The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Fine

James smiles when Phoebe slides back the curtains.

There's complete horror on her face, her smoky eyes watery and wide. His smile fades slightly when he sees her lower lip wobbling.

"Phoebe, I'm fine," He says firmly, gesturing for her to come closer. But she's frozen, staring at his black and blue jaw and the cut under his eye. Pain. She could feel his. And it made her hurt like hell.

"I'm sorry," She blurts out, wringing her hands together. She can't move, frozen to the spot. James looks at her with concern and it's crazy because she wants to shake him and tell him that she's the one that should be looking concerned.

"Come here," He insists, leaning up and reaching out his hand. Phoebe slowly slides her palm into his waiting one, a quiet sob wracking her body as he tugs her to him. He pulls her up into the tiny bed and holds her against him, his chest tight at the sight of her crying. It makes him want to kill Mulciber, for nothing other than making his girl cry.

Phoebe sniffs, pulling back to look up at his face. He looks down at her so lovingly that it's almost too painful to bear. His hands cup her cheek and rub away her tears and face paint.

"You should break up with me."

His hand falls with his heart, his lips parting as a shocked exhale leaves him.

"What?" He whispers incredulously.

Phoebe sighs and murmurs quietly, "You could have died today, James. Because of me."

He chokes out a shocked laugh, shaking his head in amazement.

"Phoebe Griffin. If there is one thing that I will never do it is break up with you."

Her shoulders shake more, the burden of his words weighing heavily on her shoulders. She was putting him in danger. If he wouldn't break up with her...then she had to do it. Her fingers clench and unclench as she stares at the frame of his glasses, unable to look him in the eye.

"James, I—"

"Don't. Don't you dare, Griffin," his voice is low, angry. Her intentions cut him to his core. He wouldn't let her.

"I would have done it if he said something about Marlene or Lily or the lads too. He doesn't get to say the things he did today about anybody. Especially you."

Phoebe groans and shuts her eyes, more tears dripping from her lashes. They squeeze past his firm hold on her cheeks, gracing the skin of his palms before they collect on her lips. James kisses her lips quickly, savoring the taste of her, the taste of her tears. He feels pressure behind his eyes. But he won't cry. It'll only make her feel more guilty.

"You told me that if anyone had a stake in this fight it was you, Phoebe," He whispers, his lips barely brushing against hers. She feels pathetic when another soft sob leaves her, the pressure of all of the things she'd been feeling for months—fuck years—bubbling up. She knew what life would look like for her, especially after the death of her mother. A life of fear. And it pissed her off.

"I want to fight together, because I have stake in it too," James insists, smiling faintly when her wet eyes open. They look like the sky reflected in water, the smoke from her cigarettes. Molten silver that James would lay down his life for. "I'm not going anywhere, even if you try to make me. I love you far too much to not fight this fight for you. With you."

Phoebe smiles, croaking out a laugh before she can stop it. Because James Potter is looking at her like she's the sun, and it makes her feel warm and tingly. Makes the guilt melt away to pure, undeniable love.

"You always know what to say," Phoebe mumbles, leaning into his open palm. James laughs too, shaking his head at her, "No. I just knew you were going to pull something like this."

James watches her, sees the flicker of doubt and fear threaten her clear eyes. She frowns, reaches out her own hand to gently cup his jaw. A nearly inaudible sigh escapes James, the twinge of the bruise slowly fading away beneath her cool palm. She was using her charm, manipulating her magic to help him. He swears to himself then and there that if he had a ring he'd pop the bloody question. Her quiet words interrupt his giddy thought,

"I watched you....y-you were going to die. You were falling so fast."

"I'm okay though, love," He reassures, smoothing the frown lines around her lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles a little as they disappear and says lightheartedly,

"I knew I'd be okay. You look far too cute in your quidditch gear for me to not ever see you at another game."

Her lips twitch under his thumb, causing his smile to grow into a grin that makes her spine tingle.

"This is not funny," She scolds, pinching his side. James winces and pinches her back, replying cheekily,

"I think it's hilarious. Now come here, you bloody minx."

James helps her under the covers and onto his chest. He leans back against the metal frame and sighs, grateful that he had not in fact died and grateful that he had stopped Phoebe from dumping him out of guilt. He knew that would hurt more than hitting the ground at full speed ever would.

She lays on her stomach, her chin propped on a hand laying on his chest. She has smeared gold and maroon paint on her cheeks that makes him smile more when he gently rubs it away with his sleeve. Phoebe feels her heart beating in unison with James and it soothes every thought except one.

Regulus and his warning.

She nearly tells him, the words on the tip of her tongue, but he looks peaceful now. And she didn't want to put him at anymore risk.

So instead she just looks at the boy she loves, praying silently to whoever is listening that they all can stay safe.