The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

One shot: Nicotine

{{Since so many of you wanted to know how Phoebe ended up snogging each of the marauders :) more to come!}}

"There she is!"

Phoebe jumps, nearly smacking her head on the railing of the astronomy tower, her firewhiskey bouncing back and forth between her scrambling hands until she finally steadies it against her chest. Her heart nearly explodes at the near death of her precious liquor, her mind conjuring an image of the headstone and funeral she would craft at the loss.

"You fucking moron," Her words come out muffled by the cigarette between her lips, her fingers already unscrewing the bottle again. The burning of fear in her lungs is chased away by the tobacco, her eyes finally leaving the cigarette burns through the looping scrawl grasped tightly in her hands.

Sirius Black had become her newest acquaintance despite her complete disgust with his best mate. James Potter was a fool, but Sirius wasn't as dumb as she'd thought. They were actually quite similar in a lot of ways. Lily called the Veela and the pureblood prince surly.

She wasn't wrong.

The boy with grey eyes grins like he's just won the quidditch cup, squatting down to pluck the cigarette from Phoebe's lips and place it between his own.

"Sorry, Pheebs. Didn't think you'd almost fall off the tower."

She screws up her nose at the nickname but lets it go, instead focusing on the whiskey that she was nearly forced to mourn. Her tongue misses the tingle of nicotine, so she gulps down more alcohol to warm her lips.

Sirius bends down next to her, peering into her face with squinty eyes. She instantly feels her fingers twitch and her mind tempted to panic.

"What?" She accuses indignantly, scowling when he doesn't stop staring. His tongue flicks out, moving the cigarette—her cigarette— to the corner of his mouth.

It bobs up and down, the glowing orange end like a paintbrush in the dark, "You're not eating."

Phoebe blinks, stunned by his blunt tone. He's infuriatingly matter of fact, and it instantly causes her to bristle,

"Fuck off, Black,"

"Not a chance, Griffin. You look like shit, and smokes and booze don't count as meals."

Sirius finally plops down next to her, his thigh warm against her cold hip. He scoots forward so that his knee bumps up against hers, their legs dangling high over the Hogwarts grounds. It had been a year. A year since he'd first step foot out onto the astronomy tower and realized that Phoebe Griffin had something that not many people did. She had the uncanny ability to read him. And as a fellow child of parents keen on emotionally crippling their children, he could read her. The late night smokes and drunken confessions had helped.

Lily hated it, she'd nearly ratted them out when she'd discovered that her Veela friend was acquaintances with Sirius. James had been fucking furious. But that's part of why Sirius liked it. He'd been listening to James talk about Lily Evans and Phoebe Griffin for five fucking years. Sirius liked it, liked that instead of hearing about Phoebe, he was getting to hear from her. No one else got that. And thus a friendship was born. Not that she would admit it.

"I like your skirt,"

Phoebe snorts at his words, her smoke filled eyes glimmering with amusement. He studies the profile of her face, smiles when she smiles. Though his eyes narrow once more when she teases, "So does Gideon Prewett."

"Still snogging him?"

His chest feels weird when he asks it, and he knows it isn't jealousy. Of course, he'd have to be blind and stupid to not find her attractive. But something in his soul new that he would never love Phoebe that way. They would never be able to give each other the emotional intensity, the intimacy that they both craved without saying it. But she was still pretty, and he was young.