Sirius, Phoebe, and James had been warmly received by Euphemia and Fleamont Potter after their last term had ended.
As soon as Mia saw Phoebe she burst into tears and pulled her into a tight hug. The Veela was used to the woman by that point so she just let the witch cry it out while Fleamont held onto her hand so tightly that she thought it might break. They had been scared when they'd found out about the unfortunate incident Phoebe had faced.
It was that moment when she realized that Mia and Fleamont loved her. Truly.
And she was grateful to realize that before she faced the person she had to today. Her grandmother.
"Don't make any jokes or do anything foolish," Phoebe recites firmly, reaching up and straightening the collar of James' button up to busy her shaking hands.
He just nods, smiling slightly to show he's listening. She continues,
"Never say 'um' or 'can I.' It's always 'May I.'"
James chuckles quietly and tucks back a few loose strand of hair from her face. Her hair was rebelling against the French twist that Mia had helped her with earlier that morning, despite the woman's use of Fleamont a most famous creation: Sleekeasy's Hair Potion and Scalp treatment.
"It's going to be fine, love," James insists, smiling kindly as her cheeks flush. "And we can always leave if it starts to go poorly."
Phoebe flashes him a nervous smile and nods before saying firmly,
"James, do not intervene if she says something rude. I've been hearing it all my life."
He bristles at her words and goes to respond, making a surprised noise when she suddenly fits her lips to his. He melts pathetically, grabbing her waist and quickly pulling her to his chest. Phoebe slide her hands up to cup his face, her pounding faster when he squeezes her skirt covered hips. She hadn't missed look her given her earlier over her outfit. It was far dressier than she preferred, but James seemed to like it. And if he liked it, so did she.
She playfully bites at his lower lip, running her tongue gently over where she nipped. His soft moan sings in her bones, and for a moment she forgets that she has to face her grandmother. She sighs softly and shivers when James slides his lips deliciously against hers. When she pulls back he tugs her back in, kissing her parted lips with quick hot kisses that make her knees weak.
Finally, she untangles herself from him. James groans unappreciatively, but his tune changes when Phoebe laughs and says quietly,
"Behave and there will be a reward, Potter."
James smiles widely and replies, "You have yourself a deal, Griffin!"
She rolls her eyes and grabs onto his hand, wrinkling her nose before they apparate. Phoebe let's out a relieved sigh when they land with a loud pop. Her stomach flips a little, but she swallows down the bile that threatens to rise.
"Well, then. Let's get a—"
She pauses when she realizes that James has yet to move. When she looks up at him, she can't help but smile.
He's staring down the beach, a look of wonder on his face as he takes in the arch carved out of the tall white cliffs by time and water. He blinks and tilts his head, eyeing the turquoise water that splashes the chalky stone and the green grass that litters the top.
"I've never been to France before," He says simply, looking down at the sand his trainers are sinking in.
Phoebe's quiet laughter draws his attention. The wind whips her few stray hairs away from her face, the sea breeze bringing a light to her eyes that he'd never seen before. This was where she grew up, and even when it was torturous it was still beautiful.
"Come on, love," She teases, pulling him in the opposite direction of the mysterious arch and towards a quaint looking town with vibrant colored houses and fishing boats littering the shore.
James follows her happily, taking in the sights as she speaks,
"This is where you were born?" He wonders. He could picture a toddler with blonde hair and grey eyes waddling on the beach and collecting shells.
Phoebe smiles and replies, "Yes. I lived here until I was 10. Then we moved to London and I spent most summers here."
James grins at the flying seagulls and the chiming bells. He didn't think places like this existed in real life. It was something straight out of a nursery book.
They finally make it off of the sand and onto cobblestones, her grip tightening on his hand as they wander through the streets. James can see the serenity she had felt on the beach slipping away, replaced with apprehension that he had never seen on her before.
The last time she'd been here was when she'd scattered her mother's ashes on the beach. She hadn't seen her grandmother then, too depressed and scared to venture into the village and to her grandmothers cottage. Well, it was technically Phoebe's. But she didn't have the heart to remove her grandmother. The heart or the guts.
James squeezes her hand, reminding her quietly,
"I love you, Bee."
She looks up at him, her smile reappearing before she can stop it. She grins and shrugs, saying cheekily,
"Most people do."
James scoffs, reaching down with his free hand and tickling her ribs until she laughs hysterically and gives in,
"Fine, fine!! I love you too, you bloody moose."
James looks at her flatly, sighing dramatically before he wonders, "Must I say it?"
Phoebe chuckles quietly, her laughter fading as they turn onto a narrower road. There at the end of the stone path is a large cottage, that despite the size, looks very quaint. There's flowers and vines and pink shutters that make James want to laugh, reminding him of the time Phoebe was scared he would take her into Madam Pudifoots.
The Veela quickly turns to him and asks worriedly as she smoothes out her skirt,
"Do I look okay?"
James opens his mouth to answer, but she interrupts, rushing out,
"No, not that I look pretty. Do I look fat?"
His heart sinks at her words, anger gnawing at him instantly. She looks so scared, so apprehensive. So insecure. He's not sure what to say, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he sighs and says lowly,
"Phoebe, you're beautiful. Smart. Strong. I'd love you if you were as big as Slughorn or as tiny as those weird little stick creatures you think are so cute."
Phoebe shoots him a relieved smile as they approach the door.
"Thank you, J. I love you too. Oh," She laughs quietly before continuing.
"It's called a bowtruckle by the way."
James grins and swats at her backside making her yelp and scurry up the path. She hesitates before she knocks twice with the tiny door knocker that's shaped like a flower.
The door swings open and Phoebe releases the breath she's been holding, saying softly,
"Bonjour, Grand-mère."
YOU ARE READING
The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter
Fanfiction"Potter," Phoebe says curtly. James frowns and says harshly, willing the odd feeling he has to go away, "Griffin, all of that stuff still doesn't make you pretty." She scoffs and narrows her eyes, "I could say the same about you. What's that in you...
