The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

At last

{{I'm super scared that you guys won't like this ahhhhh. I hope you enjoy!}}

Phoebe presses a hand to her stomach as she lands rather clumsily in the hallway of Grimmauld place.

Apparating after dinner was not advisable, certainly not with her aversion to it already. She takes a deep breath, smiling triumphantly when she holds down the threatening bile.

"James?" She calls out, frowning at the echo of her voice. She wonders if he's already gone to sleep, but some of the lights are still on, but she can hear faint noise coming from upstairs.

She slowly makes her way up, carefully holding onto the cupcake she'd brought home for him. It was chocolate with vibrant blue icing that was deliciously sweet, something she was certain he would enjoy. She's already shrugging off her coat, switching the hands she's holding the treat with. She carefully opens the door, her brow furrowing in confusion.

There were candles lit all over her room, casting a warm light on the normally dark walls.

"Suppose he needed a little me time," Phoebe mutters to herself, chuckling quietly at her own joke. She could picture James, dramatically laying in bed with his candles lit around him and a book in his hands. A spa evening for himself. He was always one for the drama of it all, though she did hope he wasn't too sick.

She grows more confused as she approaches the side table to set down his treat, seeing a small black box that hadn't been there previously. She shrugs and picks it up, studying the outside of it. She feels rather nosy, like she shouldn't be looking. But just as she's going to set it back down, a voice says calmly,

"Open it."

Phoebe peers over her shoulder, finding James in a plain jumper and his favorite flannel pj pants. He looked warm and soft and inviting. But also nervous. Very nervous.

"Are you alright, J?" She asks gently, concerned that he was truly sick. She turns to face him completely as he answers,

"Yes, I'm—"

"If you're stomach is bothering you it might be from the internal bleeding or your bruising," Phoebe panics slightly, subconsciously grasping the box tighter in her hands.

James smiles exasperatedly, insisting, "Phoebe, I swear I'm okay, just—"

"I really think that you should—"

"MERLIN, WOMAN! STOP INTERRUPTING AND OPEN THE BLOODY BOX!" He cries incredulously, throwing his hands in the air.

"Jeez," Phoebe grumbles, rolling her eyes before opening the clasp that holds the sides closed. "You don't have to be so...."

She trails off, her heart freezing in her chest when she finally opens the sodding thing he's so worked up about.

A ring.

A beautiful gold band that looks both fragile and strong, twisting and bending until it forms a beautiful base that a shining pearl sits upon.

She blinks, certain that she's seeing things. But then she's reaching out and gently tracing the curve of the band. It's real. It is definitely real.

She looks up to find that James has moved closer and is now on one knee before her, looking so sure of himself it makes her heart ache. A stark contrast to his previous apprehension. He smiles slightly and says,

"Don't panic, Griffin. I did tell you I was going to do this after all."

Phoebe stares at him in shock, pressure behind her eyes a sure sign of the tears to come. James takes a deep breath, his voice strong as he continues,