Memes:replies - Blog Posts

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

"I'm not answering this question."

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

HEADCANON:

James has four go-to pairs of shoes that he wears pretty regularly.

The first are a pair of beat-up sneakers, just used for running around in. Lily had shown him a few different muggle brands when they were out shopping one day, and he had fallen in love with a pair of Nikes.

The second, are a pair of boots, for when he's on missions. They're charmed to be non-slip, silent, hex-proof, and ridiculously comfortable. It makes it much easier to face auror and Order missions that are days long.

The third, are a pair of fancy dress shoes. His father had once taught him the importance of always having a smart pair of dress robes and good, formal shoes, for any necessary event and occasion. As much as he hates dressing up in the more traditional sense of wizard wear, he does appreciate the life lesson. He's never forgotten it.

The fourth pair of shoes are actually an old pair of slippers. Sirius had given them to him as a joke gift, making a gag about him being an 'old man', just after Lily had announced her pregnancy. But the slippers are comfortable, beyond belief, and James usually wears them around the house.

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

HEADCANON:

In the earlier years of Hogwarts, James would have been considered pretty tall. He'd hit a growth spurt early, which definitely made it easier to get onto the quidditch team sooner, rather than later. He learned how to use it to his advantage, though as the years have gone by, he's settled into a comfortable 'just a little taller than average'.

Tall enough to give Lily a kiss on the forehead, and to hold Harry on his shoulders so he feels like he's flying, and to make fun of Sirius for being a little shorter than him, he'd say. That's all that matters.

“ 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."

☆ + 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."

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.

Friend

HEADCANON:

So much of James' personality is based around his ability to have friendships. He considers himself practically everyone's friend, unless they've been a dick to him, or he's got good reason not to like them. For years growing up, he had always seen how his parents were treated, liked, how they had so many people they could rely on and turn to, people they trusted, people who could just pop by the estate and were greeted with a warm welcome. Acquaintances, they would call them, but James always knew better; they were friends, as simple as that.

Marlene had been his first real friend, aside from his parents, and she has a special place in his heart. But something had changed on that first train ride to Hogwarts; when he had met Remus, Peter, and Sirius. There was a shift in his very core understanding of friendship, in the way he saw how it worked. Friendship was so much more than just people you got along with and saw every now and again, especially when those friendships turned into a family.

Family are people you want to stick by. People you want to surround yourself with. They're the people you call home, when you have nowhere else to go, and no-one else you want to go to. People you trust, people you would do anything for, even without asking, no matter what.

James has plenty of friends.

Sirius is his family.

‘ hold up ‘ reverse

It takes everything he's got to hoist Peter back, ripping the back of his shirt in the process.

There's a panic in it, an urgency to run, and James follows that instinct like it's the only thing guaranteed to keep them alive. He keeps one hand on Peter's shoulder, pulling him tight, the other one covering his mouth quickly to stop him from making a peep. At the same time, there's footsteps rushing down the alleyway behind them, chasing them, and James keeps his eyes on Peter's, staring him down, daring him not to say a fucking word. Their silence is crucial, especially now, and the last thing he wants is for either of them to get caught.

Lily's due in a week. He can't leave her like this.

There's a second set of footsteps, and James' eyes widen slightly, still watching his friend. They're the only two out of the mission, and while part of him wants to believe it's just concerned citizens rushing to help, another part of him knows it's their worst fear; an ambush, more Death Eaters, coming to get them if the first pair couldn't. It's a lot more dangerous than either of them had realised, and James sits with the reality of it for a beat, trying not to get too overwhelmed.

When enough time has passed for him to be convinced that no-one else is coming for them, James finally lets his hand drop, resting on Peter's shoulder instead as they both catch their breath.

"Too close," James decides, slumping agaisnt Peter in a half-hug.

❝ I don’t think I can make it…❞

"You say that every time." It comes off as a little more of an accusation than he intends, but it's not necessarily untrue. Peter does say it, almost every time he suggests something, and James is reaching his tipping point. There's something going on. The war has taken it's toll on all of them, dragging down their spirits like a fucking vice. It's not fair, not when they're only just graduated, only just on the precipice of becoming adults, and they haven't had a chance to live. And as tolerant as James wants to be, tries to be, none of that can relieved the ache he feels every single time Peter says no, or doesn't show up, or cancels at the last minute. Once upon a time, all he could do was spend every waking moment at James' side, and James misses his best friend. It hurts. It's his fucking birthday. It's a slow descent into losing him. He can see it from a mile away, can tell that Peter's mind is somewhere else, even in Order meetings. Maybe he's planning on becoming a hermit, on running away, on totally disengaging from the wizarding world to keep him safe. James wouldn't blame him, really, - the bigger Lily's bump gets, the more tempting the thought becomes for him, too. "Don't worry about it," James settles on finally, lifting a hand to pat Peter's shoulder. He doesn't smile when he says it, simply shrugs, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "There's always next year."

Doubt

HEADCANON:

Despite how much of his heart and soul he puts into it, James has so many doubts about himself being a father. His own father had always been a great example, and that was never in question, but he's seen first had what shitty parenting can do to a child. The first time Sirius had openly talked about his parents, something about it, - not just a hatred for how they treated Sirius, their son, but a sense of unrest that came with knowing people could just be like that to their children and be perfectly content with it, - just never sat right with him.

When he and Lily found out she was pregnant, the first thing he felt, above all else, was euphoria. Pure, complete happiness. But the doubt crept in, and the fear, and even when Harry had arrived, and he was set in James' arms in a little bundle of soft blankets, James couldn't deny that haunting doubt that loomed in the back of his mind.

He always wanted to be a good father. The only thing standing in his way was his own insecurities, doubts and fears.

❝ I…I’m sorry. I have to go ❞

"Go where?!" He asks it with a laugh, using it to hide the disappointment he feels. It's natural, he knows, his mum had warned him a thousand times; people drift apart by the time school starts to end, friendships change, people change. James wants to believe that Peter's only running away from hanging out behind the herbology greenhouses because he's stressed about NEWTs, or because they all still have a history essay due in two days, or because McGonagall's been breathing down his neck about his plans for the future. They're all stressed about NEWTs. About classes. McGonagall. It's barely an excuse. It's been happening more and more lately. Peter's distance. Seven years of being joined at the hip is starting to dwindle, and as right as his mother usually is, James doesn't want it to be true. Any plans about the future are usually shot down, any questions about hanging out for the weekend, or going to Hogsmeade, or even just studying together, most of them are rejected. And he understands, truly, - it's an exhaustive time for all of them, mutually. But surely they're supposed to be leaning on each other, supporting each other, not drifting apart? They're supposed to stay together, the four of them. They're supposed to save the world. He seems insistent on leaving, however. And for the hundredth time, James lets him go, letting out a soft breath of Peter's name in protest. It's not enough to keep him around. It never is.

❝ It’s okay — you’re going to be okay! ❞

[TW: injury description.]

"Your faith in me is absolutely reassuring." His words come out dry, forced through the ache of the pain shooting up his leg. He's fine, for the most part, - the Death Eaters they had been chasing have long since been taken care of, and he and Amelia are a bloody good team. "It's a quidditch thing," she had joked, though he had agreed wholeheartedly. Their issue now is the nasty way his leg is twisted, and James stays slumped up against the brick wall, keeping his weight on the other foot. He's had injuries, before. Quidditch, stupid tricks and pranks with the boys, that one time he had flown around to Lily's window of Gryffindor tower in the rain, and had slipped off his broom. Countless full moons. Auror training, and being in the Order. He's seen the inside of the medical wing and St. Mungo's more times than he can count, and he's learned to handle the pain. But it's something else. The hex the Death Eater had used is nasty, and James feels like his leg is still twisting in the wrong direction, tightening, like bone and muscle is fit to burst. The longer they wait, the worse it feels. Amelia's there, though. She's got one arm under his shoulders, helping to keep him upright, and he's more than grateful. There's a grimace on his face, and James fights a groan as his leg twists again, his hand grabbing onto her tightly. "Please don't tell my wife about this," he huffs, giving her a look.