The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Elvendork

Phoebe looks up from her book when she hears two sets of thundering footsteps.

She's briefly taken back to the Potters, her memories replaying James and Sirius racing up and down the staircase to run to the Christmas tree, or to play a gam of chess in their room. Her heart clenches, Ma and Monty's voice ringing in her ears like bells. She shakes her head to clear out the recalled voices and forces a smile just as James and Sirius burst into the kitchen.

James smiles brilliantly, his eyes finding her immediately. He practically skips over to her, pecking her lips before kneeling down, lifting her shirt, and pressing a quick kiss to her belly.

"Is it my turn now?" Sirius asks cheekily, grinning when James stands abruptly and warns, "No! No kissing of any kind, Padfoot."

Phoebe laughs, grabbing James wrist and tugging gently. He turns to face her again, his eyes softening and concern prickling his side when he notes the way her finger tips are tapping rhythmically on her leg.

He grabs her hand and presses his lips to her fingertips, smirking slightly when her cheeks turn pink. He sits down in the chair next to hers and pulls her feet into his lap, laughing as she says accusingly, "You lot look like you're up to no good."

Sirius grins and replies cheekily, "Au contraire, mon ami!"

James interjects, saying happily, "We've been making a list of names. I think you will find them...what is the word I'm looking for Padfoot?"

"Brilliant, superb, excellent, I could go on for hours, Prongs," Sirius quips, sticking his tongue out at Phoebe when she rolls her eyes. She sighs when he unrolls a parchment that only continues to grow, much to her disbelief.

"How many bloody names are on there?!" She cries, her brows furrowing as Sirius sits down and clears his throat. James let's out a contemplative hum before saying nonchalantly, "I think we lost count after two hundred fifty three."

Phoebe blinks at him, silent for a few minutes. It dawns on her that these men—that these boys weren't going anywhere until she heard every name. She sighs and mutters, "Alright. Let me get some tea while you start."

James pipes up, grabbing her ankles, "I'll get it—"

"No," She interrupts exasperatedly. "I can make my own tea, James."

James grins to himself when she stands, rather enjoying her already flustered state. Sirius clears his throat again, even more dramatically now as he begins,

"Bathsheba."

Phoebe stills at the stove, peering over her shoulder and asking incredulously, "Bathsheba?!"

"Yes, of course!" Sirius retorts, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl!"

Phoebe snorts, turning back around to hide her discomfort at the idea of a girl. She gestures for him to continue as she makes her tea, smiling slightly when James takes a turn, offering,

"Beulah."

"Absolutely not," Phoebe cries, shaking her head to herself. These boys would be the death of her. As nervous as she was about having a child, she wouldn't let it carry around some awful name.

"Beulah Potter!" Sirius cries indignantly. "I think it's rather cute!"

"I think there's a reason you weren't in Ravenclaw, you daft dog."

Sirius scowls playfully at the Veela as she returns to the table with tea for all of them. She sits back down and props her feet up on James' lap again, much to his relief. He could tell that pregnancy was beginning to take a physical toll on her, not that she would ever willingly admit it. He squeezes her ankle gently and wonders, "Dwight?"