The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Godric's Hollow

{{I didn't edit because I wanted to get this out for you guys! Thanks again for being patient—I know I keep saying it but I mean it. Enjoy!!!}}

Phoebe groans, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling.

She was miserable. Her body was turning against her now, and while she was once freezing constantly, she was now burning hot. This kid was trying to kill her.

James' head suddenly pops into her line of sight, lips turned up in a playful grin as he teases, "Could I get you a shirt, love?"

"No!" Phoebe pleads, eyes growing wide at the thought of more clothes. Clothes meant being hot. And she was so tired of being hot. Her pajama shorts and a bra was as close to naked she was willing to be in broad day light. Her mind was betraying her too, telling her that she was ugly now, fat. Her mother's voice practically screeched in her ears. But being comfortable won over her self consciousness.

James offers a sympathetic smile, his hand coming to rest on her forehead. Phoebe let's out a sigh of relief. For once, James was the one that felt cold. She sits up and grabs his hand, squeezing it before saying quietly, "Sorry I've been so..."

She trails off, not sure how to speak past the sudden lump in her throat. Depressed, moody. Gross. She felt gross. And she was sad, more than she was happy now. James quirks a brow, quickly settling on his knees before she can protests. He places his hands gently on her swollen belly, saying firmly, "You've been brilliant, Bee. You're growing a whole new life right now, and that means you get to be however you want."

Phoebe nods, her cheeks flushing when he ads cheekily, "Plus I like that you're nearly naked all the time."

She quickly swats his shoulder, retorting, "Don't get used to it, Potter. As soon as this kid is out, the clothes come back on."

James' eyes glint with amusement, voice full of mirth as he wonders, "Is that a challenge?"

Phoebe rolls her eyes but can't fight her smile, her hands coming to rest over his. Her heart aches for a moment, wishing that this child could stay as it is for a while longer. Safe. It was safe right now. And she had a gut feeling that it wouldn't be safe forever. She wouldn't mention it to James though. She didn't want to worry him either.

He suddenly clears his throat, her eyes floating back up to his. He grows apprehensive under her grey gaze, wondering briefly if he'll ever get used to it. Unlikely. He conjures up some of his Gryffindor bravery before saying vaguely, "I got you something."

Phoebe tilts her head to the side, noting his nervousness and asking slowly, "Are you going to tell me what it is??"

James smiles sheepishly and shrugs a little, Phoebe's cheeks growing warm at the boyish action. Her eyes narrow when he avoids her gaze and replies, "I'd rather show you."

Phoebe's brow furrows in confusion, her voice hesitant as she wonders, "Like right now?"

He nods, rising to his feet and holding out a hand. Phoebe groans quietly, reluctantly taking it and wincing when the baby sends a sharp kick to her ribs, as if it's protesting her movement. James hides a smile when she mutters something in French that he's almost certain would translate to something crass. Carefully, he helps her stand, his free hand coming to rest on her lower back as she adjusts to the shift in position.

James mutters hesitantly, knowing it will irritate her, "Probably should put a shirt on, love."

Phoebe pins him with a flat look, slapping his hands away from her and waddling over to the dresser. She pulls on one of his t shirts, ignoring how much it has to stretch to cover her belly. At least she tries to ignore it. When she turns around James whistles, shaking his head and practically shouting, "Fuck! My wife is hot!"

"James!" She scolds, cheeks burning as she rolls her eyes. How he knew what to say, she'd never know. She was just grateful that he did.

James decides against mentioning her pajama shorts, his eyes tracing the gentle swell of her stomach. For as big as she felt or said she looked, he still felt that she was small, spindly. His heart stings when he realizes that her mother still had a hold on her. Pregnant, but not too pregnant.

He shakes the thought away, reaching for her hand and saying gently, "We do have to apparate, but it shouldn't be too awful."

Phoebe nods, holding onto him tight and clenching her eyes shut. Her other arm wraps around her stomach, her body aching as they apparate from Grimmauld Place. She feels her stomach turn, bile rising in her throat. She inhaled sharply, warding away the nausea and slowly unwinding her arm from around herself.

Her brow furrows in confusion at the sight before her. There's rows of quaint cottages, rather humble in size. Phoebe can't help her smile, instantly reminded of the village she had spent so many summers wandering in France. She glances up and finds that James is watching her with a smile on his face.

"What do you think?" He wonders, intertwining their fingers and gently leading her down the cobbled street.

"Think of what?" Phoebe replies, still rather confused as to what it was they were doing. Her heart warms when she spies the steeple of a church, her curiosity peaking at the nearby cemetery. It too was small, humble. And though she knew she'd probably be scared of it in the dark, the warm sunlight made the grass and headstones glow a greenish light. It reminded her of Hogwarts.

Her chest clenches at the thought, her head turning to focus on James again as he leads them down the streets until they happen upon a cottage standing a little ways away from the rest.

James stands there silently for a moment, watching as Phoebe sizes up the home before them. Their home. His lips twitch and he too studies the small gate, the stone fence that protects the green grass.

Phoebe tilts her head to the side, asking curiously, "Who lives here, James? It's rather cute."

"You think?" He muses, voice full of mirth. Phoebe raises a brow at him and nods before turning back to face the structure that her husband seemed so enamored with.

It was true, the house was adorable. The sides were white, framed by wood that looked weathered. The garden could perhaps use some work, but the cottage looked well loved.

"That's good. Because it's ours."

Phoebe freezes, her eyes growing so round that James can't help but let out a laugh. Her grip on his hand grows tighter and she quickly turns to face him. He's surprised by the glassiness of her eyes and the slight wobble of her smile. It makes it that much better. All of the worrying, the fretting that she would hate it, disappears and is replaced with love that makes him feel like he's shining from the inside out.

"You bought a house?" Phoebe questions, voice shaky and squeaky. James can't help but laugh again as he nods, voice gentle as he answers, "Yes, love. I figured we could upgrade from the one room at Grimmauld Place. But don't worry, the fireplace has already been added to the floo network. We can visit Sirius anytime."

Phoebe's free hand flies to cover her mouth, a mix between a disbelieving giggle and a sob escaping her. A house. He bought her a house.

James Potter had become rather good at accomplishing her dreams that she hadn't even realized.

She forgets that she's pregnant, forgets that there is a war and danger at every turn, and flings herself into his arms. A gleeful bout of laughter bubbles up from her chest as he spins them in a circle.

James leans his forehead against hers, feeling rather proud of himself as he whispers,

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow, Phoebe."