WARNINGS: raised voices, petty jealousy, arguments, light cussing, a bit angst, intense & messy kissing
SYNOPSIS: A stupid argument turns into a real one. You’re both stubborn, loud, and refusing to back down... Until James snaps and closes the distance himself.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I swear he’d argue with you just to kiss you harder. this one was fun to write, enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Characters are based on public personas only. Nothing here reflects real-life relationships or behavior. Please do not repost, translate, or copy my work to other platforms. Reblogs & comments are appreciated but never required!.
MASTERLIST | taglist
It starts stupid.
Like… stupid stupid.
You make one harmless comment about another idol being “pretty good on stage,” and suddenly James is acting like you committed a crime.
“You didn’t have to say it like that,” he mutters, arms crossed so tight it looks uncomfortable.
You blink. “Say what like what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” you snap. “I literally said he did well. That’s it.”
James scoffs, pacing the practice room like he’s trying not to explode.
“Oh my god,” you groan. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”
“I’m not jealous,” he fires back instantly.
You raise a brow. “Right.”
He stops pacing. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That tone.”
You throw your hands up. “James, you’re being ridiculous!”
“Oh, I’m ridiculous?” he says, voice rising. “You’re the one acting like I’m crazy for not wanting to hear you talk about someone else like that!”
“It wasn’t even praise! It was a statement!”
“You didn’t have to smile like that when you said it.”
You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re-” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me!” you shout, stepping closer. “Because I’m not a fucking mind reader!”
He steps closer too. “You know exactly why it bothered me.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Yes, you do!”
You’re chest‑to‑chest now. Breathing hard. Both too stubborn to back down.
His eyes flick to your mouth. Quick, but obvious. And that’s when it hits you.
This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about him being scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being enough.
Your voice softens. “James-”
He shakes his head, frustrated. “Just- you don’t understand how it feels when-”
“James.”
He looks at you, eyes sharp, hurt, tense.
And then he snaps.
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
You don’t even have time to react.
He grabs your face and kisses you.
It’s messy. Your back hits the wall softly as he presses forward, not forceful, just desperate to be close. His breath mixes with yours, uneven, warm. His hands slide to your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s grounding himself.
You kiss him back just as hard, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
When he finally pulls back, he’s still close. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing unsteady.
“You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice a little bit rouhg.
“You started it,” you whisper back.
He huffs a tiny laugh, the first one since the fight started.
“I wasn’t jealous,” he lies again, softer this time.
You smile. “Sure.”
He rolls his eyes, but his hands stay on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I just…” He swallows. “I don’t like the idea of someone else getting your attention like that.”
You cup his cheek. “You have my attention.”
His eyes soften instantly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss, slower this time, but still warm, still full of everything he can’t say. “I know.”
Based on my recent poll's choice: Jealous!James and Calm!Severus
When Evan Rosier turns up to the Potter family reunion with Severus Snape as his plus-one, James’s golden-boy composure doesn’t just crack—it explodes. Between meddling relatives, enchanted party games, and Evan’s smug matchmaking, the Potters treat James’s jealousy like live entertainment. By the end of the night, everyone knows the truth: the biggest disaster isn’t Evan’s doing—it’s James having a mental breakdown from the existence of Severus Snape.
Sunlight poured over the rolling lawns of the Potter estate, gilding the topiaries and warming the summer blooms that lined the garden paths. It was the perfect day for a celebration: clear blue skies, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of roses, and a hundred enchanted fairy lights already bobbing lazily under the eaves of the marquee tent that had been set up on the lawn. The Potters’ annual family reunion was about to begin, and everything looked as if it had been pulled from an idyllic countryside painting.
Under a grand old oak tree, long tables draped in crisp white linen were arranged in a horseshoe, laden with pitchers of chilled pumpkin juice and platters of appetizers to welcome arriving guests. Euphemia Potter, matriarch of the family, flitted around making last-minute adjustments with her wand – levitating a centerpiece here, straightening a chair there – while humming merrily. Fleamont Potter stood by the garden gate, greeting early arrivals with hearty handshakes and proud laughter as he ushered them in.
James Potter surveyed the scene from the veranda with a grin tugging at his lips. The family reunion was one of his favorite days of the year. Usually. He loved the chaos of it all – the riotous laughter of cousins chasing each other with toy broomsticks across the lawn, the shrieks of delighted aunts as someone recounted a particularly scandalous story from years past, the way his mum inevitably tried to overfeed everyone with treacle tart and cucumber sandwiches. James thrived in the warm, boisterous atmosphere; being the only child of the hosts and something of the golden boy of the Potter clan, he normally basked in the attention and affection that surrounded him on this day.
But this year, he felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach that refused to loosen, no matter how beautiful the afternoon or how delicious the scents wafting from the kitchen. As he leaned on the veranda railing, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers, James scanned the lane that led up to the house. Any minute now, more relatives and friends would come popping out of thin air or strolling up the path via Side-Along Apparition, adding to the growing crowd in the garden. Among them would be him.
“Still no sign of Evan?” came a voice from behind him.
James turned to see Sirius Black sauntering out of the house with two glasses of lemonade in hand and a knowing smirk on his face. Sirius had shed his usual leather jacket for once, in concession to the summer heat and the semi-formal nature of the gathering, and instead wore smart trousers and a white shirt with sleeves already rolled to the elbow. The outfit did nothing to tame his roguish black hair, which fell into his grey eyes as always.
“Nope,” James replied, taking the glass that Sirius offered him. “But he’ll be here. Prat loves making an entrance.”
Sirius chuckled. “True. He probably wants everyone assembled so he can have the maximum audience.”
James huffed a short laugh, but it was edged with frustration. He took a gulp of the tart lemonade. “I just hope he doesn’t try anything… dramatic this time. Last year he nearly set Uncle Alphard’s robes on fire showing off that illegal firewhip hex.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sirius drawled with a grin. “That was actually rather entertaining. Old Alphard’s expression—”
“I’m serious, Pads. Well, you’re Sirius, but you know what I mean.” James ran a hand through his already windswept dark hair, making it stick up more. “My parents invited him because family duty and all that, but it’s like handing a match to a pyromaniac. Evan lives to cause trouble.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow and clinked his glass lightly against James’s. “Funny, some might say that about you too, Mr. Potter. You two are cousins, after all.”
James made a face. “Distant cousins. Very distant. Third or fourth, I think, through some weird family tree tangle. Hardly counts.”
“Still, he is a Potter by blood,” Sirius mused. “Even if he’s a Rosier by name. And a Slytherin by… everything else.”
At the mention of Slytherin, James grimaced. Evan Rosier had been a Slytherin in the year above James at Hogwarts, and he had lived up to all the stereotypes: cunning, smooth-tongued, and always ready to stir up mischief from the shadows. Where James’s own mischief (of which there had been plenty) was usually loud, prankish, and fundamentally harmless, Evan’s brand was a touch more devious and unpredictable. They had never quite gotten along, even as kids at previous reunions. Evan liked to tease James for being the adored heir of the Potter family, and James liked to tease Evan for being a slimy Slytherin interloper at their Gryffindor-heavy gatherings. It was almost tradition at this point that the two would butt heads at least once per reunion.
This year, though, James sensed something different in the air. Last week, his mother had casually mentioned via owl post that Evan had RSVP’d with a “+1.” She had assumed it meant Evan was finally dating someone and bringing them to meet the family, and had been delighted at the prospect. James, on the other hand, had nearly choked on his coffee when he read the news. Evan Rosier, bringing a guest? To the Potter family reunion? It was unprecedented. And for James, it was downright alarming.
He could only imagine what sort of person Evan would drag along. Probably someone who would help him wreak havoc or show off. James had pictured a fellow Slytherin crony, perhaps – maybe that friend of his from school, Barty Crouch Jr., or one of the Lestrange cousins – someone to sneer at the Potters and make pointed remarks all day. James had warned his parents to be prepared for anything. Fleamont had waved a hand dismissively and said, “If he causes a scene, dear, we’ll handle it. It’s just one day.” Euphemia had kindly reminded James that extending warmth to all family members, even the troublemakers, was important.
So James had swallowed his protests. But ever since, a restless energy plagued him. He wasn’t sure if it was dread at whatever stunt Evan might pull, or something else entirely. Perhaps a smidge of competitive anticipation – a readiness to duel wits and wills with that smarmy cousin of his again. James wasn’t one to back down from a challenge or a prank war, after all.
Now, sipping lemonade and scanning the lane for any sign of the infamous Rosier, James exhaled slowly. “Maybe he’ll just… not come,” he muttered half-heartedly.
Sirius snorted into his drink. “And miss the chance to torment you in front of your entire family? Not likely. I give it ten minutes, tops, before he swoops in.” Sirius hopped up to sit on the railing next to James, long legs dangling. “In the meantime, you should enjoy your throne, O Golden Potter Prince. Look, Aunt Matilda’s already asking after you.”
James followed Sirius’s gaze to see Aunt Matilda – technically a second cousin once removed – waddling towards the veranda, arms open wide. She was a stout witch with a penchant for crushing hugs and an overly floral perfume that could stun a dragon at ten paces. James managed a genuine smile and stepped down to meet her, bracing himself.
“There’s my handsome boy!” Aunt Matilda sang out, enveloping James in a hug that made his ribs creak. “Oh just look at you, still dashing as ever! And Sirius, dear, come here!”
Sirius suffered his own rib-cracking embrace with good humor. “Hello, Matilda. Still wearing that lovely rose fragrance, I see,” he wheezed playfully, making James bite back a laugh.
As more relatives arrived, James found it easier to push thoughts of Evan’s mysterious guest to the back of his mind. He plunged into the festivities, making the rounds like the dutiful son and host he was. By two o’clock, the garden was lively with around thirty or forty people milling about. Laughter rang out as a group of younger kids chased a bewitched Quaffle that whizzed gently above the grass, occasionally bonking an unsuspecting uncle on the head to everyone’s amusement. At one end of the patio, Lily Evans – James’s dearest friend and confidante (and incidentally, the woman he once thought he would marry, before they both realized they were better as friends) – sat in animated conversation with Euphemia about some Muggle gardening techniques, of all things. Lily’s striking red hair caught the sunlight as she threw her head back in a laugh; James saw his mother beam, delighted by Lily’s easy charm.
Nearby, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew – two more of James’s closest friends, who had become like extended family – were hovering around the dessert table, where the house-elves had laid out a tantalizing spread of cakes and trifles. Remus was attempting to dissuade Peter from sampling a cream puff before the main meal. Typical.
Everything felt warm and content, as it should be. Yet, James couldn’t fully relax. His eyes kept flickering back towards the garden gate, expecting at any moment to see—
Pop.
A soft crack of Apparition sounded from just beyond the open wrought-iron gate. James straightened up from where he’d been crouching to help a little cousin tie his shoe. Sirius, who had been helping himself to a handful of cashews beside James, paused mid-chew. James exchanged a glance with him, heart quickening. This was it.
Two figures appeared on the other side of the gate, making their way in. James recognized Evan Rosier at once by his confident swagger and the way he lazily pushed open the gate as if he owned the place. Evan was tall and lean, with ash-blond hair swept back elegantly and a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore robes that were decidedly more fashion-forward than the summery casual attire of the other guests – a slick cut of emerald green that, James grudgingly admitted, looked annoyingly good on him.
But James barely spared Evan a second glance, because the man walking just half a step behind him was infinitely more shocking to behold in this setting. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, charcoal waistcoat, and black trousers, with his black frock coat draped over one arm, stood Severus Snape.
James’s jaw nearly dropped. He blinked hard, certain for a moment that the bright sunlight was playing tricks on him. Severus Snape, here? At his family reunion? It was as jarring as if a crow had flown into a gathering of songbirds. Snape’s presence – dark hair slicked neatly back, posture stiff yet poised – was utterly out of place among the cheerful Potter relatives in their pastel summer outfits.
Yet there he was, in the flesh. Severus paused by Evan’s side to take in the Potter estate with a neutral expression. His eyes, black and keen as ever, flicked around the garden, assessing, calculating. When those eyes landed on James across the lawn, James felt a weird jolt in his stomach. He realized belatedly that he was still bent in an awkward half-crouch next to the child whose shoe he’d been tying. The boy – a second cousin’s toddler – tugged on James’s sleeve, oblivious to the tension coiling in James’s body.
“Done, Jamie?” piped the little boy.
“Uh – yeah, there you go, squirt,” James mumbled, finishing the knot distractedly. He gave the boy a gentle pat on the back to send him on his way, then straightened up, eyes never leaving the new arrivals.
At James’s side, Sirius let out a low whistle under his breath. “Well, that’s one hell of a guest,” he muttered. James couldn’t tell if Sirius sounded more amused or astonished.
What in Merlin’s name is Snape doing here? James thought wildly. His mind raced through dozens of possibilities in an instant. Was Snape dating one of James’s cousins secretly? Did Evan run into Snape by chance and drag him along as a prank? Was Snape planning something nefarious?
The last thought was unfair, perhaps – they were adults now, after all, not schoolboys feuding in the corridors of Hogwarts. But old habits died hard, and James’s last meaningful memory of Severus Snape was from their seventh year, after a particularly nasty confrontation that had left them both hexed and furious. They hadn’t spoken since leaving school, aside from terse nods when crossing paths at Diagon Alley or Ministry functions. Certainly, James had never imagined this taciturn, prickly man would show up at his home among his laughing, welcoming relatives.
Yet the family motto was hospitality, and Euphemia Potter exemplified it. James saw his mother wiping her hands on her apron and stepping forward with a bright smile to greet the newcomers, clearly recognizing her nephew Evan first.
“Evan, darling!” Euphemia called, her tone as warm as the sun. “You made it! And you’ve brought a friend, how lovely.”
A few nearby guests turned curiously toward the gate at that announcement. A hush of interest fell over the immediate area. James felt his legs move almost of their own accord, carrying him closer to the unfolding scene. Sirius was right on his heels.
Evan reached his aunt first. He leaned in to kiss Euphemia on the cheek with practiced charm. “Aunt Effie,” he greeted smoothly, using the pet name that he knew always made Euphemia chuckle. Sure enough, she swatted his arm playfully.
“Oh, you. I swear you only call me that to sound cheeky,” she chided, but she was smiling widely. “We’re so glad you could come, dear. And who is this you’ve brought?”
James could see the subtle glint of mischief already alight in Evan’s hazel eyes as he turned to beckon Snape forward. Whatever introduction was coming, Evan was relishing the moment.
“I thought a dose of Potter family chaos might do my good friend here some good,” Evan announced to Euphemia, and by extension to the half-circle of relatives who had now gathered a polite distance around them. He clapped a hand on Snape’s shoulder – James noted with an odd flare of annoyance how familiar the gesture seemed. “Everyone, this is Severus Snape, a colleague of mine. I simply had to invite him along. Thought he could use a bit of sunshine and socializing, you know.”
Snape shot Evan a sideways glance at the pat on his shoulder. If James wasn’t mistaken, a flicker of distaste or discomfort passed over Snape’s face at Evan’s overly jovial tone. But in a blink, Snape’s expression was schooled back to neutrality. He stepped forward and offered a courteous nod to Euphemia.
“Mrs. Potter,” Snape said quietly, his deep voice carrying just enough for those nearest to hear, “thank you for having me. I apologize for intruding on a family event uninvited—”
“Nonsense!” Euphemia interrupted with a flap of her hand, her eyes crinkling kindly. “Any friend of Evan’s is most welcome. We love having guests.” She looked genuinely delighted, if a tad surprised. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Severus, dear. Oh! Wait, I recognize your name. You were at Hogwarts with our James, weren’t you? Same year as him, if I recall correctly.”
James had by now reached his mother’s side. “Yes, Mum,” he answered for Snape before he could stop himself. “Snape – Severus – and I were at school together.”
At the sound of James’s voice, Snape’s attention swiveled to him for the first time. Their eyes met. For a second, James felt thirteen again, facing the scornful glare of the Slytherin boy who had loathed him. But the moment passed; Snape gave a polite, if cool, inclination of his head.
“Potter,” he acknowledged evenly.
“Snape,” James returned, trying not to sound as bewildered and guarded as he felt. He realized he was frowning and hastily tried to smooth his expression into something neutral or welcoming – after all, his mother was watching closely, as were half a dozen curious relatives. If James caused a scene now, Euphemia would have his head.
Euphemia, sensing the awkward tension, jumped in with a bright smile. “Well, how lovely! James, you remember Severus, of course. And Evan, you absolute scamp, you didn’t mention your plus-one was an old schoolmate of James’s.” She tutted lightly at Evan, who merely shrugged with an innocent look.
“Must have slipped my mind,” Evan said airily. “I was focused on convincing Severus to tag along. He’s a bit of a recluse, you see. Always cooped up in that lab of his.”
Snape’s lips thinned as if he were biting back a retort. James noticed a faint pink tinge creeping onto Snape’s pale cheeks. Was Snape… embarrassed? It was an odd sight.
James finally found his voice, directing it stiffly at Evan. “You brought Snape to a Potter reunion?” he blurted out, not entirely able to keep incredulity from his tone.
He heard a soft gasp from someone nearby – perhaps Aunt Matilda, shocked at his bluntness – and felt his mother’s subtle nudge at his back, a silent reminder to mind his manners. But James couldn’t help it; of all the wild things he’d imagined Evan might do today, this had not been on the list.
Evan flashed James a smile that was all feline satisfaction. “Why not? He’s excellent company,” he replied, voice smooth and loud enough for the onlookers to catch the praise. A few eyebrows arched among the relatives; clearly, none of them would ever have expected Severus Snape to be described as “excellent company.”
James certainly wouldn’t have. His gaze flicked to Severus again. Snape was standing rather stiffly, one hand resting on the head of a carved snake that topped his walking stick – or was it a wand concealed as a cane? James wasn’t sure. The man certainly cut an imposing figure, if nothing else. Snape’s face revealed little, but James detected a trace of discomfort in the slight furrow of his brow.
“Well, any guest of Evan’s is a guest of ours,” Fleamont Potter declared, stepping forward with a welcoming grin before the silence grew too awkward. James’s father extended a hand to Snape, who after a moment took it in a firm shake. “I’m Fleamont Potter, James’s father. Welcome, my boy. We’re not formal here – please make yourself at home. There’s plenty of food and drink, do tuck in. And let us know if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you, sir,” Snape replied respectfully. If he was surprised by the genuine warmth in Fleamont’s tone, he didn’t show it overtly, but his posture loosened by a fraction.
Evan, apparently satisfied that his introduction bombshell had been delivered, gave a broad wave of his arm to indicate the lively garden. “Shall we? I’ll get us some refreshments, Severus. Perhaps you can save me a seat somewhere in the shade?” Without waiting for a response, Evan inclined his head to Euphemia and the others. “If you’ll excuse us, Auntie, we’ll just mingle a bit. Don’t let me monopolize your guest of honor here—” He winked at James, who had been more or less frozen in place.
With that cheeky departure, Evan strode off towards the drinks table, leaving Severus momentarily standing alone amidst a semi-circle of Potters who weren’t quite sure what to say next.
James realized he should probably step in – either to accompany Snape (who looked painfully out of his depth now that Evan had abandoned him), or at least to say something gracious to ease the strangeness of the moment.
He cleared his throat. “Er… so, Sn—Severus,” James began, trying for cordial. “It’s, uh, a surprise to see you here. But welcome. I mean, I hope you enjoy yourself. It’s just a casual thing, nothing too—”
“Thank you, Potter,” Severus interrupted quietly. His black eyes flickered around at the assorted family members now pretending not to stare. He seemed keenly aware of being the outsider here. “I appreciate the welcome. I admit I wasn’t expecting to attend… until rather recently.”
“I can imagine,” James muttered. He shot a quick, narrow-eyed glance towards Evan’s back across the lawn. His cousin was currently chatting to a pretty second cousin of theirs at the punch bowl, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
Before James could think of something else to say, Lily had bounced over, evidently unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “Severus Snape!” she exclaimed in a friendly voice, sliding to a stop beside James. “My goodness, it’s been ages! How are you?”
James stiffened slightly; he had almost forgotten Lily would have an opinion about Snape being here. Lily and Severus had a complicated history, James knew – they had been childhood friends, then fallen out in fifth year after a terrible fight. Lily hadn’t really spoken to Snape since then, except maybe an awkward nod at graduation. But trust Lily to still greet him as if nothing had happened; she was unfailingly kind that way.
Snape looked genuinely taken aback to be addressed so warmly by Lily. A flush rose in his cheeks and he hesitated. “I… hello, Lily,” he managed, the formality dropping just a touch. “I’m… well enough. You look… well.”
James was astonished to see a small, shy almost-smile tug at the corner of Snape’s mouth. The potions prodigy of Hogwarts, former bane of James’s existence, was blushing faintly in front of Lily Evans. James felt a prick of something like protectiveness – or was it just discomfiture? He told himself it was on Lily’s behalf, remembering how Snape’s choices and cruel words had hurt her in school. But another part of him noted that this flush and hesitant tone from Snape was entirely new. James had never seen Snape behave like this: uncertain, somewhat soft. It was… well, frankly, it was weird.
Lily beamed at Snape, apparently deciding to gloss over the past. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m so glad you came. Evan didn’t tell us he was bringing you, the sneak.” She shot a faux-glare at Evan’s distant figure, then laughed. “We were all rather surprised. But it’s brilliant to see you outside of work, or school, or whatever. These gatherings are a riot, in the best way.”
Snape cleared his throat, recovering slightly. His expression slipped back behind a polite mask. “I’ve gathered that the Potters are… known for lively get-togethers,” he said diplomatically.
Euphemia gave a good-natured groan. “That’s one way to put it. We apologize in advance for any, ah, incidents. Things have a way of getting interesting when our clan convenes.”
“Oh posh, Effie, don’t scare the man,” chortled Uncle Alfred from nearby, balancing a tiny plate of finger sandwiches on his palm. He tipped a sandwich in salute to Snape. “We’re not that bad, son. Pay them no mind.”
“Speak for yourself, Alfred,” laughed Aunt Matilda, fanning herself. “Last year we had three broken chairs, a small fire, and a minor explosion in the kitchen during pudding.”
“And it wouldn’t be a proper reunion without at least one trip to St. Mungo’s,” added another cousin teasingly.
Snape’s eyebrows had crept upward at these testimonials, and James could see him trying to discern how much was joking and how much serious. James gave him a lopsided grin. “They exaggerate. Mostly. You’ll be fine, Snape.”
The use of his old surname seemed to jolt Snape out of a wary reverie. He looked at James, something indiscernible flashing in his eyes. Lily’s gaze ping-ponged between the two men as if sensing an undercurrent.
Before any awkwardness could settle again, Euphemia clapped her hands gently. “Well! Severus, dear, please help yourself to refreshments. Lunch will be served shortly – nothing formal, buffet style – and do make yourself comfortable. Evan knows most everyone here, but if you need introductions, just holler for James or any of us. We’re all family or friends here, no need to stand on ceremony.” She gave him such a genuine, sunny smile that James saw Snape blink, looking a touch disarmed by the earnest warmth.
“Thank you. You’re very kind, Mrs. Potter,” Snape said quietly.
“Euphemia, please,” she insisted with a pat to Snape’s forearm. Snape actually blinked again in surprise at the casual touch. “Now I must check on the roast in the oven – James, why don’t you show Severus around a bit? Introduce him to some of the younger lot maybe, hmm?”
The suggestion was gentle but clearly not really a suggestion. Euphemia shot James a look that said be a good host. James fought not to sigh. “Of course, Mum.” As Euphemia bustled off toward the kitchen doors, James gestured vaguely towards the clusters of tables and guests. “Er, right then. Severus… shall I show you where the drinks are? Evan’s probably off getting you something already but—”
“Actually, he already has,” drawled Evan, who reappeared seemingly from thin air at Snape’s side, holding two filled wine glasses. He handed one to Snape with a flourish. “One elderflower wine, as promised. It’s quite good – trust me.”
Snape accepted the glass, giving it a cautious sniff and sip. “Thank you,” he murmured. James noted that Snape’s posture had eased now that Evan was back; a subtle tension left his shoulders as he found himself no longer the sole focus of so many strangers.
“Rosier,” James addressed Evan with mild irritation, “a word?” He wanted answers – or at least an explanation of what game Evan thought he was playing by bringing Snape here. Preferably away from sensitive ears.
Evan flashed an infuriatingly innocent smile. “Later, Jamie. Things to do, people to see.” He casually slid his arm through Snape’s in a show of camaraderie that made James’s stomach flip oddly. “Come along, Sev. Let me introduce you to Great-Aunt Augusta – she’ll quiz you on your entire life story if I don’t get to her first.”
Snape was swept away in a tide of Rosier confidence before James could protest, leaving James and Lily and Sirius standing there watching after them.
Lily lightly punched James’s arm, drawing his attention. She was biting her lip as though holding back laughter. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said, her green eyes dancing.
“You don’t say,” James muttered. He noticed he was scowling and forced his face to relax. He could feel many questions bubbling inside him. Why had Snape agreed to come? He didn’t exactly seem comfortable; maybe Evan had strong-armed him? But for what purpose?
Sirius slung an arm around James’s shoulders. “Cheer up, Prongs. Who knows, maybe Snivellus—” he caught himself at Lily’s sharp glance, “—er, Snape, will be the life of the party.”
James gave his best friend a flat look. “I somehow doubt that, Padfoot. And I don’t like it. Evan’s definitely up to something.”
“Probably,” Sirius shrugged, unabashed. “But hey, at least this reunion won’t be boring, right?”
James blew out a breath. That much was certain – boring was not on the menu. He took one more look at the sight of Evan Rosier animatedly chatting with a bemused Great-Aunt Augusta while Severus Snape stood beside them, looking as stiff as a board. Snape’s gaze flickered around and once again met James’s from across the lawn. James abruptly looked away, unsure why a strange heat crept up the back of his neck at being caught observing the man.
Not boring at all, he thought grimly. And something told him this was only the beginning of what promised to be a very long, chaotic day.Sunlight poured over the rolling lawns of the Potter estate, gilding the topiaries and warming the summer blooms that lined the garden paths. It was the perfect day for a celebration: clear blue skies, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of roses, and a hundred enchanted fairy lights already bobbing lazily under the eaves of the marquee tent that had been set up on the lawn. The Potters’ annual family reunion was about to begin, and everything looked as if it had been pulled from an idyllic countryside painting.
Under a grand old oak tree, long tables draped in crisp white linen were arranged in a horseshoe, laden with pitchers of chilled pumpkin juice and platters of appetizers to welcome arriving guests. Euphemia Potter, matriarch of the family, flitted around making last-minute adjustments with her wand – levitating a centerpiece here, straightening a chair there – while humming merrily. Fleamont Potter stood by the garden gate, greeting early arrivals with hearty handshakes and proud laughter as he ushered them in.
James Potter surveyed the scene from the veranda with a grin tugging at his lips. The family reunion was one of his favorite days of the year. Usually. He loved the chaos of it all – the riotous laughter of cousins chasing each other with toy broomsticks across the lawn, the shrieks of delighted aunts as someone recounted a particularly scandalous story from years past, the way his mum inevitably tried to overfeed everyone with treacle tart and cucumber sandwiches. James thrived in the warm, boisterous atmosphere; being the only child of the hosts and something of the golden boy of the Potter clan, he normally basked in the attention and affection that surrounded him on this day.
But this year, he felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach that refused to loosen, no matter how beautiful the afternoon or how delicious the scents wafting from the kitchen. As he leaned on the veranda railing, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers, James scanned the lane that led up to the house. Any minute now, more relatives and friends would come popping out of thin air or strolling up the path via Side-Along Apparition, adding to the growing crowd in the garden. Among them would be him.
“Still no sign of Evan?” came a voice from behind him.
James turned to see Sirius Black sauntering out of the house with two glasses of lemonade in hand and a knowing smirk on his face. Sirius had shed his usual leather jacket for once, in concession to the summer heat and the semi-formal nature of the gathering, and instead wore smart trousers and a white shirt with sleeves already rolled to the elbow. The outfit did nothing to tame his roguish black hair, which fell into his grey eyes as always.
“Nope,” James replied, taking the glass that Sirius offered him. “But he’ll be here. Prat loves making an entrance.”
Sirius chuckled. “True. He probably wants everyone assembled so he can have the maximum audience.”
James huffed a short laugh, but it was edged with frustration. He took a gulp of the tart lemonade. “I just hope he doesn’t try anything… dramatic this time. Last year he nearly set Uncle Alphard’s robes on fire showing off that illegal firewhip hex.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sirius drawled with a grin. “That was actually rather entertaining. Old Alphard’s expression—”
“I’m serious, Pads. Well, you’re Sirius, but you know what I mean.” James ran a hand through his already windswept dark hair, making it stick up more. “My parents invited him because family duty and all that, but it’s like handing a match to a pyromaniac. Evan lives to cause trouble.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow and clinked his glass lightly against James’s. “Funny, some might say that about you too, Mr. Potter. You two are cousins, after all.”
James made a face. “Distant cousins. Very distant. Third or fourth, I think, through some weird family tree tangle. Hardly counts.”
“Still, he is a Potter by blood,” Sirius mused. “Even if he’s a Rosier by name. And a Slytherin by… everything else.”
At the mention of Slytherin, James grimaced. Evan Rosier had been a Slytherin in the year above James at Hogwarts, and he had lived up to all the stereotypes: cunning, smooth-tongued, and always ready to stir up mischief from the shadows. Where James’s own mischief (of which there had been plenty) was usually loud, prankish, and fundamentally harmless, Evan’s brand was a touch more devious and unpredictable. They had never quite gotten along, even as kids at previous reunions. Evan liked to tease James for being the adored heir of the Potter family, and James liked to tease Evan for being a slimy Slytherin interloper at their Gryffindor-heavy gatherings. It was almost tradition at this point that the two would butt heads at least once per reunion.
This year, though, James sensed something different in the air. Last week, his mother had casually mentioned via owl post that Evan had RSVP’d with a “+1.” She had assumed it meant Evan was finally dating someone and bringing them to meet the family, and had been delighted at the prospect. James, on the other hand, had nearly choked on his coffee when he read the news. Evan Rosier, bringing a guest? To the Potter family reunion? It was unprecedented. And for James, it was downright alarming.
He could only imagine what sort of person Evan would drag along. Probably someone who would help him wreak havoc or show off. James had pictured a fellow Slytherin crony, perhaps – maybe that friend of his from school, Barty Crouch Jr., or one of the Lestrange cousins – someone to sneer at the Potters and make pointed remarks all day. James had warned his parents to be prepared for anything. Fleamont had waved a hand dismissively and said, “If he causes a scene, dear, we’ll handle it. It’s just one day.” Euphemia had kindly reminded James that extending warmth to all family members, even the troublemakers, was important.
So James had swallowed his protests. But ever since, a restless energy plagued him. He wasn’t sure if it was dread at whatever stunt Evan might pull, or something else entirely. Perhaps a smidge of competitive anticipation – a readiness to duel wits and wills with that smarmy cousin of his again. James wasn’t one to back down from a challenge or a prank war, after all.
Now, sipping lemonade and scanning the lane for any sign of the infamous Rosier, James exhaled slowly. “Maybe he’ll just… not come,” he muttered half-heartedly.
Sirius snorted into his drink. “And miss the chance to torment you in front of your entire family? Not likely. I give it ten minutes, tops, before he swoops in.” Sirius hopped up to sit on the railing next to James, long legs dangling. “In the meantime, you should enjoy your throne, O Golden Potter Prince. Look, Aunt Matilda’s already asking after you.”
James followed Sirius’s gaze to see Aunt Matilda – technically a second cousin once removed – waddling towards the veranda, arms open wide. She was a stout witch with a penchant for crushing hugs and an overly floral perfume that could stun a dragon at ten paces. James managed a genuine smile and stepped down to meet her, bracing himself.
“There’s my handsome boy!” Aunt Matilda sang out, enveloping James in a hug that made his ribs creak. “Oh just look at you, still dashing as ever! And Sirius, dear, come here!”
Sirius suffered his own rib-cracking embrace with good humor. “Hello, Matilda. Still wearing that lovely rose fragrance, I see,” he wheezed playfully, making James bite back a laugh.
As more relatives arrived, James found it easier to push thoughts of Evan’s mysterious guest to the back of his mind. He plunged into the festivities, making the rounds like the dutiful son and host he was. By two o’clock, the garden was lively with around thirty or forty people milling about. Laughter rang out as a group of younger kids chased a bewitched Quaffle that whizzed gently above the grass, occasionally bonking an unsuspecting uncle on the head to everyone’s amusement. At one end of the patio, Lily Evans – James’s dearest friend and confidante (and incidentally, the woman he once thought he would marry, before they both realized they were better as friends) – sat in animated conversation with Euphemia about some Muggle gardening techniques, of all things. Lily’s striking red hair caught the sunlight as she threw her head back in a laugh; James saw his mother beam, delighted by Lily’s easy charm.
Nearby, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew – two more of James’s closest friends, who had become like extended family – were hovering around the dessert table, where the house-elves had laid out a tantalizing spread of cakes and trifles. Remus was attempting to dissuade Peter from sampling a cream puff before the main meal. Typical.
Everything felt warm and content, as it should be. Yet, James couldn’t fully relax. His eyes kept flickering back towards the garden gate, expecting at any moment to see—
Pop.
A soft crack of Apparition sounded from just beyond the open wrought-iron gate. James straightened up from where he’d been crouching to help a little cousin tie his shoe. Sirius, who had been helping himself to a handful of cashews beside James, paused mid-chew. James exchanged a glance with him, heart quickening. This was it.
Two figures appeared on the other side of the gate, making their way in. James recognized Evan Rosier at once by his confident swagger and the way he lazily pushed open the gate as if he owned the place. Evan was tall and lean, with ash-blond hair swept back elegantly and a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore robes that were decidedly more fashion-forward than the summery casual attire of the other guests – a slick cut of emerald green that, James grudgingly admitted, looked annoyingly good on him.
But James barely spared Evan a second glance, because the man walking just half a step behind him was infinitely more shocking to behold in this setting. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, charcoal waistcoat, and black trousers, with his black frock coat draped over one arm, stood Severus Snape.
James’s jaw nearly dropped. He blinked hard, certain for a moment that the bright sunlight was playing tricks on him. Severus Snape, here? At his family reunion? It was as jarring as if a crow had flown into a gathering of songbirds. Snape’s presence – dark hair slicked neatly back, posture stiff yet poised – was utterly out of place among the cheerful Potter relatives in their pastel summer outfits.
Yet there he was, in the flesh. Severus paused by Evan’s side to take in the Potter estate with a neutral expression. His eyes, black and keen as ever, flicked around the garden, assessing, calculating. When those eyes landed on James across the lawn, James felt a weird jolt in his stomach. He realized belatedly that he was still bent in an awkward half-crouch next to the child whose shoe he’d been tying. The boy – a second cousin’s toddler – tugged on James’s sleeve, oblivious to the tension coiling in James’s body.
“Done, Jamie?” piped the little boy.
“Uh – yeah, there you go, squirt,” James mumbled, finishing the knot distractedly. He gave the boy a gentle pat on the back to send him on his way, then straightened up, eyes never leaving the new arrivals.
At James’s side, Sirius let out a low whistle under his breath. “Well, that’s one hell of a guest,” he muttered. James couldn’t tell if Sirius sounded more amused or astonished.
What in Merlin’s name is Snape doing here? James thought wildly. His mind raced through dozens of possibilities in an instant. Was Snape dating one of James’s cousins secretly? Did Evan run into Snape by chance and drag him along as a prank? Was Snape planning something nefarious?
The last thought was unfair, perhaps – they were adults now, after all, not schoolboys feuding in the corridors of Hogwarts. But old habits died hard, and James’s last meaningful memory of Severus Snape was from their seventh year, after a particularly nasty confrontation that had left them both hexed and furious. They hadn’t spoken since leaving school, aside from terse nods when crossing paths at Diagon Alley or Ministry functions. Certainly, James had never imagined this taciturn, prickly man would show up at his home among his laughing, welcoming relatives.
Yet the family motto was hospitality, and Euphemia Potter exemplified it. James saw his mother wiping her hands on her apron and stepping forward with a bright smile to greet the newcomers, clearly recognizing her nephew Evan first.
“Evan, darling!” Euphemia called, her tone as warm as the sun. “You made it! And you’ve brought a friend, how lovely.”
A few nearby guests turned curiously toward the gate at that announcement. A hush of interest fell over the immediate area. James felt his legs move almost of their own accord, carrying him closer to the unfolding scene. Sirius was right on his heels.
Evan reached his aunt first. He leaned in to kiss Euphemia on the cheek with practiced charm. “Aunt Effie,” he greeted smoothly, using the pet name that he knew always made Euphemia chuckle. Sure enough, she swatted his arm playfully.
“Oh, you. I swear you only call me that to sound cheeky,” she chided, but she was smiling widely. “We’re so glad you could come, dear. And who is this you’ve brought?”
James could see the subtle glint of mischief already alight in Evan’s hazel eyes as he turned to beckon Snape forward. Whatever introduction was coming, Evan was relishing the moment.
“I thought a dose of Potter family chaos might do my good friend here some good,” Evan announced to Euphemia, and by extension to the half-circle of relatives who had now gathered a polite distance around them. He clapped a hand on Snape’s shoulder – James noted with an odd flare of annoyance how familiar the gesture seemed. “Everyone, this is Severus Snape, a colleague of mine. I simply had to invite him along. Thought he could use a bit of sunshine and socializing, you know.”
Snape shot Evan a sideways glance at the pat on his shoulder. If James wasn’t mistaken, a flicker of distaste or discomfort passed over Snape’s face at Evan’s overly jovial tone. But in a blink, Snape’s expression was schooled back to neutrality. He stepped forward and offered a courteous nod to Euphemia.
“Mrs. Potter,” Snape said quietly, his deep voice carrying just enough for those nearest to hear, “thank you for having me. I apologize for intruding on a family event uninvited—”
“Nonsense!” Euphemia interrupted with a flap of her hand, her eyes crinkling kindly. “Any friend of Evan’s is most welcome. We love having guests.” She looked genuinely delighted, if a tad surprised. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Severus, dear. Oh! Wait, I recognize your name. You were at Hogwarts with our James, weren’t you? Same year as him, if I recall correctly.”
James had by now reached his mother’s side. “Yes, Mum,” he answered for Snape before he could stop himself. “Snape – Severus – and I were at school together.”
At the sound of James’s voice, Snape’s attention swiveled to him for the first time. Their eyes met. For a second, James felt thirteen again, facing the scornful glare of the Slytherin boy who had loathed him. But the moment passed; Snape gave a polite, if cool, inclination of his head.
“Potter,” he acknowledged evenly.
“Snape,” James returned, trying not to sound as bewildered and guarded as he felt. He realized he was frowning and hastily tried to smooth his expression into something neutral or welcoming – after all, his mother was watching closely, as were half a dozen curious relatives. If James caused a scene now, Euphemia would have his head.
Euphemia, sensing the awkward tension, jumped in with a bright smile. “Well, how lovely! James, you remember Severus, of course. And Evan, you absolute scamp, you didn’t mention your plus-one was an old schoolmate of James’s.” She tutted lightly at Evan, who merely shrugged with an innocent look.
“Must have slipped my mind,” Evan said airily. “I was focused on convincing Severus to tag along. He’s a bit of a recluse, you see. Always cooped up in that lab of his.”
Snape’s lips thinned as if he were biting back a retort. James noticed a faint pink tinge creeping onto Snape’s pale cheeks. Was Snape… embarrassed? It was an odd sight.
James finally found his voice, directing it stiffly at Evan. “You brought Snape to a Potter reunion?” he blurted out, not entirely able to keep incredulity from his tone.
He heard a soft gasp from someone nearby – perhaps Aunt Matilda, shocked at his bluntness – and felt his mother’s subtle nudge at his back, a silent reminder to mind his manners. But James couldn’t help it; of all the wild things he’d imagined Evan might do today, this had not been on the list.
Evan flashed James a smile that was all feline satisfaction. “Why not? He’s excellent company,” he replied, voice smooth and loud enough for the onlookers to catch the praise. A few eyebrows arched among the relatives; clearly, none of them would ever have expected Severus Snape to be described as “excellent company.”
James certainly wouldn’t have. His gaze flicked to Severus again. Snape was standing rather stiffly, one hand resting on the head of a carved snake that topped his walking stick – or was it a wand concealed as a cane? James wasn’t sure. The man certainly cut an imposing figure, if nothing else. Snape’s face revealed little, but James detected a trace of discomfort in the slight furrow of his brow.
“Well, any guest of Evan’s is a guest of ours,” Fleamont Potter declared, stepping forward with a welcoming grin before the silence grew too awkward. James’s father extended a hand to Snape, who after a moment took it in a firm shake. “I’m Fleamont Potter, James’s father. Welcome, my boy. We’re not formal here – please make yourself at home. There’s plenty of food and drink, do tuck in. And let us know if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you, sir,” Snape replied respectfully. If he was surprised by the genuine warmth in Fleamont’s tone, he didn’t show it overtly, but his posture loosened by a fraction.
Evan, apparently satisfied that his introduction bombshell had been delivered, gave a broad wave of his arm to indicate the lively garden. “Shall we? I’ll get us some refreshments, Severus. Perhaps you can save me a seat somewhere in the shade?” Without waiting for a response, Evan inclined his head to Euphemia and the others. “If you’ll excuse us, Auntie, we’ll just mingle a bit. Don’t let me monopolize your guest of honor here—” He winked at James, who had been more or less frozen in place.
With that cheeky departure, Evan strode off towards the drinks table, leaving Severus momentarily standing alone amidst a semi-circle of Potters who weren’t quite sure what to say next.
James realized he should probably step in – either to accompany Snape (who looked painfully out of his depth now that Evan had abandoned him), or at least to say something gracious to ease the strangeness of the moment.
He cleared his throat. “Er… so, Sn—Severus,” James began, trying for cordial. “It’s, uh, a surprise to see you here. But welcome. I mean, I hope you enjoy yourself. It’s just a casual thing, nothing too—”
“Thank you, Potter,” Severus interrupted quietly. His black eyes flickered around at the assorted family members now pretending not to stare. He seemed keenly aware of being the outsider here. “I appreciate the welcome. I admit I wasn’t expecting to attend… until rather recently.”
“I can imagine,” James muttered. He shot a quick, narrow-eyed glance towards Evan’s back across the lawn. His cousin was currently chatting to a pretty second cousin of theirs at the punch bowl, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
Before James could think of something else to say, Lily had bounced over, evidently unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “Severus Snape!” she exclaimed in a friendly voice, sliding to a stop beside James. “My goodness, it’s been ages! How are you?”
James stiffened slightly; he had almost forgotten Lily would have an opinion about Snape being here. Lily and Severus had a complicated history, James knew – they had been childhood friends, then fallen out in fifth year after a terrible fight. Lily hadn’t really spoken to Snape since then, except maybe an awkward nod at graduation. But trust Lily to still greet him as if nothing had happened; she was unfailingly kind that way.
Snape looked genuinely taken aback to be addressed so warmly by Lily. A flush rose in his cheeks and he hesitated. “I… hello, Lily,” he managed, the formality dropping just a touch. “I’m… well enough. You look… well.”
James was astonished to see a small, shy almost-smile tug at the corner of Snape’s mouth. The potions prodigy of Hogwarts, former bane of James’s existence, was blushing faintly in front of Lily Evans. James felt a prick of something like protectiveness – or was it just discomfiture? He told himself it was on Lily’s behalf, remembering how Snape’s choices and cruel words had hurt her in school. But another part of him noted that this flush and hesitant tone from Snape was entirely new. James had never seen Snape behave like this: uncertain, somewhat soft. It was… well, frankly, it was weird.
Lily beamed at Snape, apparently deciding to gloss over the past. “I’m glad to hear it. And I’m so glad you came. Evan didn’t tell us he was bringing you, the sneak.” She shot a faux-glare at Evan’s distant figure, then laughed. “We were all rather surprised. But it’s brilliant to see you outside of work, or school, or whatever. These gatherings are a riot, in the best way.”
Snape cleared his throat, recovering slightly. His expression slipped back behind a polite mask. “I’ve gathered that the Potters are… known for lively get-togethers,” he said diplomatically.
Euphemia gave a good-natured groan. “That’s one way to put it. We apologize in advance for any, ah, incidents. Things have a way of getting interesting when our clan convenes.”
“Oh posh, Effie, don’t scare the man,” chortled Uncle Alfred from nearby, balancing a tiny plate of finger sandwiches on his palm. He tipped a sandwich in salute to Snape. “We’re not that bad, son. Pay them no mind.”
“Speak for yourself, Alfred,” laughed Aunt Matilda, fanning herself. “Last year we had three broken chairs, a small fire, and a minor explosion in the kitchen during pudding.”
“And it wouldn’t be a proper reunion without at least one trip to St. Mungo’s,” added another cousin teasingly.
Snape’s eyebrows had crept upward at these testimonials, and James could see him trying to discern how much was joking and how much serious. James gave him a lopsided grin. “They exaggerate. Mostly. You’ll be fine, Snape.”
The use of his old surname seemed to jolt Snape out of a wary reverie. He looked at James, something indiscernible flashing in his eyes. Lily’s gaze ping-ponged between the two men as if sensing an undercurrent.
Before any awkwardness could settle again, Euphemia clapped her hands gently. “Well! Severus, dear, please help yourself to refreshments. Lunch will be served shortly – nothing formal, buffet style – and do make yourself comfortable. Evan knows most everyone here, but if you need introductions, just holler for James or any of us. We’re all family or friends here, no need to stand on ceremony.” She gave him such a genuine, sunny smile that James saw Snape blink, looking a touch disarmed by the earnest warmth.
“Thank you. You’re very kind, Mrs. Potter,” Snape said quietly.
“Euphemia, please,” she insisted with a pat to Snape’s forearm. Snape actually blinked again in surprise at the casual touch. “Now I must check on the roast in the oven – James, why don’t you show Severus around a bit? Introduce him to some of the younger lot maybe, hmm?”
The suggestion was gentle but clearly not really a suggestion. Euphemia shot James a look that said be a good host. James fought not to sigh. “Of course, Mum.” As Euphemia bustled off toward the kitchen doors, James gestured vaguely towards the clusters of tables and guests. “Er, right then. Severus… shall I show you where the drinks are? Evan’s probably off getting you something already but—”
“Actually, he already has,” drawled Evan, who reappeared seemingly from thin air at Snape’s side, holding two filled wine glasses. He handed one to Snape with a flourish. “One elderflower wine, as promised. It’s quite good – trust me.”
Snape accepted the glass, giving it a cautious sniff and sip. “Thank you,” he murmured. James noted that Snape’s posture had eased now that Evan was back; a subtle tension left his shoulders as he found himself no longer the sole focus of so many strangers.
“Rosier,” James addressed Evan with mild irritation, “a word?” He wanted answers – or at least an explanation of what game Evan thought he was playing by bringing Snape here. Preferably away from sensitive ears.
Evan flashed an infuriatingly innocent smile. “Later, Jamie. Things to do, people to see.” He casually slid his arm through Snape’s in a show of camaraderie that made James’s stomach flip oddly. “Come along, Sev. Let me introduce you to Great-Aunt Augusta – she’ll quiz you on your entire life story if I don’t get to her first.”
Snape was swept away in a tide of Rosier confidence before James could protest, leaving James and Lily and Sirius standing there watching after them.
Lily lightly punched James’s arm, drawing his attention. She was biting her lip as though holding back laughter. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said, her green eyes dancing.
“You don’t say,” James muttered. He noticed he was scowling and forced his face to relax. He could feel many questions bubbling inside him. Why had Snape agreed to come? He didn’t exactly seem comfortable; maybe Evan had strong-armed him? But for what purpose?
Sirius slung an arm around James’s shoulders. “Cheer up, Prongs. Who knows, maybe Snivellus—” he caught himself at Lily’s sharp glance, “—er, Snape, will be the life of the party.”
James gave his best friend a flat look. “I somehow doubt that, Padfoot. And I don’t like it. Evan’s definitely up to something.”
“Probably,” Sirius shrugged, unabashed. “But hey, at least this reunion won’t be boring, right?”
James blew out a breath. That much was certain – boring was not on the menu. He took one more look at the sight of Evan Rosier animatedly chatting with a bemused Great-Aunt Augusta while Severus Snape stood beside them, looking as stiff as a board. Snape’s gaze flickered around and once again met James’s from across the lawn. James abruptly looked away, unsure why a strange heat crept up the back of his neck at being caught observing the man.
Not boring at all, he thought grimly. And something told him this was only the beginning of what promised to be a very long, chaotic day.
James: What’s the punishment for the jelly-legs curse?
Sirius: Prongs.
Remus: A weekend detention, depending.
Peter: Are we talking just a wee bit of jellying?
James: Just a bit, yeah. While Benjy Fenwick is high up on his broom so he loses balance and plummets to the frozen ground.
Sirius: James.
Remus: Merlin’s beard, mate. What did he do?
James: He’s making an unreasonable amount of eye contact whilst waxing poetic about something or other to the Slytherin seeker.
Sirius: You mean he’s talking to your boyfriend about the practice game they’re about to have?
James: Why do they even need to practice? Regulus is the best there is. And why are they practicing with Ravenclaw? I could run through all the plays Reggie wants. Also, why does Fenwick need to look at him while speaking? Is that strictly necessary to communicate?
Sirius: You’re starting to sound like me when someone pretty talks to Moony. I’m not sure we should be watching this practice game.
James, appalled: You think Benjy’s pretty??
Remus, narrowing his eyes: Yeah, Sirius, do you think he’s pretty??
Peter: Someone needs to start paying me for putting up with you lot.
More jealous James asks!! I love that you love jealous James as much as I do!! 💜💜
I talked about a bunch of the fics here, but here's a snippet from one of my favorites…
“What the fuck just happened?” Regulus asks and Remus raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Why did he leave?”
“Probably because he didn’t want to watch you dry fuck that guy on the dance floor any longer.” Remus says casually.
Regulus grimaces, “Please never say that ever again.” Regulus picks up James’ abandoned drink and finishes what’s left. “And he could have cut in.”
“No, he couldn’t have. Or at least he wouldn’t have.”
“What? That was the whole point.”
“You wanted him to cut in?”
“Of course I wanted him to!” Regulus throws his hands up slightly like this should be the most obvious thing in the world, because… isn’t it?
Remus gives Regulus a curious look and Regulus mirrors it right back. They’re clearly not on the same page, and apparently neither was James.
“Did James not know that?” Regulus asks.
“How would he know that?”
“Because, last week when that guy was all over me, James cut in, almost broke the guy’s nose then took me home and fucked me all night and there was definitely nothing dry about it.”
“Okay…” Remus grimaces. “If I’m not allowed to say dry fuck, you’re definitely not allowed to say that.”
Regulus shrugs nonchalantly. “Anyway, it was one of the sexiest fucking things that’s ever happened to me.”
“James almost breaking the guy’s nose or the fucking.” Remus asks.
“Well, both. But when he cut in. It was just… fuck, I didn’t know jealousy could look so good on a man. But he made it look so fucking good.” Regulus practically whimpers. "Of course I wanted it to happen again."
