Chapter Text
Alright.
Right.
Hermione blinked as she stared at the twenty—almost twenty-one—year-old man in front of her.
He looked so excited that she was genuinely worried for his health. Hermione gave him a long look. It was fine to let him eat that apple pie she had made… right? It probably didn’t even taste that good—it was an improvised recipe Harry had helped with—but James seemed to be enjoying it as though it were the best thing in the world, even if it was raw on the inside and burnt on the outside.
“James?” Hermione called softly.
It had been nearly two days since they had arrived and—half-explained—the reason why they were there. Lily and James had hugged Harry a lot. Harry had nearly cried, then looked stunned upon seeing his baby self, and then seemed close to tears again when he noticed Sirius there.
Harry didn’t seem to want to stay away from Sirius, Lily, or James. But he never approached them when baby Harry was present. On the other hand, James didn’t seem to want to stay away from either her or Harry. He was always hovering between them, smiling as if the days were wonderful and maintaining physical contact. A lot of physical contact.
Hermione was quite certain that James wouldn’t leave her alone if she gave him free rein. He already did it with Harry, hugging him and staying close whenever he saw him. To the point where even Harry seemed slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of hugs.
“Are you sure you should be eating that pie?” Hermione asked, grimacing at him.
James, who had looked up immediately when Hermione called his name, nodded repeatedly. “Absolutely.”
Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she noticed the man seemed to be having trouble swallowing.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” she muttered.
“No, let him,” Sirius said, watching James with amusement. “I want to see how much he can take.”
Remus laughed. “He’ll probably eat the whole thing and then throw up.”
“How the hell was I even born if he acts like that?” Harry looked genuinely baffled that his father had survived this long.
“Potter luck,” Ginny said, flipping through a Quidditch magazine from the era.
“It’s always Potter luck,” Lily rolled her eyes, though she smiled softly, baby Harry in her arms.
Hermione raised her wand (under the cautious eyes of Remus and Lily) and made the entire pie vanish.
James looked at her as if she had just kicked his dog, which was entirely possible if you considered Padfoot a pet and if you had seen Hermione kick him (the man in his human form, not the dog) that very morning when the idiot tried to scare her.
“I was eating that, love,” he complained, pouting. Harry and Ron both let out a simultaneous, “Eww,” at the nickname directed at their best friend.
The man still looked like he might throw up, though it was obvious he was stubbornly refusing to.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, James Potter…” she huffed.
How did the man not take care of himself? He was even worse than Harry or Ron, and that was saying something.
Hermione shot him a stern look. If James Potter wouldn’t take care of himself, then she would have to do it for him.
That was the first time she took care of him directly.
Hermione didn’t notice the look in her two best friends’ eyes. They seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking and one of them looked far happier than the other, for very different reasons.