The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Feel

Leaving St. Mungo's was the hardest thing James had ever had to do.

He and Sirius hug each other tightly at the bottom of the Grimmauld place stairs. He couldn't go home to his parents house. Not yet anyway.

"I love you, Prongs," Sirius says quietly. James clenches his eyes shut, grabbing onto his friends leather jacket tightly in his hands.

"I love you too, Padfoot," He replies. The brothers hug for a few more moments before Sirius mumbles,

"I-I'm gonna go see Marlene. You'll be okay here alone? Phoebe is in her room."

James nods, forcing a weak smile as they let go of each other.

"I'll be fine."

Sirius eyes him silently for a few more moments before nodding and walking down the hall. James hears the sound of fire sizzling that accompanies floo powder. He feels like a shell of himself when he begins trudging up the stairs, his feet like cinderblocks weighing him down. It was just a cold. They told him it was just a cold.

The house is darker than normal, the lights dimmed and the portraits sleeping. He makes his way up the stairs, past the first floor where he knows the library is. He nearly passes the second floor, deciding his could just sleep in Sirius' old room. But a soft, warm light glows from beneath the door down the hall. He hesitates, but his heart is beckoning him forward.

Phoebe jumps when there's a knock at the door, mumbling around the sugar quill in her mouth,

"Kreacher??"

The other side of the door is quiet so she quickly sets her treat down and hurries over to open it, her irritation at the noise subsiding quickly when the door reveals the person behind it.

"James," She says softly, her hand hanging limply from the door knob. He rubs the back of his neck like he always does when he's nervous about something.

"Can I come in?"

Phoebe quickly glances down at her rather thin tank top, flushing slightly. Her pajamas were a tell tale sign that she wasn't exactly expecting company.

"Sure," She answers calmly despite her internal panic. Her bed isn't made, there's books and shoes strewn about aimlessly. James spies familiar chimes dangling by the window and it makes his throat run dry. He steps in the room, relishing the scent of lavender and cigarettes and a fresh sea breeze. He wondered how she did that, made things that seemed so odd smell so good. He never would've imagined thinking the beach would smell good. But it was clean, pure. Like she was.

Phoebe slowly shuts the door behind him, murmuring quietly,

"James, I—"

Her voice cracks, her words failing her when he turns to face her silently. She watches his eyes flicker down to her chest, and while normally she'd crack a joke. She can't. Because his hand is reaching out, his thumb gently tracing the thick scar across her collarbone. It's still fresh, pink and newly closed. This is likely what it would look like forever, wounds from dark magic never fully healing.

She tries again, says softly,

"James—"

He cuts her off again, this time with his soft lips that leave a permanent mark on her heart. For just a moment, she forgets what has happened and leans into him. She succumbs to his warmth, sighing softly when his lips go from brushing hers gently to pressing firmly. Roughly. Her hands dangle limp by her sides, weak to the dominant nature of his kiss. She so easily can lose herself in him.

But then she can feel the shaking of his shoulders, taste his tears that slide down to where their parted lips meet. She quickly pulls away, her heart torn into pieces at the sight of James Potter. Broken.

"Please," He begs, his voice quavering with held back sobs. His hands move to her cheeks, cupping her face firmly as he tries again. Tries to kiss away the pain, forget the dark cloud that weighs heavily again. She tastes sweet, like sugar and he tries to lose himself in the feeling of holding her like this again. Phoebes hands slide to his elbows, holding onto the bend in his arm. She pulls back again, her voice shaky as she whispers,

"James, this isn't right."

"I need to feel. Please, Phoebe. I need to feel something other than this," He cries, his words snapping under the tension of his held back emotions. He clenches his eyes shut, unwilling to face her this way. He feels pathetic, disgusted with himself. And so sad it makes him want to crawl up in a ball and never move.

Tears leave her own eyes at the sounds of his cries. She snakes her arms up and pulls his head down to her, pressing their foreheads together. He smells like pine trees and the unscathed ground after a spring rainstorm and it soothes her aching heart.

"Please," He whispers, opening his glassy eyes to meet hers. She hesitates, unsure of what to do. No sex, she decides rather quickly. She couldn't bring him any more pain, couldn't allow him to feel regret in the morning.

"Okay," She finally says firmly. "Come on."

James let's his hands fall from her face and balance on her hips, relief mixing with his pain. Together, they shuffle to Phoebe's bed. She slowly takes his hands and murmurs,

"Hold on, love."

She raises his arms, her hands leaving his to grasp the hem of his jumper. Her heart flies to her throat when she slowly lifts his shirt up. When his eyes are hidden by the shirt she stands on her toes and presses a fleeting kiss to his lips, her hands shaking the slightest bit. He looks so tired. So exhausted. His sigh sings in her bones when she carefully helps him out of his muddy shoes and pants.

He watches her silently, his heart mending slowly at the care of her touch, the gentleness of her eyes. He nearly cries some more when she offers him a tiny smile before lifting her arms above her head. James gulps, his fingers tracing the hem of her tank top before carefully pulling it up. He kisses her soft smile when her eyes are hidden, just like she did to him.

He lowers his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the freshly healed skin above her now bare breasts. Her eyes flutter shut, her new skin tingling at the  sensation. He helps her shrug off her sweat pants. Then it's just the two of them, as close to naked as they can be without removing their underwear.

"Hold onto me," Phoebe offers, her voice so faint that he nearly misses it. He nods, following her as she slips under the sheets. When he's settled against her pillows, Phoebe wriggles closer. She turns on her stomach, her upper half resting on top of his while their legs tangle together beneath the sheets. James stares at her silently, his lips twitching slightly when she rests her palm on his chest and props her chin against the back of her hand so she can see him.

Her eyes flutter shut when his finger traces over her nose, her lips, her brow. Finally his hand tangles in her hair, his fingers luxuriating in the softness of the lustrous strands.

When she opens her eyes, more tears are sliding down his face. James takes a shuddering breath, the weight of today more painful than any quidditch or full moon injury he'd had.

"What can I do?" Her voice is so sweet. So beautiful. James brushes back more of her hair, smiling weakly when she leans into his palm.

"Kiss me," He implores. That she can do she decides immediately. She can kiss him. She can take on some of the weight he's carrying on his shoulders just as he had done for her so many times.

The Veela smiles gently and cranes her neck, pressing her lips firmly to his. It's chaste and sweet and the longest they've kissed since they'd called it quits.

James doesn't know if it's the the kisses and touches they share as the night wares one, and her calm grey eyes on his. Maybe it's their hushed words, or maybe she's using her charm.

Whatever it is his tears dry and his worries fade. He's slowly lulled into a warm, dreamless sleep, the two of them tangled up and safe for the rest of the night.