The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Another

I miss my godson

James grins slightly at the rather simple letter. Sirius. Of course, no mention of him or Phoebe. Just Harry. James understood though. Harry made him believe in good again.

He glances down at his son sitting silently on his hip, James holding up the paper so that he can pretend Harry can read. He crinkles his nose to scoot his glasses back on his face before saying quietly, "This is from Padfoot. I reckon you'll call him Sirius. Or if your mum has her way, something in French. They like to talk to each other that way."

Harry looks at James, and he can't help but grin at the baby, appearing as if he's listening so intently. So, he carries on, "I used to think he was in love with your mum. Merlin, was I jealous of them. But now I know. I hope that you can find a friend like that. I want you to have a friendship like theirs. I'll know someone is looking out for you."

Harry giggles, happy and free, and reaches for the parchment. James grins and lets him snag it in his tiny hands. He lets him crinkle it, tear at the corners. The note didn't matter. Not when the gift it came with was leaned up against the nearby wall. Harry had spent all day yesterday zipping around the house on his tiny broom, laughing and screaming nearly as much as Phoebe and Lily shrieked with terror.

Phoebe was instantly furious with Sirius for buying something so dangerous, but the joy that had erupted from their son was worth it. His birthday had been brilliant despite the circumstances. Lily and a lovely old witch named Bathilda were the only people in attendance. James knew that people wished they could be there. He wished more than anything to celebrate his son's first birthday with his best mates. But they couldn't risk it. James hadn't heard from Moony or Wormtail either, and it was beginning to become hard to not assume the worst.

"What do you have there, Harry?"

James jumps, peering over his shoulder to see Phoebe leaning in the doorway. She smiles slightly, walking over and looking at her son with round eyes. James nearly snorts, quickly looking away. For someone that had been so worried about being a parent, she was exceptional. She practically had love hearts for eyes when she looked at Harry.

"Ma-ma,"

It's garbled nonsense almost, but even he can make out the word. James scowls, saying dejectedly, "Piss off, Bee. It's guy time."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, retorting, "It's not my fault that he said mama first, James. I wasn't even trying to get him to say it!"

Phoebe spies the tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth, her eyes narrowing despite the smile growing on her face. She sighs, looks at Harry and pleads, "Could you just say 'da-da' so he won't pout anymore?"

Harry giggles like she's just told the funniest joke in the world, dropping the paper and reaching his hands out for her. She winces when he grabs a chunk of her hair and pulls, shooting an unimpressed look at James' gloating expression.

"Boys only like their mothers for so long," Phoebe says pointedly, "As soon as he's off to Hogwarts and is playing sodding quidditch or tormenting girls he likes, he'll forget about me and be all over you."

James sighs dramatically and hands Harry over to her, finally caving to the smile desperate to take over his face. He grins when Phoebe gently pokes Harry's nose, earning another round of shrieking laughter from the boy.

"Fine," he sighs gustily, "I suppose that's true. Or we could just have another?"

It's teasing. A joke. One that he plans on making her freeze up and get all nervous and awkward and cute. He loves messing with her, seeing her balk or stutter.