nhstadler

[nhstadler]

3 9 7  P A G E S

Hey everyone! I realised it's been forever since I posted anything and since I'm not quite finished with the chapter, I thought I'd at least post a story snippet to let you know that I haven't fogotten about you and about HNTBAW. It's just been a little much lately and I've been struggling with writer's block (as always).

But anyway, this is a random scene from the post Hogwarts series (which I might title A Catalogue of Us). It's kind of a flashback memory sort of thing and maybe it's a little confusing and sad, but maybe some of you enjoy it. I hope you had wonderful holidays / Christmas if you celebrate it and I promise I'm still writing.

Let me know what you think if you feel like it... hearing from you guys always helps my motivation, honestly :)

When James fell, the world stood still. I stood still. 

Sometimes I still dream about it. His muddled form falling through the sky, the burst of levitation spells in the pouring rain, like perverse fireworks, missing him again and again and again. There was nothing anyone could have done and yet… 

And yet.

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to banish the scraps of the nightmare that still cling to my mind as I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The air is crisp, laced with salt and the subtle sweetness of the heather that grows along the cliffside, trembling in the breeze. I’ve been staring at the horizon for almost an hour, watching the darkness fade into that bluish glow that only exists in these few minutes before sunrise, when the world is in-between. Like the sky holds its breath for just a moment.

Like I held my breath when I was an ocean away, unpacking my old life into my new flat, barely paying attention to Ludo Bagman’s tinny commentary in the background. I didn’t even know why I had turned on the match in the first place. I should have stayed away, taken advantage of the physical distance, but there was comfort in the familiarity of it. In hearing his name chanted by thousands of voices. I missed him and I hated him a little for it. And then I heard the screams. 

I thought I had lost him before, but this was so much worse.

***

The room is bright, made of sun-drenched walls and filled with flowers and too many people. But I barely notice. James isn’t moving. There is a tangle of tubes, pumping healing potion from the IV bags into his system, mending his broken bones and his cuts and gashes as much as it can. But even magic can only do so much. 

Ginny sees me first. I’m lingering in the doorway like an intruder, not sure if I have a right to be here. I couldn’t not come. I don’t know what to say, though. My throat closes off when our gaze meets over the hospital bed. She’s clutching James’s hand in both of hers like she’s holding on for dear life, her eyes brimming with tears, and I’m crying too, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing.

“Seth!” Lily calls out, making both Harry and Al look up, but I still don’t know if I’m welcome. Not until Ginny lets go of her son and extends her hand towards me, the faintest of smiles curving her mouth as she summons me to his bedside.

I want to touch him, to feel that he is still here, warm and real and alive, but I don’t dare. There are too many IV lines and bandages and I’m afraid I might hurt him. “How - how is he?”

It’s a useless question, I know it, but there’s still the naive hope that the answer might have changed. That he’ll open his eyes and give me that infuriating half-smile, calling me Woodley and telling me that everything will be alright.

“I’m sorry,” someone says behind me and I turn around to look at the healer that has come into the room. “Only family is allowed in here.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” 

I make to get up, wiping away the tears with shaky fingers, but Ginny’s hand circles my wrist, her bloodshot gaze firmly on the woman in the lime green coat. “She is.”

***

I wanted to buy him some magazines, but half of the stock in the small St. Mungo’s kiosk is about brooms and Quidditch and the other half are gaudy newspapers that still seem to be in a competition over who can print the most disturbing pictures of James plummeting through the air. I was ready to give up and settle on the Kneazle Lover’s Digest when I saw the flashy book pyramid by the checkout. 

“I got you something.” I’m barely in the room when I hold up the shiny hardback with the gaudy cover and James raises an eyebrow at the shirtless guy that takes up most of the front.

“Holy Morgan, what is that, Woodley?” He lets his head fall to the side, smiling at me, even though he is too weak to move. Bruises and scratches still paint brutal patterns across his skin, covering his face and neck, his shoulders, his ribs, but they’re healing. 

Unlike his legs. 

“They had it in the hospital bookshop!” I can barely contain my excitement as I sit down in the chair next to his bed, thumbing through the pages, because this feels like a sign. A very dumb sign, but a sign nonetheless, and I’ll take anything I can get. “No way!” I press the open page against my mouth, my eyebrows arching at James over the edge of the book.

“What?” He’s frowning, amusement still tugging on the corners of his mouth. 

“It’s set in the 1800s.” 

He groans, though the grin on his face definitely dampens the effort. Rain is lashing against the windows, drowning out the steady drip of the IVs and, for a moment, it feels like it used to. Like Sunday mornings at his and Freddie’s flat, when he would refuse to get up and pull me back into bed with him.

“I’m so excited.”

“I bet.” He’s laughing, properly now, and my heart flutters behind my chest. It should know better. Especially because I saw her name flash across his phone screen last night before I left. “How long is that damn thing?”

I flip to the very back of the book, catching a few of the final words even though I try to not read them. “397 pages.”

***

“How many pages?”

He used to ask how many chapters. Then it turned to pages. Because he knows it too - that we only exist like the words on paper, between the pages. Until we reach the last one. The last sentence. 

“191.”

When the story ends, so do we. But ours is a tragedy. Maybe it was always meant to be.

I come back every day. I sit next to his bed and read A Witch’s Guide to Rakes and Romance, blushing fiercely at the spicy scenes but reading it all. James covers Lily’s ears when she’s cuddled up next to him and she complains loudly while Al and Freddie laugh and Harry and Ginny exchange soft, tired smiles.

Sometimes, the room is crowded. Sometimes, it’s just us - James and me and the steady whirring of the machines - and I read to him until he falls asleep. I read to him until twilight creeps into the room and we have to turn on the neon hospital lights. 

I read to him until he can feel his legs again. 

Until the IV lines become less.

Until he can sit up by himself.

“How many?” He says and I don’t look at him.

“16.”

It’s the last chapter. And, though I know that it’s time to go, that this semi-real version of us has an expiration date, I dread every page I turn.

“What if you stayed?” James says, quietly, and I feel like I might choke. I can barely breathe.

What if I stayed?

“I - I can’t.” My fingers are clenching the book in my lap, digging into the cover for something to hold on to. This feels awful, like a second break-up, and I wish I could just fold myself into his arms. 

But I can’t and he doesn’t argue. Because he knows me too well.

His lips are pressed together as he nods, a tear sliding down the side of his face into his pillow and I’m crying too. When he reaches out, I take his hand and weave my fingers through his, careful to not dislodge the catheter in the back of his hand.

“Do you want to hear the ending now?” I ask, wiping the tears from my cheeks, and his gaze slides from my face to the book in my lap, to our intertwined fingers.

“No.” I feel his hold on me loosen, his hand slipping out of my grasp a little. “I don’t want to know how it ends.”

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #james sirius potter #moodboard

[nhstadler]

A   S H O T   I N   T H E   D A R K

Two song choices: 

One:

Two (for my Swifties):

So, I’ve had this James POV sitting around and I thought I’d finally share it considering we’re reaching the end of this journey. I’m not entirely happy with it because I’m not good at writing spicy scenes. They can go wrong so easily because there’s such a fine line between ‘just enough’ and ‘entirely ridiculous’. That being said, *trigger warning* for very mild spice. Like, one chilli pepper. Nothing explicit.

Please let me know what you think. I’m always so thankful for feedback, no matter how short, long, cryptic. And finally, thanks for still being here. It’s been an honour writing for you guys.

A   S H O T   I N   T H E   D A R K

For a second, I think I’ve lost my mind. That my endless thoughts of her have somehow taken shape and are playing cruel tricks on me. Because she’s there, in front of my window, still in that damn dress and clutching my jacket around her shoulders as snow drifts by, catching in her blonde waves. 

“What…” I freeze as I stare at her, my T-shirt stuck to my arms half-way, not daring to move for a moment; like she’s a deer and I might scare her away. I’m still not entirely convinced this is real, but then she lifts her arm and gives me a wave, her lips tugging into a careful smile.

It’s not in my head. 

Seth Woodley is actually standing in front of my window in the middle of the night, waving at me.

“Woodley?” I hastily pull my shirt all the way down, stumbling over my backpack - still where I dropped it two weeks ago - as I cross the room to open the window. “Are you okay?” I look her over, not exactly sure what I’m searching for. But she’s here, alone, standing in the frigid cold in her gauzy ball gown and I want to make it OK again. Whatever it is. “What happened? How did you-”

“I apparated,” she says, almost surprised, her words turning into puffs of smoke, clouding her face for a second. “I meant to end up at Katie’s house but –” Her cheeks darken slightly, the colour extending to the tip of her nose as another gust of biting wind whips through the trees. “I kind of messed up?”

I still can’t quite wrap my mind around this; around her, standing outside my window, eyes wide and biting her lip like my wildest fever dream. I’ve thought about this too much - about Seth in my room, my bed - but this feels fragile. Like the phone booth. Like I could mess it all up too easily. 

The smart thing would have been to tell her to go. But I’m decidedly stupid.

“Come on, Woodley,” I say when a shiver runs through her body and then hold my hand out to her. “It’s freezing.” 

Her gaze drops to my hand, like she, too, knows that she’s making a mistake, but then she takes a sharp breath and reaches out, letting me pull her up to the ledge and into my room. She stumbles a little, slipping on the icy wood, and I swipe my arm around her middle to catch her.

“Sorry.” She looks up at me then, her eyes round and so grey and damn it, I’m pathetic. There was still a part of me that hoped that maybe kissing her would get her out of my system, but it’s useless. Because all I can think about right now is kissing her again. All night.

Instead, I clear my throat and step away from her, still not entirely sure what to make of this; why she came here of all places. Apparition is not a vague sort of magic - you can’t take a wrong turn and accidentally end up somewhere else. That’s not how it works and we both know it.

“You’re not seventeen yet, are you?” I walk to my door to turn the lock for good measure. It’s late, but there’s no telling if Lily won’t suddenly burst into my room, demanding to draw a glitter pygmy puff onto my face.  

Seth looks at me for a long second, biting her lip again, and then nods. There’s a kind of haziness to her movements, her reactions, and I realise that she’s still drunk.

Right.

“So -” I say, trying to give her a casual grin even though something coarse is winding itself around my heart, crushing the dumb flicker of hope that sparked there when I saw her standing in front of my window.

“I’m not supposed to apparate, no.” She shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, even though I know it is. I know that she cares, that this nonchalant act isn’t her. Something’s wrong and I should give her a sweatshirt and take her home before I can do something very dumb. Even though I want to be dumb so badly. Just for a second.

“Did you get into trouble?” I ask, skirting my bed as I walk back over to her. It’s unmade with my blanket piled on top and I curse myself a little for not cleaning my room when Mum told me to. It’s a mess and I can see Seth’s gaze sliding to the heap of clothes on my chair and the unfortunate pair of Quidditch underpants that dangle from the armrest. 

“Did you?” Seth gives me a grin that doesn’t fail to make my stomach jolt, even when I know it’s not real; even when I know she’s still pretending. But I humour her. Because she’s smiling and flirty and I’m weak.

“For kissing a girl?” I watch her cheeks flush, all the way across her nose, and for a moment, I don’t care that she’s been drinking or that she’s acting strange. Because she came here. Just like she let me kiss her in the Ministry phone box. A part of her wants to be with me and I want it to be enough. Even when I know it’s not.

“Your family probably wasn’t too thrilled.” I slide my hands into the pockets of my joggers instead of around her waist and watch the expression on her face shift - eyebrows drawing closer and lips pressing together as she avoids my gaze - and it all makes sense.

I only caught glimpses of her family when we stumbled out of the phone booth, mostly because she was ushered away immediately, before I could even so much as talk to her, but she’d told me earlier, hadn’t she? About that guy she was supposed to marry and about her family’s expectations.  

Maybe that’s why she came here; still drunk and reckless, trying to prove a point.

“I still have your jacket,” she says awkwardly all of a sudden, sliding the thing off her shoulders and holding it out to me. She’s probably realised it too; that this is the last place she should be. That I’m nothing but a bad decision. 

“Maybe - maybe I should go,” she says quickly, and I can see it in her face - the flicker of reason that pushes to the surface. 

“Yeah.” I let out a breath as I take the jacket from her and throw it onto the pile of clothes on my chair. I don’t want her to go, but I also don’t want her to stay like this. Like I’m just the means, not the reason. “Maybe.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is a whisper, fizzling out at the edges as she takes a step closer and places her palms against my chest. She’s frowning up at me, her eyes like storm clouds, fingers digging into the fabric of my T-shirt and, even though I know that this is going to hurt, I give in to it - to her.

I’ve kissed many girls before - and Augi on a dare - but kissing Seth feels different. New, somehow. Fluttery and shaky and so slow, like I’m doing it for the first time - nervous and a little scared to mess it up. She’s tugging on my T-shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric like she wants to tear it off, and I’m not really thinking as I pull it over my head. 

Seth blinks at me, her eyes and hair bright in the semi-darkness of my room, and then her gaze drops to my arm, her brows furrowing as she studies the letters that a very shifty bloke inked into my skin there in some London back alley two years ago.

“Seth,” I say, coming to my senses a little now that she’s stopped kissing me, even though my blood flow is directed somewhere else entirely. “Maybe we should -”

She looks back up at me, shaking her head just the slightest bit as she leans into me again, and I’m pathetically helpless when her mouth opens against mine. My tongue brushes against her lips and she makes a small sound that is my complete undoing, pulling resolutely on something below my abdomen. My fingers find the zipper on the back of her dress and, though I hesitate for a heartbeat, I’m too far gone to stop. 

It slides down her body, crumpling on the floor around us in a heap of silk, leaving her in nothing but gauzy underwear. It’s pale blue, with pink and red flower embroidery crawling along the lace, and I take my time taking her in - every detail - because she’s perfect.

Seth’s cheeks are flushed as I slide a hand into her hair and tip her head back, but she doesn’t pull away. When I kiss her again, it’s a little harder, a little more desperate, and it occurs to me then that I probably should be more careful. That I should slow down, because I don’t know if she’s done this before.

But she’s clinging to my shoulders, body pressed against mine, and I’m beyond reasonable thought as I trail my hand down her back until I can feel the tiny flower applications underneath my fingertips. 

We stumble a bit as I push her towards my bed - almost clumsily, with my hands grabbing her waist and pulling her into me a bit too roughly - and I bang my knee against my bed frame like an overeager 13-year-old. But she’s there, underneath me, her heart racing against my chest with every fast, shallow breath and her eyes heavy lidded. 

It feels wholly unreal as I press my lips against her throat, kissing and licking down the column of her neck to the birthmark above her collarbone while my hand drifts to the soft skin of her thigh. I don’t know what time it is, for how long we’ve been doing this, but it barely matters. 

I try to pace myself, but I’m breathing too fast and my heart stumbles along as I push closer, propping myself up just enough to not crush her underneath me. And then, she looks at me with those eyes that could be a painting and my breath catches embarrassingly.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, though I can’t say them. I should ask her if she’s sure about this. If this is alright. But I feel her fingers tremble slightly as she weaves them into my hair, the hitch in her heartbeat, and I know it’s not. 

She doesn’t want this - me. Not really. Not like I want her.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I mumble to myself as I push myself up too forcefully, but I have to. I have to bring physical distance between us to jolt myself out of this. “Shit.”

“What?” Seth blinks at me, the look of confusion on her face fading to something more gut-wrenching. She’s yanked the covers up to her collarbones, mortified, and I hate that I’m doing this to her. That she’s doing this to me. 

“I – I can’t fucking do this.” I shake my head, hands clutching at my hair, but I can’t look at her. Because it fucking hurts and I don’t know what to do. How to make it stop.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard #james potter #james sirius potter

[nhstadler]

CHAPTER 49: OF LOVERS AND LIARS

I knew it too well - that feeling that sank its claws into me sometimes like an evil curse. That fear of failure.

I’d lost every game of wizard’s chess I’d ever played against my family. Every single time, my pieces had ended up massacred all over the table, broken and shattered. 

I used to cry over the slaughtered chess pieces when I was a child. I could never save them, no matter how hard I’d tried. All my cleverness couldn’t have prevented the tragedy. Because it had all been there on my face; everything I had felt and thought and planned, right there for everyone to see with my naive little heart on my sleeve.

At some point, I just couldn’t risk the carnage anymore.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard

[nhstadler]

HOW NOT TO BE A WOODLEY

Trying to convince you to not give up on How Not To Be A Woodley because it takes me so long to upload by its aesthetics? Please?

I'm sorry it's taking me so long again, but I just wanted to give you an update and let you guys know that I am writing and half of it is already done.

I wasn't sure before, but it looks like this is going to be the penultimate chapter. The story is coming to an end and I'm having all the feels.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard

[nhstadler]

M A G I C

I don’t know why, but these keep coming. I’m in a writing slump but this just works and I wanted to share it with you guys in case some of you might enjoy it. I’ve been writing a sort of post-Hogwarts episodic piece about Seth and James and the gang that includes scenes from the past and their present and I think I will continue this when the OG story is finished (there are only two more chapters and they are all planned out, so it’s happening :) ).

The whole thing is called A CATALOGUE OF US and this would be the very first installment (it's too short to call it a chapter, I guess).

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Or questions, or hopes, dreams, fears… anything, really. I’d love to hear from you.

The end of summer is always a tragedy. 

Because it feels like a small death. Every time. There is a palpable chill that creeps back into the warm, endless nights - slowly, gradually - and then, in the blink of an eye, it’s over.

But when it starts, it’s magic.

I lean my forehead against the window, watching the world pass by as the train speeds through the landscape, lush greens bleeding into purple and blue as we get closer to the coast. There is an older lady across from me, knitting a neon green pair of socks. She sometimes looks up and gives me a smile and I smile back.

Tiredness is creeping back in. I’ve had three-and-a-half coffees already, but I’ve been awake for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours I spent mostly on aeroplanes and trains, trying to get back home. And maybe it’s the caffeine overdose, but it feels strange, somehow. Because it’s been almost a year and everything should look different, but it doesn’t. It all still looks the same; the soft hills and the harsh cliffs and the wild heather that crawls along the edges, barely swaying in the wind. 

I sometimes wish I wouldn’t remember it all so well.

… 

...

...

Rain is drumming on the window, blurring the view of the platform. There’s a sea of umbrellas that are nothing more than colourful smudges behind the glass and I let myself sink back into the seat, my hair chafing against the velvet backrest. 

The whistle blows once - a warning for those who still haven’t boarded the train - and I feel a strange sort of wistfulness at hearing the familiar sound. Like I’m mourning something that hasn’t happened yet. But this was always going to be difficult. Even without him.

“Oi!” There’s a sharp knock on the window and Katie yells out in shock, her elbow knocking into my side as she spills half of her magazines on the compartment floor. 

“Open the window, Woodley!” James’s voice is muffled through the glass. He’s trying to prise open the metal ledge from the outside and I stumble over Sam’s legs as I pull down the top part as far as it will go.

The smell of rain floods the compartment and the air feels heavy. He’s completely drenched, smiling his most adorable dimpled smile, and I wonder if I will ever get used to this; to James Potter looking at me like this. We had all summer. We had midnight talks and sun-drenched mornings and slow, salty kisses. And yet, when he smiles at me, my knees feel too soft and my heartbeat too fast.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s breaking my back!” Freddie shouts from somewhere below the window and I lean out a little to see him standing next to the train. His hair is plastered to his head and his hands are wrapped around James who is sitting on his shoulders.

“Did you think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?” James is still grinning as he dips his head, bracing his arms on the window frame. Strands of wet hair are sticking to his forehead, looking almost black, but the gold in his eyes gleams and my stomach swoops.

“But, we already said goodbye.”

He laughs - a small, secret, dirty laugh that makes my blush crawl to the tip of my nose. “Yeah, but your parents were watching.” 

He’s so much trouble. 

And so charming.

The whistle blows again, longer, more urgently, and I want to climb out through the window and into his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to hurt myself,” Freddie mutters, loud enough for us to hear, but James ignores him and leans in more, across the gap.

“I’m going to miss you, Woodley.” His voice is low and rough, like it was that night at his grandparents’ house when he snuck into my room. His hand slides to the back of my neck and I can feel the press of each finger against my skin. “A lot.” 

He kisses me between the train and the platform. He kisses me like the whistle isn’t blowing, like it isn’t pouring, like no one is watching. Like we have forever.

“I’ll see you soon, OK?” He whispers the words against my lips and I nod because my throat feels tight and sore. 

Water is dripping from my nose.

I think I’m crying. 

The train is pulling away and James lets go as Freddie stumbles backwards. We’re picking up speed too fast, too suddenly, and there’s so much I didn’t say.

Like ‘I will miss you too’.

Like ‘please don’t fall in love with someone else’.

“Seth!” Katie gasps as I recklessly lean out the window like she thinks I might jump. I can feel her hand fisting in the hem of my jumper, pulling me back. Hard rain is pelting my face as I watch James follow the train to the edge of the platform. I watch him until he is nothing but a small, blurry dot in the distance and I think about the way he looked at me that night in the Burrow; when it was also raining and we were lying next to each other in that tiny bed, whispering underneath the blanket so no one would hear us.

…

...

...

The train rattles and I wake with a start. My mouth feels fuzzy and tastes like old coffee and I’m so disoriented that it takes me a moment to realise that we aren’t moving anymore. We have pulled into a station and the conductor is standing on the platform, having a smoke.

Across from me, the old lady is gone and her neon green socks are lying in my lap. I look at them for a moment and my throat closes off. I’m tearing up at a pair of slightly lumpy socks and I don’t know why.

It’s a hassle to collect all of the bits and pieces of my luggage. I’ve accumulated three random plastic bags since I left Boston, filled equal parts with food and rubbish, and I cram the socks into one of them. My backpack has a weird shape from all the airport impulse purchases and my suitcase is too big, but I fight my way through the narrow exit, consequences be damned. And then, I see her.

Katie’s hair looks brighter in the pale evening glow - more red than brown - and my heart feels heavy and light at the same time. There are sequins on her headband and they sparkle, even though the sky is cloudy. She’s pure light. 

I drop everything at once - the plastic bags and the backpack and the suitcase that is definitely dented now. We’re both screaming, our voices hollering across the empty platform as we fall into each other’s arms, swaying back and forth like a pair of drunk idiots.  

“Oh my god!” Katie shouts into my ear and her hands grab my arms, pushing me away and pulling me into her all at once. Her nose is pierced, which I knew, but I’ve never seen it in person. I wasn’t there when she got it. I didn’t hold her hand and grimace when the needle went through. “You look like hell. Still gorgeous but also like hell.”

She’s grinning. I am too.

“Trust me,” I push my hair back behind my ears in an attempt to tame the greasy frizz halo that I’ve involuntarily cultivated over the past hours, “hell has nothing on overseas air travel.”

“Why didn’t you apply for a portkey?”

“I did,” I say, bending down to pick up my backpack again, feeling the weight of it. “Unfortunately, I’m not famous or rich enough.”

“Excuse me?” Katie has grabbed all of my sad plastic bags like they are serious pieces of luggage, her eyebrows raised as she looks at me. “You’re a fucking Woodley.”

“That’s what I said!” I sling my arm around her shoulder and she wraps hers around my back, pulling me into her despite the fact that I probably smell like lemongrass armpit sweat, and I can feel it sink in. That feeling you get around certain people, no matter how long you are apart. 

Like coming home.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard #moodboards

[nhstadler]

A/N: I’m sick at home and feel very sorry for myself so I wrote something a little weird and a little dark and a little different. 

I wasn’t going to share it, but then I thought, maybe some of you might enjoy it, even if it’s turned out slightly strange.

So, here it goes… this is a snippet about post Hogwarts Seth and James (Seth POV) that takes place the night before the “In Another Life” snippet.

I would LOVE to hear what you think.

T H E    P O E M   O F   U S

The lights are low, flickering in the salty breeze that drifts up from the ocean. It’s too dark to see the waves, but I can hear them - rising, falling, crashing, drowning out the tangle of sounds from downstairs. There’s music and laughter and I know I should be a part of it. 

I want to be. 

But I need to take it all in, first. To make it last, make myself remember every little detail, before the night is over, before I can’t get it back.

It’s a little dramatic, but I can’t help feeling the weight of it. The melancholy that lives in nights like this; in the easy laughter and the familiar faces and the old stories that take me back every time. 

I haven’t been home for a year. Which isn’t much, but it feels like it. Like time is moving a little too fast, even as I try to hold on to it. 

“Woodley.”

I hold my breath for a second. For one wave. 

Rising, falling, crashing.

Because I know his voice. 

I think I'll always know it, even when there are a thousand others.

James is standing in the doorway to the veranda with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, not smiling but almost, and, for the smallest moment, it hurts. He is framed by the dim kitchen counter light and it takes my heart a second to remember what my head knows. 

That it’s OK. 

We’re OK.

I don’t exactly know what I’m doing when I push myself away from the railing and walk towards him, but he does the same and we collide in the middle, like a wave. Crashing. I let my arms slide around him, let him pull me closer - into him - until my face is pressed against his chest. Against his old Gryffindor sweatshirt that used to be his dad’s. The one that I gave back to him in a box when it was cold and snowing and we were both crying.  

Everything is so familiar and yet so strange; his warmth, his arms, his scent. I thought I’d forgotten it all but my body hasn’t. It’s melting into him, finding the spot beneath his sternum where my head still fits too perfectly, remembering everything.

James’s head settles on top of mine, tucking me underneath his chin as his arms wrap even tighter around my neck, and it feels like yesterday, when the ocean was wild and I was careless and swam out a little too far and the waves were a little too high.

“Holy Sorceress,” I say as I pull back from him, my palms pressing against his shoulders to bring some distance between him and my clumsy heart. “James Sirius Potter.”

He’s grinning at me and my gaze catches on the corner of his mouth, on his dimple that makes my chest feel too tight. There was once a version of us that was fighting over IKEA furniture in his and Freddie’s empty flat until we were laughing so hard that we ended up on the floor, with me in his lap, running my fingers through his hair. It was hard to let go of those people; of who we were. 

It still is sometimes.

But it’s OK to miss him. Even if he broke my heart.

“I’m glad you lost the man-bun.” I pat his shoulder and he snorts and shakes his head, one hand raking through the dishevelled dark brown strands. It’s so gut-wrenchingly familiar that my heart misses a beat. 

Two beats.

“Oh come on, Woodley.” James gives me his best smile. “I looked smashing.” 

I laugh and it feels real for the first time. Like maybe we can do this after all. Maybe we can assemble the pieces and glue them back together into something else.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” I say as I lead the way back into the kitchen. It’s cold outside and the salty air has crept into my hair, curling the ends and making them frizzy. “Katie said you have practice until late tonight.”

“I did.” He looks at me, his face barely visible in the low light, and I think that he’s going to say more, but he just frowns and then bites his lip, his gaze lingering strangely.  

“You - you look great,” he finally says - quietly, gravelly - and my cheeks feel hot as I think about my hair again. About my jeans and my jumper and about how, for a dumb second, I wish I was wearing my new dress with the strappy back. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, because it’s true. It’s been more than two years. Two years since I saw him in that hospital bed - in a tangle of IV lines and bloody bandages - and it feels like a different life.

“Gee said you’re a professor already?” He leans against the kitchen island, his arms folded across his chest as a small, lopsided smile curves his mouth. “You little Dumbledore.” 

“Assistant Professor.” I snort and shake my head. Leave it to Genie to completely oversell my phenomenally low-paying gig at a medium-tier university. I wonder what else she’s told James. If he knows about Adam. What he knows about Adam. “I mostly have to grade potentially explosive undergrad projects and teach two very basic introductory level courses.”

“And you love it.” 

“I do.” 

His smile softens to something else - something entirely more disastrous - and I look away. It’s self-preservation. Because, even though I know his smiles and his frowns and everything in between, it doesn’t mean that I’m immune. I fell for him a million times before.

“Congratulations on winning the World Cup, by the way. That last goal was very impressive.”

“You watched?” 

“Yeah.” I brace my hands on the kitchen counter and hop on, looking at my legs as I swing them back and forth. I hadn’t watched a game since the accident. I couldn’t. But it was England against the US and every magical place in Boston was broadcasting it. There’d been no way around it. “Genie was screaming my ear off when you did that fly-jump stunt.” 

James laughs and I can see him untie his arms from the corner of my eye. My heart stopped when he’d launched himself into the air, but I don’t tell him that.

“I’m taking classes at uni again,” he says suddenly and I look up at him again, unable to hide my surprise. He’d given it all up to play professionally. The youngest chaser to ever play for England. He’d fought with his parents that night, with me. I was crying and he stormed off. We’d never been in a fight like that before.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it at the back, looking almost bashful. “Sports science and healing.”

“That’s - I…” I  try to find the right thing to say. I want to tell him that I’m proud of him, but the words get tangled up in my throat. Because it’s not my place anymore. “That’s amazing, James. Really.” 

“After the accident, I thought a lot about what you said to me.” His dark gaze is intense and I wonder if he remembers how he showed up at my dorm at midnight with that deep frown pulling on his beautiful face because he’s always cared too much. We spent an eternity in the cold hallway, wrapped up in each other, whispering promises of never fighting again.

I should have realised it, then. How badly we could hurt each other. How easy it was to break someone’s heart. His heart.

“It’s tough with Quidditch and everything, but I really like it.” James’s mouth slides into a devastating half-smile as he pushes himself away from the kitchen island. “Potions is still kicking my arse, though. I could use a good tutor.”

He’s coming closer and my chest is rising. Falling. 

Like waves in the darkness. 

“Can you remember our first tutoring session?” I ask, pressing my hands against the counter, my fingers curled around the edge of the wooden surface.

Rising. Falling.

“I remember everything, Seth.” His voice is low and raspy and he is so close. 

Rising. Falling. Crashing. 

I am the wave and he is the tide.

Pulling me out into the dark ocean. 

#moodboard #hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard aesthetic

[nhstadler]

My hands felt clammy and I pressed them together to give myself something to do as I rounded yet another corner. I tried not to, but I was listening for footsteps, looking over my shoulder a few times. It was silly, of course. I was early and James was always late. He’d come jogging along the hallway, tossing a careless grin at a glaring Filch and then pet his grumpy geriatric cat who’d press her head into his palm and purr.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. 

Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. Maybe he’d pretend like last night hadn’t happened. Like he couldn’t remember the way he’d pulled me into him between kisses and constellations, telling me that everything was going to be alright. He hadn’t said it back - that he wanted me too - and I was scared I’d revealed too much.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard #moodboards

[nhstadler]

OK, so before we do this, before you read this, I need to warn you guys. 

I’ve been in a reading and writing slump and I’m having a hard time putting my thoughts into words at the moment. I’m very sorry that the new chapter takes me so long, but I’m just not in the right headspace. 

That being said, I wanted to give you guys at least some sign of life so you know I haven’t forgotten about Seth and the gang. Usually, this would be a James POV, but even that just didn’t work. So, while I was free-writing, trying to get all the clutter out of my head, this short scene below happened. And here’s the warning: it’s kind of sad.

I’ve always been writing little scenes that take place after the events of HNTBAW and I swear, the entire thing is not as dramatic as it is in the short excerpt below, but this wanted out and I wrote it down and I kind of like it. 

It is a bit of a spoiler… not quite but a little, and if you are not up for a little heartache then I would strongly advise you just ignore this post and wait for the chapter, which I’m working on, I promise. Whatever you choose, thanks for being here and reading and all the support. I really appreciate it.

I watch him for a moment - how he leans against the bannister, bracing the railing with locked out arms, the sea breeze ruffling his already tousled hair. I can still remember when I used to try and convince myself that I didn’t find him attractive; even when I could hardly take my eyes off of him.

“OK, show me.”

He turns towards me, the look of surprise quickly turning into something softer as he watches me approach. “Woodley, what-”

“I want to see it,” I say as coolly as I can, folding my arms across my chest against the cold wind. The sun is gone but there’s still a faint glow along the horizon, like a gleaming seam that separates the ocean from the sky.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

I look up at James, feeling a familiar prickle of frustration run up my spine at the infuriating lopsided smile that tugs on his lips. At the dimple in his cheek. It’s been two years and he should be a stranger to me, but he isn’t. No matter if he’s 17 or 24; when I look at him, it’s always James.

But I’m not falling for that anymore; for him. The only reason my heart is beating faster is because it’s used to reacting that way to James’s stupid smiles. It’s just muscle memory. 

“Potter.”

“Woodley.” He’s grinning, the git, obviously enjoying this way too much, and I sigh before I look out at the ocean again. The water is dark and calm, and it reminds me of the Black Lake on hot summer nights. Of one particular summer night, when James and I were fresh and new and terrifying and we spent the entire night wrapped up in each other, talking, laughing, kissing. 

Mostly kissing.

Maybe he remembers it too.

“Fine,” James says quietly and I turn to look at him as he grabs the hem of his sweatshirt and lifts it up to his collarbone, just enough to reveal the thin, geometric lines that are inked into his skin there - into the spot above his heart.

I could trace them with my eyes closed.

“I thought you had it removed.”

James snorts softly, the sound barely louder than the steady rush of the ocean, and I feel the familiar pressure behind my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I should have just let this go - I shouldn’t have started this. It shouldn’t matter that he still has it. He was 19 and drunk and dumb. It doesn’t mean anything.

But I still can’t look up at him. So, instead, I let my eyes drift lower, down to the thin, white scar that snakes along the side of his waist and across his abdomen. It feels incredibly strange that there is something about James’s body that I don’t know. Some part of him that I haven’t touched. That I never will.

“Seth?” He says so quietly, it’s barely more than a whisper, and I know we’re standing too close to each other; almost touching but not quite. 

I finally look up at him, and my heart is thrashing against my chest like it hasn’t done in forever - not since James Potter. Everything about him is familiar in a way that hurts just a little too much. Because, even though we’re not us anymore, he’s still the boy who flew up to my window in the pouring rain. The boy who kissed me in an old telephone box on New Year’s Eve. The boy who has all of my firsts.

A part of me will always be his.

“Shit.” James lets out a shaky breath as he tilts his head, his forehead pressing against mine, and I close my eyes, trying to sort out my messy thoughts. This is probably the dumbest thing I have done in a while, but I can’t stop. I can’t walk away from him. 

James’s arms slide around me, pulling me in, and my hands go up to his chest, fingertips digging into the cloth of his sweatshirt, right above his heart. 

Because, even though millions love him, a part of him will always be mine.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #in another life #Spotify

[nhstadler]

A/N: This is a scene from The Stumbling Stag (Chapter 24) - some of which wasn’t told from Seth’s perspective - featuring a particularly delusional James and a charmingly tipsy Seth. I hope you guys enjoy the snippet and, as always, I’d love to hear from you :) 🦋

A LITTLE LIKE FLYING

Seth is pushing her glass back and forth between her hands, frowning at the residue of Whiskey that clings to the bottom like it might have all the answers, before she cuts her gaze up to me. 

“Thank you.” Her head tips to the side, strands of blonde hair falling into her face, and it feels a little like falling off a broomstick and slamming into the ground. “For this.” She nods towards the shabby bar where one of the patrons has just fallen asleep with his hand still wrapped around his half empty drink and I wish I had taken her somewhere else. Somewhere more impressive than this dingy rundown pub. 

“Yeah, it’s quite magical.” I want to give her my best smile, but I’m not sure it’s working when my gaze catches on hers and my idiotic heart stumbles.

“It’s perfect,” she says and then she smiles at me and I’m not alright, no matter how much I’ve been trying to tell myself otherwise. My head is a mess. Because I almost kissed her and I’m pretending like I didn’t - like I’m not constantly thinking about it; like I don’t care that she’s just told me that she’s practically engaged.

Shit.

“Tell me something, Potter. Anything.”

I look at her for a few seconds too long - at the slight pucker between her eyebrows as she frowns at me like she still hasn't made up her mind about me - and something behind my chest pulls taut like a weird muscle spasm. “I think I’m wearing someone else’s pants.”

Seth raises her eyebrows at me and then snorts, the corners of her mouth pulling into a genuine grin. “What?”

“I swear,” I say as I push my empty glass to the side and lean my forearms on the table, closer to her. “It’s been bothering me all night.”

“Whose pants are you wearing?” She asks, leaning towards me as well, and I’m momentarily distracted by how close our hands are. I could just reach out and touch her; interlace my fingers with hers, brush my thumb against the inside of her wrist. 

I think she might let me. 

“I don’t know. Al’s, probably.” I shrug and pull my hands back, because what the fuck am I doing? “Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

She’s still grinning and I feel a weird sort of pride at being the cause of it; like I somehow earned it. “But how can you tell, Potter?”

There’s a wealth of vaguely sexual nonsense I could say, but I open my mouth and then close it again. I’m not delusional. I know she’s probably heard the gossip - all the things people say about me. It’s not wholly undeserved, but I still don’t want her to see me like that. I want -

Fuck.

I don’t know what I want anymore.

“Closing time!” The guy behind the bar calls out, rousing a few of the half-gone drunks that are slumped over their lukewarm beers, and Seth’s smile falters as she pushes her hair behind her ears.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.”

“We don’t.” I say stupidly, even though I have absolutely no plan. But I’d stay out with Seth all night if she asked me to. If she wanted me to.

“We do.” She sighs and then she looks up at me, giving me this vague sort of smile that I’m not at all prepared for. It’s a fucking disaster.

***

“After you.” I pull open the door to the old telephone box and then follow Seth inside. It barely fits two people and she has to back up against the fogged-up glass to make room for me. 

“James,” she says softly, pulling my jacket a little tighter around her shoulders, and it throws me off kilter for a moment. It’s the first time she’s called me James, not Potter, and it feels insanely intimate. “Do you believe in love?” 

Her cheeks are pink and, even in the dim light, I can see the constellation of freckles that spills across her nose. I’m not sober enough to pretend that being this close to her isn’t doing things to me - that she doesn’t manipulate my heartbeat like she owns it - and I swallow as I try to sort out my tangled thoughts.

“Do you?” 

She gives me a weird look and then shrugs, like it doesn’t really matter. “I don’t think I want to, really.”

But it matters. I know it does.

I’m not thinking straight as I bring a hand up to her face - slowly, carefully - and then slide it to the back of her neck. She tilts her head and looks up at me, surprised and a little unsure, but she doesn’t move. Not when I put my other hand on her waist, not when I step into her, not when I push her against the misted-up glass that separates us from the outside world.

The music, the noise, the pink glow that lights up the windows of the phone box; nothing feels real as I lean in and brush my lips against hers - as she lets me. As she kisses me back; slowly, deliberately, like she means it.

But then the palms of her hands press against my chest - gently, though enough to make me stop - and I pull away. My jacket has slid off her shoulder on one side. She’s breathing fast, short breaths as her eyes rove across my face like she doesn’t quite know what to make of this.

But I don’t know, either. My heart is beating too hard, too loudly, like it does when I’m flying and I know I’ve gone just a little too high to be entirely safe; too high to survive the fall unscathed.

Because flying is all about control. And once you lose it, you’re fucked.

I should let her go. 

Before I can’t anymore.

But I feel the light press of Seth’s fingertips against my chest, watch her lips part as she considers me, and our breaths slide into another kiss. Then another one. And another one. 

Falling feels like flying for a little while, doesn’t it?

“Oi!” There’s a sharp knock and it takes me a second to catch on as Seth jerks away from me. It’s too bright all of a sudden, too loud, and I blink as Freddie’s grinning face comes into focus behind the glass. “Sorry to interrupt, but you might consider taking this somewhere else.”

#jamessiriuspotter #james pov #moodboard #aesthetics #harry potter fanfiction #hownottobeawoodley #hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #Spotify

[nhstadler]

My heart had permanently migrated to my throat, shamelessly crushing my windpipe as I struggled to get enough air into my lungs to not swoon like a Vicotrian bride. Unfortunately, there was only so much I could do with James staring at me like that; all clenched jaw and broody eyes.

#Spotify #hntbaw #harry potter fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #fanfiction

[nhstadler]

A/N: So, I heard you guys and I thought I’d give you a bit of Seth/James fluff as an apology for the anguish I’m putting you through right now. Just a fair warning though, this turned out very soft and very fluffy… probably a little too much. But, what can I say… I’m at that point in my cycle when animal videos make me ugly-cry for a solid ten minutes, so it is what it is :) . I still hope you enjoy the snippet and, as always, I’d really love to hear from you ♥️

HOLY CIRCE

“Mate.” Freddie groans and shakes his head because, of course, he thinks I’m an irresponsible idiot. His attempts to talk me down, though, feel half-hearted. 

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t do it?” I arch an eyebrow at him as I tug my sweatshirt down and then grab my trainers which I carelessly tossed under the bed before. I’m not even pretending that I’m not a hundred percent going to do this.

“I’m saying I don’t want you to die a stupid death,” he says as he watches me tie my shoelaces, and I snort. “I definitely think you should talk to Seth, but does it have to be now?”

“Yes.”

“James.”

“Freddie.” I drag a hand through my hair, trying to get my frantic thoughts in order, but it’s useless. My head is a mess. It’s been a steady descent into chaos since I ran into Seth before. Since I held her hands and she let me. Since much longer than that, really. “I can’t sit around here and wait. If I don’t go to her now, it might be too late.” 

Maybe it already is. I saw the way Henry Pennington was looking at her all night. Because I was looking at her all night, too.

She has to feel it, right? 

She must know. It seems entirely impossible that she can do this to me - make my heart trip and my stomach twist and my thoughts tangle - and not know.

“Alright.” Freddie sighs. “Let’s assume you make it there and she lets you in and then what?”

“I don’t know,” I say because I really don’t. I have no plan, no strategy, nothing. I don’t know how to do this - how to tell a girl that I can’t stop thinking about her.

“You don’t know?” Freddie makes a weird noise that sounds like a strangled laugh that got tangled up in his throat. “You’re about to fly up to a girl’s window in the fucking doomsday rain and you don’t know? You’re mental.”

I shake my head as I grab my broom that is leaning against the wall next to the open window. By the looks of it, I won’t even have to bother with an Impervius charm. I know this is reckless and dumb and possibly futile; I know all of this and, yet, I don’t care. “I have to see her, mate.” 

I have to know if I’m too late. If I fucked it up before it even started. If I still have a chance.

***

I knew she’d be there. 

Thank fuck for my rule-breaking grandfather and his equally dodgy friends.

Even through the window, I can see the stunned expression on Seth’s face as she stares back at me, like she’s not entirely sure I’m real. I can feel my heartbeat spike, turning into something scattered and wild, and because I don’t know what else to do, I smile at her and raise my hand.

“What the bloody hell…” She mutters under her breath when she finally opens the window, and I’m starting to lose my nerve. Obviously, I didn’t think this through: that I’m truly shit at this. That I have no idea how to do this without making a complete git of myself.

“Can we discuss this inside?” I say, because I’m soaked and this seems like a reasonable request. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t enjoy hanging out in front of your window like a perv, but the rain is mildly uncomfortable.”

Seth crosses her arms and, even though I try not to, I can’t help but grin a little. She’s in an oversized Deadalus the Dog Detective sweatshirt and Ravenclaw joggers and her blonde hair is twisted into two slightly uneven, messy buns.

She’s absolutely gorgeous.

“No!  Are you mental?” She whispers and swipes a hand across her forehead before glancing back over her shoulder as though to make sure that none of her roommates are awake. “This is against every school rule.”

“Come on, Woodley,” I plead, but she is shaking her head before I’ve even finished talking. 

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re aware that it’s pissing down, yeah? Like, a lot?”

She sighs. Not like she finds me irresistibly charming and is about to give in but like she’s had enough of my nonsense. “What are you doing here?” 

I don’t know what to say. Because she’s glaring at me like she wants to shut the window in my face and I’m so phenomenally off-kilter that I can hardly think straight. I wish I could tell her how nervous I am. That she makes me nervous. That I’m freaking out and I don’t know how to handle this because I’m scared I’ll mess it up. 

Instead, I lean against the window frame and ask her how her date was, like the dumb fuckboy she thinks I am. 

“No, that’s none of your business, Potter.” She has wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter, cheeks red, frowning at me like she thinks I’m taking the piss. “I don’t - I’m not asking you who you’re shagging either.”

“I’m not shagging anyone.” The words practically tumble out and my heart thuds like an echo in my chest. 

Seth’s lips part just the slightest bit as she stares at me for a moment. Her grey eyes look darker in this light as they seem to trace the rain that is dripping from the tip of my nose and then, suddenly, they flicker to my mouth.

“Yeah.” She finally snorts quietly; breathy. “That’s why you spent the night in Athena Notte’s room last weekend.” She bites her bottom lip immediately, like she wants to take back the words, and I feel a small spark of hope. Because, maybe she does care after all. 

“I didn’t.” 

“Look, you don't owe me an explanation. You can shag whoever you want, so-”

“But I’m not!” I cut her off, digging my fingertips into the window frame a little harder as I unclench my teeth. “Shit, Woodley, I -” 

I just want you. 

I press my lips together, swallowing the words that are on the tip of my tongue. She wouldn’t believe me. Even if I poured my miserable heart out to her, she’d still think I’m playing some sort of game. Even when I’m standing in front of her window in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. Even when I ask her to dance and hold her hand and patch her up and tell her that everything’s going to be OK.

Even then, she still thinks that I don’t mean it.

“Seriously, Potter.” She is shaking her head again, breathing out a frustrated sigh. “Why do you even care?”

I lean in, half-ducking under the narrow window head that juts out from the stone. It’s perfunctory since I’m already drenched, but I’ve stopped kidding myself that I wouldn’t take any excuse to be close to her. “I just- I don’t want you to think that of me.”

“Think what?” 

I swallow. “That I’m a soulless fuckboy.”

“James.” She sighs and shakes her head and I wonder if she knows what it does to me when she calls me by my name. When she calls me James, I’m hers and no one else’s.

“So, did you?” I ask and I hope she can’t hear that my voice is shaking. “Kiss him, I mean.”

I feel vaguely sick. The rain is still coming down hard but I barely notice anymore. All I can focus on is the ache in my stomach and the painful spasm behind my chest as she says, very quietly, “I - yes…”

“Right. OK.” I swallow and then take a step back, raking a hand through my hair. Of course, Henry Pennington kissed her. What the fuck am I even doing here? “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

I’ve taken a couple more steps backwards and I’m not sure why I’m torturing myself like this. Seth is still standing at the window, looking a little confused and entirely perfect, and I think I’m going to be haunted by this forever: by the pitiful look on her face and fucking Daedalus giving me the thumbs-up. 

“Sorry.” I shake my head and then force myself to turn away from her before this gets even worse. I doubt that it could, though. A bludger to the guts is nothing compared to this. I probably shouldn’t be flying right now. I used to laugh at Dad’s lectures on broomstick safety and flying under emotional distress but I get it now. I wish I didn’t. 

“But it wasn’t like -” Her voice rings out behind me suddenly, barely louder than the rushing of the rain, and I stop dead in my tracks. 

“What?” My heart is pulsing in my throat as I turn around to look at her. I can barely get the words out. “Not like what, Woodley?”

Her mouth opens, then closes again and she shakes her head.

“Shit.” I close the distance between us in two quick strides. When I reach her, I’m entirely out of breath, like I’ve been running laps on the Quidditch pitch. “Just… tell me to fuck off, Woodley.” 

I brace my arm against the window frame, mostly to keep myself from kissing her. I want her to want this; to want me. “Two words,” I tell her, leaning closer. Close enough to see the bright spots in her eyes. Cloud Study. “I promise I won’t argue.” My lips brush against hers and it’s fucking electric. “Seth?” 

I’m not sure I can not kiss her for another second. My nose nudges her cheek and she tilts her head up and, then, her lips are on mine - soft and fluttery and a bit shaky - echoing the feeling in my stomach. I can hardly pace myself - like I’m doing this for the first time. My breath is still too ragged and my heartbeat too fast and I’m too desperate. 

I’m crushing her against me despite the architectural obstacle between us, bunching up her sweatshirt in my fists to keep myself from going too far too quickly. Her body softens, sinking into mine - into the kiss - and I slide one hand along her cheek, into her hair, kissing her and kissing her and kissing her as I feel the press of her fingertips against my chest. Against my frantic heart.

#hntbaw #hownottobeawoodley #james pov #jamessiriuspotter #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #aesthetics #aesthetic #nextgen #Spotify

[nhstadler]

CHAPTER 46:

ALL THE PRETTY FLAWS

“I’m fucking great,” James rasped and I snatched my hand back as his eyes fluttered open, his heavy-lidded gaze sliding to me. It was still vague but it looked more familiar again - more brown than black, like his pillow - and my heart was not prepared for the impact as he murmured, “Woodley cured me.”

He was still drunk. I could hear it in the blurred edges of his words. But the way he kept looking at me felt like a thousand paper cuts. 

Like I had done this to him. 

Like my antidote had been just as bad as the poison itself.

#hntbaw #hownottobeawoodley #jamessiriuspotter #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #aesthetics #aesthetic #nextgen

[nhstadler]

A/N: Hey everyone! So, I’m working hard on the next chapter but I’m not finished so, to tide you over, I’m posting the tutoring lesson from Chapter 12 (A Battle of Wits) from James’s perspective. Please know that I will reply to all of your lovely comments because they mean so much to me… I just couldn’t find the time until now. But I will :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this snippet. Lots of love ♥️

W E L L,   S H I T.

It sounds like rain is drumming against the windows, but it’s not, of course. Slughorn’s dungeon classroom is a fucking miracle. The air is fragrant - earthy and heavy and a little citrusy - a cocktail of potion fumes that lingers like a haze at the end of the day, seeping into the classroom walls. It’s oddly comforting;  like the scent of Mum’s fancy candles that are all around the house.

Elizabeth Woodley is bent over my class notes, her head propped up on one hand as she studies the mess of formulas and doodles that crawl along the edges of the page. She’s absently tapping her pen against the paper as she reads and I wonder what she’s thinking - if she thinks I’m an idiot. 

If she really doesn’t like me.

She hums softly and then reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, which is when I notice the small, golden piercing for the first time - right at the top of her ear cartilage, catching the flickering torchlight. I wonder where she got it; if she went to a shop and did the safe thing or if she got the boarding school special: a semi-successful freezing charm and a needle.  Somehow - weirdly - I really want to know.

“OK Potter, what is that?” 

“Um, what?” It takes me a second too long to catch on - to realise that she’s looking at me while pointing at something in my notes - and I quickly tear my gaze away from her to look at the collection of lines and arrows and crosses that take up half the page. It’s a series of rather brilliant Quidditch moves that I mapped out while Slughorn was droning on about Potion inversion.

“Yeah, I can’t tell you.” I say, shaking my head, trying hard not to grin as her eyes narrow even more. She doesn’t seem to be particularly chuffed with me.

“What?”

“You’re the enemy, Woodley.” 

“I’m - what?” She looks at me like she’s seriously contemplating my sanity, but I just shrug.

“You’re in Ravenclaw.” I lean forwards and pick up one of the bundles of herbs from the table, twisting it absently in my hand as I raise an eyebrow at her. “And you’re roommates with Bulky Bernie, no?”

“Don’t call her that,” she says curtly and I can feel the tug at the corner of my mouth as her cheeks turn pink. No girl has ever glared at me like Elizabeth Woodley - like she thinks I’m full of shit - and I can’t help but like it a little bit. “How do you know she’s my roommate?”

I put my hands behind my head and lean back in the chair, giving her my best charming smile, but it doesn’t quite seem to work on her. Mostly because she still looks at me like she wants to throw something at me.

“You know what… it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head before turning back to my catastrophic notes like, if she just stares at them long enough, she might disentangle them into something intelligible. 

She sighs, bent over some scribbles that might be inversion calculations, and then absently pulls her hair up into a messy bun. One of the shorter strands escapes the hair tie and I watch as it slides against the side of her neck, lightly brushing her shoulder. I trace its movement, my eyes settling on the perfectly round birthmark just above her collarbone, like someone painted it there because they knew it would look pretty.

A second strand of light blonde hair falls out of the bun, curling against the nape of her neck, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s still immersed in my notes, scribbling things in the margins as she bites her lip; not in that sexy come-hither sort of way, but properly pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

It’s then that I realise I’ve been staring at her like a creep.

“OK, so I annotated the equations,” she says as she looks up again and I almost fall out of my chair like a complete numpty. I have no idea what I’m doing, honestly. 

“I, um…” She frowns at me - again; like she’s trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me but then seems to just decide to ignore it. “I think it might be easier to understand the steps like this.”

“Great.” I pull the notes towards me and try to focus on the little numbers and comments that curl around my sloppy equations. I don’t know why, but I don’t want Woodley to think I’m stupid. I mean, obviously I’m a disaster at Potions, but I know I could be better and I kind of want her to know, too; that I might be saved yet.

“OK, I’m not sure I get this.” I stretch my arms above my head, barely able to stifle a yawn, and she leans in a little, her eyes scanning the page. Her bun has half dissolved by now and a few of the blonde strands tickle my neck.

“Which one?” 

“That right there.” I point to the longest equation which drags on for six unholy lines and she moves a little closer to me.

“Oh, that’s just proof for Salman’s Law. The equal reduction of the amount of ingredients doesn’t produce less quantity of the same potion. It usually changes the substance-integrity.”

I let her words sink in, surprised that I’m not completely lost. Weirdly, what she’s saying actually makes sense. “And that’s the same as this here.” I point to the string of numbers at the bottom of the page and then, suddenly, our heads bump together. Hard.

“Bleeding Circe.” Woodley groans but there’s laughter in her voice as she moves back a little and I copy her.

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come so-” 

The moment I catch her gaze, I forget what I want to say. 

Because, how the fuck could I ever think that her eyes were blue?

My stomach twists and I swallow and, suddenly, everything is strange. 

Well, shit.

“Um, so…” she says after a stretch of awkward silence. “Maybe we should, um -”

“Yeah, good idea.” I clear my throat as I jump up from my chair, scratching the back of my neck and looking anywhere but her. Maybe I’m coming down with something; some sort of vile stomach flu. “I’ve got intense Quidditch training scheduled until the Kick-Off so I won’t really have time for tutoring lessons.”

“Sure.” She shrugs and begins to collect the pieces of paper that are strewn all across the desk. “I wouldn’t have time anyway.” 

“Okay, good.” I look at her again, which doesn’t help, and then quickly nod my head. “Bye then.” 

I’m not sure why, but I basically run out of the Positions classroom like the pouty lead in every cheesy romance film, pushing open the doors too fiercely on my way out. I’m so eager to get away that I’m already halfway down the sparsely lit corridor before I realise that I left all of my books behind.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I drag a hand through my hair, considering whether I can afford to not have my Potions books tomorrow, but I know it’s no use. I have to go back. “This is fucking fantastic.”

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[nhstadler]

CHAPTER 45: BETWEEN COURAGE AND CHAOS

The weather was nice today, almost balmy, so, naturally, the stone benches that were grouped around a small, overgrown fountain in the middle of the courtyard would be occupied by the seventh-years.

Not all of them, of course, but I knew that the seventh-year I was looking for would be there.

I let myself fall back a little as my friends continued to discuss the world’s worst Patronuses, their voices ringing out over the general lunch break racket, and I felt my heartbeat scatter when I glanced at the group that was sprawled over the low benches. It was an unwritten rule that the sunny spot in the porticoed courtyard close to the Great Hall was reserved for the seventh-years and traditions were nothing if not venerated at Hogwarts. 

I knew all of them, of course. These were the people everybody knew; the people you would automatically think about when you remembered your school time even though you had never been a part of theirs. Augustus Cotton was taking up an entire bench, his head hanging over the edge so that his blond hair almost touched the ground as Benji Thomas was trying to toss grapes into his open mouth, but my eyes immediately drifted to James. He was straddling a half-crumbling stone bench, one leg drawn up underneath him and, across from him, her shiny brown hair tumbling down her back in loose curls, was Athena. 

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[nhstadler]

A/N: Hey all, here’s a tiny little James POV holiday snippet to say thank you for all the lovely reviews and likes. I didn’t want to post it at first because nothing really happens, but maybe some of you enjoy it nonetheless. I hope you’re all well and made it through the festive season unscathed :). Thanks for your support and love and general brilliance. 

‘T I S   T H E   S E A S O N

I almost kissed her.

Shit.

I want to groan and bury my head in my hands, but I can’t, of course. Not with my entire family racketing around the table like they have all gone batshit and Celestina Warbeck crooning about cauldrons full of hot, strong love.

“We danced to this when we were young, Arthur. Do you remember?” Grandma says, like she does every year, and the smile she gives Grandpa, who is half-falling asleep at the table, also like every year, makes me want to hug both of them.

The kitchen in the Burrow is crammed. More than usual. The unshapely dining table is really just a collection of half a dozen haphazardly arranged smaller tables, covered with an oversized tablecloth, and I can feel an odd table leg digging into my shin. 

It used to be bigger - it felt bigger. Now, I’m wedged in between Freddie and Teddy and, even though we all sit with our shoulders slightly hunched and our arms pressed to our sides, we can barely move without shoving each other.

I almost kissed her. 

On the cold grounds in the snow with my heart slipping as it struggled to keep in time.

“Oi, Herbie!” 

I snap my head up to see a black shape barrel across the table, recklessly knocking over glasses and candles before it leaps straight onto my lap.

Lilly’s arshole cat who hates everyone but me is nuzzling his fluffy head into my stomach, giving absolutely no shits about having just caused a minor fire in his wake. Uncle Ron puts it out with an overambitious Aguamenti charm that floods half the table, earning himself a round of applause from Dad and Uncle George while Aunt Hermionie is busy minimising the damage. 

Celestina’s voice is still howling from Grandma’s ancient radio, the music seeping into the general din of conversations and laughter that fill the kitchen. But I know all the words by heart. I could sing You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me with an entire bottle of firewhiskey in my system and not miss a line.

I almost kissed her. 

I wanted to.

She was waiting for me in the hospital wing - in Hagrid’s awful plaid blanket and the too large wellies - and I let her go. Because I’m a fucking coward. 

Gryffindor my arse. 

“So, James.” Rose leans over Teddy, tucking her auburn hair behind her ears like she means business. “I’ve heard some wild things about you at Beaux.”

“You did?” I arch an eyebrow at her as Herbie curls up in my lap, his little paws playing with the hem of my jumper. It’s maroon, with a slightly wonky J across the front, and it matches my equally chunky socks. Grandma went all out this year. 

“Yeah, are you actually failing Potions?” 

I snort and shake my head because, of course, of all the rumours that could have reached her across the English Channel, Rose, the wonderful creature, is concerned about my abysmal grades.

“I’m not,” I say, even though that’s not entirely true. “Who the fuck told you that?”

“Don’t worry, Rosie.” Freddie digs his shoulder into my side as he leans in, looking entirely too happy with himself. “He’s got a brilliant tutor, don’t you Jamie?” He slaps my back and I want to kill him; just a little bit.

“Yeah.” I sigh and my mind slips back to that one moment when I realised just how fucked I really am; when I asked Seth about Potions and she told me about having to earn the magic and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. “I do.”

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #james pov #james sirius potter #aesthetic #Spotify

[nhstadler]

I had snuck to the window next to my bed in the blue twilight that filled the room and pulled it open to let in the crisp morning air. I had woken up sweaty and gross with Katie’s body heat smothering me and the cool breeze felt good on my skin. My eyes were dry and burning and I felt the exhaustion of last night in my body, most of which I had spent drifting in and out of sleep, crying over James Potter until Katie had wiped the smeared mascara off my face. 

It had been pathetic and I was glad that the boy who had done this to me would never know.

I braced my arms on the ledge and leaned out the window, taking in the purple mist above the Black Lake and the dark clouds that loomed behind the hills like ominous shadows. There was going to be rain - lots of it - and I felt my throat close off at the thought of having to spend an entire Saturday confined to the castle with everybody else - with all these people who thought that I was a delusional fangirl.

For a second, I had tried to convince myself that maybe they wouldn’t care. But I knew how these things went, especially when James Potter was involved, and it wasn’t good.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetic #james sirius potter #aesthetics #Spotify

[nhstadler]

So, I'm half done with the next chapter and I thought that I would post a short James POV in the meanwhile. This is the "shag nook scene" from chapter 40. I hope you guys enjoy :)

HOW NOT TO BE A WOODLEY

 A B S U R D L Y   S M A L L   S P A C E S

“Are you mental?” 

I’m close enough to see the light grey flecks in Seth’s eyes as she looks up at me and my breath hitches in my throat like I’m fucking twelve years old. Obviously, I haven’t thought this through. At all. I might as well be mental.

“Someone’s coming.” I try to sound like this is nothing; like I don’t care that she is in my arms and I’m reeking of sweat and dirt. But there is hardly any space to move, nothing else to look at but her. “I’m already on thin ice as it is.” 

I realise then, a second too late, that my hands are on her waist - that they shouldn’t be - and I let go immediately, ignoring the violent jolt in my stomach. “I can’t be caught after hours or Minnie is going to lose her shit.”

Seth narrows her eyes at me and I wish I could look away. But I know that it’s useless; this close to her, I don’t have the energy to pretend that I even want to look at anything but her. 

“You’ve already been caught, Potter!”

“I have?” I grin at her but she doesn’t seem to find me even remotely charming.

“I am a bloody prefect!”

“Yeah. And you were creeping around Slughorn’s office with a heart-shaped card and you’re currently hiding behind an ugly-arse painting of a weird troll way past curfew. Shady as fuck, Woodley.”

She’s pressed against the wall, her head tilted up towards me, and it’s all I can do not to lean in, not to touch her, not to kiss her, not to tell her that she is fucking beautiful, even when she glares at me like this.

“You hauled me into your disgusting shag nook, Potter,” she hisses and something behind my chest pulls taut, twisting itself into something heavy and unshapely that sinks to the bottom of my stomach. 

Of course, that’s what she thinks of me - that I’m a heartless shit who fucks girls in secret passageways.

“What the fuck is a shag nook?” I try for nonchalance, because my only other option is to pathetically spill my guts to her about how I haven’t been with anybody else since New Year’s. Because I can’t bloody stop thinking about her; about her red dress on my bedroom floor and her blonde hair spilled against my pillow.

“You know what I mean.” She is still frowning at me but, even in the darkness, I can see her blush as I lean a little closer. 

I swear to Merlin, this girl is going to be the end of me.

“I actually really don’t. Enlighten me.” 

She breathes out a humourless laugh and then shakes her head before looking away from me. “Forget it.”  

Right.

She thinks I’m mocking her; that I find this amusing when, really, I’m mortified that she still sees me like this - that she’ll never see me as anything more than a dumb, immature fuckboy. 

“Is that really what you think of me?” I say before I can stop myself. “This is not - I’m not…” I press my lips together as I try to come up with the right thing to say. But I always fuck this part up; say the wrong thing, ruin everything. I’m good at that.

“Well lads.” Slughorn’s voice is louder now, cutting through the weird mood like a dull knife. “It was a pleasure as usual. I have to say that American Bourbon really was delicious.” 

Seth gives me a wide-eyed look and then her lips twitch, like she wants to laugh but tries really hard not to, and I’m possibly on the verge of losing my shit. This is bloody ridiculous. I’m trapped in an absurdly small space with the girl that I’ve been desperately trying to stop obsessing over for months while my Potions teacher is blocking the only exit, talking about fucking American Bourbon.

At this point, I don’t think I’ll get out of this unscathed.

And then, suddenly, Seth moves and I look down at her, even though I should know better. She’s biting her bottom lip, her body pushing against mine as she shifts her hips like she’s trying to find a more comfortable position and I’m not OK. 

She cannot be serious right now.

I don’t think as I reach out and grab her waist, pinning her against the wall a little too roughly. For a split second, I’m not sure what I’m doing. My shit brain is not fully functional with the current lack of blood supply and there are too many things I want to do; I’ve wanted to do for a while.

But I can’t. Not like this. 

I push away from her, trying to create at least some distance between us, however limited it might be. And then, suddenly, I’m falling backwards, through the portrait of the ugly mountain troll and right in front of Slughorn’s feet.

#HNTBAW #hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #james pov #james sirius potter #aesthetic #Spotify