Author: twadrummer PM
A sunny day...James Potter, Lily Evans, and the results of a Quidditch toy and cheek abuse. Read and review!Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Humor - James P. & Lily Evans P. - Words: 4,363 - Reviews: 21 - Favs: 19 - Follows: 2 - Published: 11-04-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3229203
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This fic is dedicated to the girl who was my first LJ friend and inspired me to attempt writing Lily/James fanfiction…
Give it up for CATH PATTINSON! (better known as Procrastinator-startin2moro or incoherentme)
Disclaimer: Any characters or settings you recognise belong to J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers. Neither of these entities are a 16 year old girl whose main talent is procrastination.
AND BETA'D BY ANNIE, TEH BEST BETA EVER LIKE CAN SHE GETTA WH00T WH00T?!
It was a sunnyish day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The date was 26 June 1976, and the day, if you're interested, was a Saturday. A Hogsmeade Saturday, in fact. It was the last Hogsmeade Saturday of the year, and most of the students who were allowed were in the village, enjoying the blue skies and sheep-like clouds.
There were only two seventh years left in the entire building, and you may have guessed already who they were, where they were, and what they were doing.
Or you might not have.
Anyway, if you guessed that their names were James Potter and Lily Evans, you were right. If you were guessed they were in the library, you were right. And if you guessed they were arguing, you were right.
If you guessed anything else, this is not the story for you. Plus, you have a really dirty mind.
Back to the story.
A Miss Lily Evans, Head Girl, Gryffindor Prefect and (unknowingly) Keeper of Mr James Potter's heart, was sitting in the library, innocently reading a book. She had stayed in the castle that sunnyish day feeling that it was her duty as Head Girl to be available at all times in case there was any…discontent. As she had waved her friends off that morning, she had (guiltily) breathed a sigh of relief. A lovely bit of peace and quiet. Since the end of N.E.W.T.s, her friends had been, to tell the truth, getting on her nerves a bit, nattering on and on about how much they were looking forwards to leaving Hogwarts, how much they wanted to be independent and free, to lead their own lives in the big wide world.
And because of this reason, for one of the first times in her life, Miss Lily Evans was, although she hated to admit it, just a teensy weensy bit scared. Just a little, mind you. Because, though she would deny it as soon as look at you, Miss Lily Evans had absolutely no idea what was going to happen outside the well-loved walls of Hogwarts to her, or to any one else. And with various current affairs, such as the rise of that pompous prat, Moldyvort or whatever his name was, this worried her.
She shook her head. This was not a day to be spent worrying! This was a day to be spent reading, without a care in the world! Exams were over! The sun was shining! Exclamation marks (A/N: Or if you're American, exclamation POINTS) were scurrying through her head like express trains!
Lily trailed her hand across the cool stone wall she was walking past, calming down at the feel of the age-old castle. She'd been to the library so many times she just let her feet carry her there while she daydreamed. Daydreamed about what, you may ask? Go on, ask.
Well, if I told you, that would be telling. Sorry. You'll have to keep reading!
Lily arrived at the library relatively soon, and relatively uninjured. She'd only tripped over her shoelaces once (a record, for her) and even that hadn't spoiled her good mood. She nodded to Madam Pince, and dawdled to the shelves. Her hand hovered over several of the books as she twirled her hair indecisively, finally deciding on her old favourite, "Potions - A Study Of Love". She meandered over to a table, and sighing, she settled down and began to read.
Meanwhile, in the Head Boy's dormitory, a certain Mr. James Potter was also sitting at a table, but he was not relaxed at all. Oh no. He was studying a ratty old piece of parchment intently, fondly referred to as the Marauder's Map, and absentmindedly chewing on a fingernail. Eventually, with a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a "Harrumph!" he rose from his seat, appearing to untangle an inordinate amount of gangly limbs, and wandered out of the room.
James too made his way to the library, but he walked quickly and purposefully, his strides eating up the corridors, which seemed to sag in his wake. He muttered a little under his breath, occasionally running a hand through his already messy hair or pushing his glasses up his nose where they had fallen down.
He reached the library without incident, and when he entered, Madam Pince scowled fiercely, and mumbled something which echoed around the room, which to the untrained ear could have sounded like, "Bloody boys! Messing up all the books…not the precious books…" But then again, that was only to the untrained ear. The finely attuned ear of James Potter heard only "rassunfassunwrassunmumblegrumbleHARRUMPH!" to which he replied with his most winning smile. He had debated whether "rakish grin" was suitable, but he played it safe with "most winning smile" instead.
Once safely out of sight of the irate librarian, James pulled out the Map again, and scanned the tables. There! A flash of bright red hair, a sparkle in emerald eyes. (I mean, as Lily thought, the chances of the sun shining into the library and coincidentally hitting her eyes were quite slim really). There she was, Lily Evans, light of his life.
He pocketed the Map and moved softly over to the table. Sitting down with the least noise possible, he made his move.
"Potter, what on EARTH are you doing?"
"Why, Lily, my love, what does it feel like I'm doing?"
"It feels, Potter, like you are raping my cheek."
"No, no, no, Lily. I am not raping your precious virginal cheek! I am merely rubbing against it with my cheek to feel your smooth, alabaster skin against my own."
"You're giving me stubble rash. People are going to get the wrong impression! They're going to think I was voluntarily placing my cheek next to yours!"
"Aren't you putting your cheek next to mine voluntarily?"
"If you mean, by voluntarily, pinned down by a spell and your arms, then yes, voluntarily."
"Lily, your harsh tongue cuts me like a knife."
"Don't think I take that as an invitation to put my tongue anywhere near you."
"As if I would!"
James looked hurt. This was not going as well as he thought it would. He tried again.
"You are now raping my hands. I feel unclean. UNCLEAN I TELL YOU! Please, get off me."
"Dearest, stroking your hands with mine is not hand rape. I promise."
"Fine, fine. I relent. Just as well I chose to stroke the top cheek first, isn't it?"
And before Lily could ask why he had made that decidedly…dirty remark, he had removed the spell and swept out of the library.
James threw himself onto his bed. It was no use, he told himself. Just no use. Whatever he did, Lily would never go out with him. Never ever.
He twirled his wand above his head morosely. Small snails shot out of it and splattered the walls, the ceiling and his bed hangings. You look like I feel, mates, James thought silently. Utterly squashed…except I was flattened by the girl of my dreams, and you were crushed because I waved my wand at the wrong time. Ho hum.
He sighed deeply. Then he waited for a moment. There were no footsteps approaching the door; obviously his sigh had not attracted enough attention to bring anybody rushing to comfort him. He huffed, then sighed again, long and loud, mainly to get some attention but also because he was wallowing in self-pity, and that was what you were meant to do when you were wallowing in self-pity, wasn't it? Sigh lots? And possibly weep…but James was a MAN, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to weep.
No way Jose.
Alright…maybe a snuffle or two. He permitted himself a pitiful sniff, then shook himself firmly.
Again, he stared glumly at his ceiling. Ooh, look, one of the cracks looks like the river in the start of that Muggle TV programme…wossname…Eastenders!
No James! He told himself sternly. You are once more languishing after the siren that is Lily Evans demolished your romantic ideas!
Shut up, James, said the logical side of his brain. You sound like a pompously romantic poet. The lovesick side responded with, Maybe Lily likes pompously romantic poets!
James wondered if it was possible for the two sides of your brain to argue, and if it was, was there meant to be a third part of your brain that commentated on the action and called it "schizophrenia"? Then he reached under the bed and pulled out his secret stash of Firewhiskey.
Maybe James wouldn't have been so gloomy if he knew that Lily too had sunk from her normally chirpy self into a hazy date of depression, through which she could only see the sea of Honeydukes wrappers that littered her room's floor. She groaned and flopped back onto her bed like a wet fish.
"Ow…" she mumbled as something pointy dug into her back. Then the rational part of her brain thought, Why the hell did I just say that? Everybody knows it bloody hurts if you move forcefully onto something pointy. She lay for a few minutes, wondering if it was worth moving to remove said object from her sensitive back and possibly seeing what the object was.
After a fortifying dose of chocolate (purely for strength reasons, you understand), she grunted and rolled over. Unfortunately the chocolate, being magical chocolate, had given her just a little too much strength, so she rolled right out of bed and onto the cold, hard floor.
"Ow," said Lily. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the rational part of her brain chose to make a reappearance with Well, if you insist on saying "ow" for things that blatantly obvious, then there's nothing I can do about it.
"Shut up, brain," whispered Lily.
Lily sighed and rested her cheek on the wood, feeling its reassuring there-ness under her skin. Sometimes she wished the voices in her head would just leave her alone.
A few minutes later (read: about half an hour, after she'd drifted off to sleep again on the floor) Lily grunted and heaved herself onto her hands and knees. Slowly crawling across the room, she clambered back onto the bed, and began patting the duvet with her hands.
"ARGH!" Ok, maybe patting something to find a sharp pointy object wasn't the best idea in the world, but it was early, Lily reasoned. The she happened to glance at her bedside clock. Righto, maybe half 11 wasn't early early, she thought. But it was early for her! Her brain wasn't in gear yet!
Withdrawing her injured hand, still clutching the foreign object that had invaded her private space, she sat back on her feet, crouching on the bed. She flipped over the object and was amazed to discover it was one of James' toy Quidditch players, complete with SHARP POINTY broomstick. Unfortunately, the shock must have affected her inner ear, because Lily toppled off the bed for the second time that morning.
"Hello, old friend," she murmured to the floor.
Unsurprisingly, the floor didn't respond. After that, there was only darkness.
James had awoken to a crash and a muffled "OW!"
"Serves her right," he'd drowsily muttered before turning over and snuggling back into his "QUIDDITCH ROCKS!" pillow. "Bloody know-it-all."
What seemed like only a few seconds later, but was in fact, as previously mentioned, about half an hour, James was rudely reawoken, properly this time, by a clearly enunciated "ARGH!"
"ARRRR!" He replied into his pillow. A succession of thoughts flitted across his brain, such as, That was quite a piratey arrr, there…I wonder if I was a pirate in a previous life…do you think I had a hat…was it a good hat…was it as good as those Guinness hats you can get at that Muggle celebration, wossname, St. Patrick's day…that's the one where you get really drunk, innit…is there any Firewhiskey left?
Using this thought as a motive, he staggered across his room. Unfortunately, his drunken daze didn't let him see the very Firewhiskey bottle he was searching for, it's end protruding from under a mountain of dirty laundry where James had fallen the night before. James tripped over it and smashed into the pile of dirty laundry at high velocity. "Mergfh," he mumbled. And grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey, tipping it up to catch the last few drops in his mouth. Then he passed out.
Sirius Black, known to some, but not all, as "Padfoot", was strolling (I would say innocently, but as we all know, Sirius never did ANYTHING AT ALL innocently) down the fifth floor corridor when he heard a crash. Then another. And a faint "OW!" drifted through the air to reach his keen canine ears. "Prongs and Evans," he muttered to himself, and set off towards the Heads' Dormitory.
Why is one of James' model Quidditch players in my room? Lily wondered. How would one of these stupid collective freebies have arrived in a) my room and b) my DUVET? Is James stalking me? Does he come into my room when I am not here and lie on my duvet and sniff it because he is a SCARY STALKER? ARGH! James Potter is stalking me!
Shut up, Lily, the sensible and reasonable side of her mind said. Why would James be stalking you? He lives in the same dormitory as you, shares a bathroom with you, is in all of your classes, does rounds with you…Merlin's beard! JAMES POTTER IS STALKING YOU!
Lily's head began to hurt. It made no sense! Why was the Quidditch model in her duvet? Why was she bothered? Why did her head hurt so much? What was with all the questions buzzing round her brain?
"ARGH!" Lily said.
Sirius reached the portrait of the flirty flautist (A/N: Or, if you're American, flutist) that marked the entry to the Heads' Dormitory. She was practising her latest piece of music, but when he winked, she giggled, dropped her flute, giggled some more, batted her eyelashes and let him in. He gave her a cheeky grin as he strode into the private Heads Common Room.
His first thought was, What the hell happened here, or other words to that effect. His eyes surveyed the destruction of the Common Room. The fabric on the sofas was tattered and the cushions were ripped to shreds. The feathers from the stuffing fluttered gently in the breeze. Curled up in the middle of all this mess was James' cat, Artemis. Sirius ran to her. "Arty," he crooned, picking the cat up and stroking it, "James is going to be so mad when he sees this! And now Uncle Padfoot is going to have to clear it all up, you bad, naughty kitty."
Artemis shot Sirius a disgusted look, dug her claws into his arm and jumped away from him. "ARGH!" silent-screamed Sirius. He wasn't going to wake Evans up - she'd bloody kill him for this mess. Prongs would, too. He'd become very fussy about the Heads' Room, and disliked Sirius bringing his mess to it. There was nothing for it, Sirius decided. He was just going to have to clean up the stupid mess the stupid cat had made.
However, unlike you and I, Sirius had magic at his disposal. Which was just as well really, because he could hear people stirring. What the hell was he supposed to do, he thought. He stuck his tongue out in a gesture of concentration, and muttered, "Reparo," under his breath. The cushions fluttered lazily as the feathers zoomed into them and the rips sewed themselves back up hurriedly on the sofa.
"BLOODY HELL!" Sirius whisper-screamed. "PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, HURRY UP!"
The cushions seemed to give him a look that said, Alright, alright, keep your lovely, shiny, purple-black hair on. Sirius glared at them. The cushions glared back. "Come on, then, I can take you any time!" Sirius muttered, backing into a fighting pose.
"Errr, Padfoot, mate…why are you talking to the cushions and giving them the threatening glare that you usually reserve for Wormtail when he hasn't done your bidding immediately?"
Sirius gave the cushions one last intimidating look, and turned to face James, whose hair was even messier than normal.
"Bloody hell, mate," he said. "What have you been doing? You look bloody terrible. All night long orgy with Evans, eh?" He shot a leering wink at James.
James ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he encountered the lump he had found when he had woken up in his pile of dirty laundry. He assumed it was from where the Firewhiskey bottle had dropped on his head. "Don't…talk to me about Evans, Padfoot. Just don't."
Sirius' face immediately changed from leering to sympathetic, almost as if he'd flicked a switch. "Oh, bugger," he whispered. "She turn you down again, mate?"
James turned bloodshot eyes on him. "Good guess."
There was the sound of a door opening down the corridor. James looked around wildly, his eyes behind his glasses oversized. "Bugger, bugger, bugger," he mumbled. "What am I supposed to do now, eh?"
The only answer he got was the slam of the portrait hole as Sirius disappeared through it, Artemis cradled in his arms. "Thanks, Sirius!" he called after him, as Lily Evans herself entered the room, yawning and stretching, something clutched tightly in one small fist.
"Oh…errr….James! Just the person I wanted to see!"
"Really? I was just…erm…leaving! With Sirius!" He pointed to the portrait hole, swinging desolately on its hinges where Sirius had barrelled through.
"In your pyjamas? Honestly James, if you don't want to see me or talk to me, you could just say!"
James wanted to say, But I do want to see you. Every day. And I want to talk to you every minute, and yes, I do sound like a cheesy made-for-TV movie, but instead he just muttered, "And what would you say to that?"
Lily looked perplexed. This was not turning out to be a good morning. She knew she looked like she had just come back from a hell dimension, her hair had decided it was having artistic differences with her head, her pyjamas were getting too small, apart from round her waist where the elastic was sagging so they had slid down to her hips, revealing her slightly rounded stomach, and the bumps and bruises from where she had fallen onto the floor all those times were coming up on her skin. Worst of all, James Potter was giving her that look of drooling admiration that he usually only reserved for History of Magic classes.
James was indeed staring at Lily with the look of drooling admiration that was usually reserved for when he stared at her in History of Magic classes. To him, she didn't look anything like she had just come back from a hell dimension. In fact, to him, she was a nymph! No, more than a nymph…A GODDESS!
While James was debating the merits of Lily as a nymph or a goddess, Lily had gone and made herself a cup of tea in the tiny kettle she'd put near the fire for emergency tea cases such as this. Then she went back and after mopping up the puddle of drool (well, she hoped it was drool) under James, she threw his model Quidditch player at his face. That woke him up.
"OW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"
She shrugged. "You weren't responding to any known medical tests, so I thought it was time for drastic measures."
"Fair enough. What did you throw at my face, anyway? I could end up with some sort of scar, you know…hey! Maybe it would make me look more rugged and dashing! Maybe a lighting bolt shape…here, throw it again and see if it makes a scar!"
He handed it back to Lily, who looked at the figure in her hand, weighed it up and chucked it at James' nose. He collapsed on the floor in pain, while Lily stood above him, sipping her tea serenely.
"Is that enough of a scar for you?"
He only groaned in pain, before sitting up and pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and scrabbling around on the floor.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Looking for the item you so callously abused me with, Lily my love. AHA! Here it is!"
He crawled out from under the sofa, looking rather pleased with himself and totally covered in dust balls. He examined the item in his hand. "Lily…where did you get this?"
"I found it on my bed. Or, rather, inside my bed cover. Any ideas how it got there?" Lily noticed he at least had the decency to blush properly, his face going pinker and pinker in subtle shades until it was so red he looked like a poppy.
"I…must have lost it, dropped it on the floor near your room, and Artemis has to have picked it up and brought it in there. Yes, that's right."
"James, you know full well Artemis avoids my room as if it was full to the brim with wild snarling wolves. So I will ask you again. Why is your Quidditch toy in my room, on my bed?"
James sighed. He was in it now. Gulping he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I probably dropped it when I was checking…room...love letters…" (A/N: I did attempt to make the text smaller as that sentence went on, but doesn't let me. Oh well.)
Tea was sprayed everywhere as Lily choked on her current mouthful, which was the last one from the mug. Glaring balefully at it, she set the empty mug down on the nearest table. Then she turned her gaze on James. In the iciest tone of voice James had ever heard her use, she asked him, "Would you like to repeat that?"
James blinked nervously. "It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was checking your room for love letters."
Lily visibly paled, and leant over to clutch onto the table where her mug began to rock dangerously. James didn't want to tell her he was standing at exactly the right angle to see down her pyjama top.
"Explanation…now…no buts…" she wheezed as she moved onto the sofa, where she curled up with a cushion.
James began to pace up and down the floor. Where to start? He cleared his throat. Lily narrowed her eyes.
"Well…I was really mopey, because it was the end of the year and you were still looking at me like I was shit, basically. Then I…overheard the other guys saying that they were going to write love letters to you, saying they were from me. I got scared, so I went to check in your room to see if they did." He exhaled heavily.
Lily just sat and looked at him. Really looked at him. And saw a guy who instead of stalking her, as she had previously thought, was just trying to make sure his friends didn't embarrass him over his crush on her. A crush, which she saw now, was a little more than a crush. And possibly a little returned. She blinked suddenly. Yes, definitely a little returned. Maybe even more than a little.
She dragged the blanket off the sofa and stood up, wrapping it around herself. She meandered over to him, with here eyes fixed firmly on the ground until she was standing so near to him that when she lifted her face their noses almost touched.
"So, you weren't stalking me?"
"You weren't trying to get me go out with you by accidentally leaving something of yours in my room so that I have to go into your room to return it, thereby giving you an opportunity to lock us both in until either I commit suicide, we both commit suicide, or we end up snogging?"
"No, but now you mention it, good plan…" He wavered under her look of daggers.
"So…you think I treat you like shit, basically?"
"Sometimes…not always…quite a lot…erm…yeah, basically."
"But I lo- like you a lot anyway."
She lifted her head in trepidation. "Honestly?"
"Truly. It's a bit mad of me, but I do it anyway."
"Oh good. Because I think it's a bit mad of me to do this too, but I going to do it anyway."
And she lifted her head and planted a small, sweet and yet totally firm kiss straight on his lips. James stood frozen and unresponsive with fear for about, oh, a microsecond, until he cupped his hands around her head and kissed her straight back.
THE END finally
A/N: Okay, well, that was quite long for me, 10 whole pages! Please review, I just want to know what you think!
Cath, I hope you liked it, even if it is about a month and a week AFTER your birthday. Oh well, nothing like good old fashioned procrastination!