☽𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧☽ -ᴊ.ғ.ᴘ

✾ɴᴇᴡ sᴛᴏʀʏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ✾

{Hello again!

I recently asked on my profile what you would be interested to see me do next. The majority said another James fanfic. Now, I'm not saying I'm about to start writing this and chapters will be out, I'm not anywhere near the place to start a new book yet, but I do have an idea of what that may entail. It's a bit different than James and Melody's story, but I hope you'll love it just as much if not more!

Tell me what you think! I'm eager to hear your thoughts}

James used to love Mondays.

For him, Mondays were like mini New Year's, a fresh start, a clean state, another week full of opportunities and possibilities. Monday's were waking up at six on the dot, throwing on the first thing he could get his hands on and rushing to the Quidditch Pitch.  Monday's were flying solo up to bird's eye view to watch the golden light dribble over dewy land like the sticky sweet syrup he has on his oatmeal. Monday's were letters from Mum and Dad and being chased from one side of the castle to the other after pranking Filch. Mondays were James Potter's days. 

He never understood the rest of the world's paralysing dread, the reluctance to peel away the blankets, the hatred to be at number one of seven again. James never understood any of that.

Not until now.

"James"

The call for attention isn't impatient, but it isn't patient either. A medium. Not a happy medium, there's nothing happy about this, well not for him anyway. Just a medium.

"What?" He mutters, hating how familiar the gruffness of his tone is becoming to his ears. Gruff, curt, short, his Mum would be slapping his wrists if she heard.

Shame crawls up his throat like sour acid, forcing a weak smile to his face when he manages to meet her eye. She looks different, free. James couldn't remember the last time he felt free.

"I said, is there anything else? We have a booking slot for the farm we'd like to make on time"

We. James swallows, spotting familiar, dark coiled curls bouncing out from behind the kitchen cupboard that hides the muddy wellies from plain sight. Three pairs of boots in three different sizes plant down against the tiled floor and then the cupboard's behind shut, revealing the gorgeous face that steals hearts. The gorgeous face smiles, greeting him the same way it had since they were eleven, twelve.

"Hi, James!"

James holds up his hand, all fingers folding down onto his palm as he nods back the same way he would when they were eleven, twelve.

"Morning Mary"

Flashing another pearly white smile, Mary disappears, presumably off to find the coats next, it is rather chilly. No sunshine, bright and blinding, all clouds, grey and grim. Hand falling limp to his side with a light slap, James' gaze drifts back to the free woman leaning against the doorframe, the raise of her eyebrows reminding him of the question asked.

He quickly shakes his head, answering, "No no, nothing else. I'll — uh — I'll let you get going, can't miss your slot"

Lily smiles, not at James, at the little fast growing body that suddenly springs out of the door from behind her, sprinting up to the arms opening big and wide for him. Up into the air, James throws him once, twice, until giggles that remind him of pure happiness chime in his ears and then it's time to tuck him close and squeeze the next four days worth of hugs out of him.

Because Mondays mean handing over his baby and not seeing him again until the end of the week.

He buries his nose deep into his unruly mop of curls that make him a Potter through and through, planting a firm kiss to his head,