two of them, especially since he knew her disdain for cooking. Granted, he was no Michelin star chef and had definitely had his bad batches of presented dishes, but the act of cooking brought back incredibly great, nostalgic memories. It could’ve been when his whole family (admittedly it was just three people in total, sometimes four if Sirius was there) would slave away in the kitchen for hours to prepare a three course meal for just the few of them on a random summer’s evening, or when it was the first great feast of the start of year back at Hogwarts, or even when Remus would bring Sirius a strong cup of coffee in the early hours of the morning to freshen up his hungover state from a previous night of intense firewhiskey drinking. No matter the circumstance of food the memory was related to, it all brought a lovely sense of comfort to the boy that he was so often missing in his life.

Reaching his arm out and scooping the redhead of his into a tight grasp, he kissed the top of her head and said, “You know I would eat anything of yours, no matter how burnt. Serve me a pile of charcoal shavings and I’ll lick the plate clean. Even though I’m fairly certain you’ve already given me a few of those dishes already.” Grinning, he dropped his arm from her and opened the bag he had brought to her request. “It’s really not much, but I saw this as I was passing by the farmer’s market and couldn’t help but purchase it all. Besides, who doesn’t love the standard cheese and crackers?” Pulling the artichoke out from its plastic holder, he presented it to her with a mock bow. “And here’s that for you. Use it wisely,” he said with a wink, yet unable to unsee the uncanny resemblance between the object and her wondrously green eyes.

Stepping to the side where the indicated salad ingredients were laid out, he cracked his knuckles and began to twist the lettuce into smaller pieces, filling up the bowl that he was presented. “Now tell me Evans, how has your day been? Keep me entertained.”

[rabastanxthexstrange-blog]

Fahrenheit 451 | Lower East London | December 3, 1978 | Rabastan and James

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Rabastan was unimpressed by James Potter. The man in front of him was seeming more and more like some spoiled little boy, and this interaction, whatever it was, was growing easier and easier for Rabastan to control. The younger man obviously hadn’t been exposed, or made aware of, nonmagical manipulation very often, because Rabastan was playing with his mind as if it was putty in his hands. Rabastan took another drag from the cigarette, thoroughly underwhelmed by the infamous James Potter, the man who had captured so many hearts when he was younger, the star quidditch player and number one mischief maker. Rabastan didn’t see any of that—all that he saw in front of him was a scared little boy in way over his head.

And so, Rabastan used that to his advantage. He used the fact that James was younger, and therefore less experienced than Rabastan to his favour, trying his best to make sure that every step he took and very word his spoke and every move he made was precisely measured, down to his heartbeat, so that he could properly intimidate James into being even more terrified of him than Rabastan could have imagined was possible before. Rabastan had expected more than the slight man in front of him to try and stop him at this bookstore—then again, he knew that the chances of anyone finding him at all had been fairly slim anyway.

“Tell me will you? Will you destroy this bookstore in your attempt to destroy me?” Rabastan took a step forward, his boot squelching softly as the rubber heel of it became slightly saturated with gasoline. He stopped moving, the cigarette hanging dangerously out of the corner of his mouth, the smell of the charmed gasoline rise up from the floor and nearly causing Rabastan a headache—it seemed that nicotine was strong enough that the buzz would drown out the feeling that the fumes from the gas gave off. Rabastan reached up and, just before the cigarette would have dropped, he caught it, shifting his grip so that he was holding it between two fingers and released a stream of smoke off to the side.

Shaking his head ever-so-slightly in disappointment, Rabastan looked down for a moment before flicking his eyes back up to meet James’. “Is that what you think it is? That mummy and daddy didn’t love me enough, that my brother didn’t treat me well? That the nasty, dungeon-like home of the bigoted pureblood family treated me like a prisoner?” Rabastan took another step forward. “Is that the answer you’re looking for? Because I’m afraid, love, you won’t find it in the erotica section.”

James felt himself grinding his teeth together with a clenched jaw, an act he wasn’t too accustom to doing. The man that stood before was everything he despised; the emblem of everything immorally corrupt. He’d heard stories alright, especially the most gruesome ones involving the sick brutality that the very Rabastan Lestrange had cast upon helpless victims for his own sadistic enjoyment, with the premonition that what he was doing was for justice. For superiority. For the greater good. A muscle twitched in James’ neck at the very thought of this, angering him beyond measure at the blatant disregard for human life. With his knuckles standing white against the dark frame of his wand, James knew in the back of his mind that he needed to cool down. To focus. He couldn’t let the enemy win, not this time. With a small and sharp twist to his neck, the twitch stopped and James’ eyes narrowed.

“No actually, destroying a bookstore wasn’t exactly on my agenda. However, destroying something along the lines of unjustifiable acts of pure inhumane hatred was one of my bullet points on my list of things to do today, right after a trip to the grocer,” he said maliciously, the shadow of an arrogant grin flickering across his lips. He dared not to break eye contact with Rabastan, but his closer proximity to him was to the point where the tip of James’ wand was now in direct contact with his opponent’s chest. He ignored the horrendously pungent smell of gasoline that wafted its way to his nostrils and didn’t let himself flinch at the sight of Rabastan’s cigarette dropping. He was determined.

“Funnily enough Lestrange, that’s actually exactly what I think.” Bringing his arm up, he tapped the tip of his wand to the man’s nose, giving him a wry smile. “You deserve an Academy Award for that little spiel there. Almost made me pity you for there for a second, maybe even bring a tear or two to my eye.” He brought his arm back down, jabbing his wand now directly in the center of Rabastan’s chest. “But then y’see, I remembered the reason why I’ve been with Order and how I’ve been studying and cataloging the incidents that you’ve fucking bastards have committed for the last few years. And then it finally hit me again why I absolutely loathe you. Because from what I can recall, you wanted to commit those heinous crimes and even volunteered to do some on your own, out of pure enjoyment from what I presume. And that my friend,” he said with a slight tilt of his head an a smile oosing with sarcasm, “was the answer I was looking for.”

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking one more time, why are you here? Who sent you? Oh, and if you don’t think that I can just clear this bloody oil stain off the floor with a bit of first year magic by the name of tergeo, then you’re quite mistaken.”

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Just Another Night - James & Lily

A small grocery bag rhythmically thudded against James’ thigh as he made his usual route on the usual day to Lily’s apartment. The bag’s contents were nothing of particular interest: just a box of crackers, a small square of cheese, and an artichoke that caught James’ eye as he was perusing through the farmer’s market. It was an exceptional shade of green to him, and he especially took note of the leaves’ tips that were the subtlest shade of hazel. He absentmindedly thought while he was turning the corner to her street that maybe Lily could incorporate it in her dish she was making for her turn in the week, or if not, that it would be a lovely centerpiece on its own. 

It had become a strange little tradition for the two to venture to each other’s places twice a week for dinner that the resident of the indicated house would prepare. It had become a sort of staple for the two to bring a sort of normality in their generally hectic lives. James personally took a liking to it because he knew that even on some of the most tedious and irritatingly monotonous days at Headquarters, he had something to look forward to in the evening. Even if Lily had just a plain bowl of spaghetti, he knew could relax, breathe, and just talk to her about the most casual things that didn’t concern the Order to ease his brain a little. He didn’t mind one bit if he talked about the weather or the plainness of that particular dish of pasta, but if he was able to talk to her, then everything would be at peace for him.

Approaching the gates of the allotted apartment complexes, he pressed his finger to the button with the indicated “Evans” residence, thinking of an artichoke dip that he could possibly prepare for his turn. The buzzing gate drew his attention back to reality and he turned its handle, shutting the gate behind him and making his way through the usual path to her usual front door. Knocking twice, he waited just a few moments balancing on the balls of his heels before the door opened, giving him the very head of red hair that he was looking for.

“Evening, I’ve brought appetizers,” he grinned, jostling the grocery bag in his hand. “I hope you’ve prepared something a little more adequate than that deflated casserole you presented last week. Was a bit of a let down, admittedly,” he teased, knowing for a fact that his attempt at pan Asian cuisine was far worse. “May I come in?”

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Mischief Managed – James & Sirius – Dec 2, 1978

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As he flagged down the bartender, Sirius was pleasantly surprised by the pub that James had chosen. The place wasn’t half bad, the music wasn’t overwhelming, and the people seemed friendly but not intrusive. Flicking open his zippo, he lit his cigarette, exhaling deeply as he glanced at the clock. They’d agreed to meet at eleven, and James was late, which was hardly a surprise for Sirius. The only thing different about this routine was that Sirius had actually shown up early. He ashes his cigarette as the bartender came over, and he ordered two pints in preparation. No use beating around the bush.

A part of Sirius regretted making these plans, considering that he was leaving tomorrow for Spain with Remus on a mission for Dumbledore. Hunting Death Eaters while hungover wasn’t necessarily his definition of fun. However, James deserved to hear it from him instead of from some random Order member, and more than that, he hadn’t seen his best friend in far too long, and this was the only time they had where both of them were actually free. He was just going to have to pace himself — something he had little to no experience in doing. Whatever. Remus had always been better at potions than him, and he was sure that, if he asked nicely enough, the other boy would be willing to make him something for his inevitable hangover.

The doorbell chimed, and Sirius glanced around at the door. A grin spread on his features, wide and genuine, and he leaped to his feet, tugging the familiar frame of James Potter into a tight, heartfelt embrace. His laughter echoed through the bar at James’ comment, and his chest ached at the familiarity of it all. It felt as though no time had passed, as though they’d just seen each other yesterday, and they were hanging out again today. He loved the ease with which he and James could just slide back into the same old routine, and nothing ever felt as though it had changed, even though so many things had.

"It’s a real hit with the ladies," Sirius grinned, leading the pair of them over to the bar where their beers awaited them. He pushed James’ in his direction before taking a large mouthful of his own. "You should give it a try, Prongs. I’m sure Lily’d love it. A little spice for your sex life." His cheeks hurt with how much he was smiling, and he couldn’t help the enormous sensation of relief that overwhelmed him. He was so grateful for his friendship with James, but even more than that, he was so grateful that his friend was even alive. James had gotten a little more involved in the war than he had, and there was always the omnipresent fear of his death weighing Sirius’ shoulders down. Times like this were the only moments when that fear was alleviated.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, he exhaled away from James before clapping the other boy on the back. “How the hell’ve you been? I swear, you just dropped off the face of the planet for the past month. Moony and I were worried.”

James let out a hearty laugh at Sirius’ retort, the kind that really only his best mate could get him to do. It had been far to long since James had actually spent a night without pulling his hair out over the tumultuousness of the occasional crises the Order experienced or grinding his teeth over his desk where he tirelessly studied endless manuscripts of the dark arts. No, tonight was all about enjoying himself for once in what seemingly felt like a millennia, and what better person to do that with than Sirius? Even though that he knew it wouldn’t be a problem for the pair of them, James couldn’t help but give a small sigh of relief of how casual they were with each other upon immediate interaction. It was as if it they were spending another night together in the Gryffindor common room together, kicking pretentious first years out of the seats by the fire and loudly complaining about the extraneously long Potions essay that was due the very next day, which inevitably they knew they were not going to even bothering working on it at all. That particularly nostalgic thought brought upon a grin that swept James’ mouth and he knew that it wasn’t going to vanish for the entire night.

“Oh I bet it is Padfoot, definitely put me on the shipping list for a few bottles of those. What doesn’t turn on a girl more than an incredibly strong odor of wet dog?” he said with a smirk as the duo were made their way and sat down at the two bar chairs Sirius had already picked out. Nodding as a gesture of thanks to the boy, he took a large swig of the beer, nearly draining half of it with one gulp. Wiping his foamy brow with his sleeve, James gave out a small exhaling burp before he continued. “Blimey, it’s been too fucking long since I’ve had a proper drink. All Lily has is cheap sherry, which you know makes me gag. Not to mention, I always forget to pick up something for my apartment’s own personal use. So please excuse me if I’m a bit of a lightweight tonight mate,” he said with a toothy grin. “I might get a bit frisky and take my shirt off.”

Watching the smoke leave Sirius’ lips, James gave a small chuckle in reaction the clap on his back as well as the comment about his other best mate. “I may as well have dropped off the face of the planet because I’ve practically become nothing more than a hermit. I’ve practically lived in the shadows of Headquarters, memorizing backstories for certain Death Eaters or learning the differences of however many poisons. Probably would’ve saved me some time if I actually gave a rat’s arse back in Slughorn’s class,” he grinned, taking another sip of his drink. “Or I’d be hunched over some bloody manuscript Frank would make me read back at my place about how who knows what concerning dark artifacts. I’ve basically had to cram the last couple year’s worth of Hogwarts’ teachings, thanks to my lack of studying and time spent in detention, as well as standard Order knowledge in the last few months. It’s been hell.” Draining the last little bits of his glass left, James’ eyes wandered from Sirius’ face and to a far corner of the bar as he propped his elbow up on the hardwood surface, leaning his chin on the top of his knuckles. “But it’s been worth it y’know, every single bit. Because no matter how painful it is for me to go through all of those damn historical books and scrolls for hours on end and just trail behind Frank on missions where I can’t even cast a spell, I know it’ll be worth it. I know that if I can just get through this, it’ll feel like a breeze compared to the larger scheme of things where I’m actually granted a bit of freedom in what I can decide on to help our cause. I can know I can defend what we’re fighting for and eventually, win the battle and just end it all. I know it.” Returning his gaze back to his friend, James laughed a bit bashfully. “Now before I entirely become the softest tosser you’ve ever met, I need a shot. Or two. And I’ll pay.”

Even though he felt a bit of buzzed from the first beer he downed in a heartbeat, a sudden thought popped back into his head at the remembrance of the other name that was mentioned earlier in their conversation. “Speaking of Moony have you seen him lately? Is our little Rayleigh doing alright?” he laughed, a wide grin set on his face.

[cavlls]

[rabastanxthexstrange-blog]

Fahrenheit 451 | Lower East London | December 3, 1978 | Rabastan and James

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Rabastan could hear James moving from a mile away, but he figured if he could get this place alight before apparating, hey, he might be able to kill two birds with one stone—well, really, it was more like three. Rabastan, however, was caught in the act, as he thought he might be, and he looked up with a slightly amused expression. Rabastan produced a cigarette, seemingly from nowhere, lighting it up carefully before waving his fingers slightly to extinguish the match. He held the still smoldering matchstick dangerously close to a bookshelf, a smirk on his face as he took a drag before blowing careful smoke rings in James’ face.

“What, are you going to blast me away in the middle of Muggle London? In this lovely little bookshop?” he said, with his teeth still clamped around the cigarette. He took it out, tapping the ashes off carelessly near the gasoline, not caring whether or not he lit the place up. He wasn’t looking to have some friendly little chat with the marauder in front of him—James was weak, weak of mind, weak of body, weak in magic, and Rabastan felt nothing but disgust and shame when he saw James. What kind of pureblood associated himself with those kinds of people? Rabastan blinked innocently, looking up to the apartment where the couple must have, inevitably, been having sex, listening to the sound of bedsprings screeching with the same, cruelly amused expression on his face. 

“What do you make of that?” he asked, tilting his head, and gesturing up to the ceiling with the cigarette in his hand before taking another drag. Rabastan would be lying if he said he wasn’t mildly interested in James’ response—a gay couple having sex right above them? What did James, pristine, untouchable, always-forgivable, James have to say about that? Could this be another reason for Rabastan to hate him? It’s not that Rabastan needed another one, but he couldn’t help but love to hate people. 

Secretly, Rabastan was a little disappointed to be burning this shop in particular. He loved to burn, oh, how he loved to burn, but he couldn’t help but wish that the two people upstairs, who had already received enough shit for the same thing that he was, go through more. Then again, Rabastan was cruel. He was heartless. In the end, it was no skin off his nose.

Trying not to show any glimmer of fear or trepidation on his face as Rabastan made conniving moves towards him, the boy stood there, impervious to anything else that was going on around him. He was the only objective, the only distraction. But consequently, immobile was how he felt as he was pointing his wand at the Death Eater and not being able to really do much else but that. James was stricken by the absolute look of assurance for himself that Rabastan gave with every word, his tongue licking with contempt. It angered James to see the man standing before him so utterly self-confident in what he believed it, infuriating the boy to all ends knowing full well of the humane injustices circling around in his opposer’s head. But he said nothing, keeping his lips in a thin line. 

James furrowed his eyebrows as to what Rabastan was referring to. But his ears perked up the the distinguishable sound of rhythmically precise springs creaking, knowing full well what those sounds alluded to. Swallowing a dry patch he found forming in his mouth, he tried to formulate in his head what the reasons and intentions were for the man to ask him such a question. Was he trying to mess with his head? Toy with his thoughts? Try to divulge in the cycle in which his mind worked? Either way, James would have none of it. He wasn’t just going to allow this seemingly psychotic man to defeat him merely by his own thoughts.

“What do I make of love, in its rawest form of human interaction? I find it full of compassion with an understanding of another individual to fully trust one in their most vulnerable state. To feel this sort of empathy, you need something called a heart, which I’m sure is a term you’re not too familiar with.” James gave him nothing but coldness, his eyes not breaking contact whatsoever with the one standing opposite of himself. “Now tell me, why are you here? And don’t even try to reach for your wand because I’ll have you petrified and shipped off to Azkaban before you could even finish the thought of the premonition of doing so,” he ended with a snarl.

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Aces Up Your Sleeve; October, 1978 [ James&Marlene ]

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Even if James’ tone was a bit on the condescending side, Marlene could tell by the little sigh he gave when he took a sip that the coffee she gave him was more than good by any standards. It wasn’t unlike her lanky friend to play down others, in a more competitive than rude kind of way, for he had always thought highly of his own set of skills. In the early days she had taken delight in pricking his ego, only if to see his feathers ruffled, and even now there were times (alright, she never really quit) that called for a bit of deflating. So with a smile, she tossed some curls over her shoulder and accepted the farce of a compliment.

Upon his display of chauvinistic loyalty, she rolled her eyes. What was it with blokes and their undying need for being a knight? The indignation on his face, adorable though it may be, was far misplaced as far as Marlene was concerned. This was the type of behavior that led her to keeping the news to herself. “Wrong. We aren’t doing anything. I said when I, me, myself, and only those three options meet up with ole Amy will the score be settled.”

She reached over and patted his upper arm, giving the most complacent look she could muster. “He didn’t curse you, James. Let me have my payback. I deserve it.”

Then, to lighten the tension she felt rolling in her shoulders, she forced the smile back on her face. “Plus, I already know about you helping Lily. I got a letter explaining it all in great detail. Did you enjoy your stale tea cakes for supper? She told me about the issue with the take out.”

James held up his hands defensively, raising his eyebrows at the obvious splay of annoyance that crossed Marlene’s face. He had forgotten how headstrong his fellow Gryffindor really was (and he blamed it because his coffee seemingly had not kicked in yet with its dosing of caffeine, but also because of the fact that he just plainly had not seen the girl in what seemed like a millennia). Even though his face had an expression of defensive surprise, a small smirk crossed the corner of his lip. Merlin, he really did miss her unfiltered and strangely unadulterated sense of innate impetuousness. That’s why he liked the girl so much.

Putting his hands down at her touch, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the cabinets with a genuine look of deference on his face. “I respect that, Marls,” he said with a nod. James would always stand up for his friends no matter what, but considering the circumstances and especially considering how Marlene’s general demeanor was, he rightfully backed off.

Rolling his eyes at her comment was an impulse that he couldn’t resist, even if he tried. He had lots of years at Hogwarts backtalking to his professors to thank for that asset. “Bloody hell, it was a nightmare, that evening was. I busted my arse trying to organize her boxes with her just yammering at me that they’re in the wrong order or assorted by the wrong color or something along that route. Anyhow, we eventually got too tired of bickering so we just settled on getting dinner. I shall emphasize the word tired because we surely didn’t want to get up and walk to a restaurant, so I even considered using that ruddy muggle contraption of a phone.” James was two things when it came to everyday muggle objects: fascinated and utterly confused. “But I didn’t understand how to work it and besides, Lil forgot her address, the tosser. So we ended the night sleeping on the one rug we unpacked with a box of possibly the most inedible teacakes for the two of us to share. And that’s how that night was.”

James didn’t realize how much he was babbling on until he finished and found his mouth was rather dry from all the talking he just performed. A bit abashed by his circumstance, his cheeks felt a bit warmer than they were prior to his speech. Quickly clearing his throat and reaching back for his coffee mug, he sipped it tentatively before saying, “And how about you Marls? Have you seen her recently?”

[rabastanxthexstrange-blog]

Fahrenheit 451 | Lower East London | December 3, 1978 | Rabastan and James

It was a special pleasure to burn. 

It was even more pleasurable when it was in order to put the filth in their place. It was a muggle bookstore, nothing special, some dive owned by two older men who were completely open in their affection towards each other—an advantage, Rabastan supposed, a little fact that would make this crime deemed one of hate by muggles, throwing any suspicion, if there were to be any in the first place, off him. He had his wand in his long jacket, but he had decided to forgo the use of magic. There were too many witnesses, too many chances for him to get caught on some sort of technicality, and, frankly, it was far more enjoyable with a gallon of gasoline and a book of matches in his hand. He grinned to himself in the darkness, his white teeth forming a leer that seemed to glow through the night. 

He hadn’t been told to do this. He hadn’t gotten some order from above to make sure that this specific shop get burnt or to enact a hate crime against these two men. No, Rabastan had found out about them and had decided to do this himself. He wasn’t angry because they were gay—hell, he was about as gay as they came, and he wasn’t that much of a hypocrite—not when it came to this. It was because, or so he had heard, one of the men in the flat above the bookstore was some squib and the other was a mudblood who had both forgone a  life in the Wizarding World to be down here with the rest of the filth. Rabastan wasn’t particularly impressed.

And, besides, after perusing the titles in their store that afternoon, they were exactly the sort of hippies who deserved to be burned anyway.

[prongedpxtter]

The only reason why James found himself at a ruddy bookcstore was solely onthe request of Lily’s seemingly good intentions. Of course she wanted him to relax two days before the very first mission he was assigned to by Dumbledore, and his constant pacing around her apartment didn’t help his case at all. Whether it was for the reason that she wanted him to relax or the fact that his nonstop walk up and down the same stretch of hardwood was something she found insufferable, the girl had (forcibly) beckoned him out of her place. As she was pushing him out her front door, the redhead suggested a bookstore she had wanted to take a visit too for a while now and for him to give her the lowdown of the place before she went. With a final smirk, she closed the door and James had no other option than to explore the little recluse.

It wasn’t hard to find the bookstore considering her description of the place as being one of, as she put it, “peculiar attributes.” It stood out against all of its neighbors by having outer walls comprised of neon colors as opposed to the staleness of muted red bricks of the surrounding buildings. The lavishly decorated sign and window displayed of equally immoderate books set James’ premonition of the place as the one that Lily had described. He sighed as he entered the bookshop, noting in his mind that the damn redhead definitely owed him one.

James perused the bookshelves, a bit thrown back by the themes of sexual exploits and desirable insights, even a few mentions of hallucinogenic means of reaching a thing called “nirvana,” whatever that was. Nonetheless, he was a bit intrigued by the whole scheme of the place, with its radical sense of exploration of oneself. As he rounded a corner with a bit of curiosity, he found a man striking a match a bit too close to the inevitably flammable pages of the books. But suddenly, his face completely hardened at the recognizable face of none other than Rabastan Lestrange. For Order purposes, James had tirelessly spent hours researching and mentally memorizing in the deepest corners of headquarters, learning their pasts, learning their faces, learning their intentions. And with everything that James had researched, Rabastan wasn’t one to take lightly. Swiftly, he took his wand from his pocket and had his arm straight down, with his wrist flexed slightly upwards so that the tip of the wand was in direct fire of the Death Eater.

“I wouldn’t strike that any closer if I were you, mate. Why don’t you put that down and we can have a nice chat about it outside, eh? I don’t want to cause much trouble,” he said inauspiciously with a cold stare.  

[xrosier-blog]

Appetite For Destruction | December 5, 1978 | James & Evan

There was a certain thrill to being dispatched on a mission by himself rather than having the supervision of a more experienced Death Eater glaring down on him at almost every given second. It gave him a chance to breathe. Despite the smog that hung over London on that early morning, Evan knew there was room for him to inhale every last inch of the air that surrounded him in his small apartment, the lack of sunlight glaring through his window doing wonders for his mood. He was being dispatched to Diagon today and although it was only a local mission, it finally gave the man a chance to prove himself. Of course it had not taken much to do so for him initially, though now it was finally a circumstance that would only solidify his greatness in the Dark Lord’s eyes and those of everyone that had doubted him. He would succeed.

Pulling on his dark cloak, Evan found himself pulling out a small box from underneath his bed. It was a rather oddly shaped, hand carved redwood box with hinges that didn’t quite work properly - a gift from his grandfather before he’d died, one of the few memories of his childhood that he hadn’t tried to forcibly omit. That was perhaps the one time Evan had felt remorse for a death hat he’d caused, even if he hadn’t quite been sure of that fact at the time. From it he removed his mask - the patterned disguise was the first thing he’d been awarded with before being branded with the Dark Mark upon his acceptance into the Dark Lord’s inner circle and he could not have been more grateful. Lifting it to his features, he found himself sighing as the magic woven through it allowed it to mould to his features perfectly, hiding any last hair that may have fallen over it without the use of a strap or anything of the like.

Upon leaving the house he checked himself in the mirror, looking for any sign that he might have been recognisable upon leaving. It was early enough in the morning for only drunks and prostitutes to be hanging around the alley outside his back door, something that Evan figured a benefit every now and then. A shiver ran through his body as he slipped through the darkness unnoticed, his presence in the Leaky Cauldron ignored thanks to the shouting that had come from the direction of the bar. “Thank Merlin for wizard scum,” he muttered to himself with a breathy laugh, making a beeline for the wall that would lead him towards the alleyway.

Thanks solely to the fact that the shops had been placed so close together that they blocked out any sunlight that might have dared to peek through at such a godly hour in the morning, Evan was able to walk freely in the darkness that engulfed him. In his mind was a list of the shops owned by blood traitors and even those muggle-infected families that had been allowed to keep their businesses for the sake of… well, business. All of this was about to change, however, as he made his way towards the first of many: Obscurus Books.

With one rather ominous laugh, Evan stood staring at the bookshop from across the street, simply glaring at it for a while. The darkened windows did nothing for the shop’s outward appearance and part of him figured that it was simply the look of the place that had it begging to be burned to a crisp. After all, not much of it would survive - books, after all, seemed like the right starting point to fuel a street-wide fire. Pointing his wand at the building, the spell came silently from the tip of his wand - a single jet of red light that hurtled towards the shop, exploding on impact. While he much preferred wandless methods to wreak havoc upon the world, there was something satisfy about explosions that caused the smile on Evan’s face to peak at both corners. Standing back to look at his creation for a moment or so, he crossed the name off his list and began to head to his next location, wand still tightly gripped in his hand with excitement brewing within him.

[prongedpxtter]

James couldn’t tell if it was nerves oradrenaline that caused his brow to have a small layer of perspiration on it.Either way, he believed this was the case because he felt genuinely unsure ofwhat to expect as a singled out individual for his first mission as an official Order Member. Yes, he had been on numerous raids of stopping Death Eaters and restoring some sense of unity to a contained chaos made by Voldemort’s followers, but this was different than anything he had experienced before. No longer did he have to be the shadow behind Frank Longbottom and no longer did he have to be a burden to the other members. Instead, he was his own person that was fighting for a cause and a reason very personal to him alone. And it was completely terrifying.

Of course back at Hogwarts, James would constantly put up the façade of arrogance, laced with a sense of overwhelming pride and self-confidence that exuded his every action that intoxicatingly brought attention to himself. But back then, he had no real fears of what to expect from his actions. Consequences were just tedious detentions he had to serve or a few House points taken away from him. Nothing at all concerned life or death, or even the mere prospect of it. But now, outsides the comfort and immature ignorance that Hogwarts gave him as a safe haven, James had to take care of himself. Not even his parents, for the first time that he had ever experienced, could give him some eclectic sort of wealth or comfort to tie him over and assure him of his own safety and security. No, it was all on the boy himself.

Wiping the row of sweat that was formed on his upper lip, James walked through the foggy streets of London. Day was barely breaking and there were very few people out and about that passed James as he headed to his destination of Diagon Alley, most with their heads down drowsily, funnily enough juxtaposing James’ wide and attentive eyes. But there was one person that he viewed that was not like the others that passed him. Watching a man stumble on his feet to the curb of the street, James found himself curiously conflicted over the subjectively inebriated man; he couldn’t tell if he was envious or pitiful of the nearly unconscious body. The thing that really struck him was the fact that the man had a peculiar smile on his face, rather than an expression of remorse of his actions or disgust of his present state. It was pretty obvious that the male had spent a long night at a pub with his pockets now completely barren, but he almost had justification of doing so. This man was protected by some sort of self sufficient complacency he had for himself if he was willing to get himself embarrassingly smashed and then boast about it with a goddamn smile for the whole world to see. Envious was James of his self-smattering confidence in his contentment, yet pitiful was something he felt at the man’s lack of need for awareness of reality, much of which James himself currently faced.

Shaking his head out of his reclusive thoughts, James finally reached where he was meant to be. Noticing that his eyes were unnaturally wide, he bowed his head before heading into the Leaky Cauldron in an attempt not to draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was another encountering distraction like a drunken git that he had just witnessed to take him away from his main purpose that Dumbledore himself had sent him out to accomplish as an act of trust and responsibility. Scoffing to himself at the mere thought of the word “responsibility,” one of which was almost pagan to the boy’s tongue from so many years of prank giving and tease inducing, he kept his head bowed as he exited through the back of the pub to the forlorn Alley.

Immediately as he had entered Diagon Alley was he met with a deafening blast, causing him to stumble back a few steps in shock. Regaining his balance, James’ eyes fell on a black coated figure with his want pointed at the destruction, already engulfed in flames. Before he could even think of a spell to disarm the figure, before he could even assess what he was going to do about the flames, and before he could even take a step forward to the perpetrator, he took a deep breath. Somehow, the action calmed his nerves that were on end and steadied his shaking breath. Grunting to himself in some sort of reassuring action, James stepped forward to the Death Eater, his wand raised in his steady hand. Raising his voice so that it could be heard over the rising flames, he bellowed, “You there, drop your wand and turn around before I blast you right into that fire that you so rightfully deserve to be in.” Pointing his wand at the figure’s mask, he flicked it in a swift motion, causing the mask to fall to the ground and reveal the identity of the undesirable. 

[daydreamxmckxxinnon-deactivated]

Aces Up Your Sleeve; October, 1978 [ James&Marlene ]

[prongedpxtter]

A wry smile formed on her lips as he quipped over her primitive way of making a cup of joe. Used to it was an understatement, she figured, as often as people inquired on her aversion of using magic to do menial tasks, but that didn’t stop her from marching on, never reaching for her wand when her hands would work. Marlene couldn’t fault James for asking. He, in all of his pureblood glory, hailed from a home where house elves tended to the young master’s every need and want, where she was raised at the heels of a muggle who never made a dish or drink not homemade. How could she explain how calming it was to accomplish a task herself, especially to someone like him?

"You wouldn’t be begrudging my methods if, for once, you tried the product before barring my methods, Potter," she assured him, shooting him a side-eyed glance as she poured them both a steaming cup. It wasn’t a secret amongst the Order or her small knit of friends on who made the best coffee. Part of her was irate that he seemed to have forgotten in the time they were apart. "Here, try this and see if you want to ask me that question again."

As she blew the steam from her own cup, she watched James over the rim. Marlene hadn’t seen him since she took the curse to the chest, and if she knew Moody well enough, she supposed the news hadn’t yet made it down the grapevine. That was partially on her wishes. The hugs and well wishes and utter bullshit that came with a recovery period with family and friends made her cringe at the thought, but lying wasn’t in her cards either. Not with James. She’d never held back with him before, so why start now?

"I actually was released from Mungo’s last week. Had a bit of a run in with the male portion of the Carrows.." She paused, sipping her drink, trying to draw the severity from her words by distraction. Then, pulling her lips back, a grimace formed there. "And if you see him out, tell him we have a score to settle. I want him to know what’s coming before it happens. Now, that’s out of the way, and I think I was cordial enough. Spill."

James attempted to look complacent in reaction to Marlene's menial behaviors, but was relatively impressed that the girl was able to manage her way around all the little knobs and spouts that came from those blasted muggle contraptions and still produce that deliciously hazel complexion. Coffee was truly the nectar of the gods as James liked to rephrase from word of mouth that the London citygoers often said passing by on the streets in his early morning routine. The harsh edge of bitterness that the drink exuded gave him a small slap with every sip as a wake up call to the boy, whether it was from the grogginess he felt in the early hours of the morning, or if he felt he needed to get his head in the game of what the world stood by in its current situations.

Taking a sip of the mug that was passed to him, the warm and all too familiar sensation hit his tongue in an instant, causing him to widen his eyes just a bit. Nodding his head as he further indulged himself in the contents on the mug, he replied to her after he managed to drain half the mug. "I'm glad I didn't make any bets with you on that Marls because blimey, this thing's damn delicious. Top notch stuff you've got going on, but only on machinery driven standards of course," he added coyly, smirking from the rim of his cup.

James continued to sip at his drink, both hands clutched around the body of the mug, keeping his fingers pleasantly warm. But when Marlene mentioned her hospitalization due to a fellow Death Eater, James' eyebrows knitted together as a look of severity crossed his face. Putting the mug down on the table, he intertwined his fingers and placed them in front of his lips, his elbows propped up on the table and his eyes giving his long friend her undivided attention. It seriously irked James whenever his friends were put in peril because of the unforgiving hands of the Death Eaters, knowing that their unjustifiable causes and radical augmentations were threatening to the greater good of the people he was trying so hard to protect.

"Bloody hell Marls, that's a helluva story you've got there. And don't you worry, next time we see Amycus, you'll be right by my side and we'll both deal with that fucking prick together. I've definitely got a score to settle with him now." Taking his arms off the table, he folded his hands together in his lap and let out a small sigh before continuing. "I do hope you're feeling better though, that must be incredibly draining. As for me, I mean, I haven't done much but follow Longbottom around with Order duties all summer. It's a strange sort of pedagogue thing we've got going on, but I think soon he'll let me take on some missions on my own soon. And then the DE's will soon get a real taste for James fucking Potter." Letting a smirk cross his face, he quickly added, "Oh, and I helped Lily move into her place. She's settling along real well."

[daydreamxmckxxinnon-deactivated]

Aces Up Your Sleeve; October, 1978 [ James&Marlene ]

[prongedpxtter]

Reaching up with her free hand, Marlene cupped his chin in her palm as he hugged her, shaking his face lightly at his teasing words. “Don’t tempt me, Potter. I do so enjoy watching you panic at the thought of losing even an ounce of that cool factor it took you seven whole years to achieve,” she mused, using her hip to nudge him to the side. It was impossible to feel embarrassed to be caught in what, to most, was a very compromising situation when it was James walking in on her indecency. How could she? It wasn’t as if this were the worst thing he’d walked in on her doing…

Despite her ginger cohort’s infamous aversion to the quidditch captain’s bawdy humor and slightly bullying nature, Marlene never held any qualms over the rebellious boy. In fact, bar his anal retentive quidditch scrutiny, she found him quite the entertaining git. Of course he didn’t treat her the way he treated most. They learned early on their snarky little attitudes were much better used in banter rather than arguments, but that didn’t mean their exchanges couldn’t get downright vicious, even if it was all in good fun.

"Now get off me. Can’t you see I’m busy?" She said, finishing the coffee preparations with a shake of her head. "Animals, the lot of you. Makes me wonder if your ancestors are wolves instead of actual humans."

Even as she spoke the jested barb, a slow smile creeped it’s way into her cheeks. Marlene barely tried to conceal it, crossing her arms as she turned to perch a hip on the counter. With a tossed look at the scorched trousers splayed across the sofa, the smile on her face faltering at the sudden stream of curiosity on the story behind the fallen article of clothing. Considering she wasn’t the type to hold back that little streak in her nature, she turned back to James with brows high on her face.

"I’ve been just dandy, really, but I can honestly say my time away from you hasn’t involved half-burned clothes," she replied, pointedly, hoping to draw the story out without needing to ask. "Tell me, is this a recurring habit of yours? Because even by you two’s standards, you can’t lie, it’s a bit odd.”

As much as James wanted to conceal his happiness about seeing one of his close mates back from Hogwarts again, his subtle attempts at hiding his smile failed against him, for a wide and toothy grin was set on the boy's facade. Merlin, how he missed Marlene. She was one of the few girls back in the Gryffindor common room that he could talk just about anything to without having to worry about having a filter or being careful with what he said. He knew that Marls was as tough as nails and could take a lot more than a few spiteful words (even if they had good intentions). For Merlin's sake, the boy had witnessed her take a bloody Bludger to the stomach and still manage to score Gryffindor four points in a quidditch match so her knew for a fact that the girl had the drive in her. 

James smirked at her snarky comment as he watched her finish up the final touches to her coffee endeavor. "Well I mean, we are descended from apes in fact, so I guess that really does make us true animals. Touche. But speaking of primitive behavior, why the ruddy hell are you making that coffee by hand? You know Marls, you're allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts now,"

Even having that short bit of banter between the two just like old times brought a wave of nostalgia over the boy. James often thought about how his life was before he left Hogwarts and how utterly naive he had been to the world around him. Not to mention, how exquisitely blissful it was. He would often find himself daydreaming about his reckless behavior back at Hogwarts where he didn't have a damn worry and how he could get away with things without any consequences, all of which was incredibly irreconcilable to how he lived his life now. Meticulousness, perceptiveness, and intuitiveness are how James has to live to survive, with no accounts of spontaneity or impulsiveness, because that could surely lead him into peril. But somehow, having this quick witted banter with one of his closest mates took him away from all of his predicted cautiousness, for even having the slightest potential of being hexed for fun by her merely for saying something out of line really excited James because then, he truly felt safe as he was back in the Gryffindor common room (as twisted as it was).

Lolling his head back and laughing at her comment, he tried to say somewhat convincingly, "I swear, there's a whole story behind it. Maybe I'll tell you it if you choose to act somewhat cordial to me for once in your life, McKinnon." He teased her by nudging the side of her ankle with the tip of his toy in an act of persistent pestering. Smiling, he continued, "But really, how have you been? It's seriously been ages. And don't cut any sly bullshit with me, because you know I'll see right through it."

[prongedpxtter]

Mischief Managed – James & Sirius – Dec 2, 1978

It had been long, far too long, since James had seen his best mate since the end of their final year at Hogwarts. Admittedly, it had been far too long since James had really seen anyone (apart from Lily, of course) from their graduating class except for a few, rather brief bump-ins on Order duties, but Sirius was the big exception. This was his first summer that he could remember that he didn't spend exorbitant amounts of time with Sirius. Countless summer before, the pair would constantly be at the Potter manor, causing havoc within the confines of the large estate much to the rambunctious boys' pleasure, but not so much to poor, old Charlus and Dorea. Nonetheless, the heads of the Potter household would always welcome Sirius in with open arms, no matter the time of day or for however long he wished to stay there. Sirius was always welcome.

However, since James' departure from Hogwarts, his life had drastically changed from what it was before. No longer did he have a family to directly rely on or had feeling of ease and reassurance from his naive and cushioned youth. Now he had to face the harsh realities of the wizarding world's predicament concerning the Dark Arts and in order to do so, he had been training to be an auror under The Order of the Phoenix for the vast majority of the summer. James had been tagging alongside Frank Longbottom as a pedagogue of sorts, really learning and intuitively interpreting what it took for him to succeed in the occupational goals he set himself out for. In all honesty, it almost took James by surprise how unusually dedicated he was towards this effort. Merlin, he hardly had the drive to even pick up his quill back in his fifth year to complete his O.W.L's, let alone try in the effort to take down the bloody Dark Lord. But whatever this spur of motivation the bespectacled boy had in him, he was taking for the long run.

Thankfully, Charlus and Dorea had left James with a good sum of gold to leave him off to his escapades, so James didn't have to bother himself with an extra job on top of his Order duties. Thinking that only focusing on one occupation would leave him with more leisure time, James soon found himself very, very wrong indeed. He was utterly swamped with mission details he had to meticulously research as well as spending countless hours practicing his dueling (Longbottom made him do it because according to him, the Hogwarts dueling club was absolute rubbish and was only established so that you could hex your enemies to make them drool on themselves or something to that effect). James barely found any time to spend with Lily, let alone catch up on a good night's sleep. Throughout the summer, a pair of dark bags made themselves accustom to residing under James' eyes.

After a few exchanges between owl post however, James had finally landed a night on the town with Sirius; a break from all the work he was facing, a break from overwhelming reality. They both collectively decided that it would be their best bet to go in the heart of London amongst all the muggles rather than sit in a dingy pub where they were sure to somehow be recognized by a fellow wizard. The night was just about them after all, right? Crossing his arms and letting his frigid hands rub the forearms of his winter parker, James scurried alongside the busy London sidewalks. It amazed him how even in the dead of winter at eleven o'clock in the evening, everyone was out and about, bustling around to the hum of the city. Keeping his nose tucked in the tall collar of his jacket, James headed for his destination of some local bar named something ridiculously Irish like O'Connelley's or O'Banion's or O'Shitesenbergy's.

Opening the door to what he hoped was the right bar, James was immediately welcomed by the warmness of the bar that drastically contrasted the bitterly cold weather outside. With the sudden temperature change, the lenses of his glasses began to fog up with condensation. But before James could even utter the words "Bloody hell," and wipe the damned things on his sweater, a familiar set of arms threw themselves on him, causing him to stumble a bit backwards. A grin immediately spread across the boy's face as he threw his arms around the other body, clapping him on the back. "Oi, Padfoot! Give a man a warning before you do something like that," Stepping back, James glasses began to dissipate a little bit, revealing the all too familiar face before him. "But then again, I probably could've known it was you because even with these ruddy steamed up glasses, the smell of you is overwhelming. Eau du Wet Dog, eh?"

[daydreamxmckxxinnon-deactivated]

Aces Up Your Sleeve; October, 1978 [ James&Marlene ]

Morning was, well, morning. Through heavy eyes full of sleep and blurry vision, Marlene rolled from the messy bed and pulled on the first shirt she laid her hands on and shuffled to the kitchen. Whether it was the alcohol or the lack of sleep that left her head feeling like a melon, she wasn’t sure, but the only solution she could think of to remedy her condition was about two pots of the strongest coffee she could find before she could even begin analyzing why she was where she was. What was it about whiskey that left her itching to play anxiety attack at 3 in the morning?

On tip toes she searched for the source of all morning goodness in the cabinets as if they belonged to her, not even turning as she heard the door click over behind her. Instead she grabbed the bag of coffee and went about putting some water on to boil before even speaking.

"You know, you could have made me some of this before you left this morning. Not that I expect you to-" she turned then, realizing the head of unruly brown hair was not the person she expected to be standing behind her. She didn’t startle, though, but merely narrowed her eyes before turning back to what she was doing. "Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Come for your morning fix of loving from the hubby? Too bad. He’s not around. You could leave a message though.."

[prongedpxtter]

James didn't exactly know why he found himself standing in front of Sirius' apartment complex with a pair of his old trousers in his hand. He had received plenty of peculiar stares as he walked down the busy streets of London with nothing but worn out and badly scorched pants in his hand, but he continued down the beaten path with intent. Even though James had been situated in his loft for many months now since his graduation from Hogwarts, he still to this day had boxes unpacked that just sat there in the corners of his complex. Whether it was laziness or a lack of motivation when it came to keeping his belongings in some sort of orderly fashion (which in turn could fall under the category of laziness), he had recently unpacked a box of his old clothes and found that particular set of trousers at the bottom of his box. A smile of nostalgia spread across the boy's face when he pulled them out because the scorch marks were of the especially memorable sort.

Over the summer, when Sirius would spend time with James at the Potter manor, they would test out some prank ideas to use for the following year. One of them involved a weaker version of the incendio charm to make come in contact with the rear ends of their victims just to scare them and make them pat their arses out. But let's just say that it didn't end too well because the boys found out that even if you whispered the charm, it would still have the same, obliterating effect parallel to if you shouted it.

James didn't know why he thought the pants were of enough significance to draw him to Padfoot's residence. In all honesty, he missed the bloke dearly. The Marauders hadn't been in much contact since their dispersion from Hogwarts and James did feel a sort of emptiness that the summer gave him without the presence of one of his closest mates. Fueled only by the thought of reconciliation, the bespectacled boy put his free hand on the doorknob and turned it.

It would be a bit of an understatement to say that James wasn't surprised to see a familiar face, but one that wasn't faceted by the Black family genes. Marlene McKinnon stood before him looking a bit dischevled, but just as how he remembered her back in the Gryffindor common room. Giving her a toothy grin, he retorted, "Charming, I feel so welcome here already." Eyeing the object he held in his hand, he continued, "Well I guess my disposition doesn't really change with what I have in my hands here, eh? You caught me." Putting down the trousers down on a spare piece of furniture, James strode towards the girl and put one arm around her, hugging her close to him, but not fervently enough to disrupt her preoccupied actions. "It really is great to see you though, Marls." Taking a step away, he watched her intently mull over the process of coffee brewing and leaned against the counter top. "So, what've you been up to lately? Blimey, it's been awhile since I've last seen you and ages since the last time you scuffed up my hair."

[prongedpxtter]

Thingol, Bofur, Celebrían

If you believe in luck, do you think you’ve had good or bad?

James most certainly believes in luck I mean how would he have gotten away with as many pranks as he did and that he’s had it good. Real good. How he managed to attain the absolute best mates was beyond his conceivability and he’s thankful everyday to know that he can turn to one of them and know without hesitation that he could lay his complete and utter trust in their giving hands.

Do you consider yourself an optimist or a pessimist?

Optimism is something that James mindfully strives for and has been more dutifully pursuing since he’s graduated from Hogwarts. He’s aware of the imminent dark forces that sweep every corner of the wizarding world, but he truly believes that he has something worth fighting for with the Order. And with that drive, he’s sure they can conquer the unconquerable. Also, it should be noted that James hates to see the ones around him quiver in fear under the prevalence of the Dark Lord. So, he does make an effort to crack a few jokes here and there teasingly just to earn some well-deserved smiles in these troubling times. Whether that notion of his is considered optimistic or not, James tries to make the best out of any situation.

Have you ever done something that took a turn for the worse that you weren’t prepared for?

Answered here! x

[prongedpxtter]

Celebrían

Have you ever done something that took a turn for the worse that you weren’t prepared for?

In the middle of his seventh year at Hogwarts, both of James’ parents fell ill to a vague extension of dragon pox that even the healers at St. Mungo’s weren’t set on what it was exactly. Both Charlus and Dorea Potter claimed that it was nothing for James to be worried about and that in reality, he couldn’t do much about it since the prevention of the disease was near to unattainable. Naturally, James defiantly didn’t listen and immediately rushed them both to the hospital the moment he found out. But, the boy didn’t tell a single soul about this predicament he faced, terrified by the perceptibility of the fate of his elderly parents. He didn’t know how to cope with himself for the mere fact that he’d never had anything like this happen to him in the past, let alone tell anyone to place a burden of his troubles on them. Presently however, the Potter parents face the extent of their disease in critical condition and it is presumably only a matter of time until they break, as well as James on that notion.