Latest Posts by jamiespxtter - Page 2

mcrningecans​:

who: @jamiespxtter where: the potter cottage. when: january 1, 1979.

      LILY STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. James stood before her, flesh and blood, and she didn’t think it would ever fully settle in her brain. They’d stayed in the hallway for what felt like an eternity, her fingers digging into his back until she cried out what felt like all the water in her body. He’d wiped them away for her, and she’d kissed his cheeks, as if that would stop the tears. But more came, for both of them, as their new reality settled on them like a wet blanket. Where was Harry? 

     Like clockwork, though, they’d drifted into the kitchen. Lily, still sniffling, had begun to root through the cabinets to find the tea kettle, mostly because it kept her busy, but also because it had been a while, and she’d like to taste a cuppa again. She’d kept it in a different spot when they’d first moved in, of course, and eventually moved it when they started using it every evening. Now, the kettle was singing, and Lily used magic to pour two cups and deliver them. She didn’t have the energy to move, after all, not now, not when James was so close. All she wanted to do was stay beside him, and figure out what was going on. After all, they’d always been able to figure everything else out together. They’d get this too.

     A small sip sent warmth through her body, and Lily allowed herself to breathe again. Shoulders fell, jaw slackened, eyelids lowered. They’d all been struggling since she’d woke, and Lily felt the tiredness that came with all these discoveries. Still, she didn’t want to rest. She couldn’t. Now, she needed a plan. She needed James. Her James. Lilys fingers reached for his again just because here she could. Here, at least, she had his hand to hold onto. “I don’t know what to say,” Lily managed, the first real words she’d spoken that weren’t obscured by her tears. What did you say to the person you loved most in the world, who you thought you’d lost? “His room is empty James. Like when we just moved in. The home office I wanted to set up? That’s what’s upstairs. A bunch of boxes full of ingredients. And, I mean, we’re okay… You’re not–” She sucked in a deep breath, because her eyes already were red-rimmed, and she didn’t need anymore tears to fall out by confirming what he already knew. 

     “What–what do you remember?”

--

He would have stayed there for a lifetime, if that was what she needed. 

They both needed it, really, and James held onto his wife desperately, a hand threading through her hair to nestle at the nape of her neck, trying to soothe her as best as he could. That sensation alone simply didn’t feel real, - none of it did, and while part of him wanted to believe this was some twisted game the fates were playing on them, there was simply no explanation for it. Every shuddering breath she took, every sob that wracked her chest, James simply held on tighter, relieved to at least feel alive again. It was a small mercy, he knew, but what else could be said? Their home had changed, as had they.

He had died. He was sure of it.

Lily’s breathing calmed him. She settled, eventually, as did he; though nothing could ever pull him away from her. Not now. Losing her had been the hardest thing he thought he would ever have to face, and now that the reality was setting in, there were much worse things coming for them. Even as they made their way to the kitchen, James kept a hand on her, needing the solid, affirming reminder that she really was there. It was the only thing that kept him standing upright, kept him pushing through the agonizing, deep ache that had settled in his chest, a loss he didn’t quite know how to deal with. One he hadn’t prepared for. Dumbledore had never given them any warning about this.

She was working on autopilot as she found the kettle, and used her magic to make them both a cup of tea. He felt too sick to drink it, but took the warm cup in one hand anyway, another sensation that felt borderline bizarre. Their table is small enough to leave them sitting side-by-side, and James moved his chair to sit facing her, hunched forward, his free hand rested carefully on her thigh.

He needed to hold her. He needed to know she was real. She relaxed slightly, after a sip, and James let his hand move, rubbing soothing circles against her leg. His own autopilot.

“.. he killed me.”

Saying it hurt more than he could bear.

“I - I told you to go. To get Harry, and leave. And then - I looked at him, and he -”

James had barely put up a fight. He dropped his head, the guilt turning in his stomach, as he stared down at the cup in his hand.

CARING SENTENCE STARTERS 

for muses that need a little love. 

❝  i’m here for you.  ❞

❝  let me help with that.  ❞

❝  i’m here.  ❞

❝  nothing’s gonna hurt you.  ❞

❝  if they do it again, you tell me.  ❞

❝  i’ll protect you. ❞

❝  i’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.  ❞

❝  let me take a look…  ❞

❝  i’m a phone call away.  ❞

❝  you should have called me.  ❞

❝  here, sleep.  ❞

❝  if you wanna talk, i’m here.  ❞

❝  hey, shh, it’s okay.  ❞

❝  i’ll never let you go.  ❞

❝  you’re with me now.  ❞

❝  nothing’s gonna take you from my side.  ❞

❝  i’ll do what i have to.  ❞

❝  i need you to stay here, okay? i got this.  ❞

❝  it’s safe here.  ❞

❝  i’m fine, let me see your face.  ❞

❝  we’re gonna have to keep ice on that.  ❞

greek goddess asks

aphrodite - who do you love most in this world?

hebe - what’s you’re fondest memory from your childhood?

melpomane - what is your favourite song?

nike - what are you most proud of?

thalia - who can always make you laugh when you’re feeling sad?

urania - do you believe in astrology? why/ why not?

selene - would you rather the sky had no moon or no stars?

polyhymnia - do you belong to a religion? which one?

pheme - which celebrity do you find most inspirational?

hecate - if you were a witch, what kind of animal would your familiar be?

clotho - do you want children? what do you want to call them?

artemis - are you a vegetarian/ vegan?

athena - do you have a favourite piece of art? what is it?

enyo - do you get angry easily?

harmonia - if you could learn to play any instrument, what would it be?

hestia - would you rather live in the countryside or the city? why?

hygenia - are you a tidy person?

nyx - when was the last time you stayed out past midnight?

Character Appearance Meme:

A faceclaim only goes so far, and even then sometimes their accuracy next to the vision in your head is only so-so. Send a symbol for a clearer picture!

☼ How does your character usually dress in daily life?

♔ How does your character usually dress for a fancy event?

✍ How does your character usually dress when going to work/school?

✂ How does your character usually style their hair?

♔ What (if any) jewelry does your character usually wear?

∇ What (if any) make-up does your character usually wear in daily life?

▼ What (if any) make-up does your character usually wear for fancy events?

👠 What kind of shoes does your character usually wear in daily life?

👓 What kind of mobility or assistive devices (if any) does your character use in daily life? (Glasses, canes, hearing aides, wheelchairs, etc.)

✗ What (if any) scars does your character have?

♠ What (if any) tattoos does your character have?

☾ What (if any) birthmarks does your character have?

Ұ How short/tall is your character compared to their peers?

■ How thin/heavy is your character compared to their peers?

“ What am I to you…? “ 

Sirius asks it in the dead of night.

The room is pitch black around them. It's not that noticeable, when they're hidden under the invisibility cloak anyway, bathed in their own kind of darkness. It had helped, he said, to imagine that no-one could see them right now, and James couldn't have refused him.

He didn't want to. He never wants to.

It makes sense, that the estate was the first place Sirius had thought to come to. Going home wasn't an option, especially not when home was no longer home. And while every part of him wanted to go face Sirius' parents himself, that wasn't exactly an option, either. There were far too many stupid politics in play, and with rumours about some kind of dark age happening amongst pureblood families, it was something he didn't want to get involved in.

But this was the beginning of it. Sirius refused to commit to their ways, and this was the price he paid.

His parents had been understanding. Loving. They had opened the door to Sirius without a second thought, welcomed him into their home, had set up a bedroom to call his own. They'd stocked the pantry with Sirius' favorite foods, even without him asking, - hell, he'd stayed quiet for most of the night, sitting out on the back step, staring into nothingness.

And now, the question comes, small and scared.

Sirius has never been small and scared.

James is hurting all over.

".. we've always been different," he mumbles back, and he can see how the cloak is helping. He feels safe, shielded, undetected, and he can speak without any fear.

He could always speak his mind around Sirius, anyway.

"Me and you, I mean. I know it's always been the four of us, and it always will be, but, -" Something catches in his throat, and James swallows around it. "But we're different. I think we were always meant to be together. You were always supposed to come here."

He hopes it's what Sirius needs to hear, and he pushes on.

"I'll always be with you, you know." James says it in a whisper. "I'll always be on your side. Even when we're a thousand years old. It's always been me and you."

Peace

The grounds are quiet.

The sun is shining. Classes are finished, and the train is leaving tomorrow. They're all packed, surprisingly actually on time, for once, - and hell, it's only taken them six years to perfect the art of moving back home for the summer.

James feels entirely at ease. There's the looming darkness that haunts them all, of course; a war on the brink of beginning, and smug pureblood students who believe they know right from wrong, bad from good, pure from filth. The thought of it makes his blood boil, makes him detest everything and anything being a pureblood wizard has become.

But for once, it's not on his mind. It's a privilege, he knows, and one he doesn't take lightly; but for a brief moment in time, everything feels normal again. They're sitting in some shade under the tree by the lake. Sirius is skipping stones, using his wand to propel them farther, and Remus is taking down the last of the notes he needs for whatever summer study he plans on doing, to make up for lost time with the moons.

None of them are talking. They don't have to. His gaze drifts to Peter, looking far too deep in thought to truly be enjoying this gloriously sunshine-y day, and James makes an effort to reach his foot out, knocking it against Peter's leg lightly to get his attention.

It snaps his friend out of the moment, and when Peter looks at him in confusion, James simply smiles.

'Relax,' he mouths, with a small shrug, refusing to break the quiet.

Whatever's on his mind can wait for another day.

‘Hold up’

He'd been just about to head out the door when Molly's hand stops him, pulling him back into the Burrow before he can protest.

Not that he wants to, really. The house is warm, and lively, hopping with toddlers and smelling of good, homecooked food, but James knows better than to overstay his welcome. He'd only dropped by to thank Molly, for the millionth time, for the few things she'd given them in preparation for the baby coming. What was supposed to be a quick ten minute stop, however, has turned into a two hour conversation over several cups of tea, and he really needs to get back to the Order before nightfall.

But Molly seems insistent, tugging him back gently, and he's not in a mind to protest. Everything she says, everything she thinks, is crucial. Important. He holds her opinion in higher regard than most, and the last few months have proven that. They've become true friends, he's sure of it, - and with Molly's own boy on the way, he doesn't doubt they'll end up wrapped up in each other's lives for some time.

He's expecting her to say something, and he turns to look at her.

She says nothing, but instead, pulls him into a tight, loving hug.

It's nice.

Safe.

James finds himself grinning, arms wrapping around Molly to give her a, - gentle, - squeeze.

"Thank you," he states, the words soft between them. "Sincerely."

“ What am I to you…? “

It's not a question he expects her to ask.

He knows everything about Marlene McKinnon. He knows what exact height she was at the age of seven, and just how she likes her tea. He knows her parents' middle names, and her favourite colour, and what song she's sung in the shower the most times. He knows what flowers she wants at her wedding, - though she'll never admit to wanting one, - and he knows how his heart breaks, every time she's ever unsure of herself.

Marlene is a whole world, wrapped up in blonde hair and fists, a wicked wit and a brutally honest truth.

To him? She's the whole fucking universe.

It hurts, whenever she has doubts. Their relationship has ebbed and flowed in so many different ways, - they've kissed, and cuddled in bed, and shared bedrooms, and dreams. They've pinky-promised a life together, and had massive, blow-out fights, over the most stupid things. In the middle of a war, James knows she has his back, just like, - he hopes, - she knows he has hers. They've been through far too much, over fifteen years of friendship, to ever doubt that.

Maybe he doesn't say it enough.

They always joke about these kinds of things.

He doesn't hesitate when he reaches out, lacing his fingers with Marlene's, the way they used to when they were little. It's never been something Lily's ever had to worry about, thank Merlin, and there's a comfort in it. Marlene's seen sides of him he doesn't like, sides of him no-one else has, and he knows the answer to her question can barely be put into words.

".. you're better than a sister," he decides, looking at her, voice honest and even, "and better than a friend. I don't think I'd be me without you."

'Hold up'

Their hand is on the back of James' shirt, catching him before he leans too far forward.

It's a rush, sometimes. The same exhilaration he gets from flying, from swinging out of his broomstick around the goalposts. There's an infinite feeling that comes with being so high up, so far away from the ground below, and he wants to believe he can hold onto that sensation forever. The astronomy tower comes pretty close, and James finds himself up there with Charity far more than he'd realised.

He likes them. A lot. He likes their honesty, and their freedom. There's a bravery in being so entirely who you are that the rest of the world melts away, and it's a feeling he's chased for years. Charity embodied it like it's second nature, weightless, and he's jealous.

They're too nice for him to be mad about it, though.

The pair of them are pressed up against the railings of the tower, watching the world go by. There's a peek of Hogsmeade in the distance, and the train tracks over the lake and the moors, and James can appreciate the view.

He'd been so enveloped in it, however, he'd almost leaned too far over the edge, and Charity had caught the back of his shirt just in time.

He's lucky they're around.

“Can any single person shut the fuck up about any single thing for an hour?”

"Would that include you?"

He asks it dryly, far too hungover to be anyway amused by Sirius' ramblings. The light peeking through the curtains of the bedroom is far too bright, the sound of someone pottering around downstairs is far too loud, - which, actually, is probably what Sirius is talking about in the first place, - and his head is pounding. For the most part, he can tolerate everything his brother says, greets his words with a warm grin and a wicked sense of humor, -

But his wedding is in two hours, he's lost his glasses and his left shoe, and all he can remember about the night before is the roar of Sirius' motorbike.

And firewhiskey. Lots of firewhiskey.

James turns over on the bed, hand reaching out blindly for his wand. It's not on the bedside table, and for a moment, he's confused, frowning as he tries to see through the blur of his shitty vision.

"Have you seen my wand?" he croaks out, rolling over to actually attempt to sit up, stomach lurching in the process. "Where the bloody hell are my glasses?"

"I would answer both of those questions and more," Sirius retorts, voice coming from somewhere on the floor, in a pile of blankets, "however, since you so rudely suggested I shut up, I intend to do just that."

His wand isn't there, but there's a book on the nightstand.

James throws it at him.

☆ + pepperoni pizza

"Are you talking about her birthday party, when we were nine?"

He says it with a wicked grin, beyond amused.

"Ask her about it. I dare you."

“ What am I to you…? ”

".. everything."

It's an honest answer, and James peeks his eyes open, blinking in the morning light to look at her. There's no hesitance when he says it, and the fact that he can say it is more of a relief than he ever thought possible.

They're two weeks into November, the Christmas break coming up on them fast and sudden, and he likes this. He likes the questions, and the curiosity, and the way she pokes at him, trying to read his thoughts. He likes that she wants to know what he's thinking, what he's seeing, what's on his mind when he's around her. It's like she's trying to figure out every aspect of how he works, and he's more than willing to let her. He's always worn his heart on his sleeve, so most of it is an easy read; but with Lily, it's in the palm of his hand, offered for her to take.

He can't lie to her. He never has.

The dorm is quiet for a Saturday morning, and they're curled up on his bed together. Lily's tucked up beside him, warm under his arm where she's laying down between him and a spare pillow, and James feels protective. They're safe, in their own little bubble, the curtains of his bed mostly pulled around them for a little privacy; and clearly she feels the same, if she's brave enough to ask the question.

He closes his eyes again, completely at ease, honest and open.

"You've always been everything."

Katherine McNamara Photo shoot with Joshua Shultz

☆ + QUIDDITCH

"Seeing her in the stands, way back in Hogwarts, cheering us on."

He says it with a laugh, light on his lips, a fondness shining in his eyes. It comes naturally, when he thinks of Lily. "I remember.. - our first match, in sixth year, against Hufflepuff. It wasn't even a big one, just a friendly game, to get the ball rolling for the year. But we'd had a really good summer, and she had actually said hi to me on the train on the way there, and just before the match, she'd wished me luck."

He grins then, lifts a hand to his hair, a soft, embarrassed flush of pink tinting his cheeks. "She shouted my name from the stands, and I was so distracted, I got hit in the head with a quaffle. Absolutely worth it."

“Can any single person shut the fuck up about any single thing for an hour?”

"That would actually involve people being competent and considerate, and you and I both know that's pretty hard to come by."

He answers before he thinks, only glancing up when Amelia comes to a stop beside him. As vast and all-encompassing as it is, the Ministry is surprisingly small, and James finds himself bumping into the same people on the regular. It's not an uncommon thing; most people working within it's walls are on a tight, routine schedule, and end of following the same pattern, day in, day out. James feels like an outlier sometimes, floating in and out to collect missions, to attend training and debriefs, most of which can already be done on the field.

It has been nice, however, to see Amelia again. He's known her almost ten years, now, and known her for about a year. They get on, and he's always appreciative of a familiar face. The little coffee shop across from the telephone box is where they usually cross paths, and today is no different.

She's frowning like she's sick of the world, leveling him with an unamused glare, and James turns back to the boy behind the counter with a grin, asking politely for another cup of tea for Amelia.

He's got a feeling she needs a minute to relax.

☆ + Trust

".. we trusted him. Wasn't that the whole point?"

There's a slight frown on his face when he says it, a furrow on his brow that won't shift. It's a combination of things, - confusion, distrust. Hurt. A strange mix of emotions that twist painfully in the pit of his stomach, and James shifts in his seat, obviously not quite right.

"I wanted to believe that what we had was strong enough. I did believe it. We wouldn't have made him our secret keeper if we didn't. Peter was my brother, and now -" James stops, the words dying in his throat. It hurts to say.

"- now, I don't know what to do."

“It’s been a decade since you’ve been gone.”

"Don't be so dramatic, Moons."

There's a crooked grin on his lips as he steps into the shack, a bag of goodies thrown over one shoulder. Getting to the castle and back had been a challenge, especially with McGonagall on edge around the full moon anyway, and while he appreciates her concern, they very obviously have this entire thing under control.

They've healed Remus' wounds to the best of their abilities, and settled for muggle bandages for the rest. He'd earned a laugh and a shove, when he'd tried to kiss the cut on Remus' cheek, and that was reassurance enough to know his best friend was alright.

Peter had stayed with him as he and Sirius made the trek back to the castle, picking up a selection of essentials; chocolate from the house elves, clean clothes, a blanket to keep around his shoulders for the walk back. It wasn't long, but James knew he would be tired, and every little thing would help.

"I made it worth the wait, though," he adds, kneeling down where Remus is sitting against the edge of the bed, covered only by the blanket they'd left there the month before. From the bag, he pulls out a piece of chocolate cake, a little smushed in it's wrapping, but still warm from the ovens.

"Saved you a slice," James teases.

Vices

HEADCANON:

James isn't a regular smoker, despite the fact that he's usually got a pack nearby, at most times.

It had become a bad habit in Hogwarts, something he had picked up the summer before their sixth year with Sirius, under the pretense of looking cool. They didn't look cool, really, but that didn't stop him from trying, hanging out down the far end of the Potter estate, by the lake, lazing on a sunny afternoon. The cigarette balanced carefully in one hand, toes dipping in the water, shirt unbuttoned with the hopes of getting some kind of a tan.

Peter had joined them, once, face scrunching up slightly at the scent of tobacco that clung to their clothes.

He only smokes on occasion. Drunk after a common room party, their sixth year. After winning a match, their seventh. Dawn, after a particularly rough full moon. It's even less frequent, now - he'd had one on the night Lily had told him she was pregnant, and one on the day Harry was born.

James relies on a lot of things to cope. His vices, however, are few and far between.

“Oh, if I’m self-aware about being a douchebag, it’ll somehow make me less of a douchebag.”

"Those two things don't cancel each other out."

They're sprawled out on the common room floor, arms spread wide, gazing up at the towering ceiling above them. Sometimes he looks up at the very top, and James feels like the room goes on for miles, swallowing him whole. It's spinning, swirling right where it reaches the apex, held together with supportive beams, and decades of magic and hope.

Sirius is beside him, toes warmed by the fireplace, and James can almost reach his hand with his own. Peter and Remus had long since gone to bed, retiring a little after midnight, and he and Padfoot had been left alone.

It's never a bad thing.

He doesn't believe Sirius is a douchebag. Or an arsehole, or a twat, or any of those things. But he knows Sirius better than most. Better than anyone. He'd moved into the estate last summer, and James had gained a real brother, someone to truly call family when he was so far away from his parents.

Sirius has always been family. Sirius has always deserved family.

James moves his hand then, knocking his fingers against Sirius' lightly.

"Stop stealing my socks, though. I'm running out."

“So either get with it or get out of the fucking way.”

Amelia Bones is a fucking force to be reckoned with.

James is a little convinced he's in love with her.

She stands tall, the picture of seventh year, head-girl, quidditch-playing, all-woman perfection. Maybe it's the fact that he's actually there, at their first quidditch lesson with Hooch, aiming to hold an air of confidence she's clearly overflowing with. The quidditch pitch is Amelia's turf, and he's not about to try to get in her way in the first place, but that doesn't mean the warning doesn't send a chill up his spine. He wants to believe she's actually paying attention to him, but her list of warnings is crucial, and fair.

All well-deserved, considering half the students who had shown up look bloody well terrified.

She's just there to observe, Hooch had reassured them. Even though she was playing for the Hufflepuff team, - one third their rivals, he had to remind himself, - James still feels a need to impress her. Especially when she seems entirely unconvinced that any of them will actually be good enough to beat her legacy.

Amelia glances at him as she says it, and James flushes pink, trying not to grin.

He loves quidditch.

“The coffee is free, just like me.”

"You're priceless, Molly."

He says it with an exhausted grin, one hand gratefully taking the cup she offers. It's late enough in the evening for coffee, but James feels jittery all over, like he's not quite right. Normally a cup of tea with Lily would be exactly what the healer ordered, but while his wife is on her mission with Moody, he's willing to take all the alternative help he can get.

Molly Weasley is a blessing. Her showing up at the Hollow had been a surprise in itself, but not an unwelcome one. They've been getting a little closer, lately, chatting more and more, thanks to her brothers. And with the baby on the way, James has.. sort of become attached, to her. She's smart. And kind. Her kids are rascals, but James knows she'd do absolutely anything for them. Everything she has is everything he wants in a family, and they're right on the edge of getting it, Lily's bump growing every day.

The Burrow is much bigger than the Potter's cottage, and he's only been there a handful of times. Every day, she's added something new; another bed, another room, a new painting, new wallpaper, fresh flowers, more vegetables in the garden. It's a home, and he feels welcome there.

He wants the Hollow to feel the same to her. Like a welcome home. Like family.

Doors

HEADCANON:

The Potter estate is big.

It's not unwelcoming, or imposing, by any means. Any aspect of being too much is immediately washed away by his mother's warm hugs, his father's booming laughter as he greets guests, and the fact that it's James' home. Marlene had been enamored by the place from her first steps inside of it, and while he had tried to be boastful about how many rooms were simply for sleeping in, she had been more interested in the doors.

There had been many generations, passed through the estate. And with it came many tastes, and senses of style, and urges to make a house a home. All of these things added together had turned the estate into a miss-match of different rooms and different stylistic ages, the house it's own portrait of a family tree woven into the very brick work and foundations.

There's big doors. Small doors. Doors with peeling paint, and doors made of concrete, reinforced with charms. Doors for house elves, and doors for half-giants. The back garden can be reached through wide, gaping, fifteen-foot-tall glass doors, - or through the little side entrance, a little wooden door, built into the side of the kitchen.

Marlene had laughed at him once, at the age of fourteen, when he had walked through and smacked his forehead right off the awning.

He was left with a bruise on his forehead for a week.

He's learned to duck.

Wine

It's their first night living alone.

The flat is tiny, with a balcony, and a double bed, pushed up under the window. The kitchen is just barely big enough for the two of them, but they've been graduates now for three whole months, and summer is ending. As enjoyable as it had been to spend the warmer days wrapped up in the comfort of his own bedroom in the estate, something in James longs for more. He's nineteen, now, the excitement of being an independent adult buzzing at his fingertips. He starts Auror training in a few weeks, and then..

There's no Hogwarts to go back to, in September. No more sharing a dorm with his best friends, or sharing a common room with a whole quarter of the school population. He's gone from being surrounded by hundreds of students on a regular basis, to this.

If James is being honest, he prefers this.

This, is a life with Lily. This, is a home, their own, built together. He hadn't hesitated to ask, and she hadn't hesitated to say yes, just as eager as he had been to catch up on the time they had lost. It's abundant, now. There's still boxes to unpack. A life to start, together. They're just shy of a year into officially being a couple, and still, every day, he wakes up happier than before.

And it's all thanks to Lily.

There's a bright grin on his lips when he opens the cheap bottle of wine, pouring it out into two wine glasses. Clear crystal, the most expensive thing in the flat, and a moving out gift from his parents. The wine is blood red, sharp and sweet, and James carries the two glasses over to where she's perched on the couch, curled up, content, like there's nowhere else she'd rather be.

She smiles at him, just as happy as he is.

There's nowhere else he'd rather be.

❝ Where does it hurt?❞

"Just here, mostly," he answers, giving a vague gesture to his other shoulder, with the arm that wasn't currently wrapped up in a bandage and sling.

Charity's presence in the hospital wing is almost a surprise. He says almost, if only because their paths have crossed within the castle so many times now that he actually considers them a friend. Stargazing in the astronomy tower, chatting after matches, taking a moment to sit with each other during breakfast, before most of the castle was up and awake. He's asked for their help with divination essays on more than one occasion, and Charity has always been more than happy to offer some advice.

And now, here, when he's stuck in a bed, having dislocated his shoulder and broken his arm, - "Badly," Poppy had warned him, like she'd be ready to hex him if he did it again. They've popped up again, greeting him with way more patience and gentle consideration that he deserves. Charity takes up a place in the chair beside James' bed, and he's more than grateful.

"I should be out by tomorrow," he adds, hoping the statement is reassurance enough that he's fine, and James flashes them a wide grin, "you know nothing can keep me down."

Self Para || The Dawn of an Old Day

TAGGING → James Potter TIMELINE→ January 1st, 1979 SETTING → Godric's Hollow, West Country, England SUMMARY → James wakes up at home, alone. The last thing he remembers is telling Lily to run with Harry, and turning to face Voldemort alone, on Halloween night of 1981 NOTES → Warning for injury mention, description of death/dying.

-

For a moment, he feels like he's floating.

Weightless.

A flash of green, the pressure easing from his shoulders. Numbness creeping up his legs, into his chest. He can imagine falling, meeting the bottom of the little staircase in their home, what was once a safe haven now desecrated by the worst betrayal.

There's nothing in his mind, however. No thoughts, no fears, no hesitations. No anger, no remorse. He's done all he can, lived his life as wholly as he could, and now, this is what's left. Snippets of memories, fond and fleeting, drifting by wherever he is.

Harry's laughter. Lily's smile. The smell of Sirius' tobacco. His dad's old pipe.

Remus' blood. Peter's yell. Marlene's tears.

Raindrops on her face. On his hand. The sky, clouds gaping wide, the heavens pouring down on him.

Weightless. Weightless.

Death is a quiet thing. There's no screech of car breaks, or healers rushing around him. There's no screaming, no sound other than his own breath, in and out, in and out, in and..

Quiet.

Maybe his parents had felt the same way. His mother had been found in her bed, his father in the chair beside her, their hands joined between them. Part of him wants to believe that they had died within moments of each other, simply because the thought of living without the other was impossible to bear. He knows that's true love, being unable to go on without the one you chose, the one you cared for, by your side.

He had told Lily to run. To take Harry, and go. The culmination of their love, wrapped up entirely in a soft, woven blanket, a gift from Sirius' cousin. In their last few moments, despite all of his belief about love dying side-by-side, standing together, he had made her go.

Perhaps it would give them a fighting chance. Lily was strong. If she had to face a world without him, with their son, she could do it. Brave, and bold, and every bit the woman he knew. The woman he loved.

Loves.

It's a difficult thing to let go of, but he doesn't want to let it go. Not yet, anyway. Despite the numb that comes with passing on, there's still a warmth nestled in his chest, a calm that's settled there, made a home. He doesn't know how the rest of this story will play out - none of them do, but that wouldn't stop him from believing in it. Nothing would. His life has come and gone, passed through the hourglass and left sitting in a pile of sand at the bottom, but his love holds on tight, like the final few grains that cling to the glass.

Is he ready to go? No.

He doesn't think he ever was. He doesn't think he ever will be. There's an invincibility that comes with fighting a war at the age of eighteen, a thrill of life that comes with winning a fight, again and again and again.

But fatherhood has settled him. Being a husband has settled him. They've spent the past few months in isolation, with nothing but owls, and their thoughts, and their little Harry to keep them going. He doesn't need much else.

They had run out of time. Trust. Like the sand in his hourglass, it had fallen through his fingertips, and he had watched it go, staring down the end of Voldemort's wand with a final sense of realisation.

This was a mistake. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There was no blaze of glory, no final, epic defeat. He had stared death in the eye, in the quiet of his own home, bastardized by his presence in the threshold, and their peace has been violated. There's no chance of him coming out of it alive, and he knows it.

He barely has time to lift his wand before there's green.

Green.

And nothing.

.

.

.

And something.

It pulls him out from the numb. The quiet is still there, clinging to his skin, curling around his neck with no whispers, no words. There's no explanation for where he is or what he's doing, how much time has passed between then and now, between something and nothing.

It's still in him. That warmth. Love, nestled deep in his chest. It burns the way it always has, lights up inside him like a flower, blooming under the sun. He was never numb, not at all - he had been wrapped up in that warmth, in that love, like a blanket, woven by Sirius' cousin, keeping him safe.

Close.

He's always been close.

They've never left.

And then he's there. With him. With her. With them.

There's a forest, cold and blue-green around them, damp under his feet. He can't feel it, but he knows it's there, wrapping him up in dawn - dusk? He isn't sure. Time has passed. Time is passing. Nothing feels real, solid, but somehow he knows he is there, and there's a man in front of him.

Not a man.

A boy.

Barely eighteen, the image of his father, glasses low on his nose and sweat on his brow, dirt and grime over his face and his clothes, his hands. Hours of fighting a long fight evident on his skin, and in his eyes.

Green eyes.

James knows those eyes.

He settles, standing so close but just out of reach, watching. They've been brought here for a reason, he can feel it, a purpose that sits right at home with the love in his chest. It grows, multiplies, becomes an all-encompassing weight that envelopes him so warmly, and even in the cold of the forest, he feels a belonging. He's right where he needs to be. The boy before them needs him, and he's here, more than ready to stay by his side. He's always been there.

"You've been so brave, sweetheart."

Her voice sounds as calm as he feels, and James lets it wash over him. There's a similar expression on her face, like she knows it, too, though she doesn't look at him to reassure what he's thinking. She doesn't need to.

They're entirely in sync, watching the boy before them. Sirius, and Remus stand on the opposite side, an equal distance apart as James and Lily are, and it feels like a full circle. They're surrounding the boy, wrapping him up, keeping him from harm.

They always have been. They always will.

"Until the end."

James finds himself speaking, the words coming more naturally than breathing. The boy meets his gaze, watching, like he's spent a lifetime waiting for this moment. Nothing about it feels strange, or foreign, - it's easier than walking. Laughing. Existing.

He was always meant to be a father.

"You'll stay with me?"

His voice is so familiar. The boy looks to Lily like he's waiting for the reassurance, the invitation to come home, and she's as warm and welcoming as she's ever been. Maybe this is how she had felt, just before he had come to them, still cradled carefully inside her from the war-torn world around them. Maybe she feels it, too, a pull from deep within that keeps them bound to the boy, no matter what tries to tear them apart. He might look like his father, but he has his mother's eyes, bright green and honest, pooled with emotion and hope.

Green.

She doesn't have to think twice when she answers. It's more natural to her than breathing.

Harry opens his palm, and the stone falls.

.

.

.

James opens his eyes.

It’s dawn. Early morning. Sunlight is just starting to creep through the window in the front room, and he can see it from his position on the stairs, slumped on his side like he had fallen there. There’s a ringing in his ears, a nausea that creeps up the back of his throat and threatens to make him throw up then and there, but he manages to hold it back, focusing on taking a few, deep breaths.

In, and out. In, and out.

He’s exhausted. It’s in his bones, in his head, in his heart. His whole body is aching, physically and emotionally, and he has to sit with it for a moment, trying to remember why he’s doubled over at the bottom of the stairs in the first place. There’s green eyes in his mind, a green flash, a sense of loss, -

And it all comes back.

Thundering, instantaneous, like a nightmare he has to relive in his memories, over and over again. The thud of the door, the panic in Lily’s eyes as she reached for their son. Harry’s cries, the way his heart sank in his chest as James knew their time was up. He can see it all so, so clearly, - Voldemort’s red eyes, his sunken skin, the way his contorted, filthy had had raised his own wand, and James had tried, tried so fucking hard to fight back. He’d barely lifted his arm before it was all over. The fight they had been fighting since they were fifteen had come to an end, and he was dead.

He was supposed to be dead.

His son was only a year old.

James is moving before he can even process it, scrambling to his feet despite the way his stomach lurches. The panic he feels is sudden, urgent, sickening right down to his very core, and all he can think about is Lily, Harry, Lily, Harry, his family, everything he had fought so hard to protect. Nothing about it feels real, - there’s no possible way he had stood there and stared, had watched Voldemort raise his wand and curse his death upon him, and simply came out alive on the other side. Everything in him refuses to believe it, and before he can stop himself, he’s moving.

The living room is empty. There’s no sign of her, of Harry, and James nearly trips over a cardboard box as he searches, frantic in his actions. There’s no logic behind it, - she’s not behind the couch, she’s not curled up in the armchair, she’s not in a heap by the fireplace. Harry’s blanket is nowhere to be found, and James is certain he had left it at the end of the couch, where their son had just been figuring out how to sit upright properly, all by himself. James had been so proud.

She’s not in the kitchen, either. There’s more boxes, and he ignores them, barely stopping to glance at the scribbled handwriting on the sides of the cardboard.

Kitchen 1.

Cupboard 3.

Over the oven.

Do not open before welcome home party, James!!

He had told her to run, but where? There’s nowhere to go, and while he wants to believe she had made it out the back door and apparated away before Voldemort could have reached them, the door is still firmly locked. He gets it open with a spell and a hasty shove, but their back garden is empty, no sign of life, no evidence she had been out there at all. The poppies she had planted in April are missing, too. A bright burst of red that had once made a home just past the step at their back door, there’s no sign of them now, and James frowns in confusion, fixing the glasses on his face to make sure he’s not simply imagining things.

He makes it back into the house, dread seeping in. It’s a difficult sensation to ignore, so all-encompassing that for a moment, he can’t breathe, looking around the kitchen in confusion. It fights with the tiny snippet of hope he feels, nestled carefully in his heart. He wants to believe that Lily is safe, somewhere, with their son, that Dumbledore has kept his promise and kept them safe, has guaranteed their son a fighting chance at life.

Until the end.

The words ache in his chest, deep and sorrowful, like memories of his father. Going back to the empty estate had felt similar, and James has to fight to breathe, lifting a hand to his chest to feel the frantic thud of his heartbeat there.

Fear. He feels fear.

There’s a noise upstairs. Movement.

It catches his attention suddenly, given how quiet Godric’s Hollow is around him, and James reaches for his wand, gripped tight in his aching hand. He’s been on enough missions to know it’s not a good sign, and that the logical thing to do would be to abandon the house, to run himself, and try to find Dumbledore and his family. But James doesn’t run from things, never has, and he steels himself as he approaches the kitchen door, and the little hallway that ends at the bottom of the stairs.

There’s footsteps, light enough to almost be undetectable. His breathing catches in his chest as he edges closer to the door, and James leans to look around it, catching sight of someone coming down the stairs.

Red hair. A shaking hand. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, reaching for a picture in a frame, the glass shining and new. She almost looks hesitant to touch it, like she can’t quite believe it’s there.

He can’t quite believe she’s there.

Nothing stops him from moving out into the hallway behind her, his own steps quiet. For a moment, all he can do is look, because it can’t possibly be real. That she’s here, she’s alive, with him. There’s every possibility she’s a ghost, but she’s touching the picture frame, fingertips pressed against the glass so lightly, and she’s really with him. James can see a picture of their wedding day, their friends, a monumental, happy moment in their lives.

They had broken that frame when they had moved Harry’s crib upstairs. He still had to get it fixed.

“.. Lils?”

The fond petname comes out broken, almost like a plea. It’s the first word he’s spoken in.. he doesn’t quite know how long. He doesn’t want to think about it. She turns, then, meeting his gaze with tear-filled eyes, and everything James fears comes crashing down around him, all at once.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He reaches for her, hands shaking, wand dropping to the floor. He knows his wife, knows who she is, knows without a single ounce of doubt that it’s really Lily standing before him, alive. She stares at him like she doesn’t know what to do, like she’s as broken as he feels, - and all at once, she falls forward, collapsing in his arms with a sob.

It breaks him.

Harry isn’t with her.

James: *sighs*

Sirius: You bored?

James: Yeah.

Sirius: …

Sirius: Wanna start drama for no reason?

James: …

James: Yeah, why not.

“You can never really go back to the same waters. Not only are you no longer the same, but neither are the waters you left. The current has changed. The elements of nature have affected the stream. When you return, although it appears the same, it really is a different river and you are a different person. Therefore, you cannot cross the same river twice.”

— Alice Walker

Rain & papers

HEADCANON: James adores rain. The sound of it, the smell of it, the exhilaration that comes with feeling alive. One of his earliest memories is being whisked up into his father's arms, and taken out into the rainfall, bundled up in a warm embrace and surrounded by his mother's laughter as they danced together, James between them. He can remember the feel of each drop, the smell of springtime and the flowers Euphemia had planted the week before, the joy of being safe, and home. Lily can find him out there, sometimes. Sitting on a broomstick on the quidditch pitch after a tough match, eyes closed, only a foot off the ground, but still weightless. In the summer before their seventh year, the pair tucked up together in a small doorway of some little pub near her hometown, and he takes a deep breath in, a small smile on his face despite the cold that seeps into his socks. In their last few weeks at Godric's Hollow, it becomes his coping mechanism. To sit out on the step of their back door, watching their little garden, rain falling on his outstretched palm. Harry's usually asleep by the time he goes out, and Lily is quick to follow her husband, only stopping behind him to thread her fingers through his hair. The combination of her touch, and the fresh smell of the rain, and the gentle sounds of Harry fussing in his cot nearby is everything that feels like home to him. He loves the rain.

-

DRABBLE: It looks like a bomb has hit their living room. For a moment, James is willing to not ask any questions. His girlfriend, - fiancée, his mind helpfully corrects, and he has to stop himself from dancing on the spot right then and there, - looks to be the culprit of the crime, a bundle of scrunched up papers in a little pile behind her as she tries to organise through.. whatever she's organising through. It's far too early in the morning for her to have any reasonable excuse, but he's long since learned to roll with the punches when it comes to Lily Evans. She's a whirlwind, a woman who can't be stopped when she's on a mission. Merlin, he fucking loves her. She's frantically writing something on a new piece of paper, and James knows better than to stop her and ask exactly what she's doing. Instead, he turns his attention to the tossed-away, crumpled up paper ball that's nearest to his position at the living room door, and he carefully leans down to pick it up. There's writing on the inside, scribbles, and James scrunches his nose up in confusion as he unravels the paper ball, reading over her handwriting. Blue flowers. Red? Yellow? Check J suit. No white. Center pieces. NO LILIES. Green foliage - talk to Molly about best leafy flowers for center pieces. framed? keep one center piece. preservation charm - ask alice. A smile pulls at his lips, and James tucks the paper into his pocket, picking up another. The same, again, - scribbles of wedding plans and ideas, written down like it's plucked straight from her mind and shoved onto the paper. Something about it makes his heart soar, the fact that she's so invested in making their day absolutely perfect, for both of them, while still keeping their friends in the loop. It's a small blessing, given the circumstances.

Pets

[I'm choosing to take this as 'pets', the verb, as in 'getting petted'!]

The first time Sirius gets his full animagus form, James is euphoric.

It's months of work, hours upon hours of research, and potions, and charms, and stupid divination classes, all building up to this exact moment. Keeping the finer, grittier details of it from Remus had been a challenge, for the most part, but it's all worth every single ounce of sweat they've put into perfecting the magic behind it. Remus is worth it all, and that had been agreed upon ever since they had come up with the idea on day one, no questions asked; and while they're not expert wizards just yet, McGonagall seems relatively pleased with their extra interest in potions, lately.

Shes not all too pleased with their extra interest in the restricted section of the library, but that's neither here nor there, and nothing for her to be concerned about.

Yet.

The fact is, what they've achieved now is a monumental victory. In Sirius' place is a great, big, fluffy dog, panting and whacking his tail on the wooden floors as he wags it, very obviously delighted with himself. James' own reaction is instantaneous, a delighted, "YES!", and before he knows it, he's lunging at Sirius, wrapping the dog up in a tight hug. "Look at you! You're brilliant! You're amazing! I could fucking kiss you!" And he does, right on Sirius' hairy forehead, between perked up ears, hands scratching and petting instinctively, wherever he can reach.

"We have to show Moons," James beams, giving him another kiss.