The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Always

{{my heart}}

James sits impatiently by Phoebe's bedside, his back stiff from sitting and watching her all night.

He couldn't sleep. Her screams still rang in his ears, terrorizing every thought until he finally broke down and sobbed into Professor McGonagall's arms early in the morning, Madam Pompfrey watching on with sad eyes.

He officially had a new fear. Pain. Not for himself, but for her. He wasn't sure if he could withstand seeing her like that again.

He'd been waiting for hours, waiting for her to wake up. Her cheek had formed a purple bruise that James recognized as a hand. A hand that had split her lip, marked her face. He would go to Azkaban tomorrow if it mean he could kill the people that had brought her harm.

Severus Snape

Bellatrix Black

Rudolphus Lestrange

Andrew Mulciber

Evan Rosier

Geoffrey Wilkes

A list of people that he would not hesitate to kill on-site. Now or 10 years in the future. The only reason Regulus wasn't on there was because James knew he was on Sirius'

He's disturbed from his musings when shifting sheets gains his attention. Phoebe's head slowly turns to the side, hiding her bruised cheek and instead showing the cut she'd earned from falling. He holds his breath when her eyes open, blinking to focus.

James can't help it. He cries. He weeps freely when her beautiful grey eyes finally settle on him and crinkle at the edges as she smiles faintly.

"Hello, love," She murmurs, so soft that he can barely hear it. But it's there, her words. Her voice. James furiously swipes away his tears with the backs of his hands before he scoots closer, saying shakily,

"Good morning, Bee."

He gingerly slides his hands beneath her covers and takes her cold hand in both of his, scared to touch her too roughly and hurt her. She laughs quietly, coughing a little when her mirth fades to the background. The soreness she feels now is nothing but a reminder of the night before, her eyes fluttering shut as the memory plays on her eyelids like a picture book. She gently squeezes James' hand, knowing that if he weren't here she'd spiral into a full blown panic attack.

"Phoebe."

His voice is a whisper, a throaty admission of complete horror at what had happened. She couldn't imagine what she would've done in his position. Perhaps the only pain greater than the one she'd suffered last night was watching it happen to someone you love.

"James," She says quietly, her eyes fluttering open to gaze into his golden ones.

"They could have killed you," James mumbles, more tears collecting in his lower lashes. Her arm feels weird when she lifts her hand to cup his face, her muscles and skin and bones feeling odd when they weren't on fire with pain. She strokes away his tears with her thumb, her heart clenching at the sight of him so distraught.

"James, I'm okay. I'm fine." 

He lets out a shuddering sigh, turning his face to kiss her palm, his eyes closing. He could have lost her. Her voice holds some mirth when she says,

"We can't keep doing this to each other. No more hospital wing, Potter. I mean it."

His shoulders shake slightly, this time with stifled laughter instead of tears. He opens his eyes and looks at her with as much adoration as he can muster. A tiny part of James wants to ask if she's really alright, concerned that the kind of pain he'd witnessed would haunt her for years to come. He only hoped that he could assuage some of the lingering feelings.

"Lestrange," The name feels vile in her mouth, makes her stomach churn. "He got away, didn't he?"

James nearly lies and says that no one had gotten away with this, but he couldn't. He sighs and says reluctantly, "Yes. Rudolphus, Bellatrix and Snape. They're completely off the map."

Phoebe's throat feels thick when she wonders, "The others?"

"Expelled. Haven't been seen since they left this morning."

A twinge of guilt settles in her gut and she tries momentarily to sit up, desperate to relieve the regret putting pressure on her body. James grunts angrily , placing a gentle hand on her shoulder,

"If you try to get up I will tie you to this bed."

Phoebe looks up at him with wide, fearful eyes. "Regulus," She whispers sadly. "He tried to help. As best he could."

James scowls and insists, "You are finished worrying about everyone else. It's time that you consider yourself. Phoebe, his friends fucking tortured you."

She flinched at the reminder, her voice throaty and raw when she begs, "Please. I don't want to talk about it anymore right now."

James sighs, his brows furrowing with concern when he sees her shaking hands and the sudden far away look on her face. He opens his mouth but is quickly interrupted,

"Do not call Madam Pomfrey."

He clamps his mouth shut, exhaling sharply through his nose as silence over takes them again. But when the world is quiet, James' brain fills the silence with the memories of her screams. And fuck it hurts every part of him, remembering the sound of her being in excruciating pain.

Phoebe notes the turmoil in his glassy eyes and scoots over on the tiny bed, lifting up the corner of the covers.

James glances at the motion, saying wearily, "You're hurt—"

"James. Please."

Her voice is scratchy, but still the most musical thing James has heard. She's looking at him so softly, so tiredly, that he can't say no.

He slowly stands and crawls under the covers next to her. It's too small for the both of them, so they squish in close. Facing each other, Phoebe can see the bags under his eyes and his wobbling lower lip. He looks older than he did yesterday or the day before. This war was aging people fast.

"Can I touch you?"

Phoebe smiles faintly and nods, grabbing his hand in her weak one and placing it on her side. James let's out the breath he was holding, slowly stroking his hand up and down the side of her rib cage. He doesn't know that he's crying, not till he feels Phoebe wipe away his tears with her thumbs.

"I love you," He chokes out, shoulders shaking beneath the weight of what had happened to her last night. "I love you and when I finally got to you it looked like you were dead. You were dead, Phoebe."

She scoots impossibly closer, her legs tangling with his beneath the blankets.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Potter?" She wonders quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

James smiles slightly at her words, craning his neck slightly to gently fit his lips to hers. Phoebe welcomes the affection, kissing him back softly and slowly. James pulls back, leaning his forehead against hers and staring into her heart wrenching eyes. Eyes that soothed his soul and sparked so much love.

"Stay with me," He whispers, smiling when her lips quirk and she responds softly,

"Always."