I’ll pick you up at seven, yeah? J.
It had been an unbelievable longshot that his owl would even find Lyle. Lyle. That was his name. Giddy after receiving his reply, James had stood in his bathroom, toothbrush in his frothy mouth, trying the man’s name out on his tongue. He looked a picture, in his Snitch boxers with mussed hair. His pale skin shone under the luminosity of the bathroom light, making the dragon that had coiled around his bicep blink unhappily. Seeing its dismay, James allowed himself the pleasure of letting the man’s name roll semi-awkwardly – by the virtue of having a toothbrush lodged in his gob – off of his tongue just one last time before finishing up getting ready for bed.
As he strode through the living area having exited the bathroom, James pulled a plain white t-shirt off of the back of his desk chair and shrugged into it as he retraced his steps back towards his bedroom. He smiled as the smell of his grandmother’s washing powder puffed about him from the material. Going home to the Burrow had been a pleasure and a half. He couldn’t quite resist burdening Molly with some of his washing, either. Between doting on him and Archie – who was already in doggy dream land by the time James got into his side of the bed – she also made his clothes smell like he always remembered them smelling when he was little. It reminded him of happier times. It reminded him, too, of what he could remember his dad smelling like. Home, almost.
Sighing contentedly as he let his body sag against the pillows, James pulled the covers up around him. Archie rolled over onto his back, legs splayed in the air, whining softly about whatever cat he was dreaming about chasing. Chuckling, James pulled his glasses off and tossed them onto the nightstand before lifting a hand to his face. He rubbed his fingers across the space between his brows and found himself yawning not a moment later. Reaching back over to the nightstand, James pulled up the letters, now a fair wodge, that he had gotten back from Lyle. That the other man had replied had been mad, the fact that he’d done so multiple times was mind-boggling. A soppy grin fell over his features as he flicked through them, committing the simple, gentle press of his lettering into the paper to mind. He wanted to stay awake and read and re-read but that was how he fell asleep, letters surrounding him, in the half-light of the room.
And the smile? That didn’t fall from his mouth, not even for a second.
“Archie, baby, c’mon…”
Not for the first time, nor for the last, James was on his hands and knees, his head under his bed, looking for his dog. The first walk of the day was something the puppy was terrible for when James had the day off. Sensing the relaxation in his master, Archie put a lot of effort to wake him up – which included biting off his sock, something which James would never understand – before disappearing off around the flat to hide.
On these sorts of days, James bitterly regretted buying a dog that was suspiciously magical enough to remain puppy-sized forever. Last week, he’d found Archie in the washing basket. He’d only managed to track him down because the damn thing had been snoring. This week, though, he was sure that his golden boy was under the bed, hiding amongst storage boxes and a pair of boots that James had written off months ago and bought a new pair. Finding them was the only plus of the dog going missing.
“Okay, suit yourself!” He declared, pushing himself up to his feet.
James shook his head and trudged out into the living room. He hooked up the scarlet lead that matched Archie’s collar next to his coat. Shucking his feet of their shoes, James popped them back in the box and resigned himself to the fact that as soon as he flicked the kettle on, the dog would make a reappearance. He might get it to brew before Archie bounced out, demanding his walk with a yip and a grin.
He could definitely at least get a biscuit.
Two bites into a digestive, James was just about to put water over the teabag when Archie appeared. He strayed immediately over to his water bowl and James shook his head, setting the kettle back on the hook. James finished off his digestive and went for another one as he got out a spoon, hoping that he could grab a drink too. He opened the fridge door after hooking out the teabag and putting it into the dish he had bought especially for teabags and felt his heart sink into his chest. Even the chocolate couldn’t improve his mood. No milk. It was a travesty.
“Right hound,” James popped the biscuit into his mouth. “C’mon,” he waved his hand over the mug, leaving behind a warming charm, and walked over to where Archie was sat. “We’re going to the shops.”
He picked the dog up before a word could be gotten in edgeways. Coats were put on – oddly with matching tartan – and James shoved his feet back into his shoes. After hooking Archie’s lead to his collar, James grabbed his keys and his phone and hurried out of the flat. He bid the little old lady next door, who had come out to get her paper, good morning and asked if she wanted anything from the shops. She hesitated but his coaxing smile led her to ask for some milk herself – and “some custard creams if they have them.”
So, off the pair went. For his trouble, James got a cup of tea and a kiss and Archie got a dog biscuit and a cuddle for being so helpful.
It was a good day, one that was shaping up to be an even better evening.
To his credit, James waited until four o’clock to start panicking about what to wear. Victoire, however, wasn’t about to work it out for him. He started with the basics. He dug out some matching socks he was sure that his grandmother had made for him and found a fresh pair of plain boxers – deciding to forego the snitches until they were better acquainted. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He spent a long while pouting in the mirror, trying to tame his hair. It was never going to work, he knew. He had inherited his father and grandfather’s hair. It meant that it was going to be an impossible task to look semi-presentable. He’d just have to go with the clothes. The hair was a damn lost cause. Damn you, Harry, he thought affectionately, reaching for a white button-down shirt.
Simple and classic – that was what he ultimately went for. He even shined his shoes before donning his coat.
“How do I look?” He asked the dog, opening out his arms questioningly. Archie tipped his head to the side curiously. “Is that a good head tip or a bad one?” James asked, glancing down at himself. "I don't know ... is the navy jumper too much?"
Silence.
“You really are no help, mate,” he chuckled, reaching to fix his watch on his wrist.
James turned on his heel and picked up the little gift he had picked up for Lyle. He popped it into the bag he had also found – it had turned into quite the adventure to the shops – and took a breath, hoping desperately that he’d like it.
“Okay little man,” James crossed the room and crouched down in front of Archie, offering him his hand. The dog lifted his paw into James’ palm. “You know how the floo works. If you need Vic, go on through. I put food and water down. I’ll only be a few hours, I promise. You’ll be alright, right?”
Archie gave him an odd look – more due to the fact that he’d used right twice than because he was asking him if he’d be okay. Though, that too. The dog had done plenty of evenings on his own. He usually sat down to watch some telly – not that James knew that Archie had worked out how to use that. He especially liked the adverts.
“Right, okay. I’m going.”
The dog rolled his eyes – as much as a dog can, mind you.
James apparated out of the living room and landed on the doorstep of – what he hoped – was Lyle’s place. He swung the bag a little and bit the inside of his cheek. He could only hope that this wasn’t going to be a big mistake.
He knocked before he had a chance to back out. And waited. And waited. And … okay, it wasn’t that long but to the impatient Potter it felt like a lifetime. When the door opened, a megawatt grin brightened James’ face and he wasn’t sure what to hold out first – the bag or his other hand to shake. He did muck it up, in that order too, before holding out the bag again and then shaking his head, going with his hand.
“Hi,” he enthused, going a bit red for his troubles. “I, err, I got you this,” he held out the bag again, this time for real. “I didn’t know if you drank or … what you liked really but I thought… well, I thought it was funny and they’re really easy to look after so if you weren’t a plant person it was fool proof --- err, not that you’re a fool! At all. No! I… You’re … you’re a very eloquent person. Um. As far as your letters imply. Unlike me at this moment in time. I … sorry. Err… I’m Jamie. I am not normally this uncontrollably verbose. I guess I'm nervous.”
Game over, idiot, he thought to himself. He's going to think you're a right knobhead.
by 
