Nighttimestorrm​:

‘Hold up’

He'd been just about to head out the door when Molly's hand stops him, pulling him back into the Burrow before he can protest.

Not that he wants to, really. The house is warm, and lively, hopping with toddlers and smelling of good, homecooked food, but James knows better than to overstay his welcome. He'd only dropped by to thank Molly, for the millionth time, for the few things she'd given them in preparation for the baby coming. What was supposed to be a quick ten minute stop, however, has turned into a two hour conversation over several cups of tea, and he really needs to get back to the Order before nightfall.

But Molly seems insistent, tugging him back gently, and he's not in a mind to protest. Everything she says, everything she thinks, is crucial. Important. He holds her opinion in higher regard than most, and the last few months have proven that. They've become true friends, he's sure of it, - and with Molly's own boy on the way, he doesn't doubt they'll end up wrapped up in each other's lives for some time.

He's expecting her to say something, and he turns to look at her.

She says nothing, but instead, pulls him into a tight, loving hug.

It's nice.

Safe.

James finds himself grinning, arms wrapping around Molly to give her a, - gentle, - squeeze.

"Thank you," he states, the words soft between them. "Sincerely."

8 Days of Simon Lewis Positivity + Emojis

Severus Snape

Katherine McNamara Photo shoot with Joshua Shultz

Peace

The grounds are quiet.

The sun is shining. Classes are finished, and the train is leaving tomorrow. They're all packed, surprisingly actually on time, for once, - and hell, it's only taken them six years to perfect the art of moving back home for the summer.

James feels entirely at ease. There's the looming darkness that haunts them all, of course; a war on the brink of beginning, and smug pureblood students who believe they know right from wrong, bad from good, pure from filth. The thought of it makes his blood boil, makes him detest everything and anything being a pureblood wizard has become.

But for once, it's not on his mind. It's a privilege, he knows, and one he doesn't take lightly; but for a brief moment in time, everything feels normal again. They're sitting in some shade under the tree by the lake. Sirius is skipping stones, using his wand to propel them farther, and Remus is taking down the last of the notes he needs for whatever summer study he plans on doing, to make up for lost time with the moons.

None of them are talking. They don't have to. His gaze drifts to Peter, looking far too deep in thought to truly be enjoying this gloriously sunshine-y day, and James makes an effort to reach his foot out, knocking it against Peter's leg lightly to get his attention.

It snaps his friend out of the moment, and when Peter looks at him in confusion, James simply smiles.

'Relax,' he mouths, with a small shrug, refusing to break the quiet.

Whatever's on his mind can wait for another day.

Marauders (click to enlarge)

ofmollyweasley​:

Who:​​​ @jamiespxtter Where: order meeting

it didn’t matter how old molly got, her brothers knew how to piss her off. and they had a way of perfectly timing it so her anger could boil over after them leaving. this time, it was giving her oldest son a bunch of candy right before she got home only for her to come home to a sugar rushed child. then they left, sighting an order meeting, before her realizing how bad it truly was. 

if they were going to act like children, she will absolutely stoop to their level. she will go to them and absolutely destroy them. she knew it was childish, but she needed the rare occasion to let her inner child come out, especially with everything going on and what was to come.

molly probably knew too much about the order meetings than she should considering she wasn’t an official member, but she also had her brothers to protect and if it meant keeping a close eye on them, she would do it. she had grown up with fabian and gideon and she raised seven children after all. she was good at detective work (maybe she should join if only for her nosiness). 

with her children safely in bed and her mother-in-law watching them, she flooed to the order meeting and peeped her head into they room they were in, only to see harry’s face looking at her. she scanned the room for her brothers before looking back at the face she thought was harry’s. her face fell. it wasn’t harry’s. it james potter.

--

The Order meetings had been a bad decision.

A good decision, in the beginning. A great one. James knew they were fighting for a good cause, had been so willing to do his part to make things right. When he was eighteen, and Dumbledore had approached them with a request to join forces, with the belief that he had seen great things in them that could save the world, - and they had caved, fallen under his spell, toppled like a house of cards. It was hard not to, when he had been promising a better tomorrow.

The days never got better.

Now, attending the meeting made him feel suffocated. He stayed by the door just in case, all too aware of the clawing feeling that climbed up his throat and threatened to make him sick all over again, but he did his best to will it down, expression stony as he watched the group around them discuss their next steps. Half of them hadn’t even shown up.

Neither had Peter.

Very few people knew about the Order. Knew what they were doing. Those who knew were usually those who were fighting alongside them, - and still, when movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, the last person he expected to see standing just outside the door was Molly Weasley. For a brief moment, he had been sure he was imagining it, - though that red a hair was hard to fake.

He waited, only a moment, before taking his leave and slipping out the door, only to find Molly waiting at the end of he hallway.

“Your brothers haven’t shown up, yet,” he started softly, in explanation, a hand reaching out to pull the older woman into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

“You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.”

—