👠 What Kind Of Shoes Does Your Character Usually Wear In Daily Life?

I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.

❝ I don’t think I can make it…❞

"You say that every time." It comes off as a little more of an accusation than he intends, but it's not necessarily untrue. Peter does say it, almost every time he suggests something, and James is reaching his tipping point. There's something going on. The war has taken it's toll on all of them, dragging down their spirits like a fucking vice. It's not fair, not when they're only just graduated, only just on the precipice of becoming adults, and they haven't had a chance to live. And as tolerant as James wants to be, tries to be, none of that can relieved the ache he feels every single time Peter says no, or doesn't show up, or cancels at the last minute. Once upon a time, all he could do was spend every waking moment at James' side, and James misses his best friend. It hurts. It's his fucking birthday. It's a slow descent into losing him. He can see it from a mile away, can tell that Peter's mind is somewhere else, even in Order meetings. Maybe he's planning on becoming a hermit, on running away, on totally disengaging from the wizarding world to keep him safe. James wouldn't blame him, really, - the bigger Lily's bump gets, the more tempting the thought becomes for him, too. "Don't worry about it," James settles on finally, lifting a hand to pat Peter's shoulder. He doesn't smile when he says it, simply shrugs, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "There's always next year."

Marauders (click to enlarge)

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 /  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.

❛ What happened? ❜

❛ How are your injuries? ❜

❛ Just promise me you’ll stay here. ❜

❛ You can’t blame yourself. ❜

❛ You know I’m here for you, right? ❜

❛ I’ve never seen you like this before. ❜

❛ When I wake up, you won’t be there. ❜

❛ Okay. You get to leave now. ❜

❛ No. I don’t believe you. ❜

❛ Just.. put down the very sharp knife… ❜

❛ It wasn’t your fault. It hurts. ❜

❛ This isn’t you. ❜

❛ Stop it. ❜

❛ You should be resting. ❜

❛ Are you okay? Did they hurt you? ❜

❛ How can you act like that? ❜

❛ Then why are you still here? ❜

❛ Are you okay? ❜

❛ You can’t live in the past. You gotta move on. Let it go. ❜

❛ And when were you planning on telling me? ❜

❛ What are you, trying to give me a heart attack? ❜

❛ What’s wrong? What happened? ❜

❛ I thought we agreed that secrets are bad! ❜

❛ Sorry. Didn’t want to push any sore spots. ❜

❛ Everything okay? ❜

❛ Do you even know where you’re headed? ❜

❛ I can’t help you unless you talk to me. ❜

❛ Promise me you’re not gonna over-react. ❜

❛ It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. ❜

❛ Whoa, what are you doing? ❜

❛ Why do you run from me? ❜

❛ You’re changing the subject. ❜

❛ It’s four o'clock in the morning, what are you doing? ❜

❛ You’re bleeding. ❜

❛ You gotta be more careful. ❜

❛ I meant… How are you holding up? ❜

❛ You’re avoiding my question. ❜

❛ I think the worst of it’s over now. ❜

❛ Don’t let fear keep you quiet. You have a voice so use it. ❜

mcrningecans​:

   HIS FINGERS ON HER SKIN WERE THE ONLY THING REMINDING HER SHE WAS HERE. Here and not there; back in that place, where everything felt sunken. The loss of him was alive here, but at least it was alive, breathing life into the places of Lily she thought had been lost. Every part of her ached for Harry, and yet every part of her ached for James, her James, who sat in front of her now. It was a confusing battle; one that she didn’t know how to win. Because there was no winning.

     Either she was alive, and Harry was gone. Or Harry was alive and she could never hold him.

     The thought was almost too much to handle, so Lily watched James’s fingertips, watched their circles; the swoops and the dives. His voice brought her back from her trance, reminded her that there was more to the world than her own grief. There was James. And right now he needed her. She put her cup down and gently, with shaking palms, cupped his cheeks. Lily was afraid if she pressed too hard, got too greedy with connecting, that she’d shatter this illusion. And bloody hell, what would she do if everything crumbled apart around her? What would she do if she learned this was all some kind of sad, twisted trick? Still, James was still there, even with his cheeks in her hands. Even as her thumb gently brushed away any remaining tears on his face. 

     “James,” Lily said, softly. “You saved Harry. You were trying to save us.” If this were another time, she might’ve made a joke about him being an idiot. But it felt wrong now no her lips, and she let it die. And then the thought of Harry; the part he didn’t know. The part that, somehow, she knew, even though there was really no way for her to have known. How could she know that her son survived? She had died, and now she was alive again, and he wasn’t even here. But in that world, in that scenario, Harry had lived. He’d grown. “I… I didn’t make it either. I had enough time to get in front of Harry; to shield him–” Lily shook her head. “But he lived. I’m certain of it.”

     The boy who lived. Their boy who had lived, despite it all. Despite all the trials he certainly had to face; despite the fact that, somehow, he’d had to face Voldemort again. That was the part that kept returning to her, circling in and out like a dream. Why had she seen her son face down that monster? Why didn’t Harry get peace after all he’d had to endure? It killed her to know that they might have died in vain; that all their sacrifice, and Harry still was forced to be the hero. 

     “None of this makes any bloody sense,” she said, dropping her hands to her lap, watching James trace his circles again, waiting for them to give her an answer. 

--

 If there was anyone in the universe who understood him, it was Lily.

Lily, who had seen the best, and the worst in him, even when they were kids. Lily, who understood that all they needed was a little time, and a little faith, and everything they wanted became everything they had. Lily, who had been forced to face the worst parts of the wizarding world, and had lost the dearest friendship she had at the age of fifteen, and still believed that she could do some good for the people who had wronged her, and the world who was so willing to turn it’s back on her. It was a true miracle, he believed, that she had ever given him the time of day at the start of sixth year; and while neither of them were perfect, - bloody hell, was he far from it, - it meant they could have this.

Total trust. Total honesty. Total belief that the life they had built together, both through their home, and through Harry, was still with them. 

She had gone through so much. Too much, for someone just touching twenty-one; though she looked younger, now. There was no scar on her hand from where she’d broken a glass on their honeymoon, and still, she lifted her hands to cup his face the way she always did, gentle, and some part of James eased. There was a storm, still. Brewing. But the waves had calmed, and for a brief second in time, James found some peace. 

If this was purgatory, he could have sat there with her for eternity. ‘Til death did them part.

What did that even mean any more?

He closed his eyes, listening as she spoke. Even now, there was hope in her voice, laced with confusion, and hurt. It pained him to listen to her own side, to the fight she had lost, - won? If Harry was still safe, somewhere, wasn’t that a victory? Better yet, if this was their opportunity to change things, so that Voldemort never found them in the first place, and they could still have Harry with them, wasn’t that the goal?

He had a headache. He frowned, slightly, setting his cup down to hold Lily’s hand to his face, keeping it there, as he turned to press a soft kiss to her palm, his own hand still gentle against her thigh.

They had each other. They needed each other.

He needed her. 

James let her hands go, blinking his eyes open again. It caught in his chest, the loss that ached like nothing he had ever felt before. Losing Marlene, his parents, their other friends, all of it hurt. Losing Harry?

It burned.

“.. I had a dream about him,” he whispered, taking up Lily’s hands in his own, lacing their fingers together lightly. If there was one person he could say this to, it was her. “Harry. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. I don’t know. It was like.. his life, all muddled up together. And then we met him, in this forest. And we got to talk to him.” There were tears in his eyes, then, and James sniffled lightly, giving a small shrug. “I probably sound crazy. I feel crazy.”

‘Dear Mr. Potter, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. 

Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall 

Deputy Headmistress’

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

— Emily Bronte

Vices

HEADCANON:

James isn't a regular smoker, despite the fact that he's usually got a pack nearby, at most times.

It had become a bad habit in Hogwarts, something he had picked up the summer before their sixth year with Sirius, under the pretense of looking cool. They didn't look cool, really, but that didn't stop him from trying, hanging out down the far end of the Potter estate, by the lake, lazing on a sunny afternoon. The cigarette balanced carefully in one hand, toes dipping in the water, shirt unbuttoned with the hopes of getting some kind of a tan.

Peter had joined them, once, face scrunching up slightly at the scent of tobacco that clung to their clothes.

He only smokes on occasion. Drunk after a common room party, their sixth year. After winning a match, their seventh. Dawn, after a particularly rough full moon. It's even less frequent, now - he'd had one on the night Lily had told him she was pregnant, and one on the day Harry was born.

James relies on a lot of things to cope. His vices, however, are few and far between.

‘Hold up’

The hand on his back is light, a gentle touch, and for a brief second James is convinced he's imagining it. "..what is it?" he asks softly, voice barely breaking the quiet of their bedroom. Her fist is tangled in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, worn throughout the years, - stolen by her, too, on a number of occasions, - though it's enough motivation to make him sit back down on the edge of the bed, turning to Lily. She had tangled her hair up into a bun before sleeping, though most of it is unraveled now, a flame licking across her pillow. She still looks half asleep, like she hadn't actually meant to reach out to stop him from leaving, but how is he ever supposed to walk away? Dumbledore's owl had come the night before, asking James to meet him urgently just after midnight the next, and he's not one to leave Albus hanging. Not now. Not when every single piece of information is so crucial, so key to turning the war in their favor. They need all the help they can get, and if his former headmaster demands his presence at 2 in the morning, he can't turn away. Still. He's not an idiot. He had planned on getting up a few minutes early before floo-ing, to at least get a cup of coffee and settle his nerves before hopping in the fireplace. And with Lily's hand dropping, moving from his back to tangle her fingers with his own again, James can think of a much better alternative to sitting alone in the kitchen. ".. five more minutes, then," he decides, slumping back to sit against the pillows, using his grasp to tug his wife in a little closer.