The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Quick

{{thanks for being patient! Friendly reminder that I am a college student struggling with finals right now, so hang in there. In the spirit of exam week (at least I think it's exam time for a lot of people) I thought we would keep this chapter happy—I didn't edit so I bet there's some funny typos!}}

James taps his fingers, bobbing his head up and down to the song that's stuck in his head.

It's been stuck in his head for ages, but he could figure out for the life of him what it was, or where he'd heard it. He groans frustratedly and shoots Phoebe an exasperated look, eyes roaming where she's perched elegantly on the arm of the sofa.

There was an uncomfortable sense of awkwardness within the walls of their home. They couldn't leave. Trapped. They were trapped. And James was grateful, grateful that his family would be safe. But fuck if he wasn't bored.

He stares at his wife, studying the furrow of her brow as she reads. His eyes widen when she mindlessly licks her forefinger to turn the page easier, his mouth running dry.

"Phoebe."

She doesn't look up, just continues to read as she wonders, "Yes, J?"

Phoebe was about as bored as he was, she was just better at hiding it. The days leading up to them hiding had been torture. She hated lying, hated lying to Sirius and Remus. Hated lying to Peter and Lily and Marlene. But Merlin, it physically pained her to lie to James.

She'd busied herself with tasks, wrote and sent off their wills to the ministry, successfully cleaned up every square inch of Grimmauld place. She knew Kreacher would clean it in her absence. But that hurt too. That life at Grimmauld place would go on. It hurt that life was now both chaotically imbalanced and controlled at the same time. Though the control that she'd thought she'd had was slipping.

James frowns at the wrinkle of worry between her brows. It hadn't gone away. Not since Harry was born. He wanders over, plucks the book from her hands. She stares at her now empty grasp, her face twisting into an expression of exasperation. She hadn't liked reading before, but knitting was starting to hurt her hands, so at Lily's encouragment she'd taken to fairytale stories that could distract her. James liked to listen when she read them to Harry, not that he'd readily admit it.

"P," He groans, tossing the book onto the sofa. He cups her cheeks, tilts her head up and slides his fingers up into her hair. It was getting long again. He smiles at the tinge of pink coating her cheeks. Her eyes are shining with mirth, the first hint at a carefree emotion in some time.

James can't resist bending down to press his lips to hers, soft and chaste. He loved Harry, he even loved having Lily around to ease the darkness in the house. But he missed his wife. Missed the freedom of being with her anywhere and everywhere.

Phoebe smiles against his lips, and James savors the laugh that escapes her when he playfully bites her lower lip. She shoves at his chest, scolding, "James!"

"Cmon, love," James groans, tugging at her hair and saying pointedly, "I know for a fact that whatever you're staring at in that book is not nearly as fun to look at as I am."

He smirks when she rolls her eyes, sneaking his arms down to band around her waist and haul her up over his shoulder.

"James!" She repeats shrilly, "Lily is here!"

"Yes," James agrees cheekily, "And she'll know what it is we're up to if you don't stop your shouting!"

He jumps when he feels her hand swat at his backside, a yelp escaping him. He returns the favor, palm stinging from the force of his smack against her arse.