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persephone-writes · 2 days ago

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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Black Lake

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Twenty-Five ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: It seems as though months of secrets, omens, and animosity is coming to fruition, swirling in a storm above Hogwarts.

Word Count: 9.7k

You barely slept on Wednesday night.

Instead, your half-lidded eyes followed the patterns in the woodgrains on the beam above your bed, looking for flowers or waves, anything to lull you to sleep. Dorcas had remembered her silencing charm, leaving the room eerily quiet in your paranoid state. Some relief came when the birds began chirping as the sun cast its rays over the horizon, brilliantly yellow against the cotton clouds. The mountains, now covered in the deep greens of fir-trees and chartreuse grasses, stood imposing and spectacular in the distance. You peeked out your curtain at the sight, splendid as any pastoral scene could be, though you found little happiness in it. The day would seem dreary no matter what the weather was.

Marlene met your eye as you sat on the edge of your bed, knotting your tie as Dorcas and Lily readied themselves in the lavatory. She didn’t need to say a thing, her subtle, supportive smile enough to make you feel just a tad better. You had informed her of your plan a few days ago, asking that she vacate the dormitory at the end of classes so that you could have your talk with Lily. Dorcas would be off at quidditch practice during that time, meaning that nothing could prevent you from getting Lily alone, nor would it allow you the excuse of, as Sirius had put it, chickening out.

“Gracing us with your presence?”

Mary crossed her arms on the table, looking sideways at Dorcas. “Good morning to you, too.”

Mavors Thorne, her boyfriend, was beside her, sticking out like a sore thumb in his yellow and black uniform at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He had on a polite smile, some of his confidence seemingly practiced just for the occasion. You thought it was sweet, and something Mary would also do if presented with the challenge of meeting a few of the most popular and boisterous people in Hogwarts. From what you could gather from the few times you’ve spoken, and from what Marlene had been able to squeeze out of Mary, he was rather shy.

Mary leaned over the table to look at the guys, who could not easily see her from their places. It was work convincing James not to sit by you, though with Mulciber on the prowl, it needed to be done. Despite your tougher attitude, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Zephyr were worse than before, snickering and casting taunting looks towards you from across the classroom, all with enough prudence to never get caught. Snape, however, remained as impassive as he had been since his conversation with you in April.

Because of their renewed gall, it was imperative that Mulciber have no proof of yours and James’s romance, leaving his suspicions completely unfounded. Peeves was taken care of on Saturday night, thank Godric, meaning that Mulciber would have to tail you or James all day long without getting caught in order to catch even a whiff of the truth. So, James was in his normal spot across the table, which to each of you felt miles apart.

“Hey guys, this is Mavors,” Mary said, falling back to allow Mavors to throw up a hand in greeting. “This is Sirius, Remus, Peter, and James,” she continued, going down the line.

“Hey, kid,” Sirius said through a mouthful of food. Dorcas elbowed him in the side, his fork clattering onto his plate. “What?” he asked, swallowing.

“They’re a year below us.”

“It’s more than that,” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “I’m born in November.”

Lily sighed, looking just about ready to roll her eyes when she glanced at you. “Not this again.”

“Just eat your food, grandpa,” Remus said, nodding towards Sirius’s plate.

You laughed because everyone else did (other than Sirius, who was quite grumpy), trying to ignore the knot twisting and turning in the center of your chest. You attempted to swallow down the awful choking feeling in your throat with a sip of your tea, reminding yourself that you still had over seven hours until the big event. You had rehearsed for every possible scenario, even the improbable circumstance of Lily being totally and completely fine with everything. When you placed your mug back down onto the table, carefully between the jug of pumpkin juice and jar of strawberry jam, James gave you the briefest of smiles, hidden within a laugh at something else you had missed in your ruminations. It was enough to get you through breakfast without collapsing onto the floor of the Hall, which would have most definitely put a damper on your plans.

You were going to the library with Lily and Marlene third period before lunch, with Lily leaving breakfast to visit Professor Bainbridge for some extra Alchemy practice. Marlene seemed more than happy to have you alone, gnawing at her lip all the way back up to the common room.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked once you were in your dormitory.

You shrugged, sitting down at your desk. “I could be worse, I guess. I haven’t fainted yet, which is a good sign.”

“And you’re joking,” she said happily.

“I wasn’t.”

Her mouth pulled to the side as she strolled over to Lily’s bed, perfectly made, letting herself fall into it. With her arm behind her head, she looked up at you in what you assumed to be an encouraging manner. “Why don’t you and James ever hang out with me? I mean, you wouldn’t have to hide or anything.”

She didn’t sound offended, even if her question suggested that she was. You also weren’t sure how this was meant to make you feel better, though you humored her anyway.

“I don’t know. I think it’s just easier to hide from everyone all at once, that way there's a better chance that we won’t slip up. It’s not personal,” you answered, still staring down at your DADA textbook.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” she said, her gaze flickering up towards the ceiling. “You’ve always had your own world, though, inside your head. It’s not entirely surprising you kept it to you and him. I’ve got nothing hiding up here but song lyrics and that time I got chocolate sauce all over me at my cousin's wedding.” She cringed at the memory, laughing soon after. “But I guess it’s not so secret if you all know about it.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” you mumbled into your palm. You didn’t like to think of your head as anything but perfectly normal.

Marlene sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. You glanced over at her, reminded of how she always seemed like spring personified: spirited, vivacious, girlish in a way that did not make her seem weak, but rather, quite powerful.

She bent forward, her eyes bright as she looked at you. “Are you questioning my judgement?”

You didn’t answer, chuckling despite yourself. She always had been good at making you laugh. Still, that didn’t stop you from folding your arms on your desk, your head dropping into them with a noise of discontent.

“Since it’ll all be out in the open in about, oh, six and a half hours,” she began, her eagerness growing like the building momentum of a train leaving the station, “give me some details. You barely talk about him, and when you do you’re so buttoned-up. I want the love song stuff.”

You picked your head back up, your shoulders slumping forward. For a long moment you mulled over her suggestion, your initial reaction of an astounding “no” seemingly slightly less reasonable as you considered it fully. Never once had you allowed yourself to gush about James, likely for the same subconscious reason that you both never fully allowed yourself to act like a couple around Marlene and Sirius. However, Marlene’s astute observation that this reasoning would be null and void in six hours threatened to open the floodgates of your more immature attributes. You would have to get over the embarrassment sooner rather than later, so why not just rip off the bandaid?

Marlene’s grin slowly returned as she saw your expression change, her lip resting between her teeth.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said, though your harsh tone did nothing to rid her giddiness.

She laughed in disbelief, crossing her legs as if to settle into a long conversation. “I can’t believe that worked. Am I rubbing off on you?”

You snorted. “Merlin, I hope not.”

When you didn’t speak further her eyes widened, boring into yours expectantly. “Well…” she urged.

“What do you want to know?” you asked, your outward show of annoyance masking the embarrassment festering in the back of your mind.

Her face lit up, thrilled at the chance to steer you in the direction of her choosing. “Is he a good kisser?”

You were scorching hot as if you were standing on the surface of the sun itself, engulfed in its infinite supply of flames. You could feel the heat flooding your face, enough to make the back of your neck sweat.

“Really?” you groaned, wishing you had the invisibility cloak so you could disappear forever.

“Yes, really,” she said with a zippy sort of laugh, bouncing and exuberant. “Fine, I can go first. Okay, lets see…remember I kissed Maxwell in third year playing catch the comet? He was just all right. Eddy was good, a little too overzealous, but I can forgive him for that. Zephyr was okay. And Sirius—”

“I’m begging you to stop.” You put your face into your hands, wondering how you were going to get through this alive. You could hear Marlene laughing, though you didn’t dare look.

“Okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Ugh, fine. He’s great. Are you happy?” You dropped your hands, trying your best to glare at her. It was difficult when she was so overjoyed.

“Great-great or just really good?” she asked, so overcome with surprise that you had revealed much of anything that your frown did nothing to damper her enthusiasm.

Her expression slowly broke you down, accessing some foreign recess of your mind. Without warning or intention you began to giggle, confused by your own capriciousness.

“Great-great,” you said, the tightness in your chest beginning to loosen.

She forced you to tell her about the night after the party, though you were able to keep the vast majority of details to yourself. Disappointed by your lack of willingness to share, she moved on to rhapsodizing about the times she’d seen him dance with you. As you listened to her speak you were practically running a temperature.

“He is a good dancer, but he looks even better with you. Dorcas said something to me about it after you two left the common room—”

“She did?” you all but shrieked.

“She didn’t say anything to Lily,” Marlene assured. “It was just one of those stupid things she says. I think she was joking, anyway.”

You were more irritated than anxious, deflating as you asked the dreaded question, “What did she say?”

“That Steven was shooting daggers at James,” she snickered, “and that he looked positively devastated when you left together. But it’s Steven, so I’d hardly worry about it.”

Steven Byrne was the least of your worries, though it did remind you of something James had said on Saturday to which you’d given only fleeting thoughts: you should’ve heard my thoughts before we kissed. Instead of wanting to hex every guy who looks at you, now I just wanna gloat.

“I don’t care about Steven,” you began. “Though none of this will really matter by dinner, will it?”

Marlene's eyes softened, staring at you for a long, almost tranquil moment. She was looking at you the way a parent looks at their eleven year old at platform 9 ¾ , just before they get on the train.

You furrowed your brows, now laughing in confusion. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

“You’re really in love, aren’t you? Like death-do-us-part, let's buy fancy china and not worry about who really owns it love.”

She spoke with such fervency, such pleasant astonishment that it was nearly enough to knock you off your chair.

You nodded, almost as shocked as she was. “Yeah,” you sighed. “I mean, we’re not engaged, but yeah.”

“I knew you were, but I guess I just didn’t,” she stopped, still looking at you in a warm kind of amazement. “Godric, if I were you I’d never shut up about it.”

“Believe me, I know,” you said, shaking your head at her, sending you both into another fit of laughter.

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From across the table, you watched Lily and Remus scribble down symbols onto their parchment, some of which you vaguely knew the meanings of. Ancient Runes always seemed to be incredibly archaic, impossible to fully grasp. How could you ever interpret a language so old and complex, never truly knowing if you were right or wrong? You supposed it wasn’t unlike Divination in that sense, constantly subject to reinterpretation. Still, Divination seemed more forgiving. If your prediction didn’t come to fruition, all you needed to argue was that the future is fluid, never set in stone. In Ancient Runes you had no such crutch. You were either correct or incorrect, though it was quite possible to go all your life believing you were right, when really, you are wrong. For reasons even unknown to yourself, that fate, that type of failure, seemed like an insurmountable burden.

Every once in a while they’d compare something to each other’s work or whisper a question, though for the most part, they were silent. You were trying to do your own work, though Defense Against the Dark Arts was the furthest thing from your mind. You had passed overwhelming anxiety and moved into reminiscing about simpler times, long before Lily even considered going out with James. Then, he was just some overly energetic boy you knew who’d sometimes pester your friend enough to get her livid. A few memories were tainted with Severus, always quiet and meek, though never unkind…then, at least. He’d even help you with potions if you asked.

What you remembered most out of everything else was never being alone. You had come to Hogwarts expecting one thing, to be sorted in the house of your father, where everyone thought you’d belong, only to receive another. Even when the Gryffindor’s cheered for you as you approached their table, you’d anticipated a certain degree of exclusion. Lily had changed your mind. Even as you grew more independent of each other your bond never weakened or became obsolete. It only changed shape, adapting and shifting, entirely unrigid.

Your lips quirked up when you remembered something silly you and Lily had done when you were younger, something so innocent yet entirely based on love. When you left the library to go to lunch you mentioned it to her. “Do you remember when we used to say we were fifteenth cousins?”

Lily laughed, her gaze drifting off as she recalled the memory. “Of course, I do. We spent half the summer trying to figure out who the squib was in my family.”

The logic your twelve year old minds were running on was not entirely unsound. There must be a squib somewhere in Lily’s ancestry, for all muggle borns are descendents of one. You each gave your best attempts at formulating a comprehensive family tree in an attempt to find such squib, though after a certain point most people, muggle or wizard alike, didn’t keep very good records, leading to dead end after dead end. You were each hoping to find that your family trees both led to the same squib, thus making you distantly related. The disappointment over your failure to find any wizard connection between you was great, though it didn’t stop you from believing that perhaps, however unlikely, you were still sort of like sisters.

“I think I still have one of your letters,” you chuckled. “I’m pretty sure it's when we thought it might’ve been your great-great-great uncle Leland.”

“Godric, yes! I forgot about uncle Leland. He was just a bit strange, though.”

Remus, who had been trailing close behind, let out a snort. “Unsurprising.”

Lily rolled her eyes, looking up at him with a blank face. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t insult my relatives, no matter how long they’ve been dead.”

Remus smirked, sticking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I apologize.”

“You’re forgiven.”

It was sixth period. James, Sirius, and Dorcas went off to quidditch practice, Remus and Peter to do who-knows-what, and Marlene to “meet with Professor Sprout”. You were already in your dormitory, pacing back and forth in front of the stove taking deep breaths, though it was of little use. You were a jittery mess, your hands moving from place to place, never comfortable in one spot. When the door finally opened you took them from your pockets, your arms at your side for a brief moment before they came to rest on your hips. Lily noticed your odd disposition, giving you a look of puzzlement as she shut the door.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, moving to toss her bag on her bed.

You swallowed, your eyes darting away. “I need to talk to you.” It was a great effort just to get yourself to speak, though a good sign you’d been able to do it at all.

Lily stopped, standing by the foot of her bed as she stared at you. “What’s wrong?”

Your throat began to burn, though you pushed the feeling down, your eyes lifting to look at her through your lashes. “I want you to know you’re my best friend in the whole world, okay?” your voice trembled slightly, weak with every word. “And I love you to death.”

She said your name, coming to stand in front of you, clearly concerned.

“Of course, I know that,” she said, trying to calm you. It only made the guilt rise up again, for in a moment you knew she might regret every moment of kindness she ever spent on you. “What’s this all about?”

Three loud bangs sounded on the door, both your heads whipping in its direction. It nearly knocked the wind out of you, sending your mind spinning out as the pounding continued. Lily went to open it, revealing Agnes Waters with her fist raised for another knock.

“It’s Peeves!” Agnes said, her eyes like saucers. “He’s in the ground floor corridor near the Entrance Hall with fizzybombs—”

“Merlin’s beard,” Lily gritted, glancing back at you as she moved past Agnes. “I’m sorry, Y/N—”

“No, go,” you said, following behind. If you weren’t in the middle of a mild panic attack, you may have found the irony of the situation hilarious.

You ran through the corridors and down the grand staircase, the sound of surprised yelps and cackling laughter echoing off the marble as you moved into the Hall. Smoke was billowing out of the adjacent corridor, a few students scurrying out and across the room. The pitter patter of their steps melted into a cacophony of chaos, sending Lily bounding forward.

When you turned into the corridor you saw Peeves floating above a crowd of students, his grin wicked as he held a pile of fizzybombs in his arms. A student tried to knock him down from the air with a spell, though Peeves only lifted away, whizzing through the air as he tossed another bomb down onto the floor. It exploded with a pop, sending an array of sparks shooting into the air followed by a plume of smoke.

“Peeves!” Lily shouted, pushing through the scuffle.

Peeves only snickered, blowing a raspberry at Lily before swooping down to ruffle her hair.

She craned her head to glare up at him, looking back at you in complete exasperation. “This’ll be a while. It’s best just to go back to the room so you won’t be tortured.”

You nodded, coughing as Peeves tossed another fizzybomb right by your feet, the smoke choking your lungs. Another set of shouts ensued from the students, mostly first-years, Lily telling them all to head to class with no shortage of annoyance.

You took her advice, leaving the corridor to go back up to the room and wait. Your plan of keeping her in a good mood was utterly failing, the universe practically mocking your efforts. As you agonized over the unfortunate turn of events, you hardly noticed a pair of steely eyes staring at you from the wide marble staircase. The moment your gaze found his a chill like death ran down your spine, setting your body rigid and your heart racing. His hand gripped the railing, his hair hanging into his forehead as he continued to lour. Whatever you had seen within Mulciber before was not darkness, for you never saw the true meaning of that phrase until now. It erased all reasonable thought from your mind, replacing it only with the impulse to flee.

You spun, bolting across the Entrance Hall and out the door, flying down the front steps in a frenzy. You took your wand from your pocket, looking back when you heard his growling voice calling out your name. You stopped along the main path between the two hillocks, each covered in little, delicate flowers, spinning around to take a defensive position, the one you had practiced with James.

“You’re a sneaky thing, aren’t you?” he spat, his face contorted into a haughty grimace.

His voice dripped with a loathing that seemed as though it had been brewing over much time, leaking from the walls of his cool exterior. He took a step towards you, though you did not move. His sneer turned into a smirk, his eyes roaming over your figure, entirely motionless.

“How’d you find out about our plan? Was it Peeves, or your little boyfriend?” He taunted you now, his shoulders rising as he took another small step. “For a while I thought you two had broken up, but you must’ve worked things out, by the looks of it,” he paused, laughing to himself. “Does your friend know, the mudblood? Doesn’t seem as though she does.”

Blood rushed to your ears and face, though you only hardened your expression, your hand clenching around your wand. You saw something in his eyes so horrid, so unspeakably venomous that you knew at once what he wanted to do. It petrified you, though you could not allow him to see it.

“We’re on Hogwarts grounds,” you began, forcing your voice not to waver, “you won’t get away with killing me here. You’ll be sent to Azkaban to rot.”

He laughed again, a horrible sound. “We’ll see— Expelliarmus!”

You blocked his spell, stumbling back for a moment before regaining your footing. “Impedimenta!”

“Protego!” His eyes narrowed as you dashed to your right towards the lake in the hopes of finding some shelter behind a line of trees. “Confringo!”

A blast of fire burst towards you, nipping at your heels.

You turned fast enough to block most of it, the flames bouncing off your shield and ricocheting over your head. As it faded you ran further, hugging the bushes growing along the shore. You looked back again, seeing Mulciber raising his wand.

“Expulso!”

A blue light streamed towards him, exploding out into the space before you. When it reached Mulciber he flew back, landing hard against the ground. Despite his fall he gave you little time to think, sitting up and flicking his wand with a biting scowl.

You were knocked down, your hand catching you on the grass. Your heartbeat had become loud in your ears, your breath uneven as you scrambled to stand. “Expulso!”

Another wave of blue light surged from your wand, though he was able to block it. You knew he would, only needing enough time to pluck a small wildflower from the grass and transfigure it into the first thing you thought of. From the thin stem and white petals grew an eagle, its yellow eyes dazzling against the brown of its feathers. “Oppugno!”

The massive bird screeched as it took flight into the air, shooting towards Mulciber. You saw his eyes widen as he began hurtling spells towards it, though it danced around him, evading his attacks. Its beak snapped as it continued to squawk, its talons reaching down to slash at him.

You didn’t pay close attention to their battle, bolting away across the field. You thought of nothing, only getting as far away from him as you could, keeping your legs moving and your eyes sharp. You were able to make it near the edge of the lake before you heard his voice again, your body sent into a state of shock soon after.

“Flipendo!”

You hurtled through the air, spinning a few times before you slammed into the rocks on the shore of the lake. Your hands were cut by the jagged stones, your head hitting hard on the ground. You felt like a bell, your ears ringing a single, shrill note, your eyes unfocused and blurry. You tried to blink it away, flipping yourself over and grappling for your wand.

Mulciber was running towards you, so close you could hear his ragged breath. His left arm was limp at his side, his sleeve red with blood and nearly torn to shreds. It dripped down his fingers and onto the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the fresh perfume of the grass.

Above your heads, you heard the call of a single crow, its black mass swooping down as it gave out another cry. Mulciber briefly glanced up, watching as it circled just as the eagle had, inky against the blue sky. With the distraction you were able to grab your wand, your hand shaking as you pointed it at him, only to find he had done the same.

You challenged one another, each of arms outstretched and ready to strike. Never had you seen an expression so filled with rage, blinded by complete and utter repugnance. Under it you started to cower, the noise of the waves and your breath fading, leaving nothing but his hatred and the sudden reality of your impending death.

You have to have confidence, even if it’s fake. You can’t be scared of your wand. You just have to tell it what to do, even if you aren’t sure you got the stuff to do it. It doesn’t know the difference.

“Crucio!”

“Expelliarmus,” your voice came out weak, though it was enough to sustain your spell, clashing with his. You could feel the magic running through your body and down your arm, directed through your wand in a single, powerful force. You had felt something similar before, though it was different now. Your wand was not an extension of yourself, bending to your uncompromising authority. Rather, it was more like a friend, loyal out of choice and not necessity, extracting every ounce of force you had into your spell.

You each seemed to cancel the other out, both of your spells entirely ineffectual against the other, though it was enough to stop the unimaginable pain from wracking your body. Despite your success, dread swept through you like never before as you took in Mulciber’s face, the face of someone who wanted you to suffer.

You flicked your wand again, feeling the same alliance as before, Mulciber’s twirling in the air until it landed by the shrubs nearly fifty feet away. For a brief moment he seemed confounded, though fear soon took over as he bolted towards where his wand had fallen. Behind him, you caught a glimpse of a lingering figure behind a cluster of birch trees near the water's edge. You saw that it was Severus, sticking out like a black smudge within the pale white of the bark. He seemed to notice you looking, turning to run further into the thin treeline that curved around the shore. You nearly called out to him, forgetting your opponent who was growing closer to obtaining his wand.

You stood, your desire to escape growing and your options quickly dwindling as Mulciber picked it up. You glanced behind you at the lake, its waters dark and uninviting. Mulciber’s lips began to move, time slowing as your feet took long strides, throwing yourself into the abyss.

You swam furiously, thrashing as you dove under to move farther from the shore. Already your clothes were dragging you down, your hand holding your wand slowing you even more. Bright, yellow light flashed upon the surface, illuminating the depths below. You looked up, seeing fire dance across the water before it fizzled out. You swam deeper to escape the heat, a second flash coming soon after.

Your lungs began to burn, though you continued farther, hoping to get a few more yards between you and Mulciber before you were forced to come back up. Your head was light when you eventually breached the surface, the lake a blur around you and the field just a stroke of greens and browns. In only a short second after you came up you felt a sharp sting on your calf, jolting you enough that you nearly let your hold of your wand slip. Still treading water, you spun around, spotting Mulciber on the other side of the lake. You ducked back under, your leg pulsing with pain.

You were growing tired from all your effort, kicking off your shoes with another shock of pain in your leg, worse than before. It felt as though your mind was screaming, the sentences overlapping, jumbling together until you could understand none of it. Out of the corner of your eye you caught a subtle movement, bright within the murk. It passed you again, and while its shape was blurry, you recognized the red and purple color instantly.

You rose up in horror, your arms waving wildly until your head was above the surface once again. You gasped, panting as you performed the bubble-head charm, relief washing over you when it formed around your head. You fell below the water as fast as you had risen, seemingly quick enough to elude Mulciber’s probing sight.

With crystal clear vision and the ability to breathe, you looked down at your leg, seeing an angry gash across your calf. You recognized the spell well, the Severing Charm, knowing you were more than lucky Mulciber had been so inaccurate in his casting. If it had been more skillfully directed, you weren’t confident even the best doctors at St. Mungo’s could’ve saved you.

You didn’t have time to think much of this, for flashes of fire still rippled across the surface in a haphazard pattern, sending fish fleeing from the heat. Soon after came a booming splash as if a boulder had been flung into the lake, erupting a few times before the fire returned. In a craze you searched for the fish, though there was no sign of your omen amongst the school of others rushing past. Abandoning your fruitless hunt, you swam farther, though you soon realized that the flashes and rumbles of Mulciber’s attacks had ceased entirely. You waited, your heart pounding so quickly that you could hear the blood rushing past your ears, thrumming like a line of drums. It banged against your ribcage with such force you were beginning to worry your bones may break under the hammering.

For a split second you contemplated waiting until someone came to retrieve you, pondering the possibility this may be a ploy to get you to reveal yourself again, though you didn’t consider this for long. Perhaps it was foolishly risky, something a Ravenclaw would shake their head at, though you were not a Ravenclaw.

You emerged, spinning around to search the shoreline for every possible place he could be hiding. You saw a yellow burst of light out of the corner of your eye, the chill of the lake doubling, almost freezing against your skin when you spotted its source. Whatever you had been expecting to find paled in comparison to the terror that gripped you like a hand around your throat. Someone with a mop of curly dark hair was sprinting towards Mulciber from the quidditch pitch, followed closely by another with longer, black hair, each wearing their scarlet uniforms. They were shouting, though you could hardly make out what they were saying. Their exchange of spells collided with one another like fireworks, bursting in blinding explosions. Mulciber was casting spell after spell, his onslaught unforgiving and messy as he dodged those thrown towards himself. A ways away, Sirius was putting up defensive spells, James’s lightning fast flicks of his wand able to permeate Mulciber’s constant barrage.

Practicing with him was one thing, though seeing James in action was another. His feet were firmly planted, though they still seemed feather light on the ground, taking steps to the side, moving backward and forward with sharp precision. His hand never had to move much, doing only what was totally necessary. There was no flare to it, no dramatics or theatrical displays of his talent. It was efficient, tight, and perfectly clean. It stood in stark contrast to Mulciber, who seemed to move in uncoordinated, unplanned hops and jumps, making it seem as though at any moment he could trip, leaving him vulnerable to James’s quick reflexes. Sirius had his own peculiarities, for he always took a half step back before casting a spell, thrusting forward as he waved his wand. It slowed him down slightly, though like James, he was far less sporadic than his opponent.

You were frozen for a moment, unable to get yourself to do anything but tread water and hold your wand despite your immense desire to help. Your eyes darted between James and Mulciber, James’s mouth thrashing as he continued to shout.

Swim, you idiot!

You swam without any degree of elegance towards the shore, your feet slipping on the mossy rocks as you clambered onto the bank, your bubble-head charm already reversed. You were panting, watching as they continued to duel, entirely unaware of your presence.

“Where is she?”

James’s voice was loud and seething, ringing clear now that you were far closer. His face twisted in rage, though his eyes never left Mulciber’s figure, piercing and hard. You realized now that they were going easy on him, allowing him to stay conscious out of fear they would be unable to find you unless he told them.

You scurried forward, nearly falling to your knees as you ran towards the duel. Still, no one noticed you, James bellowing again.

“Tell me!”

A roar erupted, booming like the screech of a dozen dragons calling out all at once. It seemed to roll over itself, moving outwards in waves, though it only lasted a few seconds. James and Sirius stumbled back as a burst of amazing, billowing flames erupted from Mulciber’s wand, swirling into the air in a gigantic puff. You felt the heat reach you, nearly forcing you to close your eyes and shield yourself against it. Still, you were unable to look away, mesmerized in utter horror as the inferno continued to grow in size, scorching the grass as it neared James and Sirius. It danced in the air, unruly and quaking with power. Mulciber almost seemed pushed back by his own wand, both of his hands gripping it as it whipped around, jerking him back and forth.

Suddenly, from within the flames rose a burning serpent, twisting upwards with no clear direction. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, the dashing, licking flames something out of only your darkest nightmares. The serpent's head aimed itself at James and Sirius, who each were on their feet again, furiously shielding themselves from the blaze. In a moment of panic you screamed, blood curdling and with all the pain you had ever felt.

“No!”

The serpent's head twisted again, its orange eyes finding yours. Its mouth opened to reveal fiery fangs, making a single, abrupt move to strike. You held up your wand, prepared to fight off the unknown enemy, though there was no need. As quickly as it came, the fire was gone, entirely taken from the world as if it had never existed. Beyond the blackened grass of the lawn like a shining pillar of bright, white light, Professor Dumbledore stood with his wand raised. Behind him, Professor McGonagall and Taurisus lingered with the same look of fright you likely wore.

Mulciber, whose eyes had been glaring at you when the serpent made its target, were ripped away as he turned to the Headmaster. His whole body shook as he lurched towards him, the breath ripping from your lungs.

“Avad—”

“Stupefy!”

Mulciber instantly fell to the ground in a heap as the beam of red light hit him, his wand rolling from his hand. All eyes fell onto you, gasping as your arm dropped down, your gaze still trained on Mulciber’s motionless body as if you expected him to wake.

You barely noticed James flying towards you until his arms pulled you into his chest, your name falling from his lips over and over, broken and wretched. You curled into him, dazed and in disbelief. The cut on your leg throbbed, though it was easy to ignore as James’s hands came to the side of your face, pulling away to meet your eyes. He was looking at you as if you were a ghost, the color all but drained from his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked, the words rushing from him so fast he was nearly indistinguishable. “What happened? What did he do? Are you hurt?”

You were shivering now, your clothes still soaked and your feet covered in mud. You opened your mouth to speak, though your words caught in your throat, only a small noise escaping. James ran a hand along your head, stopping at the top of your forehead.

“You’re bleeding,” he gasped, tender as he touched you.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you said, your mind still fuzzy.

He glanced down at your leg, another wave of worry washing over his expression.

“I barely feel it,” you said, your jaw quivering as you grabbed at his arms in an effort to get him to look at you again. All you wanted to see was his face, to know that he was really here, that he was safe, that he was yours. Your hands scrambled further up towards his shoulders when he finally obeyed, his glasses slightly askew where they had fallen on the bridge of his nose. You let out a delirious laugh, straightening them. “There,” you whispered.

“Mister Potter.”

The voice was even and of a low register; serious, though not unnerving. You each knew it quite well, James turning to see Dumbledore looking at you both. He stood beside Mulciber, his pale grey robes brushing the charred ground. Your classmate was still unconscious, his face smoothed of all its rageful lines, peaceful as if he were asleep. Binding his wrists were a pair of handcuffs, his wand nowhere in sight. Still in the place where you had last seen him, Sirius was standing, his eyes flickering up from the grass towards the pair of you, then to Dumbledore. He seemed as stunned as you were, his mouth ajar. He had a speckling of burn marks on the shoulder of his robe, exposing his jersey beneath. The same could be said for James, whose uniform looked worse for wear.

James put his arm around you, letting you put your weight on him as he kept you on your feet.

“Take Miss L/N to Madam Pomfrey’s at once,” said Dumbledore. “Mister Black, if you’d come with me.”

McGonagall scurried around him towards Mulciber, motioning for a silent, unmoving Taurisus to follow.

James turned to look at you, his eyes warm and worried. “Can you walk?”

You nodded, though you made no move to step out of his arms. His lips were pressed as his eyes darted back down to the cut on your leg, though he didn’t argue, leading you back across the lawn towards the castle. It was only then you noticed what seemed to be half of the Hogwarts student body gathered about two-hundred yards away by the main path, looking like a dark sea of bobbing heads. They did not speak in murmurs but at full volume, doing nothing to conceal their raging curiosity. You shrunk further into James, your legs like jelly beneath you.

Ahead, Dumbledore was taking long strides towards the masses, his arms stretched out like great wings.

“Return to your common rooms, everyone,” he bellowed, his tone so strict that no one dared defy his order.

In a renewed wave of chatter, the massive group rushed down the path towards the castle, save for five students shouting as they burst through the crowd. They looked like madmen, sprinting across the lawn towards Dumbledore as they continued to call out, though the Headmaster did nothing but drop his arms. Soon enough you recognized Remus’s wiry run and Lily’s copper hair, Dorcas still wearing her quidditch gear.

As they neared you made out what they were saying, mostly yours, James’s and Sirius’s names, with a few choice expletives from Dorcas when she got close enough to see the blackened earth and Mulciber, who to anyone else may have seemed dead. Remus got to you first, taken aback either by the sight of drying blood on your face or James’s total dishevelment, or maybe both.

“Bloody hell,” Peter said, coming to a stop not far in front of you. He stared at the ground, caught in the sight of it for a moment before looking at you and James.

“He’s not dead,” you croaked, your throat suddenly dry. Dorcas made a grunt as if this news was not ideal.

Lily was almost in tears as she rushed towards you, her hand coming up to touch your face, but stopping inches short. “Godric, what happened?”

“I’m all right, I’m all right,” you said to her, trying your best to calm her down, though it seemed impossible.

Marlene stared at you a moment before looking to Mulciber, her face contorted in loathing as she took a few hard steps towards him. Sirius caught her arm, not allowing her to shake him off.

“He’s in cuffs,” Sirius said under his breath, looking straight into her eyes. They stared at one another a moment, Marlene in a ruthless challenge and Sirius in a solemn warning. Eventually, Marlene took a deep breath, still glowering as she gave up the fight.

“Miss Meadowes,” Dumbledore said, his tone entirely calm.

Slowly, Dorcas looked to the Headmaster, swallowing nervously. He was an imposing figure on the lawn, devoid of his usual aura of gaiety.

“Did I not give you explicit instruction to stay inside the castle?” he asked, not seeming angry, but rather disappointed. Even though she wasn’t faced with the full force of his anger, it was still unsettling to be on the receiving end of Dumbledore’s displeasure, no matter how mild.

Dorcas’s shoulders dropped, her head dipping just a bit lower. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Dumbledore turned, his eyes piercing behind his half-moon glasses. “Mister Lupin, please ensure that all Gryffindor’s find their way back to the common room. Miss Evans, if you’d aid the prefects in the other houses do the same, it would be much appreciated.”

Lily, whose hand now rested upon your shoulder, turned to look at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times, though she never spoke. She gave you a pained, apologetic look, her hand falling from you in a sad, lazy motion.

“Mister Potter, to the Hospital Wing,” Dumbledore finished, his eyes meeting yours rather than James’s.

James brushed the side of your head, careful to not hurt you. “C’mon,” he muttered, his voice ginger and low.

Before Lily ran off with Remus she flicked her wand towards you, drying you off completely. Her smile was small and glum before she went to catch up with him, telling you all you needed to know. I’ll be back, I promise.

The rest of you walked at your hobbling pace towards the castle, even Dumbledore and Sirius, most of you still in a state of complete bewilderment. You found your eyes drifting to the Headmaster every so often, trying to search his expression for some recognition that you weren’t having some grand delusion, that you had not made the entire thing up in your head, though he revealed nothing.

The Entrance Hall was empty when you entered, save for a handful of professors who were not head of house. Sinistra appeared dumbfounded as she took in the sight of your group, her dark eyes widening as they fell onto your bloodied leg. Quattlebaum stood beside her, his countenance quite different from all the rest. His hands were clasped in front of him, his mouth straight, though not pressed. At first glance he appeared unconcerned, though under further scrutiny he seemed as though he was fully aware of every detail of the current situation at hand, knowing quite well that Mulciber had been detained and that your injuries were minor. How he could have been made aware, you did not know, though you hadn’t much time to think it over. Dumbledore told them to scour the castle for wayward students and to return them to their common rooms, then motioned for Sirius to follow him to his office.

“Do not worry, Mister Black,” Dumbeldore said, the faintest smile making its way beneath his greying beard. “You will see your friends quite soon.”

With a final look back, obviously wanting to do nothing more than stay with the rest of you, Sirius went with the Headmaster.

“Goodness, get inside— right this instant,” Madam Pomfrey said in a rushed, fussing voice as she met you in the corridor outside the Hospital Wing. She scrambled to your other side, though you held up your hand, refusing her help. Your right leg only had a slight limp, your head aching, though you were perfectly capable of making it inside, especially with James’s support. You told her as much, though she still placed her hand on your upper back as she led you through the heavy oak door.

“Just sit here, dear,” she said, bringing you to the nearest bed.

James stood by your side as you slowly moved to sit, the large windows behind you casting an outpouring of light into the room. Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter lingered around you as Pomfrey inspected the gash on your calf. She frowned, moving up to your face to do the same with the cut just above your forehead. Huffing, she turned to send a stony look at the others by the foot of your bed.

“I will permit you to stay for the time being, but only if you are not a hindrance,” she said, her voice strict.

You hissed, your face scrunching as you laid down fully onto the elevated mattress, your head beginning to pound harder. James nearly flew forward, his hand coming to hold yours, though he pulled away before you could touch when Pomfrey shot him a stern look. Your eyes closed, the sunlight becoming blinding.

“I’ll get something for your head once I get these wounds healed,” she said, pressing the tip of her wand to your forehead. You could feel the small cut closing, the sensation always strange no matter how many times it had been performed on you.

She did the same to the cut on your calf and scrapes on your palms, wordlessly using the wiping spell to rid you of all the dark burgundy blood and mud caked onto your skin and clothes. Already it felt better to be clean, though you could still use a long bath and a change of clothes, the smell of the lake still present despite the water having been leached.

“What happened to your shoes?” she asked.

“They’re in the lake.”

You could hear her sigh, though she did not comment. As soon as she walked away, James leaned towards you, both his hands enveloping yours. Your eyes fluttered open, unthinking of how his closeness may seem to Dorcas and Peter.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Fine,” he said, one of his hands coming to rub up your arm.

You turned to look at the others, all edgy and rather stunned. “Are you all—”

“Of course we are,” Dorcas said. “You’re the one who dueled him.”

A jolt of pain ran across your forehead when you looked back at James, squeezing your eyes shut with a wince. His thumb ran over your knuckles, holding you just a bit tighter.

“Moony says that Poppy’s headache draughts are top-notch.”

You could hear the small smile in his voice, making the corner of your tips twitch up. It fell soon after, the grave nature of the situation coming back to you. “Is Sirius all right?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” James answered softly.

The sound of Pomfrey’s office door opening sent James’s hand slipping from yours. She came around the corner carrying two small vials, handing one to you.

“Here, love, take this for your head.”

You sat up, take the vial and throwing it back like a shot of firewhiskey. It tasted faintly of foxglove, though it was otherwise unremarkable. You flopped back down after she took it back, hoping it would take effect sooner rather than later.

Pomfrey then applied dittany to the wound on your leg, giving you a pitying sort of frown when she was finished. “Would you like something to sleep?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your temple. “I’m all right. Thank you, though.”

She looked between the small audience crowding around your bed, surveying them intently. “It’s best you all return to your common room and come back later. I doubt Professor Dumbeldore wants any students running around the castle at a time like this.”

James’s face instantly morphed into a look of pure desperation, protests already coming from Dorcas.

“He saw us go with her. I’m sure he would have said something if he wasn’t okay with it!”

Pomfrey clicked her tongue, not taking any arguments. “Please, Miss Meadowes, return before I have to call Professor McGonagall to escort you.”

James moved to stand right beside your bed, his eyes flashing down to yours before returning to Pomfrey. “But—”

“No ifs, ands, or buts,” Pomfrey interrupted, more severe than before.

James all but crumpled in anguish, his countenance so distraught that he suddenly seemed more like a boy than a man. You tried to speak, though James rambled on before you could get a word in.

“But I’m her boyfriend,” he begged, his brows pinched as he stared at her, unwavering.

You glared up at James, but it appeared as though he hadn’t realized he’d even revealed your secret to two parties otherwise in the dark, too intensely focused on the immediate goal of staying with you.

Pomfrey looked as though she’d eaten a lemon, unspeaking for a few seconds as she examined his pleading expression with close scrutiny as if to see if he was lying. You couldn’t exactly blame her if she thought he was, for he hadn’t let the entire school forget when he was dating Lily.

“Just you, Mister Potter,” she said eventually, looking to the others. “The rest, back to your common room.”

Peter could do little to conceal his surprise, nearly gawking at the two of you before Marlene rolled her eyes, tugging on his arm. Dorcas appeared less astonished, her mouth opening as if something suddenly made sense to her. You supposed Marlene wasn’t exaggerating, Dorcas was onto you.

“We’ll see you later,” Marlene said kindly, nodding at your worried look. You knew she’d force the others not to tell, not until you could speak with Lily yourself. Dorcas you weren’t too worried about, Peter on the other hand…

Pomfrey followed them to the door, seeing them out. When you heard it shut your attention was placed solely on James. You were not particularly upset with him, for it was becoming excruciatingly exhausting to keep the burden to yourself. In a way it felt good to have two more people know, though you hated the idea of nearly everyone finding out before Lily, who by all rights should’ve been the first.

“Dear,” said Promfrey, peeking around the corner. “I’ve sent for some fresh clothes, since I’d like to keep you for the night. After they arrive you can wash up, if you’d like.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

In an act of kindness, Pomfrey then left you and James alone, slipping into her office.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, pulling up the chair to sit beside you. He grabbed your hand again, studying its shape as he played with your fingers.

“I don’t even care anymore,” you said with a humorless laugh, your head aching as you did. “But wouldn’t it have just been easier to come back later under the cloak?” you continued, speaking at a whisper.

“That's hours from now,” he said, as if he were speaking about months, or even years.

You smiled, though it was laced with fatigue and a small, though not inconsequential, dose of melancholy. “I was just about to tell her when Agnes came pounding on our door, hysterical, telling her that Peeves was throwing fizzybombs in the corridor. I was this close. This fucking close.”

“She can’t be angry with you now,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “You can tell her tomorrow.”

Your jaw trembled, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t want to tell her tomorrow. I want to tell her today, like I promised.”

You stared into your lap, the overwhelming nature of the day hitting you all at once. You weren’t simply crying over Lily, though that surely didn’t help your crumbling resolve. More things had happened within such a short span of time than should be possible. You weren’t even sure what time it was or how long your duel had lasted. You glanced down at your watch, seeing that it was just before the end of sixth period, not even an hour since you ran out of the castle.

“How long do you think they’ll keep everyone locked in their common rooms?” you asked, sniffling away all signs of your weeping. You hadn’t even let a tear fall, fearing that once you started, you may never stop.

You could tell James was racking his mind for ways to make things better, though he could come up with nothing. “I’m not sure. Probably just until dinner. Someone will be here to collect Mulciber soon, I’d imagine. He was alone, right?” he stopped, catching himself. “Don’t think about it now. We can talk about it all later.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m all right to. Mulciber was alone, though I did see Snape by the lake.” You continued quickly when you saw a flash of rage run through James’s eyes, “He didn’t do anything. He was by the trees, watching us, but then he ran away. He seemed frightened more than anything.”

James’s jaw was still clenched, the tendons in his neck tight and straining. “I should tell Poppy,” he said, rising from his chair. “Dumbledore would want to know.”

You let your hand slip out of his grasp, watching as he walked to Pomfrey’s office, knocking on the doorframe before he entered. You couldn’t make out the majority of their exchange, only catching the soft, “Oh, yes. Stay here, Mister Potter,” from Pomfrey before you heard the small puff from the floo. James returned, sitting back down with a lagging, weary walk.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to sleep?” he asked, clearly hoping you’d say yes.

“No,” you said, blinking away the blurriness in your eyes. “My heads a bit better now, anyway. I want you to tell me what happened. How did you and Sirius know what was going on? And Dorcas—”

“Saw it from the pitch,” he answered, the reminder of the incident sinking him back into misery. “You didn’t see us?”

You furrowed your brows. “No. Did you fly down?”

He nodded. “I sent Dorcas to get help and made the rest of the team stay in the locker rooms. Merlin— they might still be there for all I know.”

“I’m sure they came out once they heard Dumbledore. The whole school probably heard him,” you paused, going over the events again. “Why didn’t you see me jump into the lake?”

“You must’ve done it right when I was bossing everyone around,” he said with a morose smile. “I was— Godric— it was just instinct. I was fucking mad. I thought, I nearly thought,” he faltered, clearing his throat as he stared down at your hands again, now entwined.

“James,” you breathed, the crushing weight of your affection falling down upon you, colliding with the lingering dread of Mulciber’s blazing eyes as they stared at you from above. You felt too full, bursting with contradictory emotions that did not compliment the other. You were swelling with pride over James’s skill and your own miraculous final defeat of your classmate, tormented over the way he and Sirius had been so close to death, all for your own safety, still scared to the very core of your being— and most of all, consumed by love.

You reached up, weaving your hands into his hair to bring his face to yours, your other touching his cheek as you leaned forward to crash your lips against his. At first he was taken off guard by your plea, slower than you to drift into your ardent rhythm. He sank into it soon enough, letting you lead him to whatever you felt, riding your unruly current. Thank you, thank you, I love you, you said, your hands keeping his face as near to yours as possible, his nose pressing against your cheek. Never say thank you, you are all I want, he answered, over and over.

He ripped away suddenly with a shaking breath, his head whipping around to look at the entrance. You followed his gaze, your face running hot with horror when you met a pair of green eyes staring at you from the doorway, wide and fixed on your embrace.

Notes: ahhhhh can't believe we're here! thank you all for reading and sticking with me, I'll see you in the next chapter <3 xoxo

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sunflowersonatas · 3 days ago

Note

Hey love! I am absolutely in LOVE with your smut, so obviously I am here to request some smut

James Potter x female reader where James won a quidditch match and the reader gives him a reward.

It can be as kinky and dark aa you want. Probably sub!James, who is whiny and whimpering asf? Only if you want. Feel uncomfortable? Please feel free to reject it.

GOLD STAR: request

james potter x f!reader / SMUTTT / sub!james / oral m + unprotected piv / edging + orgasm denial / praise kink

warnings: 18+ only. minors dni!! cw: dom!reader, sub!james, oral (m receiving), edging, orgasm denial, PRAISE kink, light degradation (“good boy” / obedience), crying (do i have a thing for that? hm...), overstimulation (hmmm....), light cockwarming, a little bit of breath play, reader controls everything. tell me if i missed anything pls haha

summary: He plays hard on the pitch. You make him work even harder for his reward. Gryffindor’s golden boy learns what it means to earn his gold stars. (aka you edge James until he’s sobbing and clinging to the bench.)

a/n: heyyyyy...... so uh, this one lowkey got away from me. so happy to get a request y'all i don't bite!! more than happy to bring your scenario to life <33 i wrote this in one single night, just me and my laptop. hope this is good, think i went a bit overboard, but i also think that's allowed. enjoyyyy xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 3233

Most of Gryffindor’s Quidditch matches this year have been predictable, often ending in overwhelming victories—and today’s game appears no different.

James is the arrogant, cocky leader of the Gryffindor team, zipping through the air as if there's nothing more important to him than feeling the wind on his face, and getting the Quaffle through Slytherin's post. He glides effortlessly past their Keeper, tossing the ball through, catching it on the other side. Flashes a charming grin to the stands, cheering raucously as the announcer updates the score.

If only they could see him behind closed doors.

The moment the Snitch is caught, you're rushing to find him, already feeling sticky between your thighs. Each step is agonizing, your panties only causing more devastating friction. You should've gone without them, after all.

The corridor to the changing rooms is chaotic—players rushing in and out, towels slung over shoulders, laughter echoing off the stone. But through the noise, you spot him. Hair windswept, jersey sticking to his chest, cheeks still flushed from adrenaline.

James.

He’s radiant, gleaming with sweat and pride. A teammate claps him on the back, and he turns toward the motion—just in time to catch your eye. At first, he doesn’t seem to register it. Then, he does a double take, recognition blooming into something electric across his face. His grin grows, bright and boyish.

He breaks from the group immediately, weaving toward you, mouth already curled in that familiar, cocky grin. Strands of hair cling to his forehead, shiny with sweat. He's still in his jersey, hanging loosely from his shoulders with the confidence only a star player would hold.

You're sure your panties are thoroughly soaked.

“Did you see me out there?” he asks, breathless. “Tell me you saw that last goal—I was so good.”

You chuckle, stepping closer, dropping your voice to something low and honeyed.

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing a hand over his chest. “Good boy.”

He beams. So smug, so pleased with himself—utterly unaware of what’s coming.

You lean in, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Come with me.”

He blinks. “What—now?”

You grab his wrist. “Now.”

He gulps, but makes no further effort to protest. He follows as you pull him past the changing room, away from the noise and movement, deeper into the quiet corridors that few venture into after a match. You’re searching for privacy.

The realization makes him smirk, barely suppressing a laugh as you tug him along. His steps quicken to match yours.

It's not long before you arrive at the storage room: mostly dusty spare brooms and worn out jerseys, outdated trophies that have lost their gleam. A desk and a narrow bench. And most importantly: a door that locks.

You’ve brought him here before. No one ever asks why. Maybe they think you're possessive of Gryffindor's golden boy. Maybe they're right.

You close the door behind you, turning the lock with a soft click that seems to echo.

Silence descends, dense and loaded. The air shifts. Still warm with the remnants of adrenaline and triumph.

James stands a few paces away, rosy from exertion, panting lightly. His hair is mussed from the match, cheeks still tinged pink. He runs a hand through his curls, eyes fixed on you—wide, expectant. He’s practically vibrating with anticipation, and yet he waits. For instruction. For permission.

You don’t speak. Not yet. Instead, you study him. Thoroughly.

Your gaze drags over the clinging fabric of his jersey, the way it hugs his chest, the subtle rippling of muscle beneath. Your eyes travel down to his thighs—broad, flexed, pushing against the tight seam of his shorts. His breathing is still uneven, like he hasn’t quite come down from the high of the game.

He shifts under your scrutiny, clearly affected.

“What?” he asks, voice smaller now. Tentative.

You step forward, slow and deliberate, until you're close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

"You did so well today," you say softly, your tone rich with praise. Your hand glides up his chest, slow and possessive, fingertips brushing his collarbone. You toy with the edge of his jersey. "So good. So impressive."

He swallows thickly.

Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently until his head tilts back. His lips part automatically, eyes heavy-lidded.

"You want your reward, don’t you?"

"Yes," he breathes, voice barely holding together. It’s immediate. Raw.

You smile, indulgent and dangerous. "Then be a good boy for me."

Your fingers tug at the hem of his jersey, slow and deliberate, peeling it upward inch by inch just to watch him squirm. His skin is nearly burning and damp with sweat, muscles still taut and humming with post-match energy. When you finally drag the fabric over his head and discard it, he’s already panting harder, chest rising and falling beneath your gaze.

Your hands slip lower, ghosting over his abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his trousers. Your knuckles brush against the hard, unmistakable outline of his cock straining through the fabric, and he gasps—sharp and involuntary.

"So hard already," you murmur, tone dipped in amusement. "You really are desperate for it, aren’t you?"

"Please," James chokes, voice already wrecked, completely hoarse. His hips jerk upward, a silent plea for friction. "Please touch me, I—I need—"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Ah, ah. You’ll take what I give you. Nothing more."

His eyes flutter shut. He nods, shivering.

You sink to your knees in front of him, and his breath catches audibly in his throat.

"You were so good in the game today," you say softly, your fingers sliding into his waistband, tugging everything down in one slow motion until he’s bare in front of you—his cock flushed, glistening, twitching with need.

“Don’t you still want your reward?”

James nods quickly, bordering on frantic, his hands clenching at his sides like he’s trying to keep from reaching for you again. He looks utterly ruined already, eyes glassy, lips parted. Just from your voice, the anticipation. You haven’t even touched him yet.

Right when he thinks you’re finally about to lick him, send him straight to heaven— you lean in and gently blow a stream of air over the tip of his pulsing cock.

It bounces.

He can't help himself, he reaches down to wind a hand in your hair, attempting to pull you closer to him, get some sort of contact. You jerk back, tutting him with a disappointed look.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

He shakes his head slowly, still reeling from the sensation, or lack thereof, to his dribbling cock. "N-no."

"No what?"

"No, ma'am."

You smile then—sweet, proud, and just a little cruel—as you pat his thigh.

"Good boy. Now, keep your hands to yourself, unless you want to lose your reward entirely."

He nods again, holding more restraint this time. Obedient. Blushing. Trembling.

Exactly how you like him.

You lean in again, slower this time, watching him carefully. He stays frozen—tense but subservient, hands gripping the edge of the bench like the wood might anchor him. You can see how badly he wants to move, to touch, to beg. Every muscle is straining with restraint.

You press the softest kiss to the pinkened head of his cock.

He gasps—sharp and broken, as if somehow it physically pains him to be handled so gently.

"That's it," you murmur, placing another kiss to the sensitive underside of the tip. "Good boy. See? You're learning."

You start slow. Featherlight kisses down the length of him, tongue barely flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. He groans, low and desperate, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud.

"Fuck—please—"

You hush him with a gentle hum, licking a slow stripe up the underside. His thighs tighten beneath you, visibly shaking with strain.

"You get this because you listened," you say softly, lips brushing his tip again. "You earned it."

Then you take him into your mouth. Just the head. Slowly, deliberately.

His whole body jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

You hum around him, tongue swirling over the tip in lazy, practiced circles. Your hands stay firm on his thighs, keeping him grounded while you work him, unhurried.

He's panting now, each breath a shaky moan, soft and near-constant. You wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it—if he knows how loud he’s being.

You're only getting started.

Just when he’s starting to settle, starting to melt into the rhythm, his grip on the bench turning white-knuckled—you pull off.

The wet popping sound is obscene. It leaves him stunned, gasping, his head snapping forward like he might chase your mouth on instinct.

“W-why did you stop?” he pants, voice cracking.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let your lips hover just above his cock, close enough to feel the heat radiating from it. It pulses—angry, leaking, dark with arousal. You bring your mouth gently to the tip again, not to kiss, but to gather a bit of the pearly mess coating him onto your lips.

James whimpers at the sight.

You sit back on your heels, slowly licking your lips as you hold his gaze. Make sure he sees it. Sees what he’s done to you.

"You're making such a mess," you murmur, tone laced with condescension and delight. "And I’ve barely even touched you."

He looks like he might fall apart right there. Every inch of him is straining. Vibrating. Ready to break.

You lean in again, just close enough to let your breath fan over his cock.

"Still want your reward, baby?"

He nods so fast it’s almost painful to watch.

You smile—patient, dangerous, devastating. "Then keep being good for me. We’re not even close to done."

You wrap your lips around him again, this time sinking lower, letting more of him slide over your tongue. His reaction is immediate—a broken, helpless cry that leaves his throat like he’s been split open. You feel the sharp twitch of his cock against your palate, taste the pulse of his need against your tongue.

Your hands stay steady on his thighs, grounding him, keeping him still as you set a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each flick of your tongue, each glide of your lips, is calculated cruelty—meant to unravel him one breath at a time.

His voice dissolves into indiscernible sound. Garbled gasps. Whispered curses. Sweet, breathless pleas that sound like prayer.

"Fuck—please, I can't—I need to—oh my god, please—"

You hum softly in response, sucking him just a little deeper, letting him feel the heat and slickness of your mouth like a promise.

"So close," he whimpers. His voice cracks. "Please, please, I'm so close—oh, please—"

And then you pull off again.

The sound he makes is high and wrecked. Not loud—but sharp. Strangled. Devastated.

Tears well in his eyes. His cock stands painfully hard and needy in front of you, quivering with each breath—glistening with spit and pre-cum. He’s leaking steadily now, the head dark and sensitive, the ache in his body visible.

You give him a moment—let him shiver, let him process the absence of your mouth, let the denial sink all the way in.

Then you lean in and press a soft, tender kiss to his hipbone.

"You’ll wait for me," you murmur, voice low, steady, certain. "You're not allowed to cum until I do. Understood?"

He nods frantically, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

"Yes, ma'am. Yes. I'll wait. I'll be good."

You smile. Not sweet. Not cruel. Just proud.

"That's my good boy, Jamie."

Still on your knees, you rise slowly, deliberately, and press a soft kiss to the inside of his trembling thigh. His breath hitches.

"Lie back for me," you instruct, your voice low and sultry, nodding toward the narrow bench behind him. "Nice and slow."

He obeys immediately, though his limbs shake with effort. The bench creaks under his weight as he reclines, eyes wide and glassy as they track your every movement. He’s helpless beneath you, and he knows it.

You mount him slowly, deliberately, swinging one leg over his hips and settling with practiced grace. Your hands find his chest—burning with residual adrenaline—his muscles taut and flexing beneath your palms. You press him down with quiet command.

"Keep still. No touching."

He nods, breathless.

Reaching between your thighs, you guide him into place. The head of his cock nudging gently against your entrance nearly robs you of your composure. You’re soaked—have been since the match ended—and the heat of him pressed against you sends a fresh wave of hunger rippling through your body.

You resist the urge to take him in all at once. As much as your body craves to ride him hard and fast—to grind out your satisfaction and take what’s yours—this isn’t about indulgence.

It’s about discipline.

So you take your time. Torturously slow, inch by inch, watching the tension contort his face as he unravels beneath you.

His mouth falls open in a silent gasp. His fingers clutch the bench as though anchoring himself to reality. His chest rises in rapid, uneven breaths.

"Oh my god—please—I can't—please, it's too much—"

You silence him with a gentle touch, one palm flat against his chest. Lightly, yet effectively, pinning him down. He wouldn’t dare try and move against you.

"You can," you whisper. "You're going to."

Finally, you settle fully onto him, taking him to the hilt, enveloping him in your warmth. You remain there, unmoving, clenching softly around him.

James lets a choked, strangled sound, his hips twitching involuntarily, desperate for motion you refuse to give.

"You feel that, Jamie?" you murmur, saccharine and commanding. "How warm and wet I am around you? How good it feels to be buried inside me?"

He nods frantically, more tears streaking down his rosy cheeks.

"You're not allowed to cum," you repeat, voice velveted steel. "That's not an option."

He whimpers, trembling, but nods again, obedient through the tears. Completely at your mercy.

You pause to breathe through the stretch, the burn, the exquisite fullness that leaves you struggling to hold yourself together above him. He fits perfectly inside you, the pressure of him pressing against that sensitive, aching place deep within. You know that if you let yourself move too quickly, it will end far too soon—for both of you.

So you begin slowly. No thrusts. Just the lazy, deliberate grind of your hips, those subtle micro-movements that drag him internally against your g-spot with agonizing precision. It's not for him. Not yet. This is yours.

James moans beneath you—loud, cracked open, undone. His thighs tense with effort, with restraint, with the overload of sensation he’s barely managing to endure.

You keep one hand planted firmly on his chest, grounding yourself as much as him. Your breathing is quickening now, your body lighting up with every careful roll of your hips. It’s steady and slow and devastating. It feels impossibly good.

Your eyes flutter shut. Your head tips back.

"Fuck—Jamie—right there," you breathe, more of a gasp than a command. It slips out without thought, without mercy.

He sobs. A real one. Body wracked, voice high and strained.

"Please—I can't—I need to cum, please—I'm trying so hard, but it feels so good—"

You open your eyes and look down at him, smiling with something like affection. Your fingers trace along his burning red cheek, gentle in contrast to the control still laced in your voice.

"You're doing so well," you murmur. "But you're not allowed to cum. Not yet. You’ll wait for me to give you permission."

He whimpers again, nodding through the tears, cock pulsating helplessly inside you.

And still—you grind. Slow. Deep. Precise. Keeping him pinned right where he’s falling apart, letting the friction crest in you, letting the ache sharpen.

You’re getting closer. Each breath more ragged, every movement more charged.

James is incoherent beneath you, reduced to whines and broken pleas. His voice slips higher, cracked and desperate.

"Oh fuck—feels so good—can't even think—"

You hum, adjusting your rhythm just slightly—slower, deeper, crueler.

"I can't—I can't breathe, you're so tight—oh my god, you feel amazing—I can't, I'm gonna—I can't—"

His hands hover uselessly at his sides, twitching like he’s fighting the instinct to grab, to cling, to hold onto something—anything—before he shatters completely.

You press your hand to his chest again, holding him down, grounding him.

"You can," you whisper, voice soft but firm. "You're going to hold it. You're going to be good for me."

Another heavy sob shakes out of him. His entire body shudders.

"I am... I am good—I’m trying—"

You smile again, this time with heat curling low in your belly as the tension in you coils tighter, closer.

"I know you are, Jamie. Just a little longer—shit—"

Your rhythm gets tighter, more focused—little, desperate rolls of your hips that grind him deep against that aching spot inside you. It builds fast now, all fire and pressure, and when your orgasm crests, your body spasming as you clamp down around him—

He cums.

It’s instant. His body had been holding out as long as it could, teetering on the edge without permission—until your orgasm pulled him over with it, helpless and unallowed. He spills into you with a cracked, high-pitched moan, hips jerking helplessly as he lets go completely. It’s hot and sudden and so much, and you feel every pulse of it as he floods you, thick and overwhelming, the warmth of it making you shudder—tightening around him all over again from the sheer, devastating sensation of it.

It's messy. Complete. Perfect.

You don’t stop right away. You ride it out, savoring the aftershocks, each one tugging a new whimper from his lips as his hands finally—finally—find your hips, clinging like he might drown without you.

When you finally slow, you’re both panting, sweaty, trembling, fucked-out. The kind of exhaustion that hums in your limbs, warm and dizzying, the aftermath of shared ruin.

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his temple—lips lingering, breath still uneven against his damp skin. You shift, easing your weight off him just enough to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb beneath one damp lash where his tears have started to dry. He’s barely holding on, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, completely surrendered.

"You were such a good boy," you murmur, your voice thick with warmth and satisfaction. Your hand glides to his chest, fingers stroking gently over his skin. You can feel his heart hammering wildly beneath your palm—like he’s still caught in that suspended moment between heaven and collapse.

You let the praise settle over him like silk. Heavy. Sweet.

When his breath catches again, you hush him—soft and instinctive, your thumb still stroking his cheek.

"Shhh. You’re okay. I’ve got you."

His lashes flutter. He exhales a sound between a whine and a sigh, sinking deeper into the bench, like he might dissolve entirely if you stopped touching him.

Then, after a long moment of silence, you speak again:

"You didn’t ask for permission."

His breath catches again, sharper this time. His gaze flicks to yours—glassy, wide, guilt pooling in the corners of his eyes.

You smile. Slow. Syrupy. Dangerous. You lean in until your nose brushes the edge of his cheek.

"You know what that means, don’t you?"

He nods. Barely. A ghost of motion.

You drag your nails down his chest—not hard, but slow enough to make him flinch, to remind him who he belongs to.

Your voice stays soft, almost tender.

"You’ll be punished for that."

☀️🌻 masterlist

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 20 days ago

Text

I Hate It Here | J.P.

feat James Potter x animagus!reader

SUMMARY: As a bat animagus, you're used to spending time alone: a creature of the night that prefers quiet solitude over the bustle of Hogwarts life. But when one James Potter charges into your life, you start to wonder why you hated daylight so much in the first place.

CW: MDNI 18+, FLUFFFF (James is down so bad), multi-pov, injuries and blood, shy!reader, protective!James, fighting and mentions of reader being bullied, light angst, HEA

AN: bats and deer are known to be close collaborators in the wild, with bats helping keep insects away from the deer, and the deer making it easy for the bats to find food. inspired by “I Hate It Here” from Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department.

masterlist

James’ POV

“Pads, what the fuck!” James shifted back into his human form, scrambling to drag Padfoot out of the massive blackberry bushes he’d launched himself into. The run had been quiet, almost peaceful, just the two of them out for a moonlight romp to blow off some steam from the day.

Then, of course, Sirius buggered that right up.

Padfoot yipped and whined, the thorns pulling at his onyx fur, and flopped onto the ground beside it with a dramatic grunt. He quickly shifted back into a disgruntled Sirius, checking over himself for injuries.

“I didn’t know they were like…pointy!” Sirius huffed, relaxing when he realized he only had a few shallow scrapes. “Just wanted a fucking snack—”

“Of course they are—what is that?” A high-pitched clicking sound interrupted them. James crouched down, peering into the thicket of brambles and ripe, midnight purple fruit.

Something tiny and velveteen was trembling in a knot of thorns, it’s squeaks of discomfort barely audible. A wing fluttered out, delicate and leathery, a bead of carmine dripping from a hole pierced clean through the taught flesh.

A wee bat was caught in the brambles.

“Shit,” James cursed, tugging his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and shoving his arm socket-deep into the loathsome bush.

“What are you—”

“It’s alright, I’ve got ya’—please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me.” James wrapped his hand as gently as he could around the little bat’s body, feeling it’s heart fluttering rapidly in it’s chest. “Okay, there we go. I’m just gonna—fuck, ow, sodding thorns.” James brought the critter out as carefully as he could, making a concerted effort to keep his fist lax despite the thorns snagging his sleeve and jabbing into his forearm.

Once he had it completely removed from the bush, he slowly uncurled his fingers. The bat lurched upwards, flapping it’s tattered wings once, twice, then plummeted. James dove forward, catching the little thing just before it crashed to the ground, and cradled it safely back to his chest.

“Is that a bat?” Sirius asked, stepping closer.

“Must’ve been eating some fruit,” James muttered to himself, peeking open his fingers to peer at it. It blinked at him, eyes wide and dark as obsidian, the grayish fur of it’s snout stained with blackberry juice. It was trembling terribly, heart going a million miles a minute, and James knew he couldn't just leave it here.

Sirius looked stricken. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” he stroked a finger across the wing draped over James’ knuckles and the bat writhed in his hand, clicking disdainfully.

“Should we take it to Hagrid?” James asked, wincing when it’s thumb claw scratched across his inner wrist, uselessly trying to flap the injured appendage. Poor little thing.

“Poppy, probably. Hagrid’ll squish it.”

“Good point. Grab my scarf, will ya’?” Sirius tossed him his scarf from their belongings and James wrapped it as best he could around the creature, effectively immobilizing it, tiny head poking out from the top of the bundle.

“S’kinda cute,” Sirius said, leaning closer.

The bat loosed a vicious hiss, and he recoiled.

“Nevermind, christ.”

As quickly as they could, they hurried to the infirmary, the swaddled bat tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest.

“Boys! What one earth—” Madam Pomfry rushed to greet them at the door, probably expecting the worst given their history. “What’s that?”

“It got caught in a blackberry bush, tore up it’s wings…” he carefully unfolded the blanket, expecting the bat to try and fly away again, but it seemed to have exhausted itself, lying limply in his hands, breathing hard.

“Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfry tutted, taking the bat from him and setting it onto an examination table. “You poor thing.”

“It’s actually a bat,” Sirius joked, and she swatted him as she rushed past to grab some supplies.

“Have you nothing better to do?” Madam Pomfry bit, returning with a tincture and some stitching supplies.

“You know what, Poppy, I actually do. C’mon James, I bet the kitchens still open—”

“I’m going to stay—if that’s alright,” he said, glancing at Madam Pomfry. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”

“Suit yourself. Stay gorgeous, Pop!” Sirius blew her a kiss before making a swift exit.

Madam Pomfry began cleaning the scratches and tears along it’s wings and soft belly, and James was shocked to see how docile the bat had become. Relaxed even when Madam Pomfry lifted it into her hand to place a clean towel underneath it.

It was rather cute, almost puppy-like as it blinked up at him, nose twitching from the strong scent of the tincture, ears flicking this way and that.

“Dearie, I think it would be best if you changed back,” Madam Pomfry said gently, stroking the bats head.

James looked down at himself, confused. “To a deer?”

Suddenly, there was a flash of magic, one James knew all too well, and then there was a girl sitting where the bat was moments before, his scarf draped around her neck.

He reared back, stunned that not only was the bat an animagus, but an animagus he knew.

“Y/n?” He gawked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Potter,” you replied.

“You-you’re—you’re a bat?”

“And you’re a genius.”

He blinked at you, completely dumbfounded. A bat tracked, he supposed. You were quiet, a loner. He couldn’t remember ever seeing you with more than a friend or two, and you’d never attended a party. Really, he only ever saw you in his afternoon Charms class and in the library in the evenings. You hardly ever spoke, wrapped up in your own world.

He always had the distinct impression that you hated people, and now, staring down the barrel of your glare, he was certain of it. But saints, you were gorgeous. Death glare and all.

It then occurred to him that he’d had his entire hand wrapped around you not even ten minutes prior, and went hot under his collar.

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss for words, but here he was, staring slack-jawed like a complete idiot.

“Perhaps you should thank him for saving your from that bush,” Madam Pomfry prodded gently, taking your arm to examine the gashes riddled there.

“Wouldn’t have been an issue if he kept a leash on his dog,” you bit.

James winced, guilt curdling in his stomach even though there was nothing he could have done to stop Sirius. The cuts on your arms looked bad, a deep and angry red, dried blood mixing with the purple stains on your skin.

How could he make this right?

Reader POV

You fought to hold your glare, but the pained look in James’ eye was rapidly unraveling your resolve. Of course it was James fucking Potter that found you. The golden head boy of Gryffindor, in all his infuriatingly handsome and tender-hearted glory, saved your dumbass from crucifixion-by-blackberries.

You’d almost rather be crucified than sit there for another second. The lights in the infirmary were too bright, the space too open, too sterile.

Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else tonight? If you had ever believed in good luck, you certainly wouldn’t believe in it now.

“Thank you, James,” you acquiesced, unable to mask the bitterness in your tone.

James smiled at you despite your tone, because he never stopped fucking smiling. “Thank you for not biting me,” he said, looking down at his palm—still stained with blood. Your blood. Because he had his hand wrapped around you. His giant, deliciously warm hand holding you ever so gently…

“Ow!”

“Sorry, dear. Just a few more,” Madam Pomfry soothed, having made the first stitch while you were distracted. Distracted by James fucking Potter.

You needed to get a grip. Him saving you doesn’t change anything. Sure, you would have been forced to stay there for eternity, or skewer yourself shifting back. But he was still James Potter, the embodiment of everything you despised most.

You hated Hogwarts, hated the crowded halls and musty rooms and catty students. You hated the classes, which either moved too slow or too fast. You hated the professors, with all their snobbery and favoritism.

Thus, you hated James. Because he not only loved the school, but the school loved him back.

Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. No more morning classes, no more roommates, no more James fucking Potter.

James seemed to sense your discomfort, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Are you alright, though? Really?”

“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a headache blooming behind your eyes so sharply it rivaled the stitches you were receiving. You squeezed your eyes shut. Merlin, it’s too fucking bright.

You tried desperately to disappear into your mind, that secret garden where it was always midnight, always dark and quiet and safe, and escape for a little while.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” James said, sounding almost forlorn. Unsure in a way that was so unlike him, it made you open your eyes again. He shuffled on his feet, running a hand through his unruly black hair. “See you in Charms, then?”

You nodded, and he left without another word, glancing back at you a final time before the door swung shut behind him.

“James is a good lad,” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a pointed look. “Would do you well to let him in a little bit.”

You shrugged, and closed your eyes once more.

It wasn’t until you’d been patched up and sent on your way that your realized you still had his scarf wrapped around your neck, the smell of him, sun-dried laundry and cedar, lingering in your nose. You tucked it into the bottom of your trunk, telling yourself you’d take it to the be cleaned tomorrow morning.

The following afternoon…

You were dreading Charms, dragging your feet as you walked down the final corridor. You’d slept most of the day, your schedule being mostly afternoon classes, and the last thing you wanted to do was socialize.

Not that anyone talked to you, but still. Just being around other people was draining. Not to mention, James would be one of those people.

And sure enough, when you made your way into the classroom, you found James sitting next to your usual spot in the back corner, chatting animatedly with his friend Remus. The only one of his friends you found somewhat tolerable.

Of course, every other seat was taken.

James was dressed in his usual Gryffindor attire, a sweater vest and loosely done tie, white sleeves pushed up to show off the thickness of his sun-kissed forearms. Black slacks hugged his toned legs. Really, all of his clothes seemed just a fraction too tight over his Herculean build—saint’s sake you needed to get a hold of yourself. You were not interested in James Potter.

“There you are!” James chirped, and you groaned inwardly. You noticed the other students murmuring to themselves, wondering why James had taken an interest in you of all people, but James seemed oblivious to it. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling out your chair for you as you approached.

“I’m fine, a little sore,” you said, dropping into your seat and rummaging through your bag to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Goldenrod helps,” Remus said, giving you sympathetic look. “And chocolate.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, setting your books on the desk, and Remus shrugged, bidding you both farewell before walking back to the boys usual spot by the sunlit windows. It made your preferred corner look like a cave in comparison.

Flitwick dove into the lecture before James could ask anything else, to your profound relief.

But then—“I brought you these,” James whispered, sliding a tin across the table and under your nose. He seemed almost…nervous? “They’re, ah—they’re blackberry scones.”

Oh, no. You felt your heart swell in real time as you reached for the lid, a current of electricity flying through you when your fingers accidentally grazed his. “Why would you—”

“Ms. y/l/n!” Flitwick scolded. “Pay attention!”

You quickly pushed the tin away, heat scorching your cheeks. “Sorry, sir,” you squeaked, ducking your head back down to your notes. When the lecture resumed, you shot James a rueful glare.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They might be rubbish, I’ve never really baked before.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real life? James fucking Potter baked you scones? “James, you shouldn’t have—”

“I wanted to, as an apology for last night.”

“You don't have to apologize. I’d rather just forget it, honestly,” you admitted.

“Oh.” A flicker of hurt passed through his expression as he looked down, and you immediately regretted your blunt words.

You really were terrible in these situations, sucking the fun out of the room like a blackhole.

“Well, I’m glad to have properly met you,” he said after a beat, flashing you a toothy smile, dispersing the tension as quickly as it came.

You stared at him, perplexed. Your attitude had rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back. “Uh, thanks,” you said, painfully awkward, and stuck your nose into your book.

James’ POV

His palms were sweating, why the fuck were his palms sweating? And he couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair. And he wanted to keep talking, merlin, he felt like he could talk your ear off, but he held his tongue.

Talking to him seemed like the last thing you wanted to do, so he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy you further.

You practically ran from him when class ended, and now, he was racking his brain for something he could have done to make you dislike him so much while sitting at dinner in the Great Hall.

There was something different about you, a depth in your eyes that piqued his interest. He was so used to people fawning all over him, tripping over themselves to talk to him, but you couldn't care less about who he was.

If anything, you seemed to like him less because of who he was. Which as driving him a little bit mad.

“You reckon he’s still thinking about that bat girl?” Peter muttered to Remus.

“Oh, absolutely. He was up at 5 a.m. baking,” Remus chuckled. “Spent the entirety of Charms today practically drooling all over her.”

“That's pathetic,” Marlene tittered, and it was enough to draw James out of his head.

“Fuck off, ‘Kinnon,” he said, flicking a chip at her.

“What's the obsession, anyways?” Sirius asked, his feet kicked up on the table, twirling his wand in his fingers. “It's not like you smashed her into a thorn bush.”

“No, I believe that was you,” James bit, avoiding the question, an ember of irritation flaring in his chest. He wasn't obsessed. Just…intrigued. “Have you even apologized?”

“To her human face? No,” Sirius said, looking a bit guilty. Then, he stood up on the bench, sweeping his gray eyes across the Great Hall. “I don't see her.”

“She's not here,” James grumbled, sounding more petulant than he probably should.

“She eats in the library,” Lily supplied.

James whirled around to face her. “How do you know that?”

“Because I pay attention to other people, you git.”

“C’mon, then. I have wrongs to right.” Sirius hopped down and grabbed his bag. James was already on his feet.

“You really shouldn't!” Lily called after them, but they were gone, Great Hall doors swinging shut behind them.

As they neared the library, James felt his skin start to heat, palms going clammy as his heart beat faster and faster. When they reached the doors, James nearly changed his mind, almost told Sirius they should just return to the Great Hall and leave you be, but his friend was on a mission.

Sirius pushed open the doors, startling the dozen students milling around at the front. “Any of you lot seen y/n?”

James felt his lungs shrivel in his chest. This was going to go badly, he could feel it.

“Padfoot,” he chastised.

“She's always back by the Forbidden Section,” a Ravenclaw offered.

“Cheers!” Sirius grabbed James by the elbow and dragged him through the crowd that had gathered and towards the Forbidden Section.

James had never felt so conspicuous in his life, and it made his skin crawl with aversion. Normally, he loved nothing more than being the center of attention, but he didn't want you to see him like that.

They rounded a corner, entering the darker, quieter part of the library, and sure enough, there you were. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair under a single, low-burning lantern, a book open in your lap and a scone in your hand.

You brought it to your lips, nibbling on the edge while your eyes drifted over the page, focused intently on whatever you were reading.

James had the strange realization that he'd very much like to be scone right about now, and felt his cheeks warm for the upteenth time that day. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the image from his mind.

“There she is!” Sirius called, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Though you quickly masked your surprise with irritation, lips pulling down into an adorable frown.

“Were you looking for me?” You asked, eyes flitting to James before quickly averting.

“We were, doll.” Sirius sauntered up to you, dropping onto his knees in front of your chair. You looked like you couldn’t decide whether to shift and fly away, or kick him in the teeth.

“Sorry to bother you,” James said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. “Lily said you'd be here.”

“What, um, why exactly were you looking for me?” Your looked back and forth between the two of them, a small furrow forming between your brows, fidgeting in your seat.

“Prongs here was gracious enough to remind me that I hadn't properly apologized for hurting you.” Sirius patted James’ knee. “So, I am sincerely and deeply apologetic for body slamming you into an evil, evil bush.Can you ever forgive my inelegance?”

Your eyes widened, the color of you irises richer, more captivating in the low light.

Fuck, he was staring again.

“It's, uh—it’s okay, Sirius,” you said, glancing up at James again with a look he immediately recognized: help me.

Maybe you didn't hate him so much after all.

“Alright, mutt. You apologized, back off of her,” James said, sticking out his leg to push Sirius back a step. Your eyes melted with gratitude, and James’ heart lost its rhythm, beating slower as something foreign and liquor-sweet flowed through him.

“I vow to be more careful in my pursuit of late-night snacks.” Sirius stood up, crossing his heart.

“Just no snapping bats out of the air, yeah?” You said, a shy little smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” Sirius promised, and you nodded.

“How'd the scones come out?” James asked, filling the small gap of silence.

You shot him another grateful look and holy shit, he could get used to that. “You only managed to burn some, so that's good.”

He smirked, thoroughly enjoying this more mischivious side of you. “I blame the ovens,” he said.

“Sure, James,” you chuckled.

He could jump for fucking joy. You laughed at his joke!

“That's impressive, considering it was the ass crack of fucking dawn when he made them,” Sirius teased, flashing him a malicious wink.

You pulled a face, nose scrunched up in faux disgust. “That's way too early.”

“Nocturnal type, hm?” James asked without thinking, mentally smacking himself. Of course you were a night owl, you were a bat for Godric’s sake.

“You could say that,” you giggled. “Most of my classes are later in the day.”

“Then you should study with us tomorrow morning!” Sirius said suddenly, and James groaned, ready to neuter him for being so uncouth. “We're going to meet here after breakfast to study for the Potions exam.”

“Oh, uh—” you started to pick at your nails, loosing your footing in the conversation as quickly as you'd found it.

“No pressure,” James added, seized by the need to alleviate your discomfort. “It’s just going to the four of us, Lily, and Marlene.”

“And Prongs will make more scones!” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

It's decided; James was going to smother him in his sleep.

“Maybe,” you finally answered, avoiding James’ eye, and his heart sank.

Sirius nodded, apparently satisfied with how this disastrous encounter went. “Lovely. Now, if you'll excuse us, James and I have to, ah, hit the gym…for…Quidditch reasons.”

You raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but didn't comment. “Enjoy,” you said, sinking back into your chair and turning your attention back to your book.

James chased a cackling Sirius out of the library. “You're a terrible fucking wingman,” James hissed, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I know, that was god-awful,” Sirius snorted. “But, maybe you'll get to see her tomorrow? So not a complete failure.”

“Or, she’ll never talk to me again because I'm friends with imbeciles that send her to the infirmary!”

“I guess we'll find out!”

“Now, I'm actually taking you to the gym with me as punishment,” James glowered. He needed to work off some of this stagnant energy, too, his mind and body buzzing from that small interaction.

“No! Merlin, please—no!” Sirius cried as James hauled him by the hair down the corridor.

Reader’s POV

You lingered outside the library, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Were you really doing this? You couldn't remember the last time you hung out with more than a few people at a time, let alone in the morning.

But you couldn't deny that at part of you, a miniscule, insignificant part of you that barely garners mentioning, wanted to see James. And with James came his friends.

He'd been kind to you, saved you from certain stabbing, made you apology baked goods, the least you could do is show your face for one morning study session.

There was something about James that was hard to say no to. He was so genuine, so eager. Even you couldn't bring yourself to pop his optimistic bubble, no matter how ambivalent you felt towards most things.

He was making it very difficult to continue despising him.

You could suck it up for one morning to make him happy. And only because he saved you. You owed him. Not because you cared about him, his feelings, or his opinion of you.

Definitely not.

Before you could chicken out, you pushed through the doors and into the library. It was sun-soaked and bustling, energy humming along the walls and marble floors. The chandeliers cast rainbows across the space, brightening the countless rows of books. Dust hung in the air like glitter, and it was almost, almost pretty.

Already, your head was starting to ache.

It didn't take long to find James and his friends, James’ voice carrying across the quiet library.

“She gets headaches if it too bright! Help me or fuck off, Pads,” James said, his voice pitching with distress.

“You need to relax, James. Your stress sweat is stinking up the room,” Marlene teased.

“That is so not helpful,” James bit. “And I smell delightful, thank you very much.”

“Because you practically fumigated the dorm with cologne,” Remus retorted just as you stepped around the corner.

“I did not—y/n!” James nearly toppled off the chair he was standing on, dropping the robes he was trying to pin up over the window.

The whole group swiveled towards you, and your stomach dropped out.

“Morning!” They all chorused.

You managed a small wave. “Good morning,” you mumbled, kicking yourself for agreeing to this. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't belong here.

Then, James was beside you, dropping a brawny arm over your shoulders, the alleged cologne wafting over you like a summer breeze. Verdant and sunny. “I'm so glad you came,” James murmured to you as he lead you to an available spot on the less-sunny side of the table. His bag was sitting in the seat, though his stuff was cluttering the space directly next to it.

He'd saved the spot for you, knowing you'd prefer to be out of the sun.

“Me too,” you found yourself saying, butterflies tickling the underside of your ribs.

That's it, you've officially lost your mind.

James pulled the chair out for you and you sank into it, the shade enveloping you like a cool blanket, and you felt a little more at ease. The group immediately launched into conversation about classes and Quidditch, their ease quickly growing contagious as you worked on your Potions formulas. James was reclined beside you, apparently able to work on his essay while chattering endlessly, and you found yourself chiming in, laughing at his silly quips and lame jokes.

One study session turned into two, then three, then a week passed before you knew it. You'd spend the morning with them, studying in the library or common room, then James would meet up with you for dinner in the library after Quidditch practice, sometimes with Sirius and Remus in tow.

You hadn't given much thought to your new routine, brushing it off as a temporary anomaly, until Saturday morning, when you woke up two hours earlier than usual and realized there would be no studying this morning. A kernel of disappointment lodged in your chest.

You were starting to wonder why you disliked him, any of them, in the first place. They were kind, funny, and more welcoming than ninety percent of the other people you'd met at Hogwarts.

The kernel of disappointed grew into a boulder of guilt, crushing and cold, at the realization. Your comfort was a construct. You'd been so stuck in your own head, in your assumptions, that it hadn't occurred to you that maybe you were wrong. That maybe, way out of your comfort zone, you'd actually love it.

A soft knock sounded against your dorm door. You threw off your covers and wrapped the blanket around yourself before pulling open the door.

You were not expecting to see Lily Evans standing there dressed in shorts and a bikini top, a pair of sunglasses keeping her copper hair out of her face. She had a colorful bag slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, smiling at you.

“Oh, uh, hey, Lily. What's up?” You pulled the quilt tighter around yourself. Merlin, Lily was beautiful.

“We're spending the afternoon by the lake and I was wondering if you wanted to join?”

“Who, ah, who’s going to be there?” You asked, tongue thick with anxiety.

“James,” she replied, green eyes glimmering. “And the others too, but who cares about them.”

“Well, I—I don't have a bathing suit—”

Lily pushed past you, dropping her bag onto your bed and rummaging through it before pulling out an adorable black bathing suit. “I had a feeling you'd say that. And before you start—” she held up a finger to shush your protests, “We can make it whatever size you need.”

“Lily—”

“Please? We really want you there. It's been nice having a sane person around,” she said, taking your hands. “And James was too shy to come here and ask himself.”

You snorted. “James Potter? Shy?”

“I know.” Lily nodded solemnly. “He's different with you—good different,” she clarified when your frowned. “He's baking, for Merlin’s sake.”

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Alright, you win.”

Lily grinned, clapping her hands together. “They're already there, so let's go!”

You quickly changed it the bathing suit and your one pair of shorts, fishing your sunglasses from the very bottom of your trunk.

“Oh, honey,” Lily purred, casting an appreciative eye over you. “He's going to combust.”

Embarrassment burned your cheeks, but deep down, you hoped she was right.

It was a gorgeous day, temperate and blue-skied, a rare, cloudless afternoon in Scotland. It seemed half the school was frolicking around the grounds, piled onto picnic blankets and playing football in the open fields, wildflowers dotting the hillside.

When your reached the edge of the lake, your traitorous eyes immediately found James.

Waist-deep in the blue water and sun-kissed, rippling muscles on display as he splashed around with Peter and Remus, dark hair slicked back and dripping onto his broad shoulders. He was practically glowing, a gilded God among scrawny teenagers, and your mouth went sandy.

Then, he saw you.

If you thought he was glowing before—Lily was right, the poor boy damn near combusted. His face shattered into an enormous smile, his glasses going crooked from the force of it.

“Y/n!” He called loudly enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity, throwing his arms out in surprise.

“Hey, James,” you laughed, giving him a timid wave. It felt like every eye turned to you, burning into your skin like the dazzling sunlight. “I'm just going to go set my stuff down,” you said to Lily, spotting a shady tree just by the water you could retreat to.

The tree was just wide enough to hide you from prying eyes, the shadow of its leaves a balm on your overheated skin. You'd only been outside for five minutes, and already you were floundering. Here you were, hiding away instead of running into the water with Lily, towards the fucking Adonis waiting for you.

“Hey, you.”

You jumped, whirling around to find James standing right behind you, rubbing a towel over his sopping hair. “Oh, uh, hey.” Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close.

“Lily dragged you out, huh?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving his hair even wilder than usual.

“She did,” you replied, desperately trying to keep your eyes from wandering down his torso. “Said you were too much of a pansy to ask me yourself.”

James guffawed, head falling back on his shoulders as he laughed. “That witch,” he chuckled. “You didn't come just to humiliate me, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you are the center of the universe.”

“Your universe, ideally.” He flirted, and your stomach flipped, somersaulting with your lungs and leaving you a bit breathless.

Thankfully, a screech from Lily being thrown into the water by Remus saved you from having to formulate a response. You turned at the sound, and your gaze snagged on a group of fifth years ogling James, and glaring daggers at you.

One of the girls shielded her mouth with her hand, muttering something to her friend while her eyes flicked up and down your body, and they burst out laughing.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, skin suddenly too tight on your body, the bathing suit suffocating. Everything was too bright, too loud, too open—

“Hey,” James said gently, his hands finding your hips and turning so his body was blocking yours from the girls. “Love, look at me. What's happened?” He bent down, trying to catch your eyes as they bounced around from onlooker to onlooker.

Fuck, everyone was looking.

“Them,” you mumbled, voice pitched an octave higher.

James looked back towards them, brows furrowed, and you made a hiss of protest, grabbing his chin and turning his head back towards you.

“Don't look,” you pleaded, crossing yours arms over your chest to cover yourself.

His confused expression twisted in consternation, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look at me.”

You couldn't, too focused on the others.

“Don't look at them, look at me,” he said, a little firmer, his grip tightening on your hips. Your eyes flicked up to his, finding them molten, burning, pupils wide and dark. “Do you want to be here with me?” He asked.

Tentatively, you nodded. Unable to lie to him when he was looking at you, holding you, like that.

“I want you here with me too. More than anything.”

“James—”

“If you want to go back to your dorm, I'll take you myself right now,” he promised, voice trodden with sincerity. “We will do whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”

We will. The two words echoed in your mind, as tangible and concrete as your bat sonar. Whatever you decided, whatever you wanted, he was with you.

“I want to stay here,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his eye so he knew you meant it.

“Would you like to swim, or stay here in the shade?”

You hesitated, then— "Swim,” you answered.

He grinned, and one his hands skimmed across your hip towards your stomach. “That's a brave girl,” he cooed, and with a flick of his wrist, he popped the button of your shorts open.

Your mind went gooey as James helped you shimmy your shorts down your legs, letting them drop into a heap at your feet, tingles erupting over your skin in the wake of his hands.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Water’s cold,” was his only warning before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and charging into the frigid water with you in his arms.

“James!” You shrieked as he spun you, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the bite of the water reaching your ribs.

“Couldn't let you talk yourself out of it,” he hummed, one of his hands coming up to smooth the hair out of your face. Droplets of water ran down your neck, making you shiver, and his smile widened.

“Just don't throw me,” you warned, failing miserably at sounding stern.

He scoffed. “You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go now, love.”

Then, a giant arc of water came crashing over the both of you, soaking you completely in a blast of cold. James tightened his grip on you, sturdy enough to keep you both upright under the onslaught.

You sputtered and wiped the water from your eyes, cursing, only to find Sirius doubled over laughing.

“Hold that thought,” James said, carefully setting you on your feet, the water reaching your chest. He shot a withering glare at Sirius, and the tattooed boy straightened, eyes glinting with challenge. “You're gonna regret that.” And James lunged, tackling Sirius back into the water with an echoing splash.

You wasted the afternoon in the water, splashing and horseplaying until you were shivering, toes numb and fingers crinkly, cheeks sore from smiling.

James wrapped an arm around your middle from behind, catching you mid-yawn, the setting sun and the cold sapping the last dreggs of your energy. “C’mon, love. Your lips are looking a little blue,” he murmured, resting his chin against your shoulder.

“Why are you looking at my lips?” You chided lightly, turning your head so your nose brushed his cheek.

He chuckled. “Can't help myself.”

You let him coax you out of the water and onto the plush grass, and stretched out on your towel under the tree you scouted earlier, letting the warmth of the sinking sun soak into your chilled skin.

James sat beside you, his back against the tree and legs stretched long. “Never thought I'd see this,” he said, quietly enough you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

“See what?” You asked, tilting your head back to peer up at him, dappled sunlight kissing his tanned chest.

“You stretched out in the sun like a housecat,” he teased. “Sunshine looks pretty on you.”

Affection curled in your chest, simpering and saccharine. “Thanks, Jamie.” You inched up at bit, resting your head on his lap and letting your eyes flutter closed, basking in the drowsy decadence of it all.

His fingers combed thorough your hair, untangling the knots sewn by the water, and drawing you deeper into oncoming sleep.

“But you look stunning in the moonlight too,” he murmured, fingertip tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw. “My little night dweller.”

It felt like a dream, sweet and simple and golden, and you couldn't believe how different your life looked with James Potter in it.

“Tell me something awful about you,” you asked, twisting to look up at him.

“Something awful?” He smirked, dropping his arm over your waist, thumb grazing lazily on your skin. “I snore in my sleep. I put too much sugar in my tea. What kind of awful are you after?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

“I’d think you'd find plenty awful about me,” he ribbed.

“You'd think,” you hummed, turning your face away so you didn't melt under the radiance in his gaze.

Quickly, you were succumbing to James’ charm, being drawn closer and closer to his gravity, a lonely moon caught in the heavy orbit of the sun.

You felt helpless to it, and that scared you more than anything. You didn't want to need him, to need anybody. It was so much safer to be on your own.

But you weren't sure you wanted safer anymore.

James’ POV

After that day by the lake, James was hooked. Trailing your scent, your energy, your presence like a starving hound. He couldn't get enough of you, and you were kind enough to indulge him. Things hadn't progressed further than they did that day, lingering touches and loaded glances.

Normally, James would dive head first into the deep end, but he found himself wanting to follow your lead. Relishing in the quiet in between moments as much as the more charged ones, content to just be near you, savor you in whatever capacity you'd allow him.

He was just grateful you'd let him in at all. It felt like a gift, a glimpse at something secret and deeply rare, and it was not a blessing he was keen to squander by indulging in his usual hedonistic impulses.

He was happy to tread lightly, to let you step out of the shadows one bit at a time. Patience was never a virtue of his, but for you, he'd find the strength.

A week later, James was late to dinner, Quidditch practice having run well over. Sweat and dirt still clung to him, his training uniform uncomfortable against his balmy skin. But he was fucking starved, the gnawing in his stomach eating away at his mood.

The only thing getting him through was knowing that you'd be there waiting for him. He hadn't seen you at all that day, and it was wearing on him much like the hunger. Leaving him raw and wanting.

He went to push open the doors to the Great Hall at the same moment Lily came dashing out of them.

“Lils?”

“James! What took you so damn long?” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the Hall. “I was just going to look for you!”

“Practice ran long, saints, Lily—what's up?” He registered the shouting in the next moment, Sirius’ booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. A crowd had gathered at the end of one of the tables, jostling and jeering. Slughorn was in the thick of it, trying to get between Sirius and whoever he was raging at with little success.

Then, James noticed you standing just behind Sirius, Remus hovering protectively at your side. You had a hand pressed to your mouth, the other arm wrapped around your torso. Tears were pooling in your pretty eyes, and the last shred of James’ patience severed.

He knew instantly what had transpired, had heard the mutterings in the hall, the gossip and the merciless chatter. He knew people were talking about the two of you, the Head Boy and Hogwarts' resident recluse, and he knew that it was wearing on you, despite the brave face you put on.

He just never thought anyone would take it this far.

He was across the Hall in a few long strides. He grabbed the bloke Sirius was screaming at by his hood and yanked him backwards, throwing him down onto the ground. “What do we have here?” James snarled, looming over the sniveling rat, his boot placed firmly on the pricks sternum to keep him from scuttling away. “Upsetting my girl, are we?”

“No, no! I, uh—”

“What happened, love?” James asked, looking over his shoulder to you, but you only shook your head, too upset to speak. His rage flared hotter. “Padfoot?” James tried again, turning to Sirius.

“Him and his buddies were crowding her, calling her mute—” Sirius voice broke, splintering with anger. “Asked if her tongue worked at all,” Sirius spat, glaring at the other two boys cowering behind Slughorn.

James turned his attention back to the roach under his boot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass?”

“Fuck, Potter! It was a joke!” He sputtered.

“Let’s see if it was worth the laugh, then,” James cocked his foot back, kicking the kid sharply once in the side, then again in the kidneys when he curled up to protect his vitals.

Too fucking bad.

James kicked him a third time, pain shooting up his shin from the force, but before he could drop onto him, imagining ripping the fuckers tongue out with his bare hands, breaking his face open under his fists, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. They pulled back on him with meager strength, trying to tug him away from his groveling victim.

He immediately knew it was you.

“Stop, Jamie. Please stop,” you whimpered, your forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s done. It’s over.”

His hand rested over yours on his abdomen, his breath coming out in jagged huffs. He hadn't realized he was shaking with rage until he felt your steadiness pressed against him. Trying to hold him together.

“He hurt you,” was all James could think to say, the crimson pulse of anger still throbbing at the edges of his vision. No one fucking hurt you.

“And you hurt him back,” you murmured into his jersey, clinging to him like you were afraid he'd lunge again. Hurting him wasn't enough. He needed to ruin him, throttle him, beat him so badly no one fucked with you ever again— “It's over.”

James drew a deep inhale, trying to focus at your warmth against his back, your willowy fingers clasped under his. “It's over,” James repeated, fixing the perpetrators with a warning glare. “So apologize, and stay the fuck away from her.”

They all nodded, muttering apologies while scooping up their groaning friend and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Only once they were gone did you release him.

James turned to face you, guilt churning in his stomach and an apology on his tongue, but you were already half-way down the aisle, wiping angrily at your cheeks as you stormed out. Leaving James standing there, feeling as filthy inside as he was on the outside.

No, no, no.

He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should let you go, give you space so you both could calm down. But he ran after you anyways.

“Y/n!” He shouted, running out into the hall and catching up to you in a few long strides. “Hey, wait—sweetheart, please—”

“I can't do this James,” you blurted, spinning on your heel to face him, and he staggered to a stop. “I-It's too much.” You shook your head as tears rolled down your cheeks, like you'd come to some sort of decision in your head. “I thought I could, but I can't—I tried, I—I’m sorry.”

His mind was reeling, too cluttered with anger and adrenaline and panic to find the words to make you stay. “Baby, don't go—” He reached for you, but you took a step back, then another. “We can do this—” His fingers brushed your hand the same moment you shifted, rocketing off through an open window, disappearing into the dark night.

“No, y/n! Wait!” He cried, but you were long gone, leaving his heart cleaved in two, his soul hollowed out. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, tugging hard at the roots of his hair. It wasn't enough. “Fuck!” He shouted, his fist connecting with the stone wall and making the nosy portraits scatter. Something cracked in his hand, but he could barely feel it over the agony in his chest.

“Prongs,” Sirius called, he, Lily, and Remus following him out onto the hall.

“I went too far,” James muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to breathe through the crushing guilt. The sucking vacuum of emptiness you left behind.

“We all did,” Remus said gently. “Sirius whacked one of them in the head with a dinner plate.”

James loosed a wry chuckle, splintered and uneven, and shook his head. “I fucked this up, pushed her too far.”

None of his friends commented. The pity on their faces was answer enough.

“You can fix it, just—just give her some space,” Lily said, approaching cautiously. Like he was some kind of wild animal.

He stepped back from her, unable to bear their sympathy when he felt so wretched. “I'll see you later,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.

Reader’s POV

A week later…

Burrowed under your blankets, cocooned in the thick warmth of your own labored breathing, steamy from your countless shed tears.

You couldn't believe you had run off like that, skittish as a hare, spooked at the first sign of trouble. He'd stood up for you, damn near got himself expelled because some dip shits wagged their tongues at you.

But you couldn't escape the cloying tar pit of shame their words opened in your gut—what if they were right? What if all you were to James was a conquest? Another trophy for his display case?

It ate through you, sticky and dark and consuming, worsened by the guilt swimming through like a barbed alligator. Because how could you think that of him? How could you dismiss all you'd learned about his heart over the last few weeks so flippantly?

James wasn't like that, and he surely wouldn't have risked his Head Boy status for a meager hunt already halfway snared. He wouldn't treat someone like a consolation prize.

But…how well did you really know him?

Certainly not enough to expose yourself to the inevitable agony of trying to wrap your arms around the sun. He was James fucking Potter. He was everything. And you were bitter and lonely and lost.

You were better off here, saving all your romanticism for your inner life, rather than waste it on a fantasy.

“Y/n,” one of your roommates called gently, shaking your shoulder through the quilt. “You have some visitors.”

“I don't feel well,” you muttered petulantly.

“That makes two of you,” Sirius said, and your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you inched yourself out of the blanket, squinting at the golden sunlight filtering into the room. The air was decidedly cooler out there than in your little cave, and it stung your tear-scraped cheeks.

Sirius and Remus stood by your bed, the latter looking supremely uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” You asked, scrubbing a hand over your face to clear the cobwebs and crustys.

“Normally we wouldn't, ah, get involved,” Remus began, scratching the back of his head. “But—”

“But James is our best mate, and he's an absolute disaster,” Sirius cut in. “And clearly you aren't fairing much better.”

“So you've come to lecture me?” You bit, stung by his bluntness.

“No,” Remus said, glaring pointedly at Sirius. “We wanted to talk to you because—”

“Because we probably understand what you're feeling better than anyone,” Sirius finished.

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous.”

“Perhaps,” Remus placated. “But we know better than anyone what it's like to be loved by James, and not really understand why.”

Your jaw clenched, a bitchy retort lashing at the backs of your teeth despite the glow his words stoked to life in your chest. James didn't love you. How could he?

Sirius sat on the edge of your bed, yet again completely unperturbed by your attitude. “James can be really fucking naive, and entirely too optimistic. Down right ignorant sometimes if I’m honest—”

“But he's also genuine, and loyal,” Remus interjected. “And it makes you want to, ah, redirect him, if you will.”

“You push him away because you don't think he understands what he's signing himself up for,” Sirius clarified. “Moons and I have done it at least a dozen times each.”

“And how is that relevant to me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, like that would stop them from seeing into your heart further.

“Maybe it isn't.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you actually do think he's a brute and hate him for defending your honor in front of the entire school.”

Ouch.

You shot him a loathsome glare.

“Or maybe you're scared shitless by how loudly he loves, so you bailed to try and protect yourself,” he shot back.

“And to protect him from you,” Remus added.

You shook your head, fresh tears burning behind your eyes. You hated how right they were, and how pathetic it made you feel.

“Look,” Sirius said, softening his voice. “We just wanted to say that it's worth it.”

You looked back up at them, their faces blurred with salt water, as the fight rinsed from your body like grime from a window pane.

Remus offered you a handkerchief. “It's vulnerable, and it's messy, but it's worth it,” Remus said. “He’s worth it.”

Sirius nodded sagely. “You just have to trust him.”

“It's not him I don't trust,” you murmured, ringing the handkerchief in your hands, Remus’ initials staring up at you in delicate silver thread.

Remus gave you a sad, knowing smile. “You have to trust yourself too.”

“Alright, that's quite enough sentimentality for one afternoon,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet and ushering Remus towards the door.

“His first match back is Saturday!” Remus called over his shoulder as Sirius herded him out onto the hall.

“We'll save you a seat,” Sirius said with a wink before closing the door behind him.

Their words echoed in your mind, ringing true despite the countless excuses you'd made over the last few days. Deep down, you knew Remus was right; James was worth it.

But could you love him the way he deserved with all your pessimism and anxiety and thorns?

Would it be so bad to try?

James’ POV

He didn't see you for two weeks after that, besides in Charms, where you kept your head down and refused to look at him. He returned to his usual spot beside Remus, wishing it was your warmth he felt instead of the afternoon sun.

Two weeks he sat in evening detention, staring out the windows and hoping to see your silhouette flutter past the moon. 14 days he was benched from Quidditch for his injured hand, remembering the way your soft skin felt under his rough palm. 336 hours he found himself without words, preferring the silence over pointless chatter. 20160 seconds he spent in his head, where you were still beside him, and you looked at him with fondness instead of fear.

Everyone was buzzing for his first match back on the pitch. But he felt disconnected from it all, like the James Potter they were talking about was someone else entirely.

He didn't want to be that James Potter, he wanted to be your Jamie.

He hoped the feeling would melt away once the match started, flying through the air always did wonders for his mood, but if anything, he felt worse. You weren't there to watch him, so what was the fucking point?

His mood reflected in his play, and so the match went on, and on, and on. In the sixth hour, the sun long ago set, the players were dead in the air, the stands listless. But Quidditch didn't stop until the snitch was caught or enough points were scored that losing team forfeited, and James hadn’t scored a single point.

His hand was aching, sore from disuse, and his captain was screaming at him. Even his friends looked disappointed, slumped against one another in their seats, where they hadn't budged for the entire game.

Something whizzed by, catching his attention. At first he thought it was the snitch, and lifted his hand to signal the Seeker, but then it flew by again. Zipping by like a little shadow.

He nearly fell off his broom when he realized.

You slowed a bit, fluttering around his head, the delicate breeze from your wings ruffling his sweaty hair.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, unable to stop the smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch you when you suddenly banked away, swooping down towards the goals.

You gripped the top of the largest hoop with your little feet, and dangled upside down from it, stretching your wings before wrapping them around yourself, like you were getting comfy.

The Hufflepuff Keeper spotted you and flew a bit closer, curious. James was about to shout for them to leave you alone when you loosed a wrathful hiss, flaring your wings, and the Keeper reared back, screeching about a flying rat.

“Potter!” King shouted at him, and he turned just in time to catch the Quaffle headed his way.

The Keeper was too distracted by you to guard the hoop properly, and James smirked.

“Potter scores ten points for Gryffindor!”

“Another ten for James Potter!”

“That's 50 points for Gryffindor, what a come back!”

The continued scoring seemed to re-energize the game, the crowd on its feet and roaring in approval. James couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a Quidditch match so much, and it was all because of you.

“And the Seeker catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

James whooped and cheered with his team, but he was searching the sky for you, his heart so full he thought he might choke on it. It seemed you were gone, though, as he had a feeling you might be, the excitement and cheering too much for your sensitive ears.

He landed heavily on the ground, his muscles exhausted from hours of staying airborne, and straightened to greet the crowd of Gryffindors that were pouring onto the pitch. But as soon as he did, he spotted you racing towards him.

“You did it!” You cried, throwing your arms around his neck as your body collided with his, making him stagger back a step.

His mind short-circuited, struggling to process what was happening. You weren't gone, you were here and wearing his scarf and…hugging him? In front of the entire student body?

Did he fall off his broom and hit his head? Because this had to be a dream.

He dropped his broom to hold you properly, one arm looped around your waist, the other holding your head against his shoulder. He squeezed as tight as his tired muscles could, burying his nose into your neck and drawing a long, greedy inhale.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” he murmured, fighting back the tears of relief pooling behind his eyes. You were here. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. You were real, solid and beautiful and trembling in his arms as the crowd cheered, confetti raining over your heads as fireworks popped in the obsidian sky.

You pulled your head back, cheeks streaked with tears and gave him a wobbly little smile. “I'm so proud of you, and I'm sorry for what I said.”

He shushed you with a peck on the cheek, then another on your nose, temple, the corner of your mouth—Merlin, he couldn't stop himself.

“I want to try again,” you said through water-logged giggles, fingers curling the hood of his uniform. “Please, Jamie?”

“Of course,” he said, caving to temptation and pecking your lips. “I’m yours,” he mumbled against your lips, and you grinned, kissing him again. You tasted like nectar and moonlight. Sweeter than any victory. And he let himself indulge, setting you on your feet so he could kiss you harder, deeper, drown in your winsome little sounds as you finally, finally, opened up for him.

The shadow to his sunlight, the moon to his tides, the other half of his heart, safe in his arms at long last.

#james potter #the marauders #james potter fanfiction #marauders #james potter fic #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders fic #the marauders era #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #the marauders era fic #animagus!reader

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

hi hii jade! Was wondering if you could do something sweet and fluffy w poly!marauders where reader wakes up in a very cozy and giggly mood 🤭 just some warm domestic love hehe

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

Someone is kissing his waist. Sirius squirms in his dozing, not expecting it as those kisses travel up his naked chest. Your laugh is breathy and soft as you kiss his shoulder, your weight strewn across his side and arm, your hand finding his cheek.

Your fingers feel inhuman in the best way, like an angel. They spread across his face and neck as you hold him in place and kiss the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “I love you…” you whisper, the ‘you’ turning long and slow like honey slipping down his front. “I wish you didn’t sleep so much.”

You kiss him again, and with that you’re out of bed. Out of the room before Sirius has time to gather his wits, but he does gather them, because he needs more of whatever that was.

What sort of sweetheart kisses somebody with such gentleness thinking they won’t remember? To press affection into him with want of nothing in return. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed, just scrubs at his sleep-swollen face and fishes the crusties from his eyes as he descends the stairs, numb-legged.

James is grabbing you by the hips, helping you up onto the counter. His curls bounce at the back of his neck. “What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

“Love, for sure.”

“I can see that. Eggs? Omelette?”

“Jamie, you can make anything. Actually, let me make you something–”

James pushes you further onto the top. “That’s okay, I’m cooking. I want to cook.”

Sirius isn’t insecure, exactly. He feels he’s quite handsome when he attempts to be, and he knows you like him whether he’s trying or not, but he doesn’t know if you want to be interrupted, either of you, and it’s his private agony to wonder what to do. Then you spot him over James’ shoulder and your eyes practically sparkle.

“Siri…” you sing-song, melodic as he crosses the kitchen linoleum to be with you and James. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

Sirius touches James’ elbow with love but swoops in on you. “Did you wake me?” he asks, kissing your cheek, his arms working behind you to hold you as his lips travel downward. He isn’t half as sweet as you were, too busy trying to squeeze your torso against his and mould you into a perfect fit against him and under his arm to really think about what he’s doing.

“She did it to me, too.”

Sirius pulls your face into his neck and turns to James with a grin. “And Remus?”

“He was already awake. But she kissed him and did that thing where her eyes somehow look bigger and shiny and he had to go for a walk.”

“He didn’t have to go for a walk,” you mumble from Sirius’ neck. “He always walks on Saturday mornings. He’s just getting some herbs from the greenhouse.”

The back door opens on cue. Remus reappears with an aura about him much like yours, dropping the cut herbs on the cutting board, and stopping just shy of everyone to smile. “Did she do it to you, as well?” he asks.

James squeezes Remus’ face in his hand, a quick thank you for the herbs that has the latter turning pink.

“She waylaid me with kisses like a common whore.”

“Sirius,” James says scornfully.

“Me being the whore,” Sirius says. You laugh into his neck, seemingly with no inclination to leave the circle of his arms. “Will I ever see your face again?” he asks.

“It’s cozy here. I wish we’d stayed in bed.”

“We can go back.”

“After breakfast,” James says, popping an egg on the edge of the frying pan, breaking the shell one handed as he gives the sizzling oil a shake.

Remus not so subtly crosses the last of the space to slot himself between your right thigh and the counter. Sirius has the urge to cup his cheek as James had done —Remus has an extremely holdable face— but is distracted by your nose nuzzling the line of his throat.

“I love you,” you say.

Doesn’t matter who you’re talking to. All three boys melt.

“I’d like to do some really weird things to you,” Sirius says.

“Me too,” James agrees. “But we do need breakfast first.”

“No one is doing anything weird to me, it’s the weekend.” You beam as Remus laughs, seemingly your intention.

Sirius backs away to a polite but still close proximity. He isn’t selfish; being in a ‘strange’ relationship like this one is a lot of reading cues, and a lot of just plain old climbing into people's laps when you want them, because nobody can truly read minds. Yet Sirius can see that you’re in the sort of mood where everything you touch turns to gold and all the boys want a piece of you, and who is he to get in the way of that?

Well, he’s your boyfriend. He takes a kiss before he delegates himself to being herb-chopper, stealing glances of you from the corner of his eye.

You tease a strand of Remus’ hair behind his ear.

“Weird stuff is for weekdays only,” you’re murmuring. “What I want today is the real romantic stuff.”

“Then you can have it,” Remus murmurs back.

Sirius will happily be doing very romantic things to both of you after his omelette. James, too, if he’s so inclined.

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santaasi · 2 months ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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ddejavvu · 6 months ago

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bff james w no boundaries — his main love language is physical touch and that includes biting,, like 😭 you’ll just be minding ur own business n he’ll bite your shoulder or anywhere really.

hope ur doing well angel. ❤️

"Here, Remus," You offer up a spoon of blueberry tart to the teenage werewolf, unphased by now at the closeness of your friends. Perhaps at eleven you'd be worried about swapping cooties when sharing spoons, but now you're only worried about plumping Remus's gaunt frame up again before the next full moon.

You extend the spoon towards Remus but in doing so you have to bypass James who's sitting beside you on the bench. You'd expected him to fake a lunge for the sweet, but when he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into what's in front of him it happens to be the flesh of your arm.

"Hey-ow!" You yelp, and despite your word choice, it doesn't really hurt. It's more of a grasp than it is a bite, just enough force to pin your arm between James's infuriatingly perfect teeth.

"Prongs," Sirius's face screws up in what you're sure is a mix of embarrassment and confusion at his friend's behavior, but perhaps there's a slight possibility of fear there, too. Fear that James has become a cannibal and the boy with the bed next to his will suffer tonight.

"That's good." James retracts his bite as quickly as he'd dished it out, smacking his lips like there'd been something swallowed and enjoyed, "That's good arm."

"You're a freak." Remus drawls, finally taking the tart from your spoon and letting the flavors wash over his tongue, "Pads and I are supposed to be the biters. Deer are just supposed to run away from everything."

"That's not true." James defends his animagus with a passion while Sirius snickers across the table, "Deer fight with their antlers. Sometimes deer fight so hard that their antlers come off. And deer do bite sometimes, thank you very much."

"Only during mating season." Sirius references the copious research they'd each done into their animal counterparts, "Don't steal another page from the dog book and start humping her leg, Prongs."

"It is not my mating season!" James exclaims, just a bit too loud for the social setting you're in. Your cheeks are blazing but thankfully James is making a fool of himself enough that no one is studying you. "I'm simply overcome with the urge to sink my teeth into people when I'm feeling particularly fond of them. Y/N's making sure Moony's stomach isn't flatter than his ribcage, and I appreciate that. Only a good woman shares her blueberry tart. Hence," He grins, more of a baring of his teeth than a smile, "I bite."

He leans down to take a chunk out of your shoulder this time, and you feel the sharp-but-gentle pricking of his teeth even through three layers of clothing.

You have the time and the power to raise your shoulder and clock James in the teeth with your bone. But you refrain, and perhaps that's why Sirius finally latches onto you instead of James.

"Careful, darling." He warns, his own canines glinting in the candlelight above, "Deer can go rabid. I'd make sure you're not contaminated with his saliva if I were you."

"Too late." James grumbles around the meat of your shoulder, raising his head quicker than you can react to lick a fat, wet stripe across your face, "I'm not rabid, Pads. But I can see why you dogs do the licking thing. It's not bad."

"Yes it is." You decide, smearing away his sticky spit with the sleeve of your button-up, feeling the phantom sensation of his teeth on your skin, "And if you do it again I'll bite you back."

"Kinky, you two." Sirius kicks you beneath the table, a wicked grin on his face, "Remus, I think we should take our meal elsewhere. Prongs and Y/N are about to start necking right in front of the pastries, and that's not the glaze I prefer on my donuts."

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #james potter one shot #james potter one-shot #james potter headcanon #james potter headcanons #james potter hc #james potter hcs #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter dialogue #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fanfiction

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rainydayathogwarts · 10 months ago

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1 boyfriend, 3 perverts - Remus Lupin (poly!marauders)

Summary: Your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around. 2.5k wc - read pt. 2 here - pt 3 Wrote this instead of studying for my exams that start tmr...

The wooden floor was cold under your feet, blanketed by the chilly air that filled the dorms at this time of the year. You tip toed over to where you left your slippers by the mirror, clenching your jaw as you opened the door to your dorm, careful not to wake your peacefully slumbering roommates. Once outside, you let out a breath you didn't realise you'd been holding, making your way down the stairs leading to the common room.

Luckily, most of the Gryffindors were already in their dorms, tired after a long few days of exams, so no one could see you, nearly half naked, warily creeping up the boys' dormitory staircase. The hallway is dark, but you can hear the muffled noises behind doors of dorm-mates joking around, or arguing. You stop in front of the right door, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before taking it out again, shaking your head to make your hair fall back into its natural state. Peeking down at your outfit, you nod in reassurance. Wearing small sleep shorts that barely covered your ass and a low cut tank top that didn't make an effort in hiding your perky nipples, you were sure that Remus would pounce on you the second he saw you.

Knocking on the door twice, you look around the hallway to make sure no one catches you in the wrong place. The dorm is eerily quiet when Peter opens the door to the dorm, and he looks visibly relieved when he sees it's you, his shoulders dropping in ease. "It's only y/n, lads." He states, stepping to the side to let you in, and a ruckus of noise fills the room once more as you walk inside, the other three boys clearly just as relieved as he was. They're all sat at the big window nook, window open behind them, cigarette wrappers littering the seats around them, clearly in the middle of a smoke sess. "Sweetheart!" Exclaims Remus from where he is sat, as you approach him, wrapping both arms over his shoulders in a loose hug.

Remus passes the cigarette he holds over to Sirius, letting both arms wrap around you, landing on the back of your bare thighs, just under your ass. He tugs you slightly closer to him, tilting his head up for you to bend down, pressing your lips down to his in a kiss. Remus kisses you hungrily, his hands trailing upwards to press your torso as close to him as he can, opening his mouth slightly so his tongue meets yours as you kiss, making you gasp in shock. You put a hand on his chest, pushing him away from you, eyes wide in surprise at his desperation. His lips tasted of weed and lemon drops, an explanation to his excitement.

"Remmy." You say lovingly, dropping your head down to press kisses onto his naked neck. Remus pushes your hips back slightly, and he spins you around in his arms, shoving you down so you're sat on his laps, and you finally acknowledge the two other boys, engrossed in conversation as though they hadn't even noticed your affectionate exchange. "Hey boys." You greet, accepting the cigarette Sirius hands you when they turn their attention to you. Taking a drag of the cigarette, you move your head to the side, allowing Remus to push your hair back, littering sloppy kisses onto your soft skin, making a trail of saliva down to your tank top's neckline, which barely covers the top of your tits, as Sirius begins to catch you up on their story.

One of Remus' hands comes up to cup one of your breasts, toying with it in his hand, and you briefly wonder just how long they've been smoking for. You jerk away from your boyfriend when his teeth graze the side of your neck teasingly. His grip around your waist tightens, and he pushes you down on his laps back into place, pressing your cunt down on his growing erection. Remus only separates himself from your neck to take a drag of the cigarette hanging between your index and middle finger before he gets back to business, ignoring the boys who begin teasing him.

Eventually, when Sirius drowsily says "Rem here can't go 10 minutes without bringing up how he needs to have you close to him, so I'm not surprised that he's all over you." Remus, still unbothered and worshiping your body, retorts with "Well I'm allowed to miss my girlfriend. At least I'm not the bloke who jerks off to photos of his best mate's girl." The room goes completely silent, with the exception of squelching noises Remus' wet kisses make on your skin. Your jaw goes slack, and you observe the looks on your boyfriend's three best friends' faces, noticing their gaping mouths and rosy cheeks. You almost don't believe your boyfriend, but the looks on his mates' faces say otherwise.

Your hand trails up to grip your boyfriend's short hair, trying to gently tug him away from you for a moment, as you rotate on his laps to face him as best you can. He obliges, looking up at your awaiting gaze with red eyes, a clear sign of how high he is. "Remus, what?" A sleeve covered hand comes up to wipe the saliva off his swollen pink lips. "You didn't know? These three perverts have had a massive crush on you since we got together. Always look extra close when we kiss, or when I touch your body the way no guy should in front of his best mates. To be fair, I only do it because I noticed the photo of you on your knees for me disappeared. Was my favourite photo of you too." His hand comes up to stroke your cheek as he says that last sentence, bringing your face closer to his to kiss you again.

You moan into the kiss, hands coming up to grip his jumper, completely unaware of the growing tents in the other boys' trousers, or the guilty looks on their faces, unaware that they had been caught by the big bad wolf. A string of saliva connects your lips when you pull away from the kiss, and Remus adds "But they're my best mates, I don't mind sharing with them a little." And with that, Remus' hands snake under your thighs, lifting you up gently, and placing you on the spot next to him on the big window nook. "Lay back down for me." You obey his words, still very much confused, head conveniently landing on Peter's laps, acting as a pillow for you. Remus climbs over you to continue placing kisses from where he left off, hands gripping the bottom of your shirt to effortlessly pull it over your head, your bare tits exposed to the group of boys.

You arch your back, the cool summer air sticking to the coats of saliva on your torso, and you take the time to look at the two boys observing you. Both Sirius and James have a hand over the tent in their trousers, palming their growing erections at the sight of you being pleasured by their best mate. At the tap on your hips, your gaze trails back down to your boyfriend, whose fingers grip your revealing sleeping shorts. You lift your hips up, eyes trailing back up to the boy looking down at you, and you smile up at him.

Remus, completely undisturbed by the attention you're paying his friends, pulls your panties off, throwing them in James' general direction as he spreads your knees open, lowering himself onto your cunt. He inhales deeply, his enhanced senses nearly causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure, before he finally buries himself into your cunt, disrupting the moment you shared with Peter, a loud moan cutting off whatever he was telling you. A hand immediately comes to grip Remus' chestnut hair, and your legs fall open even more, letting him suck at your clit and nip the areas around your thighs, surely leaving hickeys on your skin.

Remus's nose nudges at your clit, his tongue poking in and out of your hole, before he switches his attention, sucking aggressively on your sensitive nub, and dragging a finger up your slit, teasing your entrance with it. You gasp in pleasure, shutting your eyes close and bucking your hips up into your boyfriend's face. However, you don't have time to enjoy the feeling before it's taken away from you. "No!" You yell, shooting upwards and barely missing Peter's face when Remus completely removes contact with your pussy, only a hand on your thigh acting as any form of contact between your bodies. "Pete," Remus starts, causing the blonde boy's head to snap towards your boyfriend, an expression of absolute fear on his face.

"Don't let her close her eyes." He finishes, before plunging right back into your pussy, making your thighs squeeze around his head in pleasure. Peter puts his hands on your shoulders, helping you lay back down again, and you pant, looking off to the side to distract yourself from closing your eyes in pleasure. James has your panties wrapped around his hand, palming his dick over his sweatpants, and Sirius sits next to him, joggers unashamedly pulled down just enough for his dick to spring out, jerking himself off in long strokes. You gasp, back arching when Remus plunges two fingers inside your cunt, thrusting them into you quickly while his mouth works on stimulating your clit.

"Oh Rem!" You moan, digging your head back into Peter's laps, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. "Y/n... Y/n?" Peter mutters, unsure of what to do. "Y/n open your eyes." He tries again, to no avail. Remus lifts his head up, fingers still thrusting into you, and reaches up with his free hand to pinch your nipple, twisting it harshly. "Fuck!" You yelp, eyes snapping back open to make eye contact with your boyfriend. "When Pete tells you to open your eyes, you listen!" He instructs, slowing his hand's movements, waiting for a response. "Okay, fuck! Please Remus!" You beg, grinding your hips on his hand desperately, tears building up in your eyes. "Now what do you say you Pete?" He asks, his hand speeding up again. "'M sorry Pete." You sniffle, looking up at him. "Good girl." Says Remus, grinning when he feels your pussy clench at the praise.

"It's okay, y/n" Replies Pete, eyes going wide when you chase for his hand, pulling it on your body, and moving his fingers to grip your tit. "Shit!" He curses, looking at your possessive boyfriend. "Remus, is this- is this okay?" He asks fearfully, sighing when your boyfriend glances up, nodding. "Whatever my girl wants to do, she can do." Remus mutters against your pussy, focusing on your pleasure once more. A groan pulls your attention away from Pete, who begins massaging your tit, pinching your nipple slightly, and your cunt clenches in pleasure again. Your gaze lands on James, who is roughly palming himself, too shy to properly take care of himself like Sirius next to him. "Oh God" You moan, eyes fixated on his frustrated face, eyebrows furrowed and tears forming in his eyes. "Jamie." His head immediately snaps to you. "Come closer." And the boy obeys, dragging a chair right next to you.

You wipe a stray tear falling down his cheek, and reach out to the top of his sweatpants, pathetically trying to pull them down, hips bucking up at the sudden overstimulation on your clit. James helps you, pulling them down just enough for his cock to be exposed to you, angrily slapping his bare torso. The tip of his cock is red and leaking pre-cum, and you immediately start rubbing it, moaning the second James cries out in pleasure, thighs squeezing around your boyfriend's head, working hard to make you cum. You spread James' pre-cum down his dick and to the base of his cock, squeezing him near his balls before starting to stroke his length. His hips buck up into your hand, and you're suddenly reminded of the hand massaging your tit, looking up at Peter, who is completely engrossed in your body. Your eyebrows furrow and you feel the knot in your belly tightening, but something is missing.

You suddenly feel frustrated at the neglect of your second tit, and look for Sirius's eyes in the room, already locked on you. You look back down at your tits, hoping Sirius gets the message, and it seems he does, scurrying over to you, and kneeling on the floor next to the window nook, hand still glued to his cock. Boldly, his free hand reaches up to your tit, and he leans forward to wrap his lips around your perk nipple. You cry out as he begins sucking on it, your fist around James' cock tightening unawarely, causing him to gasp. Remus adds a third finger to your cunt, still sucking on your clit and you're done for, crying out his name loudly as you cum around his fingers and mouth, orgasm nearly causing you to black out. You're aware of the other two boys crying out too, closely followed by Remus, whose vibrations go up your pussy, making you gasp, letting go of James' cock to grip Remus' hair tightly, pulling his face closer to your cunt.

Remus' fingers slow down on your cunt, and he eventually pulls them out, tongue lapping at your pussy to clean you up, while you beg him to stop. "Fuck, baby-Rem can't!" James and Sirius shoot each other incredulous looks, panting to catch their breaths: they weren't expecting the night to come to this. When Remus finally pulls away from you, he leans over you, arms wrapping around your back to help you sit up, and you ogle at him, and the wet patch in his trousers, giggling slightly. "So we all finished except poor Peter?" You guess, looking back at the boy who sheepishly nods, cheeks tinted red. "Well-" You begin to suggest, only to be interrupted by your boyfriend. "No, I'm absolutely not done with you yet. You can take care of Peter when we're done, if he doesn't get to it first." He states, arms wrapping around your waist and effortlessly picking you.

You can hear Sirius cackle, and Peter groan whilst Remus walks the short steps to his four poster bed, dropping you on his mattress before pulling the curtains closed, and throwing his jumper off, leaving his torso in all its naked glory. "Muffliato or no?" He asks you, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Just as you begin to say the answer, you hear three yells of "No!" coming from outside the curtains.

"Pervs!" Your boyfriend yells out, though he obeys with a grin, shimmying out of his trousers.

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mischievousmoony · 2 months ago

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𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ a guy makes unwanted advances on you at a frat party, and the president comes to your aid ⊹ 3.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: alcohol, unwanted advances + touching and sexist comments from another character, james gets aggressive confronting said character, american!james hehehe (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By your third visit to the crowded, beer-scented kitchen, your features have set into a deep scowl. You groan, slumping against the wall—only to immediately push yourself off, unwilling to let the exposed skin of your back come into contact with any part of the frat house you're in. Was the wall sticky, or have you started sweating from the heat of all the drunk bodies around you? Either option makes you cringe.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Frat parties weren’t exactly your ideal night out, but your best friend had dragged you to this one with the promise of a fun time. But your night has quickly turned into a wild goose chase after she disappeared with some guy.

"Are you okay?" a voice calls from your left, barely audible over the music that's starting to make your head pound. You realize that you had started pinching the bridge of your nose. When you lower your hand and turn your head, you find a pair of kind eyes staring down at you.

He introduces himself as Todd after you explain that you've been looking for your friend for half an hour to no avail. With a sympathetic smile, he offers to help, which you gratefully accept. Anything to find your friend and put this dreadful night to an end.

"Are you, like, one of the brothers?" you ask, noticing the letters on Todd's cap as you follow him through the house, but it's a little too dark to make them out. Not to mention, you don't really remember which fraternity your friend even brought you to tonight.

"Nah," Todd shouts over his shoulder. "Not here." He doesn't provide any more information than that as he changes the subject, suggesting the two of you search the backyard.

"I thought the yard was off limits,” you shout as you speed walk to catch up with him. He’s walking so fast that you barely have time to consider why he would think your friend would be outside.

Stepping into the cold, he explains, "Apparently their neighbors complained about the noise last weekend, so they're trying to keep the party inside. But a couple of quiet people shouldn't be an issue. It's nice to be away from all the noise, eh?"

You shudder when the night air hits you, hugging your arms around yourself tightly and attempting to smooth away the goosebumps already prickling on your skin.

"Maybe if it wasn't freezing."

You look around at the back yard, finding it completely empty except for a thin layer of fallen leaves and scattered beer bottles hidden in the uncut grass. Todd is leading you straight across the lawn, farther away from the house and any source of light. You’re starting to get a weird feeling about this—and Todd—so you slow to a stop while he continues to head deeper into the darkness.

"Hey, I don't think my friend is gonna be out here. I'm gonna keep looking inside–"

"What's the rush?" Todd's demeanor changes when he notices you’re falling behind. He quickly closes the distance between the two of you again in two strides.

You release a dry laugh, realizing that you've been too trusting, and your tone turns serious. "I should really find my friend."

"You said she was with a guy, right? C'mon just let her have her fun." Todd drops his voice an octave, trying to sound seductive, but it comes across embarrassingly forced. "Maybe we can have some fun too."

When he reaches to touch the side of your face, your mood starts to change from a little let down and slightly annoyed to seriously pissed off.

"Don't," you say coldly, jerking your head away from his touch.

"Aw, c'mon," he continues to try to coax you, still somehow thinking he has a chance at convincing you. When his fingers graze your sides, you shout at him to keep his hands off, but instead, he slides them to your waist, holding you firmly.

"Let go!" you demand, planting you hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing. He chuckles at your feeble attempts, making you angrier, so you switch tactics. You wrap your hands around his wrists and pry his hands off, applying a pressure to the inside of his wrists that makes him release you with a hiss.

There's an angry voice in the distance shouting "Hey!" presumably at the two of you. You hear the steady sound of footsteps growing louder—one of the brothers probably coming to yell at you for sneaking into their backyard. You're a little too busy to care as you stomp away from Todd.

Todd doesn’t seem to notice the newcomer either. Too absorbed in the sting of your rejection, he starts getting angry too.

"Don't be such a prude," he snaps. He catches your wrist and pulls you back to him with a swift tug, spinning you around to face him. You draw your free arm back, using the extra momentum from the spin to your advantage as you punch him squarely in the jaw.

The punch throws him off balance, sending him stumbling back. His foot catches on an empty beer bottle, twisting his ankle as he loses his footing and crashes onto the grass with a heavy thud.

You stand above him, a little stunned at your actions. Todd is whining pathetically about the pain from the punch to his face, and the pain from the fall to his ass.

Someone jogs up beside you, and you can feel their gaze darting back and forth between you and Todd.

"Nice punch," he says, a little out of breath.

"Thanks," you reply flatly, only now starting to process that you—with the help of a beer bottle—sent this man tumbling to the ground.

"Alright," the mystery man says like he's about to get to work. He steps into your line of sight, looming over Todd for a moment.

He has a mop of dark curls spilling out from under a red baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. The cap matches his letterman-style jacket, which clings to his broad frame, drawing attention to his muscular body. Under different circumstances, this is a view you’d appreciate.

He bends down and grabs Todd by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet. Even with both of them standing, he still towers over him.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks Todd, his casual words contrasting with his abrasive tone.

"That slut just punched me!" Todd shrieks.

You roll your eyes. How pathetic.

He tightens his grip on Todd's shirt collar, using it to shake him roughly. "Watch your fucking mouth or I'll be the next," he threatens, and Todd goes quiet.

Your eyes widen at his sudden sharpness. Almost involuntary, you shift your position, angling yourself to get a clear look at the boy’s face. Black rimmed glasses sit lazily on the bridge of his nose, under his furrowed brow as he glares daggers at Todd. His eyes are big and brown, almost seeming out of place against the hard scowl carved into his features.

"Here's what's gonna happen," he continues. "First, you’re blacklisted. You’re never stepping foot in my house again. And what's this?"

He plucks Todd's hat off his head, inspecting the letters with a scoff before tossing it to the ground. "Of course. I'm sure nationals will be happy to hear about how you've conducted yourself tonight."

Todd's eye twitches at the threat. "Let's not pretend I was doing anything she didn’t want. Look at the way she’s dressed—flaunting herself, just begging for attention."

"What did you just say?" he seethes.

"James, c'mon," Todd says, revealing the name of the taller boy. He speaks with a nonchalance that makes James' nostrils flare, angered by his dismissiveness of the situation.

You begin to wonder how they know each other when James sets him straight.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? My friends call me James, you don't get to call me shit. The fuck do you think this is, man? I catch you in my backyard putting your hands on a girl who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and you think you can talk to me like we're friends? I don't even know who the hell you are."

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head by now. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a scene from a movie—an exposé on the dark side of greek life, or maybe the mafia. Not knowing much about either, it’s hard to say, but the backward hats and pounding music from the house quickly remind you of where you are.

James lowers his voice, his tone dipping into something almost menacing. "But I’ll find out from your brothers, and when I do, you’re finished here. Done. Now come on."

Todd flinches as one of James' hands clasps over the back of his neck with a sharp smack. There were some other guys you hadn't noticed before back near the house, to whom James hands Todd over.

Once James notices that you're still standing in the middle of the yard, he jogs back over. On his way, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair to loosen his curls.

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, vastly different from the one he used on Todd. "Are you okay?"

The change in his demeanor catches you off guard. You exhale while you collect your thoughts, a steamy white cloud filling the space as your warm breath meets cool air.

"That was intense," you say. You don’t mean to dodge his question, but he did just switch from mafia boss levels of threatening to sunshine and rainbows.

James breathes out a laugh. "Sorry about that. Gotta be a hardass with some of these dicks, especially ones like that. Part of the job."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, wondering what job he's talking about.

James reads your expression, and stands up a little straighter as he introduces himself. "President James, at your service." With an exaggerated wink, he tugs at the edge of his jacket, pulling it taut to show off the letters sewn over his chest.

You nod in understanding. "Well, thank you for stepping in, Mr. President," you say, a slight tease coloring your tone.

A smile like sunshine overtakes his lips. "No need to thank me, really. Anyway, you handled it pretty well before I got here. That was some punch—is your hand alright?"

You had forgotten about that. Splaying your fingers out in front of you, you inspect your knuckles. "Mhm. Fine. I don't think I can feel my limbs anyway." You wrap your arms back around yourself, the cold become almost unbearable in your tank top.

"Shit, yeah, it's cold out here, isn't it?" James holds his hat between his teeth, freeing his hands as he strips off his jacket. Your eyes linger on his toned arms for a moment too long, and suddenly his hat has made its way back onto his head and he's holding his jacket out for you.

"May I?" he asks.

As much as you want to say no, you truly are freezing, so you let yourself be draped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. The fabric has an unexpected weight to it, almost offering a comfort similar to an embrace.

James rubs his hands up and down over newly blanketed arms to encourage some warmth into them. James studies your face with softened eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note.

"Hey, listen... I'm really sorry that happened to you. Everything he said, and did–"

"It's alright," you interrupt.

"It's not. That shouldn't be happening. Not at my house—not anywhere. I'm really sorry you had to deal with that creep. And if you wanted to take it to the school, I'd be more than willing to–"

"No, no. That's more trouble than he's worth."

James nods, respecting your decision. "For what it's worth, I'm gonna make sure he won't be allowed in any of the parties around here anymore. I doubt I can get him completely blackballed, but I'll do what I can."

You offer James a small smile in response. You're glad to hear that, really, but now that Todd's gone and that's all over, your main concern is finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride home?" he offers, almost like he can read your mind. His kind, brown eyes almost make you want to say yes. But after the night you've had, you owe it to yourself to be a little less trusting.

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek while you decide if you should disclose your current dilemma. James does seem eager to help. Deciding to tell him, you say, "I was looking for my friend."

James is quick to offer his assistance. "Who's your friend? Maybe I can help."

You tell him your friends name and recount what she was doing when you saw her last. "She ran off with this guy. Long black hair, leather jacket, I think I heard his name but it was something... unique."

James sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Sounds like Sirius."

"Sirius, yes! That was his name." You're momentarily excited, thinking that James could actually help, but the look on his face squashes the feeling promptly.

"Yeah, uh," James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sirius left with a girl like an hour ago. About yay high," he holds his hand out to your friend's height. "Tan. Brown hair."

You sigh. Some best friend you have. Here you are, searching for her endlessly, and she's ditched you at the party she brought you to.

"She was your ride, I’m guessing?" The corner of James' lip quirks up in a sorry half-smile as you nod. "It really is no trouble for me to drive you home."

You tap your foot on the ground anxiously. You're really wanting to just accept his offer. He seems nice enough, but there's still a little voice in the back of your mind telling you to be careful.

"I just... I don't really know you."

"Understandable," James starts. "But... you kinda do. I'm pretty sure we have chem together."

"I don't think so." You think you’d remember a muscly, likely rambunctious, frat boy in your boring chem class.

"Okay, I was playing it cool,” James’ teeth graze his lower lip in a bashful manner. “I know we have Chem together—with Professor Brown? Tuesdays and Thursdays. You sit in the front row. Y/N, right?" James looks a little sheepish as he recalls your name.

You nod slowly, really looking at James for the first time, trying to place him. Then it hits you—you do remember him. He sits a few seats down from you in chem, always rigorously taking notes and asking questions you wouldn’t have thought of (but are glad to have the answers to). Seeing him like this, though, is such a contrast to the smart guy from class that you didn’t even recognize him at first.

You feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You’ve only ever spared him a few glances, but you’ve always thought the smart guy from chem was pretty cute.

"Oh. Oh, right. I–I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You're James Potter." You try the name on your lips, realizing the name didn't click because you had only ever heard your professor call him by his last name.

"That's me," he grins. "And don't worry about it."

You give him a nod, a bit awkwardly. He seems like a good guy, but you’re still not sure if you want to get in his car. "Well, James, I should probably just call an Uber or something anyway. I don't know if you've been drinking or anything so..."

"Oh!" James holds up a finger, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a black rectangle. You mistake it for one of those big, clunky box vapes and almost want to roll your eyes. But then, James surprises you by blowing into it instead of breathing in.

The device beeps, and he shows you the little digital screen, previously hidden behind his hand, that reads "0.00" over a glowing green background.

"Haven't had a drop," he confirms. "I haven't smoked or anything else, either. Not my thing."

"Why do you own a breathalyzer?" you ask, a little dumbfounded.

"So I can breathalyze people," he shrugs, fiddling with the device—tossing it a few inches up in the air and catching it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, not satisfied with his non-answer.

“Sorry,” James chuckles at himself. "Uh, I have a lot of people leaving my parties trying to tell me they're sober enough to drive. I got loads of these ‘cause they can't argue with the numbers... as much as they might try to."

"Where did you even get that?" you ask. You can't imagine there's a very big market for personal breathalyzers.

"You can get almost anything with Prime delivery!" he says it like he's proud as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Hey, you want one? I've got a drawer full back in the house." He points with his thumb over his shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head at his offer. James laughs along with you, his lips curling into a boyish grin.

Well, if you’re going to put your trust in anyone else tonight it, it might as well be the smart boy from chem who takes safety seriously enough to own multiple breathalyzers.

You start walking towards the house. When you don’t hear a set of footsteps following behind, you call over your shoulder, "Come on."

James catches up quickly, happy to be invited to join you. "Where are we going?"

"To your car so you can give me a ride home."

From the corner of your eye, you watch his face break out into a wide grin. And from there on out, there's an extra pep in his step as he leads you to his car.

When you're safe and sound, back in the comfort of your own room, you flop onto your bed with a dreamy look on your face. You hug the jacket closer to your body, thankful for the excuse to talk to him in chem on Tuesday. Little did you know, he let you keep the jacket so that you'd have one.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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