James Potter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alotofgood) wrote2011-03-15 03:25 pm
alotofgood) wrote2011-03-15 03:25 pm
Entry tags:
020. summer 1976.
July 6, 1976 — Morning
The Potter Residence
London, England
"James!"
The boy in question groans from beneath his pillow, comforter, and his arms.
"James? Are you up yet?"
There's another groan from somewhere on the floor, followed by an irritated grumbling. "Prongs, get your mum to stop yelling, would you."
James doesn't have it in him to respond.
The door suddenly opens, letting in a flood of daylight.
"James! Sirius! Up you get, you lazy boys. Haven't you two noticed the time yet? And it's sunny outside. You should be doing something."
The voice — so familiar to James he could easily ignore it, and does so by not moving a single muscle — shifts towards the large window in James' room, pulling the curtains aside.
A very bright glow of light manages to find the smallest cracks in James' head-fort.
He shifts, but only marginally.
"All right, Mrs Potter, all right — I'm up!" says Sirius, letting out a loud sigh.
"Good." She sounds amused by Sirius' irritation. "And this came for you this morning, James," she adds, before leaving the two boys alone.
Something gets tossed by James' side. He can hear it flop lightly against the sheets gathered by his head.
There's a pause before James, fully awake, relinquishes any last thoughts of sleep.
He opens his eyes, reaches for his glasses on the night-stand and turns his head.
It's an envelope.
From the floor, Sirius yawns.
James picks it up and examines the handwriting. It's admittedly unfamiliar, definitely not Remus or Peter.
"What's that?" asks Sirius, as he comes over to the other side of the room to grab a fresh set of clothes from his suitcase.
"Letter," says James. His voice sounds groggy.
"Obviously," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "From who?"
"Dunno." James rips the top open without too much care, never having been one for meticulousness. Then he slips it out of its envelope, unfolds it, and scans the very last line for its sender, his entire body freezing for a second as he stares at the initials at the bottom.
L.E.
"Blimey," he says.
"What?"
James ignores him. He's begun to read through Evans' letter. It's short and brief, but honestly, James has never been so chuffed to receive a letter in the post before.
His heart feels light.
He feels wide awake.
Sirius throws a pair of socks in his direction, beaning him in the shoulder.
"What is it, then? Did you win something? Is it some hot bird —" He stops abruptly. "Wait." He appears to be putting two and two together. "It's Evans, isn't it? Evans actually sent you a letter!"
"Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"Why the bloody hell not? I was with you, wasn't I, when you spent an hour choosing the right postcard. The least you could do is let me see what she wrote."
"She actually sent me a reply letter, Pads," says James, hopping abruptly out of bed. "We should — we need another postcard."
"What?"
James feels overcome with a Need To Do Something. "Let's go somewhere else today. Some new Muggle place we haven't been."
"The Tower —?"
"— of London!" James finishes, nodding. "Yes. It's brilliant. It's perfectly Muggle. We'd seen pictures of it. And I'm sure there'll be postcards or something there."
"Well, yeah ..."
"Padfoot, we could practice using that Muggle money we got yesterday. You know, with the tiny silver bits."
"Could we take the Tube thing, too? I've been wanting to try it."
"Yeah," says James. He grins. "Yeah, let's do that, too."
It'll give him something to write about.
"And the pub!" James adds. "The one we saw on our way back, yesterday. We ought to try a real Muggle pub."
"Now that is a brilliant idea," says Sirius as James tucks the letter in between his set of Quidditch magazines on the night-stand and moves to get to the door. "But — Prongs? Just a note of advice?"
James turns around. "What?"
"Honestly, mate. While some girls might find your bare legs and pants quite fetching, I reckon you ought to get a proper pair of trousers on, first."
The Potter Residence
London, England
"James!"
The boy in question groans from beneath his pillow, comforter, and his arms.
"James? Are you up yet?"
There's another groan from somewhere on the floor, followed by an irritated grumbling. "Prongs, get your mum to stop yelling, would you."
James doesn't have it in him to respond.
The door suddenly opens, letting in a flood of daylight.
"James! Sirius! Up you get, you lazy boys. Haven't you two noticed the time yet? And it's sunny outside. You should be doing something."
The voice — so familiar to James he could easily ignore it, and does so by not moving a single muscle — shifts towards the large window in James' room, pulling the curtains aside.
A very bright glow of light manages to find the smallest cracks in James' head-fort.
He shifts, but only marginally.
"All right, Mrs Potter, all right — I'm up!" says Sirius, letting out a loud sigh.
"Good." She sounds amused by Sirius' irritation. "And this came for you this morning, James," she adds, before leaving the two boys alone.
Something gets tossed by James' side. He can hear it flop lightly against the sheets gathered by his head.
There's a pause before James, fully awake, relinquishes any last thoughts of sleep.
He opens his eyes, reaches for his glasses on the night-stand and turns his head.
It's an envelope.
From the floor, Sirius yawns.
James picks it up and examines the handwriting. It's admittedly unfamiliar, definitely not Remus or Peter.
"What's that?" asks Sirius, as he comes over to the other side of the room to grab a fresh set of clothes from his suitcase.
"Letter," says James. His voice sounds groggy.
"Obviously," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "From who?"
"Dunno." James rips the top open without too much care, never having been one for meticulousness. Then he slips it out of its envelope, unfolds it, and scans the very last line for its sender, his entire body freezing for a second as he stares at the initials at the bottom.
"Blimey," he says.
"What?"
James ignores him. He's begun to read through Evans' letter. It's short and brief, but honestly, James has never been so chuffed to receive a letter in the post before.
His heart feels light.
He feels wide awake.
Sirius throws a pair of socks in his direction, beaning him in the shoulder.
"What is it, then? Did you win something? Is it some hot bird —" He stops abruptly. "Wait." He appears to be putting two and two together. "It's Evans, isn't it? Evans actually sent you a letter!"
"Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"Why the bloody hell not? I was with you, wasn't I, when you spent an hour choosing the right postcard. The least you could do is let me see what she wrote."
"She actually sent me a reply letter, Pads," says James, hopping abruptly out of bed. "We should — we need another postcard."
"What?"
James feels overcome with a Need To Do Something. "Let's go somewhere else today. Some new Muggle place we haven't been."
"The Tower —?"
"— of London!" James finishes, nodding. "Yes. It's brilliant. It's perfectly Muggle. We'd seen pictures of it. And I'm sure there'll be postcards or something there."
"Well, yeah ..."
"Padfoot, we could practice using that Muggle money we got yesterday. You know, with the tiny silver bits."
"Could we take the Tube thing, too? I've been wanting to try it."
"Yeah," says James. He grins. "Yeah, let's do that, too."
It'll give him something to write about.
"And the pub!" James adds. "The one we saw on our way back, yesterday. We ought to try a real Muggle pub."
"Now that is a brilliant idea," says Sirius as James tucks the letter in between his set of Quidditch magazines on the night-stand and moves to get to the door. "But — Prongs? Just a note of advice?"
James turns around. "What?"
"Honestly, mate. While some girls might find your bare legs and pants quite fetching, I reckon you ought to get a proper pair of trousers on, first."