𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

23: 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔶 {𝔭𝔱. 𝔦𝔦}

TW: men written by men (i can't even make this up)

Johnson McLaggen, as it turned out, did not appreciate being dismissed.

James had tried his best to strike up a casual conversation, ignoring the deep shade of red that had begun to obscure his vision. As far as James was concerned, it was not his place to put McLaggen in his, though perhaps one punch for pleasure couldn't be a crime, right?

Nevertheless, James tried his best to tolerate the prat's constant bragging, his long lists of women, endeavors with a deeply buried (and quite frankly, tragic) case of toxic masculinity.

James was rather sure he'd humbled himself just listening to McLaggen prattle on about Quidditch, then the number of women he'd hooked up with, then the girls who were prudes and refused to "do it" on the first date.

Eventually, James was reaching his limit.

"Here, take these, enjoy your night." He grabbed two butterbeers, feeling the cold condensation on his fingertips, thrust them roughly at McLaggen. Clapping him on the back, James gave him a dry salute, waving him out of the Room of Requirement. " See ya!"

He barely had time to duck before a spray of glass and cold butterbeer rained down on him. He brushed away a streak of blood that had begun to run against his jaw, a stinging sensation spreading across his hand as he plucked away a stray shard of glass that had lodged itself between his thumb and index finger. He displayed his middle finger aggressively, a muscle working in his jaw.

"What the hell is your problem?" McLaggen snapped, his face steadily turning redder. "Don't be lame, Potter. You hosted this party. Forgive me for wanting to have a good time."

"Why the hell is your idea of a good time being a predator?" James snapped, wiping blood against his trousers. "Face it, McLaggen, nobody was comfortable kissing you. You're lucky I don't report you for that stupid fucking bottle stunt."

McLaggen swore under his breath, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "Don't be such a pussy. If someone didn't want to be kissed, they should've just said it."

"You'd think that'd be simple, wouldn't you?" James spat, taking off his glasses roughly. He folded them up and shoved them into his back pocket. "Unfortunately, you haven't taken account for fuckers who pull shit like this!"

In an instant, McLaggen swung, and James recoiled, his reflexes slowed from an immense amount of alcohol. His eyes watered, and in that instant, he'd never wanted blood more. Before he could even register what'd happened, his shoulder slammed into the ground, and he scrambled to get up, his vision tainted with red.

"Oi!"

James looked up, squinting at a tall figure walking towards them. He grinned, dazed, as the walking cable-knit sweater approached them.

Thank god, it was Remus.

*******

James joined the rest of the group with his right hand shoved deep into his pockets, glasses seemingly vanished. He wore a hard look on his face, exhaling a plume of smoke like nobody's business. Brigitte noticed him first, chasing his blunt with a shot of firewhiskey.

"I didn't know you smoked, Potter." She didn't bother bringing up the bruised that littered his smooth, golden skin, nor the glittering glass that shifted like amber fragments in his hair.

James Potter was beautiful.

"Don't," he said noncommittally, his gaze cold yet warm at the same time. "I can already feel my lungs going blackened and corroded."