The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Mirror

{{I'm too excited to wait. Enjoy this one because you guys are going to hate me again soon}}

The rest of the meeting goes by relatively smoothly.

James can feel Phoebe glaring at him the whole time, practically boring holes into his forehead with her flaming eyes. He winces when the meeting finishes and she slides back her chair, storming from the kitchen.

He shouldn't go to her. He knows he shouldn't. But he does anyway, standing up and hurrying after her. She sees him coming so she picks up her pace, thumping up the stairs. James follows faster, only a few steps behind her. She hesitates on the first landing, unsure which room will keep her safest from James.

Then she sees the bathroom down the hall and makes a break for it, rushing to get to safety with James hot on her heels driving her faster and faster.

She slips into the bathroom and goes to slam the door shut, but a familiar hand grabs the wood and stops it. Phoebe let's out an indignant squawk as James barges into the bathroom and shuts the door,

"Get out, Potter."

"No," He says firmly, staring down at her irritably. He can't help it, he has to explain himself.

"You know I'm right. They would rec—"

"Fuck off," Phoebe interrupts him, her voice raw with anger. "That mission was mine. I'm the only reason it got this far."

James snaps, replying angrily, "Yes, because you thought it was a good idea to have lunch with death eaters."

"I'm still here arent i? Risk comes with the job, Potter."

She's so flippant, so nonchalant about the fact that she could've just died. Disappeared. If her charm hadn't worked, Malfoy could have captured her and done the same things to her that was done to her mother.

James clenches his fists, only growing angrier when Phoebe says flatly,

"Benjy and I should be the ones going."

"Fenwick is clearly incapable of protecting anyone in the order, so he certainly shouldn't be going."

His heart sinks when he recognizes a ruthless glint in her eye, her lips quirking when she replies,

"I suppose your right. At least now I'll have someone to keep me company."

James sees red, his hands flying to his hair and tugging in frustration. He turns his back on her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Phoebe won't let up however, continuing on,

"You have no right to get me kicked off of assignments, Potter."

That's it. James explodes, whirling around and smacking his hand down on the porcelain sink as he yells,

"Yes I do! I do have a right, Griffin. Because I love you, dammit!"

Phoebe stares at him, her lips parted in obvious shock. Her lips. James feels his gaze drawn to them like a magnet. And then they're both moving, crashing together before either can stop it.

James let's out a groan at the contact, his hands grabbing at her hips. Finally. Her breathing hitches when he bites down on her lower lip harshly. He's still mad, still fucking furious with her. She can tell from the way he's kissing her, hot and needy and so aggressive it makes her knees shake.

She moans when his tongue eagerly slips into her mouth, rediscovering and reclaiming. There's no fighting for dominance—James has it already. Phoebe surrenders to his control, opening up for it greedily. She wants this, she needs this.