wanking_mods (wanking_mods) wrote in hp_wankfest, @ 2011-05-19 14:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2011 fic |
Fic: James Sirius Potter at 4 Privet Drive with a House Tie
Title: Revenge: Best Served Sticky
Author: gryffindor_j
Character: James Sirius Potter
Location: 4 Privet Drive
Prop: House tie
Other Characters: Harry, Teddy, Draco (appearing in that order)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Nope.
Word Count: 4100
Disclaimer: I don't own James Sirius Potter, Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin, or Draco Malfoy, or any other character mentioned. Nor do I own the world in which they live. I just play in the world and help them play with themselves.
Author's Notes: Thank you awesome mods for bringing wankfest back and thank you for your patience. Thank you to my betas.
"Got something on your mind, Jamie?" Harry said as his son yanked out a chair and sat down at the table with so much force Harry was surprised the chair remained in one piece.
James shrugged and looked around the pub, not meeting his father's eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"Oh, you know," Harry said, matching his son's casual tone and taking a sip of his water. It was almost eerie. Looking at James was like looking in a mirror sometimes, despite his features tending more towards the Weasley side. It was the complete inability to hide his emotions, and it was startling to see his own familiar expression on someone else's face.
"Like father, like son then, yeah?"
Harry shrugged noncommittally, but a grin tugged at the corner of his lips nonetheless. Father and son, indeed.
Giving up his ruse, James reached into his bag, pulled out a book, and tossed it on the table, causing the water in Harry's glass to slosh all over the table.
Harry looked down and read the title: Loved and Forgotten Hero: The true story of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. From birth, to abusive childhood, to the Chosen One, to the Divorcee we know today.
He looked slowly up at James, pressing his lips firmly together to keep from saying anything. James looked even more furious. His ears were red, his eyes narrowed, and his hair looked as if it were standing more on end than usual. Harry was pretty sure he could hear James's teeth grinding together.
Not that he was in much better shape at the moment. "Where'd you get that?" Harry settled on, trying to keep his voice low and even. He didn't relish the idea of having a shouting match with his son in a very public restaurant.
"Pffft. For Christ's sake, Dad, where do you think I got it? I borrowed Draco Malfoy's copy. He's got it highlighted and dog-eared," James said, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his chair. "Flourish and Blotts. They just got a whole order in today and it's already a best-seller."
Before Harry could respond, the waitress approached their table. "Vodka sour, and he'll have a whisky and soda," James said, ordering for them both.
As the waitress left, Harry said, "I thought we were going to have a couple pints."
"With the conversation we're about to have, I think we'll both appreciate something stronger."
"All right," Harry said, crossing his arms. "You start. Why the hell do you have this piece of rubbish?"
"I heard I was in it," James said simply enough. "Know all the tripe they say about you, already. I wanted to know what they had to say about me."
"For vanity's sake?"
"Partly," James smiled sheepishly. "I also didn't want to be taken off guard by some two-bit reporter asking me questions with information they got from the book. Didn't want to be sued when I slugged him in the face."
"How very wise," Harry muttered as the waitress set their drinks and a basket of chips on the table.
"So what did it say about you?"
James took a sip of his drink, swallowed, and reached for a chip, saying, "Nothing much. I've only just skimmed it so far. Talks more about Al, not that he'll be too happy about what it says."
Harry snorted. He'd have to reach far back into his memory to recall the last time someone had printed something about him or his family that made him "happy."
"Why else did you get it?" Harry asked, anticipating the hammer falling any moment now.
"How 'bout this, Dad," James said, setting his drink down a little too hard. "You stop pretending like you don't know what the cover of that book says."
"I'm not pretending anything. I know exactly what the bloody cover says," Harry bristled.
"So it is true. Your aunt and uncle used to beat the shit out of you?" James kept his voice quiet enough so as not to draw attention to them, but there was an edge to his voice, a hard edge.
"No," Harry said calmly, doing his best not to smirk, "I don't think I ever shit myself over it."
"This isn't fucking funny," James hissed.
"What do you want from me?" Harry said, giving up trying to keep the conversation calm.
"I don't want you to smile about it! You can't shrug it off like a joke. I want you to be upset about it."
Harry closed his eyes and took a long, deep, slow breath. When he opened them, he looked directly at James. His eyes were so very Weasley, blue and warm, but framed with dark lashes which made them more intense, deeper. Harry's heart felt heavy, his stomach suddenly queasy. He saw pain and indignation in those eyes, all of the hurt that James was feeling on Harry's behalf. He wanted to hold James like he had when James was a boy and tell him it was all right. Only James was too old for that now, and far too big; he was a few inches taller than Harry and outweighed him by at least a stone.
"It was a long time ago. No, I didn't particularly enjoy it, but I'm not going to sit here and be bitter and resentful over it. That won't change it, or make it better. Your being upset about it isn't going to make it any better either."
James let out a long sigh. "Fine." He looked pointedly away from Harry.
"James," Harry warned, "There isn't anything you can do about it. Even if you could...it's all in the past. You or I can't change it."
"I'm not going to do anything," James said, his voice rising nearly half an octave on the last syllable.
Harry shook his head. "You're thinking about it. You looked away and your voice cracked."
"Damn it, Dad," James said, pounding his fist on the table.
"Hey! There you are," Teddy called from across the pub, arm raised in greeting as he strode toward their table, drink already in hand.
"Did you hear me? Don't. Don't do anything," Harry said in a firm whisper before Teddy reached them.
James huffed and rolled his eyes like he was sixteen again, but Harry knew he would listen.
"I didn't see you when I first walked in," Teddy said, gripping James's shoulder briefly before he took his seat. Teddy looked at James and Harry in quick succession, then back at James, his expression worried. "What'd I miss? Why are you upset?" Teddy said to James.
Between the touch and the delicate tone, Harry wondered, not for the first time, what was going on between Teddy and James. His son and godson, for Christ's sake.
"It's nothing," James said, forcing a smile.
"If you say so," Teddy replied, shrugging and leaning back in his seat. "So, Harry, did you do something about Malfoy yet?"
"Teddy," James whinged.
"Which one?" Harry said.
"Dad, you can't talk about Scorpius that way. He's … and you're … and no, absolutely not."
Harry laughed. "I know Teddy means Draco."
"Oh, so it's Draco now, is it?" Teddy said, cocking his head to the side and raising his brows. "First name basis. You're shagging him, aren't you?"
"There he is now," Harry said, ignoring Teddy as he spotted Draco entering the pub, a glimmer of uneasiness in his normally cool eyes visible even at a distance. "Why don't you ask him?"
"Stop. This is making me sick," James said, putting his hand over his mouth and turning his nose up in disgust. "It's enough that I have to have a drink with him. I don't want to hear about your sex life."
Teddy laughed and patted James's arm, his hand lingering just a bit too long. Harry, having taken his eyes off Draco, looked at Teddy and James with narrowed eyes.