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wondernimbus · 4 years

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book-thief — james potter

pairing: james potter x female!reader

prompt: reader and james fight over the last book on the shelf.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work. requests are always open!

[Y/N]'s arm stills in mid-air, hovering over the spine of the lone textbook as she makes eye contact with a familiar-looking boy whose hand is similarly outstretched towards the same book: Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage. It's the only one left on the shelf.

"Um," she says, pursing her lips as she grabs the book before he can even think about breaking eye contact. "Sorry. I got here first."

Diagon Alley is especially busy during this time of the year, less than a week before Hogwarts is set to reopen its doors to welcome a brand new set of first years and resume learning for the rest of the older students. Every single shop [Y/N] has gone into so far has been bustling with witches and wizards going about their shopping business—including Flourish and Blotts.

The bookshop's usually stocked shelves are almost empty. Most of the textbooks for [Y/N]'s year have gone completely sold out; according to the very frazzled manager, there had been an issue with the publishing house, hence they were short a good hundred textbooks or so for each subject. This meant that at least a hundred Hogwarts students were going to have to use a secondhand textbook or two during the school year.

And [Y/N] is not going to be one of them.

Feeling only a tiny bit guilty, she tucks the textbook under her arm, offers the strangely familiar-looking boy a half-assed apologetic smile, and resumes her shopping for textbooks. Weaving through the crowd of customers without even having to look up from the piece of parchment she clutches in her hands, she surveys her shopping list:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 by Miranda Goshawk Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage Confronting the Faceless A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration by Emeric Switch Flesh-Eating Trees of the World Advanced Rune Translation by Yuri Blishen

Two textbooks left to go. So far she's been lucky enough to get most of them without much trouble despite the shortage of books (unless she counts the awkward encounter with that boy back there). She mutters occasional "excuse me"s as she slinks past other customers on her way to the Herbology section of the bookshop in search of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World.

There are only three other people in the Herbology aisle—an old witch mumbling something to herself about leaping toadstools, a little witch no more than age five surveying a book titled "Devil's Snare and Its Devilish Secrets", and—

It's the same strangely familiar boy from before. The one [Y/N] stole very reasonably took the last copy of Advanced Potion-Making from. (She had gotten there first.) But he's standing all the way at the end of the aisle, and she's standing on the opposite end.

Judging by the fact that he seems to be her age and goes to Hogwarts (which would explain that sense of vague recognition she gets when she look at him), he's here for the same book that she is.

It's more of an assumption than anything, but her legs kick into action nonetheless and she starts speed-walking towards the shelf that holds Flesh-Eating Trees of the World. But the boy seems to have the same incentive as she does, and at a pace much quicker than hers courtesy of his annoyingly long legs, he reaches the shelf first.

Her entire world seems to slow down. Before she knows it, she's standing two feet away from him—and he has the last copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World clutched in his hands.

"Sorry," the boy says with a flicker of mischief in his tone, smiling smugly as he holds up the book in a manner one can only describe as ostentatious. "I got here first."

She blinks, watching as he nods at her before turning and disappearing into a different aisle.

Great—now she has to use an old Herbology book this year and hope that she doesn't get one that's been thrown up on or jinxed to bite her hands every time she opens it.

She scoffs to herself, shaking her head in disbelief as she looks around in search of someone to share her incredulity with, maybe say "Did you hear that? Absolutely unbelievable" as a means of ranting. But the old lady and the five-year-old witch are hardly fit for such conversation, so instead [Y/N] huffs to herself and goes to look for her last textbook.

She walks faster than usual on her way to the Ancient Runes aisle, still reeling a little bit from the ridiculous situation that had just unfolded moments before and cost her her Herbology book. When she catches sight of the shelf she's supposed to find Advanced Rune Translation in, much to her delight, there is only one book left on the shelf. Hers.

But when she makes a move towards it, a certain someone rushes past her. It's that boy again.

Oh no, he's not—

His outstretched arm reaches out for the last copy of Advanced Rune Translation, and her instincts kick in—she grabs the book before he can, but he has latched onto it too.

Eyebrows furrowing, she tugs the book towards her. He tugs it back to him.

"I'm sorry," she says, keeping her voice level as she stares up at him, forcing a friendly smile. "I need this book."

His nose wrinkles before he smiles back at her—that same look of obviously insincere friendliness. "Sorry," he replies, lips curling, "I need it too," he tugs the book in his direction.

With gritted teeth, she grips onto her side of the book persistently. "I need it more," she insists, the smile on her face slowly fading.

"I don't see how you can be the judge of that," he fumes, his smile drooping into a scowl.

"I got here first—"

"No, you did not—"

The both of them have completely dropped all pretense of friendliness, now full-on scowling at each other as they stubbornly engage in an intense tugging match for Advanced Rune Translation.

"Fine!" she exclaims, letting go of the book as she takes a step back, frustration bubbling in her chest. "Fine. Merlin. Have it, then, if you want it so bloody badly."

The boy grins in triumph, looking much too pleased with himself. "Correction: I needed it."

"Yeah, whatever," she grumbles, glowering at him. And then, in a much lower tone, "Prat."

The smirk on his face drops. "Excuse me?"

"Hm?" she hums, glancing at him innocently. "Oh, nothing. You have a good day."

Spinning on her heel, she makes her way to the cashier, still seething as she dumps her very incomplete set of books on the counter. What a prat.

—

[Y/N] steps out of Flourish and Blotts onto the busy street of Diagon Alley. A bell chimes as the door to the bookshop closes behind her, but the sound is lost amidst the sounds of conversation coming from busy shoppers passing by.

Sighing, she purses her lips and checks her school supply list. She has everything—everything but two particular books that were unjustly stolen from her by a strangely familiar pain in the arse—

Okay, you know what? What she needs right now is to cool down—and what better way to do that than to get ice cream?

A few minutes later, she finds herself in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, sitting on a little table lined along the windows with a triple chocolate ice cream cone clutched in her hands. She tries not to look too sulky, but memories of that boy from the bookshop linger in her head that have her feeling irritated.

She's been staring out of the large glass windows for quite some time that her eyes have gone out of focus, so it takes her brain a while to register the fact that there's a boy standing right in front of the window, looking straight at her.

But it's not just a boy—no, this is the boy. The prat, [Y/N] has decided to call him inside her head.

She glares back at him. Annoyingly enough, he grins at her and raises his hand in a wave. What he does next has her gripping her ice cream cone so hard she's surprised it doesn't break, because the prat pulls out a book from his bag and waves it at her.

Written along the cover of the book are the words "Advanced Rune Translation".

Before [Y/N] can raise her hand and give him the middle finger, he averts his gaze and walks right into Florean Fortescue's.

She watches as he strides to her table before plopping down into the seat opposite her, setting the textbook down on the table. Her eyes flit to it before she looks up at him. If looks could kill, the prat would already be in the afterlife.

"Can I help you?" she asks, not bothering to hide the scorn in her tone. But just because she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, she puts on a forced, sarcastic smile.

The prat grins. He crosses his arms, and whilst leaning forward in his seat, asks, "I suppose you go to Hogwarts?"

She regards him with a deathly stare. "Yes," she says, and then slowly, she repeats, "Can I help you?"

He ignores her question. "What house?"

Scoffing, she replies, "Ravenclaw."

"Aw, I was hoping you were in Gryffindor—but that wouldn't make sense because I'd be friends with you by now if you were."

She gives him an unimpressed glance. "Sure. Friends."

He raises his eyebrows, the impish grin on his face widening. In a flirtatious tone, he asks, "Were you hoping to be something more than friends?"

Her eyes widen and she scoffs again in disbelief. "Oh, Merlin," she says, shaking her head as she forces out a few breathless laughs out of frustration. "You are something else. Really."

The prat grins and leans back on his chair. "I'm James Potter. And you are?"

"Very annoyed," she takes an angry bite out of her ice cream cone.

Amused, he slides the book towards her on the table. "Because of this?"

"Because of a certain prat, to be more specific," she takes another bite of cone, chewing much too fast out of anger as she glares at him. "His name's James Potter—you might have heard of him."

The prat—James Potter—laughs. Actually laughs; a genuine sound of amusement. A look of feigned wonder comes across his face as he strokes his chin. "Why, yes, the name does seem familiar. Mind describing him for me?"

She rolls her eyes, but for some reason, she plays along. "He's tall. Looks like a tree."

"Interesting comparison."

"Black hair that strongly resembles a bird's nest—wow, he really does look like a tree."

He scoffs.

A tiny smirk tugs at the edges of her lips as she keeps going. "He's in Gryffindor, too, so that explains why he's such a prat."

He clutches his chest as though in pain. "Ouch."

"Oh, and I almost forgot. Silly me," she simpers, and then fixes him with a stony gaze. "He stole two of my textbooks."

James lets out an incredulous laugh. "Stole?" he repeats, shaking his head. "I got to the Herbology book first; it's only right that I took it. As for this one—" he taps the textbook on the table, "Technically, you gave this up."

She presses her lips together. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He stares at her for a moment, mouth open as though to say something and his brows furrowed, and then he shakes his head and lets out a long breath. "You're lucky I find you pretty."

She narrows her eyes at him, ignoring the one—just one—butterfly that has been let loose inside her stomach at being called pretty by an annoying book-thief that a tiny, tiny part of her finds mildly attractive. Because he is a bit of a looker—she has to admit.

James Potter taps the book on the table and grins at her. "What if I decide to give this to you?"

"Bless your kind soul."

He laughs again. "No—really. What do I get in return?"

[Y/N] stares at him, trying to figure out whether he's being serious or not. Her lips bunch up to one side as she ponders her response.

"A name, perhaps?" James suggests, his eyes glinting.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "You want to trade a book for my name?"

He shrugs, drumming his fingers on the book cover. "Maybe. Yes."

"A book that you paid money for?" [Y/N] asks dubiously.

His bottom lip juts out as he contemplates his answer. Then he shrugs again, nodding. "Yes."

"Then you should've asked earlier!" she exclaims, sitting up straight and holding your hand out. "I'm [Y/F/N]."

James Potter lets out an amused sound, feeling something akin to fondness pluck at his heartstrings. He mimics the way she sat up straight, although his version is a little exaggerated—he quickly sits up, back rigid like a soldier being called to attention in a clear attempt to mock her. She gives the prat—James—a warning look; he grins at her.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, [Y/N]," he grips her hand firmly in his and gives it a shake.

Her lips tugging up involuntarily, she replies, "And yours."

Both of them drop their hands back to their sides at the same time as though afraid to hang on for longer than necessary. "So I suppose this is mine now?" she says, reaching out for the textbook.

James sighs heavily, shoulders slumping as he stares at the book with a dramatic, longing gaze. "I suppose so."

Hands hovering over the cover, she looks at him for confirmation. "You sure?"

He wipes a fake tear from his eye and nods. Rolling her eyes, she tries to hold back a laugh. "Alright. Okay. Um," she slides the book slowly towards her as if waiting for him to change his mind, but he doesn't. "Thanks.. um.. James."

He drops his dramatic act of despair and beams at her, crossing his arms as he props his elbows on the table. "You're very welcome, [Y/N]. Like I said—you're lucky I find you pretty."

She rolls her eyes, ignoring the warmth spreading across her cheeks. "Quite the flirt, aren't you?"

James shrugs. "Just being honest."

She gapes at him, at a momentary loss for words. And then she looks away, cheek twitching with a threat of a smile as she lets out a heavy exhale. "You really are something else," she mutters.

"Only for you, love," James grins. His eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and his grin falters as he glances back up at her. "As much as I want to sit here and stare at you all day—"

"Annoy me, you mean."

James continues on smoothly like he hadn't heard her. "Unfortunately, I've got to go. I promised a friend I'd meet with him somewhere—his name's Remus, I'll introduce the both of you someday but hopefully he doesn't fawn over you too much. You've got the brains and the looks, after all."

She flicks her eyebrows up at him.

"Alright, well," James huffs, getting up from his seat. "I've really got to go—I'm already ten minutes late. I'll see you around Hogwarts, [Y/N]. Oh, and your ice cream's melting—I thought you ought to know."

With one final wink, James Potter backs away, keeping his gaze fixed on her as he goes. Just before he leaves the ice cream parlor, he gives her a mock curtsy, smiling, and then disappears into the crowd of people outside.

Feeling oddly breathless, [Y/N] blinks herself out of her reverie and then looks down at her ice cream. James was right—it is melting.

Couldn't he have said that earlier?

With a strange little smile on her face, [Y/N] finishes up the rest of her ice cream. And when she leaves Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour a few minutes later, there's a bounce in her step and a weird, fluttery feeling in her chest.

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