The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Fright

Phoebe struggles to open the front door, her arms over flowing with letters and packages.

She'd finally finished cleaning up her Mum's house. In an attempt to help out more, she volunteered to have the empty home be a delivery station for owls. And while it was good that they weren't coming to Grimmauld place for security reasons , it meant that owls had made a mess of the place. As if cleaning it up wasn't challenge enough, now she had to face opening a stupid door with no available hands.

She finally bends her knees, using the crook of her elbow to turn the knob. She lets out a sigh of relief as it swings open, trying to peer over the pile in her arms to no avail.

She kicks the door shut behind her, feeling rather smug,

"Ha," She says to herself, sticking out her tongue at the disapproving look a portrait on her right gives her.

"Miss Griffin."

"FUCKING HELL!" She shrieks in surprise, the things in her arms going flying. As letters rain down in front of her, she can finally see who it is that spooked her.

Dumbledore smiles at her kindly, his eyes twinkling with mirth as she sighs irritably, saying flatly, "Thanks for that."

"My apologies, I did not intend to frighten you." She instantly doesn't believe him. He was rather mischievous, odd considering he was one of the most powerful wizards of their time. Phoebe clears her throat and squats down to begin collecting her scattered items, hiding her surprise when he does as well, his white beard nearly touching the floor.

She'd always hated facial hair. But imagining Dumbledore without a beard was terrifying. The silence is awkward, so she's glad when he finally says calmly,

"You're upset with me."

She almost denies it, but she knows that he can see right through her. She found herself wondering sometimes during meetings if he was a legilimens, because he had a knack for knowing things without ever having to ask any questions.

"Yes," She responds simply, scooping up letters and the treats that had fallen from her bag. Chocolate frogs. She hesitates before sliding one over to him, unable to help a tiny smile at his look of surprise. She was upset with him, upset that James had nearly died on his watch. But she knew how much he liked chocolate frogs.

"Do you play wizard's chess, Professor?" She finds herself asking, watching carefully as he pockets the treat and looks up to meet her gaze. He looks thoughtful before nodding and smiling,

"I'm afraid it's been some time."

Phoebe smiles weakly, saying honestly, "I've always been rubbish at it, no matter how hard Alice tries. Even when the pieces tell me what to do. I find that I don't listen, that I think I know best."

She shouldn't be addressing this now or here, certainly not when he wasn't expecting it. Though maybe he was. And she couldn't deny it any longer, that she was upset with him. And it wasn't going away.

"I feel like I'm a piece, you see. A pawn or maybe a rook," Her voice is quiet, but feels loud between them. She can hear faint laughter in the kitchen. James and the boys. James. The reason she felt like she needed to talk to the old headmaster.

"You're obviously the light pieces. Good. You're the good. But the person you're playing....He's dark. He's evil. And I think he's very good at this game."

Dumbledore nods slightly to show he's listening, his hands stilling from helping her when she continues,

"I hope you're good at chess, sir. And I hope that you will listen to your pieces."

He stares at her silently for a few long moments, handing her the letters he's stacked on top of a package she'd thrown. He grows serious, his eyebrows drawn together as he replies firmly,

"You're no pawn or rook, Miss Griffin."

She smiles faintly, standing and holding her items in a much more orderly fashion. He joins her on his feet, looking far more stoic and powerful standing than he does hunched over collecting scattered mail.

"Like I said," Her smile feels heavy. "I've never been good at chess."

"I think you have great potential, as a brilliant witch and as a member of the order. You're not a pawn, at least not in my eyes."

She glances away from him, wondering flatly, "Are you saying that because you mean it? Or because I'm a better player when you butter me up?"

"I don't often say things I don't mean."

He sounds sincere, and despite it all she trusts him. He has goodness in his heart, that much she knew. She doesn't realize that she's reaching out, not until her hand is grasping the silvery fabric covering his arm.

She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat, her voice slightly hoarse when she says, "Promise me. If there's ever a time or a situation where the worst has happened and a decision has to be made...promise me you'll save James."

She doesn't recall ever seeing him look both so bothered by something and so understanding of it. He appraises her quietly again before saying gently,

"I believe Mr. Potter would ask that I take care of you."

She shakes her head, brushing his words aside and saying firmly, "I know what he would ask. And I don't care. Promise me, Professor. Promise that if a choice has to be made, that it will be him."

His eyes remind her of her mother's and she almost asks how he knows her, but decides to save it for another time. They still had time, at least for a while. She reckons that—despite it being a while since he'd played chess—he was rarely bested.

He nods once, his gaze steady as he says, "I promise."

She smiles gratefully and they stand silently for a moment. She lets go of his arm and says,

"I suppose I should be going."

She moves to walk to the kitchen but he blocks her way. She blinks, confused. She tried again, sighing when he moves in front of her again.

"Is there something more, Professor?"

"No, Phoebe. Just buying the gentlemen a little more time."

She furrows her brow, wondering, "Time for—"

He smiles warmly and then apparates away, leaving her standing bemused in the hallway. She huffs and walks to the kitchen kicking the door open and wondering loudly,

"Why would Dumbledore need to buy you lot some time before I came in here?"

She misses the pale faces the Marauders now all have, James' eyes wide and nervous.

"Uh..." He mutters, scrambling for something.

"Peter has a wart on his butt!" Sirius cries, earning a disgusted look from Remus and a unimpressed one from Peter.

James wrinkles his nose but rolls with it, "Uh, yeah! Pete just needed us to look and make sure it wasn't something serious."

He rushes over to help the Veela set down Mail on the table, smiling hurriedly when she finally looks at him. She narrows her eyes, appraising him silently before turning to the other boys.

Sirius and Remus smile quickly, but Peter just flushes and looks down.

"Don't worry, Pete," Phoebe says kindly before a tiny smirk appears on her face.

"Ill take a look if you like."

The boy turns even more red and James squawks indignantly,

"No! The only arse you get to look at is mine!"

Phoebe laughs and turns back to sorting and dividing up the packages and letters, missing the looks of relief shared behind her back.