hello. hi. hello. i am very much alive. sorry for disappearing for a hundredth time.
life update: just graduated. had a situatioship with a very Sirius Black coded guy even though i am very much a JAMES GIRLIE. AND I AM CURRENTLY UNEMPLYOED. so YAY! Hope u guys are alright. i missed u guys sm.
what if James Potter did that old trend of showing what you posted to get your chrush's attention (i was inspired by the insta note trend)
after he told you the cat was in the library you two talked for a bit and he asked you on a study date. On said date confessed that he's really bad at studying, so you went to hogsmeade instead.
The entire table goes quiet, his two simple words stabbing through their conversation like lightning through the sky.
"Are we studying or gossiping?! HUH?"
"You, Prongs, need to relax. Alright?",mutters Peter, gently reaching his hand up to James' shoulder to pull him to sit back down.
"But no one heard anything?!", hisses Sirius, his hand under his chin as he nods at the group of girls taking turns whispering in his ear.
Snapping his fingers, James gestures for Peter to go and drag Sirius away from these gossiping fifth years who were clearly hoping that his affection could be measured by how much gossip they tell him.
"Ow, ow, ow! What?", whines Sirius, rubbing his ear where Wormy had pulled to drag him away from the girls.
"What are you gossiping over there for?! We're getting extra credit for tutoring them, too, remember? We need to actually do it!"
"I was getting information for you, Prongs, but I suppose you don't need to know that your little serpent-loving childhood best friend has possibly broken up with said serpent, and was running through the halls crying today as he chased after her? Oh, well. I suppose I'll just go help poor Thomas over there with his arith—"
James slaps his hands onto the table, glaring at Sirius' faux-innocent expression. "Spill."
Sirius smirks, shuffling closer. "So, no one really heard what happened, but there was loads of yelling. Loads. Like, Filch came into the Great Hall to ask them to shut up. But it was what he said quietly that did her in. He took it back almost immediately, but I think the damage was done by then. She started crying and then she ran away to her dorm — not even class, mate, her dorm! — and he chased after her like a film and then... yeah."
"And YEAH? And then what?!"
"And then Wormy pinched my ears and pulled me here to you!", retorts Sirius, slumping down in the chair. "Figured you might appreciate the information."
James sighs, chin on the table as he sighs. "He's such a prick, I'll beat him up." The other three raise their brows, glancing at each other, before giving him a once-over.
"Yeah, Prongs? How'd you reckon?"
"He's a prick, have you seen him around her?"
They look completely lost now. "You mean the forehead kisses and bringing her summat to drink and eat when she's stuck with work in the library?"
"No, I mean the ditching her for studies even though majority of the day he's studying, and they get no time together!", cries James, shaking his head.
"Ah. That."
"Shut up, Moony, you don't know her."
"Neither do you! You used to, and now you want to, but you don't know her. Remember that before you comment on her boyfriend."
"EX-boyf— ex, right, Pads?"
Sirius shrugs.
"Ex, current, or potential, you don't get the right to comment and act all entitled when the truth is, you know her just as well as we do, if not less!", states Remus, crossing his arms as if he'd just grounded James.
The next time he sees you is two weeks later, skipping stones across the Lake. Your mock NEWTs are done, but you do not look like someone who's just finished a mock exam.
"Oi. Alright?"
"Alright. You?"
He shrugs. "Can't complain. Can I sit?"
"Depends.", you say, squinting up at him as you mindlessly draw shapes in the snow next to your feet. "Did you do the interview?"
"Yes."
You bite the inside of your cheek, and so he realises you think he went against your wishes. "I tanked it, though. Made sure I was terrible. I messed up Wingardium. Somehow."
A small smile paints your lips and he wants to do everything he possibly can to make sure it stays there. You shuffle over, patting the space next to you.
"What's got you out here all depressed-like? Mess up mock NEWTs?"
You circle your elbows around your legs, resting your head on your knees. "No, the questions were very easy."
"Then?"
You look at him for a moment, before turning a stone over in your hand. "Do you really care, James? Why are you suddenly trying to be close to me?"
Is this what it felt like to be uppercut? James reckons it's pretty close.
"I don't know, I just... I feel bad, y'know? Uh, for everything that's happened between us. It's... entirely my fault, and I'm sorry." Ugh, that was a bitch to get out of his throat."
"Why now, though? Clean slate?"
He shrugs, sighing. "Dunno. Shall I leave?"
"No."
He likes how fast that was.
"Alright. Is Eric going to meet up with you or summat later?"
"No." Good.
"Mm. How'd that even happen, anyway? If, uh, if you don't mind my asking." He's sure you will mind, but you know what they say. A closed mouth never gets fed.
"What? Eric and I?", you question, throwing the stone into the Lake. "We were paired up for Potions in first year. Became best mates by third year. Rest is history."
"You've been together since third year?!" He'll actually vomit.
"No, no, since the beginning of this year. Why?"
Huh. Okay, so... three months. Okay, salvageable.
"Just nosy."
A tiny little chuckle escapes you, and his head snaps to you. "You'd better have a good reason for that."
"You haven't changed at all. You're... as blunt as I remember."
He throws his hands up. He knows exactly what you're referencing. "Are you still bitter about the whole antler-incident at Halloween? We were six, alright? And... I was just being honest."
"You didn't have to say they looked 'odd and freaky' in front of everyone! I cried the whole night!"
"But they, in fact, did!"
"You just wanted the deer costume all to yourself!", you accuse, pointing your finger at his face.
"I look pretty good in antlers, thank you very much!", he grins, wiggling your finger around to provoke you even more.
"Well, now you can grow them, so."
"Y— what?" No. NO. You cannot have somehow figured it out. There's... there's no bloody way! There has to be limits to perceptiveness, even for someone as amazing as you!
"What?", you ask, innocently, but the tiny smirk etched in the way the corners of your lips turned up gave you away.
"How?"
"Well, in fifth year, I decided to take a little walk, because I was feeling very down about my mock OWLs. You know how it is. I may have even teared up a bit.", you begin, eyes scanning James' face for any reaction carefully.
He, however, has managed to perfect the poker face. Not to say he didn't enjoy being the subject of your gaze for once, instead of the other way around.
"I'm sitting under the Willow, just feeling sorry for myself. You lot passed by, but I busied myself with a book so you wouldn't notice anything. But then, a couple minutes later, there's this... this deer next to me!", you gasp animatedly, with your fingers at your lips.
He remembers that day, clear as the ice that will form on the Lake in two days' time. He just didn't realise you did, too.
"I, of course, freak out — you know how I am with things popping up unannounced — and I scramble up. It gently bows its head, and I'm like. Okay. Deers are most of the time herbivores, and it seems nice. Not rabid. So I pet it. The antlers — the antlers, James — were beautiful. But imagine my surprise, when I see a Gryffindor tie hanging around its neck!", you laugh, clapping your hands together as his poker face finally melts away.
He groans, flopping down to the snow-laden ground behind him with his face buried in his palms, muffling any whines and curses he might also let spew.
This makes so much sense. This was what you had insinuated at when you said "animal-like physical altercations", back during the interview !
"And what's more interesting, I look back over to the castle, and there's a Marauder missing from the gang that had just walked past me! The tall one's there, the short one's there, the long-haired one's there. I just couldn't see you trotting — pun intended — alongside them. How strange, right?"
He shakes his head from behind his palm, and it sounds like he's just repeating 'no, no, no' over and over again. Which is because he is.
You look down at him next to you, gently prying his fingers off his face before patting his hair. "Sit up, mate, you're getting snow in your hair!", you snicker, dusting him off. He does as told, but not before threatening to bite your fingers off.
He doesn't ask why you haven't told anyone. But he does have another question. "If you knew it was me, why didn't you ask me about it?"
You purse your lips together. "The truth?"
The air suddenly turns serious, and he sits up properly, straightening his back and all that. "Yes."
"I just thought it was nice to have you caring for me. Human or not."
A second uppercut. How insensitive did you think he was, that you thought he'd just walk by you that day?
"I heard something about you today." He's not sure why he says it, but he figures you should know what's being whispered throughout the halls of Hogwarts.
"The fight. Yeah. I knew you'd heard when you asked me about Eric. Listen, it's... basicall—"
James shakes his head. "I don't need to know what happened. I need to know that you're alright." Whoa. He's surprising himself, actually, because even he didn't expect that to come out of his mouth.
You shrug. "I'm indifferent."
He sucks in breath sharply. "Not very love-of-my-life of you. I wouldn't react like that if the person I loved hurt me."
"Yeah, I— I'm aware, James, that's part of the reason I'm so... upset. Because I'm not. This was a long time coming."
"What'd you expect? He's a Slytherin. Not to mention, a Vanity.", he snorts, shuffling his feet around to create imprints in the snow. You don't respond, and he grimaces, knowing he's said the wrong thing. "Not... not to be discriminatory. I... will shut up now.", he mumbles, giving up as he flops back down into the snow again.
"At least you're self-aware. That's a start.", you scoff, resting your cheek onto your palm.
He's not good at saying things and talking and all that shite.
He shoots up. Ooh, but you know what he is good at? Actions.
"Tomorrow's a Hogsmeade weekend. You're coming with me! There's this puppet show at the Hog's Head Inn that you'll love!"
"A puppet show.", you deadpan, unamused.
"A puppet show." He can barely contain his excitement.
"I'm not wasting my Hogsmeade trip on a bloody puppet show. Come off it!"
He leans in to whisper. "It's not a real puppet show."
"What?"
"You'll find out! Come on, it'll be fun! At least the last hour of the trip, and then we're back to the castle for dinner. Alright? Until then, have a phenomenal time with your mates, yeah?"
You sigh, watching him scramble up and clap his hands together to shrug off any remaining snow. "James—"
He's there at five-thirty on the dot, outside the Three Broomsticks, where you and your friends have been spending the entire day.
Unfortunately for him, you're already intoxicated.
And, since you didn't mention any sort of breakup, he's even angrier at Eric for not being there to scoop you up the way James is doing right now. "Where's Eric?", he grits out.
"You told me he said he'd show up at one. It's five-thirty, darling, he's not coming.", replies Mary, stroking your hair for a moment before narrowing her eyes at James. "You got her, mate? She's my favourite junior."
"I've got her, Mary. She's my favourite, period."
He's glad you're not sober enough to take the absolute mick out of him for that statement.
"Boys aren't allowed this close to girls, you know!", you scold as he leads you from the Three Broomsticks out to the path to the Hog's Head, and he nearly doubles over laughing.
"Yes, but it's the other way around, isn't it? You're holding onto me, darling.", he teases, before reaching into his coat pocket for his vial of Pepperup potion. "Here you go, should sober you up a wee bit."
"But that's for colds!"
"Yes, but it'll warm you up, darling. It'll.... rejuvenate you." He's getting too comfortable with that word. "Trust me, this is how I get away with it when our parties get busted."
He gently tilts the vial a bit into your mouth, and watches you gulp it down, grimacing as you did. "Bleh.", you grumble, sticking your tongue out. But he can, however, see some of the glaze in your eyes disappear.
"Better?"
You're still stumbling, but you are conscious. You nod, earnestly. "Good. Because we're late."
"I don't want to go to a stupid puppet show!", you whine, hitting at his shoulder. He grabs your wrists with one hand, looking into your eyes warningly.
"Never said we're going to it. We're going in it.", he tells you, smirking as you tilt your head in sheer confusion. "Trust me, I had the same reaction when my senior— that is, Gideon Prewett — told me about these things. But trust is a beautiful thing, and it's something we could share, okay?"
You don't respond, so he takes it as a begrudging 'okay, whatever' from your end, and he begins tugging you with him to the Inn, using his shoulder to shove the door open, the warmth enveloping the two of you.
"Ah, Potter, my sweet, it's been ages, have exams taken too much out of you?", exclaims Madam Valeria, the more social barkeep of the Hog's Head.
"NEWTs are horrible, Madam V."
She tuts, looking pitifully down at him for a moment or so. "I'll say. Well!", she shrieks suddenly, clapping her hands together. "Your mates have already chosen the pirate one, so you're out of luck if that's what you and your girl are hoping for."
"No, no, uh, what else is there?"
"There's... hm, let's see here. How about Outer Space? It's—", she asks, perusing what looks to you to be a line of pamphlets for a stupid puppet show.
"Whoa, no, we're a little too... gone for outer space at the moment.", he interrupts, subtly nodding his head at you and your tight grip on him to keep from falling.
She nods, tittering. "Medieval Melancholy? Ooh, no, that's just knights and swords and shite. Not good when inebriated. We've got... ooh! I know just the thing!", she squeals, dusting off a pamphlet that was clearly in disuse, before presenting it to him.
"Genie's Bottle? You think that's alright?"
"Perfect for couples, as well as drunkenness. Sobers you right up!", she declares, reaching for a corresponding box of sweets.
"We're not actually a cou—"
"Chew up, my sweet! You, too, Miss-Intoxication.", giggles Madam Valerie, handing each of you a chocolate liqueur from the box, tapping you on the nose before leaving.
"James, what is this?"
"Chocolate liqueur."
"Yes, I know, but what's this purple glitter stuff on it?"
"It's charmed."
"So, spiked."
"Charmed. Trust me? Okay? C'mon. Cheers.", he says, tapping his chocolate liqueur against yours before putting it in his mouth. "Chew, don't suck!", he manages to call, before his eyes snap shut.
When he manages to pry them open, they close immediately, but this time on reflex. Phenomenal! A sandstorm! But his first instinct isn't to get sand out of his eyes or find shelter, no it's to find you.
It's not long before he hears a faint yelling from a distance. "James!"
He follows the sound, staggering in the onslaught of sand and wind that surrounds him, calling out for you as well. When he does find you, he instantly regrets ever bringing you to the Inn, because you seem terrified, and you're trembling, shielding your eyes from the sand.
"Here, I've got you. There's... I can see a house there, look, see? Let's go."
And so, the two of you trudge the short distance to the hut, James knocking on the door. He's going to kill Madam Valeria. In what world is this safe for drunk people?
The door opens on its own. "You can't stay long. Do not look into the fireplace. Feel free to look around.", says a raspy voice, and as soon as you two step in, the door slams shut behind you.
"James, what the fuck is this?!"
"Basically, eating the chocolate liqueurs has transported us to a world in a puppet show, and now we're the puppets, and if you look into the fireplace, you'll get transported back, but until then we're able to explore and— and do some super fun shite and party until we get bored or until our time's up, at which point, the clock will strike twelve and it will end on its own, so yes, please don't kill me!", he rambles, all at once, continuously, and barely discernibly.
"Sorry, did you say we're puppets?"
"We're... in the puppet show. And looking into the fireplace means looking into the audience, which is why the spell terminates.", he explains, catching his breath after that paragraph he said last.
"Well, let's bloody give it a gander, then!", you cry, and he has to drag you back from the fireplace.
"Or we could enjoy this?"
"Sand in our eyes?! Getting lost in the middle of nowhere with a creepy voice that disappears?"
"That was the genie, I'll presume. And yes, we're free to explore, and look at all this cool stuff!", he exclaims, yanking at a pull switch somewhere above his shoulder, which turns on a golden light that bathes the room. "See? It's even got Muggle electricity!"
You run your hands over your face in sheer frustration. "I do not need this happening right now, not when my head's already spinning, and now—"
"Listen, just enjoy it. I promise, when the clock strikes twelve, we'll be right back at the Hog's Head Inn, okay?"
"How tried and tested is this?"
Uh, him, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and the rest of the Marauders. He's not going to tell you that, though.
"Very. We won't get stuck." He hopes. "Now, come on!", he chuckles, gently leading you towards the seemingly endless dining table, laden with everything but food. Gold, rubies, ancient artefacts like diaries and amulets, and cool Muggle things like pens, Muggle currency and of course, electrical appliances, all glisten before you.
But shiniest of all, is a sparkly, clearly unused jukebox. "Oh, come on, we have to."
"James, no.", you warn, not even looking up from the historical account of vampires you were reading in one of those dusty ancient journals.
"Come on!", he coaxes, grabbing your hand and twirling you around until you reach his chest. "Relax."
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for your rational mind, you're not entirely sober, and the spinning is doing something to take your mind off the migraine that was creeping its way towards you.
He spins you away from the fireplace, and as his pace quickens, so does the beating of your hearts. "I'm sorry for saying you have no friends. You have me. You'll always have me. Antlers or not.", he whispers, as he grabs an apple from a golden tray on the table to throw at the jukebox, changing the song.
There's a heavy, almost golden silence that settles onto the two of you, and neither of you can put a finger on it. You don't know how much time passes. You're left staring at each other. The jukebox continues to play, but you don't continue to dance. "What?", he asks, but it's so quiet it's better off classified as a murmur.
You shake your head. "Nothing."
"Never heard of nothing causing someone to look like they've got the stars in their eyes."
James almost painfully coughs out sand — with a mild chocolate aftertaste — while his nails scratch at the wooden floors of the Hog's Head as if they can tether him back to reality. You're in the same state, a couple inches away from him. Madam Valeria scoops you up, giving you a pint of butterbeer to help you ground yourself.
Leaving James on the floor, still hacking his lungs out.
A throat clears, and he looks up. The other three Marauders all sit on separate bar stools with their arms crossed. "Alright, Potter?"
"Alright."
Remus glances over at you, then shakes his head. Peter just looks worried for him. Sirius shoots him a thumbs-up.
"We'll leave you alone. Mary's livid, though, so I trust you have an alibi that doesn't include wizard-psychedelics?", calls Remus, as they walk backwards through the door of the inn.
"You alright?", he asks, quickly scrambling up to reach you.
"I'm alright."
"I'm... I had loads of fun."
"Me, as well."
He ignores any trepidation that may be flowing through his body, and instead reaches a hand out to trace your jawline. "Um... uh, you don't hate me, still, do you?"
"You're still toeing a gossamer-thin line."
"Right.", he breathes, moving closer. He's got balls, he'll give himself that.
"Right."
And you seem not-homicidal.
And so, he goes in for the kiss, his cool-guy-persona taking over.
And he's not sure if this is part of the puppet show or summat, but you kiss back. His eyebrows lift, in utter shock. There's no way. This is a dream, or an aftereffect of the liqueurs, right? Or... did you also feel the golden silence? His eyes open for a split second, and your fingers in his hair, and his fingers 'round your hips are enough to prove that this is 1000% (he doesn't care that that's not a real value) real.
Fact. Truth. Happening.
"I'm sorry, I'm..." He's rambling once more. He's not even sure what he's saying and why. "I wish I got to see you grow through Hogwarts, and I'm sorry I'm a self-centered prick and—"
You kiss him again. Uh, fucking yay?! He's been missing out on this the past six years?
"Clean slate, right?", you say against his lips, and he's about to nod furiously, he's about to acquiesce toward any and all demands of yours, but he tries to scrounge up some dignity for the time-being.
"Clean slate."
You smile. "I'll speak to you when we're sober."
Smart. "Yes."
"Bye, Prongs. I had a good time. Thank you."
Prongs, you'd said. Fuck.
And then, you disappear back through the entrance of the Hog's Head Inn as if you didn't just shred his entire self-concept to tattered bits
And now, he gets to go through the rest of the night floating on a cloud, with this kiss in his head. And you. You're always there, too.
lmao i just pictured him breaking the fourth wall and looking at the audience with wide eyes JEBSJAJAHAAH.
V, this is saur saur saur GOOOD. I wish it had more parts because i would kill to read their banters because theyre funny AF and also the way james yearns for the reader >>>>>>>. urgh i wish i have me some james potter rn. AND ALSO? i love the puppet concept? its so creativeeee????
Give him a fucking break, for fuck's sake, please.
Just one. One break. That's perfectly fine. Enough.
James has known you far longer than he wants to have. Truly. But there's only so much pretense he can take when it comes to you.
He can pretend he doesn't know you when you shoulder past him in the hallways on your way to class, but only when you're unforgivably late. If you're not, you move to accommodate others.
He can pretend he doesn't remember you when Trelawney asks for those with deep-seated past bonds to come forward in order to show how timelines can branch and intertwine and branch out again. Trelawney instead chose Sirius and Pandora, whose families had known each other almost as long as James' and yours.
He can even pretend he doesn't see you snogging that Slytherin that's got you acting like you've been marinating in amortentia or summat.
But he cannot pretend like he doesn't see you now. Not when you're essentially deciding his future in the Ministry of Magic.
"Potter, James. That's P-O-T-T-E-R, correct?"
You're fucking infuriating. Yes, it bloody is. "Yes."
"Alright. You may proceed."
He looks around for a moment, half-expecting someone to come and detail everything he's been doing this year, showing him the Marauder's Map, the Dungbomb casings, all of that shite. But no one comes. So he assumes you're talking to him. "Sorry?"
You frown, looking down at your notes, before looking up at him. "You are here to apply for the Auror internship for the summer, yes?"
"Well... yeah."
"Did you not read the instructions?"
"Yes, I did. Professor McGonagall's classroom, 2:00 pm sharp, November 20th, 1976. That's today."
He feels stupid. You're looking at him like he's a child getting his ABC's wrong. "Right, well, there was also another set of instructions on the back. You had to prepare five of your best spells to show us, and then a three page essay as to why you should be considered for this internship.", you inform, as patiently as possible. Personal detestation aside, he really did have a good chance. "Do you need a reschedule?"
James looks up at you, eyes like saucers. "I can reschedule?"
"Well, no. But if you come up with a good enough reason — with evidence — then we'll see what we can do. We really can't do much else."
We. That statement. Narked the hell out of him. "So, what, I can write a whole bloody apology letter, come up with a fake reason, then fabricate evidence to corroborate that reason, and I still only may get a reschedule?"
You shrug. "Best shot. How serious are you about the internship?"
This had been building up for six years, really. Every time he saw you in the halls of Hogwarts, every time he heard shite about you from whispers floating and prancing through the common room, every time your name came up in conversation and every pair of eyes would fix on him, it all led to this very moment, when he blew up at you.
You stand up almost immediately, chair toppling behind you at the force, before you dodge the red beam emanating from his wand with a yellow one of your own.
He just doubles down. As is the Potter way. No, actually, you adore his parents. As is the James way.
More and more red paints the tiny room scarlet, the spells chanted bouncing off his tongue, across the walls, and into your ears as the beams continue, bending and stretching as you move to avoid them. "James!"
He doesn't stop. So, you decide you'd make him.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Your shriek echoes through the room so much you're sure it's travelled through the jagged gap beneath the oak of the door, out to all the other candidates, waiting, excited, prepared, and now, after James' little stunt, probably a bit terrified.
He stills (not like he's got much other choice), before his frozen body hits the floor with a thud, and he briefly wonders if your bloody dead body may fall this way when he gets out of this buggering body-bind and gets to finally kill you!
Until then, though, he's stuck lying pathetically on the floor as you kneel by him. "Are you stupid or acting like it because you think it's charming?", you ask, tapping on his mouth before muttering a tiny incantation that even he doesn't know, that allows him to speak while still being embarrassingly paralyzed everywhere else.
"What?", he hisses, battling a cough. His vocal cord's not entirely unfrozen.
"Are you stupid , or do you think your usual 'cute and dumb' bit is a good approach to getting selected for a prestigious Auror internship with the actual Ministry Of Magic?"
"Not stupid."
"Then why'd you attack me?"
"Pissing me off.", he spits out, with aggravated emphasis on the 'p'.
"'Pissing you off or not", you retort, mockingly emphasizing the 'p' the same way he had, "I am the interviewer and recruiter of this internship."
"You're younger than me. How— buggering hell — how are you my interviewer?", he coughs out, eyes watering as he strains to get his words out with as much dignity as he can mortifyingly afford to scrape up.
"Been interning with the Ministry since Fourth Year.", you reply, tilting your head with such palpable smugness that he realizes he's really not above hexing that serpent-boyfriend of yours to have perpetually bad breath. He's thought of it once before, but Moony discouraged him. 'You're above that, Prongs.' The hell he is!
"How?" He's in Seventh Year, trying his arsed-up luck at this internship, that he'd only been informed of this year, and you — a SIxth Year — are telling him you've been at this for two bloody years?!
"Talent. Intellect.", you state, before shaking your head in faux-apology. "Sorry, that means being good at something and being intelligent."
That's yet another thing he hates about you. Your condescension. When you're good, everyone sees that. You don't have to go parading it around like a beacon to karma — which, unfortunately for him, hasn't humbled you yet.
"Sod. Off.", he grits.
"I'm going to unbind you now. Will you—", you stopped yourself, wrenching his wand from his limp hand. "Will you attempt to attack me again?"
"You have my wand."
"Right, but you're not averse to animal-like physical altercations, as I've heard."
Great. His little spat with Mulciber and that lot was now school-wide knowledge, then. It was simple, really. Mulciber had made a statement. Claimed it was a joke. It, in fact, was not. James charged. Mulciber dodged. James fell. Mulciber laughed. Sirius punched. The rest is Ancient Runes.
But something about that sentence was severely, catastrophically off, and he couldn't tell what. Maybe it'd come to him in a dream.
"I won't."
You narrow your eyes at him for a moment, before mumbling out a 'Finite Incantatem', and his limbs spring back to life. He scrambles up in sheer uncoordination, a direct contrast to the grace with which you stand.
"Wand.", he growls, clenching his jaw.
"Apology.", you repeat, crossing your arms across your chest. Eurgh. He forgets, sometimes, how infuriating you are. It's been that way since birth, actually, and he can't, for the life of him, figure out why his mother describes you as a "sweet child". You are neither.
He snatches the wand out of your hand, and is mildly surprised when there's no struggle. And then he realizes. You knew he was going to do that. You wanted to make him feel shite about himself for being like this to you. Buggering hell.
You walk jovially back to the desk, setting the chair upright in the process before you clear your throat. "I suppose you know you're not getting the internship, right?"
"Sod off, this is why you've got no friends!"
Well, he got his wish. He'd finally wiped that smug grin off your face. But he'd never wished to replace it with that look of hurt.
That's what's so fucking annoying. It's not like you've started talking to him less or avoiding him because that's how it always has been.
"Not enough sugar to go around today?"
"What?"
"That's Wormy's roundabout way of asking if you've had sugarless coffee."
"What?"
"Bitter, James, you look bitter.", grumbles Remus, rubbing at his temples. "Honestly, you have to be faking the daftness."
"I'm fine."
"There's that party tonight. Should do well to get you back to normal, yeah?", grins Sirius, jostling their shoulders together.
"I dunno if I'm going. Not in the mood for dancing and music and all that shite."
"It's in our common room. You'll float toward it like one of those cartoons where the fat bloke levitates towards the smell of pie.", teases Sirius, flicking the back of his head.
"What'd you suppose it is, anyway, that makes her so bloody obsessed with the bloke?"
"Which 'her' and which 'him' are we talking about today?", questions Remus in between chews of the thick oatmeal the elves have placed onto the table today.
The other three stare at him, and he shrugs in question. Ugh. The only person eating that gruel is Remus "I feel bad for them" Lupin, and it's obvious.
James juts his chin in your general direction to point without actually pointing, causing his hair to fall into his eyes. Good, because at least they'd be shielded from the vomit-inducing sight of your little boyfriend kissing your temple.
"Who are we looking at?"
"Wh— Eric Vanity and his girl? Ooh, what was her name, you hated her!", hisses Peter, pointing at him as though he'd just changed his loyalty from Gryffindor to Slytherin or summat.
"Don't hate her. Just can't stand the bird."
"Well, yeah, happens when you grow up together."
He loves Sirius, he really does, but he's got to learn when to zip it. The other two turn to him. "You what?!"
"Yeah.", snorts Sirius, oblivious to James' glare as he spreads some jam onto his toast. "Every pureblood knows there's certain alliances that go further than loyalty and shite."
Peter's mouth's agape. James is about to jump into the Black Lake and let the Giant Squid do what it wants with him. Remus is barely holding back laughter at this new, evidently hilarious information. Still, he manages to be the one to speak first. "What?"
"Like, how do I explain this without sounding like my mother?", muses Sirius, before taking an unnecessarily huge bite of his toast, and then speaking through chews. "Right, it's like the Blacks and the Rosiers. Or us and the Lestranges. Peas in a pod, we are. 'Least, we're supposed to be."
The other two nod slowly, as though multiple puzzle pieces were clicking together at once. James, meanwhile, cannot stop glaring at you. He'd hexed you. You'd had a full-blown duel a week ago and instead of being livid, you're just... you.
A snap of fingers in front of his eyes is what rips his gaze away from the two of you. "Mm?"
"I asked : 'Are the two of your families close, then?'"
James shrugs, so Sirius, apparently brimming with generosity this morning, offers to help. "It's a trifecta, if I'm not wrong. His family, her family, the Longbottoms."
Oh, phenomenal. Now they're bringing Frank into this.
"So why the animosity? And most importantly, does Frank know?", asks Remus, his voice low and hushed.
"Know what?"
"That you hate each other.", squeaks Peter, scooting closer to the rest of them now.
"Hate is a strong word, I mean—"
"No, she's said on multiple occasions that she hates you and you've expressed the same sentiment." Why was Remus so utterly unbearable this morning?
"Just... a spat." Of sorts.
"Familial?" Sirius needed to shut it, actually.
"Personal."
"Ooh, what about?" All three of them now either have their palms on their tilted cheeks or their fists under their chins, and he wants to blow their heads off.
No, his first.
Because how can he tell them he'd abandoned you in your first year as soon as you joined Hogwarts, because he didn't want to be seen with you? How could he tell them he knew you had a hard time with some of the other girls but still turned a blind eye to whatever cruel taunts they'd say to you? How could he tell them he'd been scared since third year — when he'd finally come to his senses — to talk to you in case the damage was irreparable? And how could he tell them about how you hadn't begged or followed him or even tried to ask him what was wrong? How could he tell them you acted like you'd expected this switch-up?
"Personal is personal, alright?", he grits out, glaring at the three of them. They know him better than to feel threatened. They snicker.
"My life's a joke to you lot, isn't it?"
They pinch their fingers together. "A tiny bit, yes."
Sundays always bore him tremendously, especially when they're not Hogsmeade Sundays, and he's not exactly jumping in joy at the thought of speaking with his best mates, who'll just take the mick out of him for getting his arse handed to him by a sixth year.
So, he decides he'll actually get some work done. He finishes the last page of his five-page essay for your stupid internship, just in case you'll let him reschedule. Then, he writes a letter to his parents, cleverly leaving out the part where he attacked his childhood best mate, and the "daughter they never had" (their words, not his). Finally, he finishes up his apology letter to Professor McGonagall for swearing when Gryffindor lost the match last week.
He shoves the first and last parchment into Frank's hands as he passes by and asks him to get them back to his dorm as he makes his way to the Owlery. Bloody Owlery.
James has always had this thing about owls. He wouldn't call it a phobia, per se, because he's cooler than that, but he hates them with a passion. Except for his own owl, who he knows is only nice to him because it's bonded with his Dad. Him and Glacier — his bloody owl — simply tolerate each other's presence. It's you and him but more cordial.
And, as if to disrupt his entire cool-guy act, in flies an owl, bigger than any he's ever fucking seen before, all feathers and hoots and wings, messing up both his rhythm and his hair. He's not proud of it, but he shrieks. He counts his lucky stars that no one else heard that, or he'd never hear the end of i— no. Did he just hear footsteps?
"Was that you?"
He spins around at the quiet question, to see that you're standing at the doorway of the Owlery, a sharp contrast to the dull browns of the stone wall and the soft feathers floating around the length of the place.
"Was what me?"
"That scream. I thought a first year girl had got attacked by one of the more ancient owls or summat."
A first year girl. Even when you're not trying to insult him, you're very good at it. Props.
But James is tired. Tired from the past week of overthinking what he said and how you might have felt and his potential career going down the drain and— he's just exhausted.
So, he doesn't lie. "Yeah. The Weasleys' owl just attacked me."
"Who, Errol?", you ask, gently stroking the back of Errol's neck. The flying rat has settled nicely onto your arm, James notices. Eurgh.
"Yeah. That one.", he mumbles, swiftly turning to look for Glacier. She's sound-bloody-asleep, at the exact moment where he has to show how well-behaved and astounding his own owl is.
Dude, wake up.
"Hi, Glacier, hi, sweet girl.", he coos, hoping that would wake her up, and it does, but she simply recoils, because their mutually beneficial system has never included terms of endearment or petting, both of which he's attempting to normalize, to show you he's not a scaredy-cat.
She nips him. You don't notice. He hisses very quietly before he places his letter into her beak. "Home, please, Glacier." She immediately takes flight, and he watches her soar towards the setting sun.
It's bittersweet. On one hand, he's glad the letter's going home to his parents as well as the fact that she didn't do more than nip him. On the other, he's alone in a setting in which every living organism — you included — has a vendetta against him.
You've got nothing in your hands, meaning you're here to receive a letter. This is odd for many reasons. One : the owls usually come to the Great Hall to deliver. Two : you've got mock NEWTS going on, you have. He'd think you'll be wasting no time and studying, like the swot you are.
"Receiving?", he asks, though he doesn't know why. He should be gently shouldering past you, getting to work on studying for his own real NEWTs. Or at the very least, catching up with his mates and seeing if the party will include alcoholic beverages or if they had to sneak out to Hogsmeade once more and purchase it.
"Mm? Oh. Yes.", you nod, biting your lip as you watch Errol clumsily fly back to his little cubbyhole, clearly deep in thought.
"Listen—"
He's not allowed to conduct his already-very-embarrassing apology, because in comes your little barn owl, swooping smoothly from the sky down to your arm, a letter in his beak.
"Thank you, darling.", you smile, holding out a treat for him before letting him settle into his cubby.
Great, now he feels like a prick for not being this close to Glacier.
"You were saying?"
"What's his name again?"
"My owl? Barnaby. Get it?", you smile, waving at your owl Barnaby as the two of you make your way to the exit of the Owlery. Barn-aby, barn owl, yeah, he gets it.
"Barnaby."
"Why's your owl called Glacier? I've asked your Dad, but he says you named her."
James raises both brows, looking around in sheer confusion. "Me?! When did I name her? We don't even get along! She wouldn't respect any name I give her!"
"Don't shoot the messenger, mate, that's just what your Dad told me.", you laugh, softly, hands up in mock defence.
He watches you skip down the stairs, before he reluctantly leaps down after you. "Are you coming to the party tonight?" It's a good place to apologise, he'd wager. The alcohol may make you more likely to forgive him, and make it easier for him to get his words out.
"Uh, I dunno, I've got loads of prep to do. Mock NEWTs are next week. Especially the practical component in COMC."
Care Of Magical Creatures? You watered down your subjects (as everyone does for sixth year) and you chose Care Of Magical Creatures? Since when did you even take it? Have you really had it since third year? Has he forgotten?
It hits him like a bludger to an oblivious quidditch-rookie's stomach.
He doesn't even know your electives.
He remembers your favourite colour. Your favourite Muggle concept — toasters. Your favourite magical creature — cornish pixies. He remembers your favourite soup, from the many times his Mum's sent him over to give you some when you'd come down with a flu.
But no, he doesn't know your electives. He doesn't know your favourite professor. Doesn't know your favourite subject. Your Boggart from that one Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Your career plans. He doesn't know your favourite shops in Hogsmeade. Hell, he doesn't even know your order off the Hogwarts Express trolley.
James still powers through this snowstorm of guilt and nostalgia. "You should come. Relax. The gang and I are bringing Ogden's Old from Hogsmeade." He's just made those plans. He already knows the other three will grumble about now having an errand to do on a Sunday evening.
You pull your coat tighter around you as the November wind pummels the two of you, and he fights the urge to give you his scarf or summat.
"Is it just a Gryffindor thing?" Ah, there it is. The reason it'd not be in his place to give you a scarf. Your bloody 'boyfriend'.
He rubs the bridge of his nose, his already-fogged-up spectacles lifting momentarily to allow it before settling back down. He could lie to you, but it seems that Sirius invited Pandora and her boyfriend Xenophilius — Ravenclaws — and he can't really tell you anything about it being a Gryffindors-only affair. "Uh, no. Reckon anyone's allowed. Why, you bringing Eric?" He tries not to throw up as he says it.
"I was thinking I could. I can, can't I? Or is it too scandalous? Slytherin in Gryffindor Tower?"
"I'm sure other Slytherins are coming." He knew for a fact that a couple were.
"Then great.", you cheer, smiling in that way where you can tell someone's borderline frostbitten. It nearly sticks to your face like a tongue on a pole.
"Phenomenal.", he mutters, rubbing his gloved hands together.
The two of you awkwardly shuffle through the snow, biting back whatever questions you may have for each other as you watch your footprints embed themselves in the cushy snow below.
"How's your NEWTs prep going? Since you lot have your actual-proper-real ones this year?" It's an olive branch, of sorts, and even he can admit that it's wrong that you're extending it.
"Oh, phenomenal." Terrible. "I'll pass with flying colours. Red and gold, of course, but still." He'll fail.
"Well, that's wonderful! Brave choice, though, choosing Divination as an elective. Stupid, but also brave.", you tease, matter-of-factly. Great. So you know his electives.
"Those two toe a gossamer-thin line, you'll find."
"Is that seventh year wisdom I detect?", you ask, grinning. He returns his dimpled one to you in response.
"Perhaps. Maybe the only thing that I've learnt from all this time here."
"That, and what detention looks like every day of the week."
"Heard about that, did you?"
"When teachers want to threaten us with detention, they say 'would you like to spend time with Potter and Black?'"
He can't help it. He snickers at that. "You lot have it easy, though. McGonagall loves your batch."
"She adores you four, though. I'm pretty close with her, and all she talks about is you four. What is it you call yourselves? The Mar— something."
James' ears perk up at that, and he stands momentarily frozen as he watches you settle down onto the Great Hall table. He sits down next to you. "The Marauders, yes. She adores us?"
You nod, handing him a bowl of soup before taking one yourself. It's fucking delicious. "I'll tease her about it later. Meanwhile, how much Odgen's Old d'you think you'll down tonight?"
"Mm, stress : alcohol ratio-wise... a fuckload.", you whisper, conspiratorially, and he smirks.
"Fuck yeah!"
He loves this conversation now, suddenly. It's going well, he thinks, to let you know he just had a bad day that day. He's really not the same cheeky brat who let you flail about in first year instead of helping you find your footing in the school he'd already had a year in.
Until you excuse yourself because your boyfriend's come back from his group study at the library. Eurgh.
James fucking loves Gryffindor Tower when it's like this. Everyone works together. The Muggle-borns bring in summat huge called a jukebox, and the Halfbloods make sure it can a) stay hidden, and b) keep going without needing new pennies in it. The Muggleborns also bring in 'spliffs', which Sirius is the expert in — James really doesn't know what they are. The Purebloods are in charge of alcohol, seeing as they grew up in families with a rich history of the best wizard shite to consume.
And the entire common room's somehow engulfed in a deep scarlet haze that might be partly because of the magic charms added to the 'spliffs' and partly because of the sheer fucking vibe of the place.
You stand in the middle of it all like a flower in drought.
James doesn't know when this happened. He hasn't been entirely truthful up until this point. He only pretends not to see you, notice you, or remember you. But since fourth year, he's been unable to look away. Subconsciously, his gaze rips through crowds for you in the stands during quidditch matches. His gaze forages around until it lands on you in the Great Hall each morning, be it at the Slytherin table with Eric or at the Gryffindor table with your mates. He's developed a sort of superstition that he cannot have a good week if he doesn't see you every day of it. One Friday you'd left early for some Slug Club meeting and didn't come back until evening. He'd fallen off his broom and broken a bone.
He's left to take a long, long swig of his firewhisky, before his shoulder's nudged. "Vanity's gonna beat you up, mate."
"Yeah, alright, laugh it up."
"I'm not joking, Prongs, you're being insanely obvious with your staring."
"I'm not staring.", he spits, chugging the rest of his drink before reaching to refill it. Sirius waits until the tinkling sounds of transferring liquids comes to a pause before giving James his signature scoff of derision. "I'm not!", hisses James.
"Alright. But if these walls could talk, they'd screech : 'Prongs wants to shag her !', just saying."
"Don't listen to him, James, I think you should go talk to her.", advises Remus, showing up at James' other side, like the angel on his shoulder to Sirius' devil. Or maybe it's the other way around.
"If you don't, I will. Vanity's not around, meaning she's fair game."
"She's not fair game, you idiot!", cries Remus, smacking Sirius up the back of his head. "She's taken. And besides, this is a platonic pursuit. To mend whatever bonds were severed. Right?"
"Right. Clean slate for graduation and all that.", mumbles James.
"Right. Well. Go on, then."
"This is clearly a romantic pursuit, Moony, are you insane?"
"Is it, James?" At this point, even James doesn't know. "Is it?"
"Does it matter?!" Peter. Great. This was officially a Marauders thing, now. "Go talk to her! Feelings or not, at least you clear things up! Apologise, and you're on good terms. And then, if she and Eric break up at some point, you're the shoulder to cry on and you can date her if you'd like!"
Okay, he liked that plan.
"I'm doin' it.", he declares.
"Let's go, Prongs, that's the spirit!"
And so, he makes his way to you, already stumbling just a slight bit, but not enough to make him shed his cool-guy persona, but just enough to make him remember he's only young once, he only gets one life, yada-yada-yada, all that shite that you end up remembering solely during that sweet spot between tipsy and drunk.
"Hello."
You turn to him, obviously on the tipsy-giggly stage of inebriation. "Hi! James, oh my god, this party is amazing! Couldn't find any of that Ogden's Old you'd promised, though!"
"Got some right here, darling.", he grins, teeth twinkling in the low lights of the common room as he offers the bottle to you. "Where's Eric?"
"He's studying. Library's open for extended hours due to mock NEWTs and he jumped on the chance." Eurgh, what a loser.
"Can we go somewhere quieter? I need to talk with you."
"About?"
"Can we just...?", he trails off, thumbing at the door. "C'mon.", he yells into your ear over the jukebox music, closing his fingers around your wrist and holding for a moment, just to make sure you didn't scream and kick and protest in your slight-tipsiness. You don't, and he's relieved.
The portrait-doorway of the common room shuts, and James is immensely appreciative of whoever cast the silencing charm, because you can hear a pin drop outside. With a sideways glare at the Fat Lady who was prying, he moves a little ways away, to a pillar.
He takes a breath. "Listen, about the interview—"
"James, no, can we not talk about that? I'm... I'm only at this party to relax. Difficult conversations are not on my bucket list tonight."
"Listen. Hey. Listen.", he calls, grabbing at your shoulder for you to stop your stalking back to the common room door to turn to him. When you do, his breath catches for reasons unbeknownst to him. Probably nerves. "I'm... I'm sorry. For last week. The interview. It was unacceptable and I hope I didn't seriously hurt you because..."
Great. This is why, James is realizing, that he needs to be humbled more. He doesn't think he's ever really apologised to anyone in his life before. "Because... it was wrong. I was over the line."
You nod. "You were stressed. Happens. And I'm sorry I said you won't be able to make the internship. I've spoken to them and they allowed you to reschedule."
Whoa, wait, what? "How?"
"You know your Great-Aunt Ophelia died a week ago, right?"
No. Who the hell was that? "Yeah."
"Well, she's a very good friend to many at the Ministry, and I told them you were close, and you were grieving. So. That's the excuse and evidence covered."
Were you doing this on purpose? To make him feel like shite? Because it was absolutely working. 'Kill them with kindness' isn't just an expression, he's slowly coming to realize.
"Uh-huh, so I'll get told when I can reschedule?"
"Yes. But, um... will you allow me to offer a bit of advice?"
"Sure."
"Don't try out again."
"Beg pardon?"
"I won't be your interviewer next time, and you might get through. And while I acknowledge your talent and expertise in spell-casting, I'll say that if you're this easily triggered and prone to violence, it should be up to your own conscience whether you think you're actually a good fit for this internship or not."
Great. One more very good point from a very annoying character.
"Just food for thought. Think about it."
And then, you disappear back into the portrait hole as if you didn't just shred his self-concept to tattered bits.
And now, he has to go through an entire party with this in his head. And you. You're always there, somehow, too.
helloooo? my second read fic after months? AND this did not disappoint. (AS ALWAYS) hshshshshs. this feels like a reward. will forever be in awe of the way u write james, twin. (or your writing in general) :>
WHAT DO YOU MEAN NIKOLAI IS ONE OF KIRIGAN'S SHADOW MONSTERS??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S A DRUG THAT ENHANCES GRISHAS??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALINA HAS BECOME A SHADOW SUMMONER???
loved seeing mal and inej becoming corsairs 😋
RIGHT! so much has happened yet we’ll never know what will happen next urgh. 😔😔🙏🙏🙏
i'm nosey and want to know the impressions i give off so thanks i love you
tagging some muts bc im that desperate thanks love you: @colouredbyd @g1rld1ary @selenewowww @blondykebarbie @wintrsoul @underoospeterparker @elijahhewsonswifelol @leeny-leens @mischievousmoony @spaceycat
Could I request from your Winter Festival the Ice skating section about James Potter with the emojies 🚬🌙🩹?
SKY'S 5K CELEBRATION MASTERLIST
I'm doing good, thank you for asking! Enjoy! Oh, and this can be read GN if you don't mind reader wearing lipstick! Which is valid lol, anyone can wear lipstick hehe
James Potter x best friend reader
"Ouch," James mutters as you press the bandaid to his forehead. "Why can't you use a spell to fix this again? Aren't you supposed to be the smartest in our year?"
You laugh at his pouting voice; that adorable expression he sometimes wears has made a new appearance, and he looks so cute.
"If I healed you, you wouldn't have consequences for fighting on the pitch," you retort, smoothing down the bandaid. "This is how children learn." You scold him like a mother, and James's expression shifts into disgust.
"You're not my mum," he says, touching his wound when you pull away.
James looks up toward the night sky, the sliver of moon barely visible behind the clouds. You watch him, taking in his expression. James has been your best friend for years. You know every one of his expressions by now.
"It's not your fault you guys lost the game," you say, fishing a cigarette from your pocket and lighting it delicately. You press it to your lips, inhaling and then blowing out to admire the smoke against the night sky.
"I'm Captain. It is my fault," James grumbles, holding out his hand, silently asking for a hit.
You hand him the cigarette and shake your head. "No. Mistakes happen. Doesn't mean it's anyone's fault. Doesn't mean you need to get into a fight over it," you add pointedly.
James exhales a puff of smoke and leans his head against his arms as he passes the cigarette back to you.
"And anyway, you're always a winner in my heart," you say, smiling genuinely.
James's heart flutters at your words, and he watches you take another hit, watching how your lips wrap around the cigarette. He's entranced. Perhaps he let Ansel Quick hit him a bit too hard.
You sigh and hand the cigarette to him again. James just stares at it as it hangs delicately from your fingers. There’s a faint lipstick smudge, which James seems especially focused on.
"What's wrong?" you ask, confused why he isn’t taking his turn like he always does.
James's cheeks heat up, and he quickly grabs the cigarette and puts it between his lips, the outline of your lips touching his. "Nothing," he mumbles, trying to ignore that if he thinks too hard about this, it's almost like he's kissing you.
Almost.
His lips tingle when he hands the cigarette back to you.
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