It's not mine; it's all J.K. Rowlings'.
Kissing the Enemy
Chapter 1: In Which Lily is Whooshed
(Nifer's alternative title): In Which the Voices in Lily's Head Make her do Strange and Unusual Things
I'm not feeling very well today.
I wasn't feeling bad when I got up this morning though. In fact, I was feeling quite good. It was a bright fresh, lovely day. Nothing had gone wrong, and I had no reason to believe it would (with the exception of Transfiguration, but that always goes wrong).
And someone found my favorite hair tie and returned it to me! I was so upset when I lost it during Care of Magical Creatures yesterday. I'd searched everywhere, but I hadn't found it.
So, understandably, I was very happy that it magically made its way back to me.
"Today will be a good day," I said as I pulled my hair into a bun.
What a lie. I think I need to go back in bed.
It's not fair! I had a perfectly nice, pleasant, good morning started, and then the good-ness part didn't last past breakfast.
Actually, it only lasted until about half a minute ago, if I'm going to be exact about it.
I was just sitting here in my usual spot, munching contentedly on a banana, when whoosh, something settled in my stomach like a rock. I hate whooshes. It's so annoying when something just hits you in a wave, settling into your body like a gush of water.
The whole thing is really odd, though, since I don't necessarily feel bad, I just feel ... off color.
Being my prudent self, I decided that I would skip the end of breakfast. It doesn't take a genius to see that both rocks and food won't fit into my stomach at the same time. Pity though, I'm kind of hungry.
Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I stood up. Then I promptly reeled to the right. Staggering I grabbed onto the table and held on for dear life.
Apparently the whoosh has made me dizzy and off balance as well - how lovely.
I made my way out of the Great Hall without a single ounce of grace, meaning I ran into a good 10 people and the tables kept jumping into my path. Stupid tables.
It took me ages to get to Transfiguration, and when I did finally make it, I collapsed into my seat.
My head feels like it's swimming about 30 feet above my body. I don't think that's a good thing.
I let my head thunk onto the desk while I took a deep steady breath.
All I want are for these crazy maladies plaguing me to go away. I can't miss Transfiguration, I just can't. This is the one NEWT class that I'm as likely to fail as pass. Missing a class would murder any chances I have to scraping something other than a T. T for Troll. I'm not a Troll! I refuse to even consider it!
If I can just hold on for another 2 hours, I can skip Charms and go collapse in the hospital wing and let Madam Jeffries take care of me. Well ... try to take care of me. I have one of those sneaking suspicions that there's a reason she doesn't work at St. Mungos (Not that she isn't very nice ... but nice just doesn't cut it for a healer).
My stomach gave a violent lurch, like someone was jerking it out of my body toward the Slytherin dungeons. I desperately dug my hands into my cloak, trying not to concentrate on the odd sensations that were traipsing along my nerves. These feelings really are too odd. It's not like they're painful, but it feels like some sort of foreign substance is flowing through my veins, twisting with my blood, attuning me like a muggle antenna to some unknown force.
I jerked my head up in surprise as, with an abrupt and final turn of my stomach, I suddenly felt better. Or maybe my body was just giving me a break before the real problems started? I looked suspiciously down at my stomach.
"You aren't going to be giving me a problem are you?" I asked quietly.
"Talking to yourself, dear Lily? Hardly seems fitting for my most esteemed Head Girl," James Potter, the most 'esteemed' (ha ha, yeah right) Head Boy, said, putting his hand on my shoulder. And who was he calling "his" Head Girl? He's lucky I'm not bashing his head in right now.
But honestly, out of all the people who could have walked in while I was chatting it up with my stomach it had to be him. It just had to be because I can never do anything remotely embarrassing without him being there, can I? It's some sort of insane rule, isn't it? Everyone's after me, aren't they? This is all just one huge giant plot to land me in the nearest insane asylum. I Know It Is!
Ahem ... back to a more logical mind set.
While I had been pondering the aforementioned conspiracy theory, Mr. Potter had some how managed to lean over my shoulder, so as to be in such a position where he could look into my eyes. It bears mentioning that in this position he did manage to look surprisingly similar to a twisted sort of Brontosaurus because without that information you just wouldn't understand my next sentiment.
I hate Brontosaurus'. Absolutely loathe them.
Alas, I decided not to dwell on that; after all, I had much more important things to do. Like tell off one Mr. James Potter for no particular reason (plus the whole "my Head Girl" thing). I unconsciously straightened my shoulders and sat up farther in my chair as I prepared to make my speech. It was going to be impressive too. Unfortunately the whole straightening and sitting up thing caused the chair to shift a bit.
Shifting a bit isn't so much of a problem, unless you're in the middle of imitating a Brontosaurus; then things get a little complicated.
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head in surprise as Potter was thrown forward onto my shoulder, sending me sprawling onto my desk. I don't know how he managed it (I really don't), but as he tripped over my chair and started to fall toward me he actually looked kind of cute.
This I can attest to because I had somehow managed to twist over while I was falling and landed on my desk so I was facing Potter (and, thus, got an eyeful of his rather adorable fall). I threw my hands up to try and catch him. Not that I had any chance of supporting him, but I figured it was my civic duty to at least try.
"Mr. Judge, Sir, I did try to save him." That sounds really good. I betcha 10 galleons I could win that case.
My hands, of course, met uselessly with Potter's chest as he landed flat on top of me.
I've always had the sneaking suspicion that my desk is rather rickety. It just looks old and sort of spindly. Of course, it chose that moment, when James Potter and I were lying on top of it, to prove me right. Sorry, sadistic, piece of sh ... shoelace desk.
You hear that mom? I didn't cuss ... even in my head where you can't possibly hear me, but just in case ... and even if I had, this is the sort of situation that warrants a good deal of vulgar language.
As we tumbled to the ground in a whirlwind of wood splinters, parchment, and limbs, I knew that today was not my day. You may think that is because I've just broken a desk, but I'm afraid that's not quite it. Ordinarily after breaking a desk (although, I've never actually broken one so I'm just guessing here) I would be creatively cursing up a storm, desperately avoiding actual curses in case my mom was listening.
Unfortunately any cursing (creative or actual) is rather impossible at the moment, due to the fact that I most certainly, absolutely, and without a doubt have James Potter's lips pressed to mine.
Someone save me!
The whole thing happened in that grotesque sort of slow motion you see in movies, and I'm still not sure how his lips contrived to wound up on my own. I'm quite positive that I must have blinked or something because one second his lips were where they were supposed to be, namely no where near my own, and the next, they were right where they weren't supposed to be, on my lips.
So right now I'm lying here looking up into his eyes, feeling slightly detached from the whole situation. This has got to be a surreal as life gets. Me kissing James Potter. James Potter kissing me. Yeah ... surreal.
It's actually kind of amusing watching him struggle to push himself away. Honestly, am I that great of a kisser? I don't think so, seeing as I'm not even moving. Nope, not a whit. I'm just lying here pretending I've been petrified and pretending that this really isn't happening. I think I'm actually doing a pretty good job of it.
What the heck! There are invisible strings attached to my head! Someone really needs to save me now! I swear there must be invisible strings. I don't know how else it could have happened. James pulled his head up and my head went up too. It went up! I didn't tell it to go up! What was it doing? I'm going to die of embarrassment because to the casual observer (and James), this would make it seems as though I don't want our lips to break apart. This can't be happening! I need to be detached from him right now!
Desperately, I reached up and stuck my hand on his forehead, and with all of my might managed to shove his face off mine. Our lips pulled apart with an audible pop and he rolled off of me, panting slightly. I've just realized that I'm panting as well.
Oh dear Gods above, I'm panting. I'm going to die of embarrassment. I can feel my face turning a lovely scarlet color as I sit here. This can't be happening. What if someone saw that? I frantically looked around the room and to my relief saw that it was empty.
Quickly drawing on my righteous anger at being kissed by the likes of James Potter, esteemed Head Boy or not, I turned to give him a very eloquent lecture on all of the reasons he is a ... a ... a very nice kisser ... NO!
Who said that? Who's in my mind? I know you're there! Get out! He most certainly is not in the least a good kisser, and besides I obviously don't have the research done to make a good base for such a conclusion. I would need a least 5 or 6 more kisses ... I'm just going to stop now. I can't believe it. I've now even managed to embarrass myself in front of my own brain.
Back to what I was saying before; I was going to give him a lecture on anything except for him being a very nice kisser, but at that exact moment, Professor McGonagall walked into the classroom. I've always liked her. She's such a nice perceptive lady. All she had to do was look at the two of us sitting on the floor, panting and (in my case) red as a tomato and she turned around and walked right back out into the hall. Gods, I love that women.
I scrambled to my feet as soon as she left and watched as Potter did the same, tripping a bit over his robe. I grabbed his arm to steady him and once he got his feet solidly on the ground, I turned toward him so we could get our story straight.
Betcha I could have measured the space between our heads with my pinky finger. Ironic isn't it? I think my depth perception must have taken a flying leap out of the window today.
I tried to pull back, but some sort of invisible force was holding my head in place. Not only was it holding my head there, but it was also drawing me toward James Potter!
James appeared to be panicking, but using his incredibly impressive reasoning skills, he figured a way out of our problem.
I would like to note that I am being sarcastic, and I think that his reasoning skills ought to be condemned to the deepest depths of hell.
Or better yet, what's beneath hell?
So what was Mr. Potter's Brilliant Plan? Why, it was quite astounding and thought provoking; he simply put his hands on my shoulders and shoved me away. I probably would think more highly of his plan if he had incorporated the fact that my chair was lying directly behind me into it.
Unfortunately, he didn't and I felt my heart sink through my toes as my feet caught on the chair and my balance abandoned ship. I fell backwards and the hard wooden edge of the desk behind mine dug into my butt ... but only for about 3 seconds or so.
I suppose you're saying, "Well, that's a good thing."
But it's really not. It's a horribly bad thing, since the reason it's not digging into my butt is that its splinters are digging into every other bit of me. Who would have thought the desk behind me was even more rickety than my desk?
I have to say I always thought it looked more stable, but I guess not.
Oh, there is one good thing to mention though. I don't suppose you've ever seen a table under pressure give into the stress by shooting one of it's legs across the room, have you? Five seconds ago exempted, neither have I. But I would like to set aside one moment to tell you that Mr. James Potter just got what he deserved for shoving me, in the form of a flying ballistic table leg ramming into his stomach. Hehehe.
Ah yes, so there I was lying in the middle of a scrap wood pile, watching with a sort of morbid fascination as James Potter valiantly tried not to curl into a ball on the floor, when McGonagall walked back in.
She raised an eyebrow and said, "I suppose the next time I come back in the whole room will be demolished."
James, who was wheezing, looked up from where he had collapsed on the floor and choked out, "Probably." McGonagall nodded and pulled out her wand. With a flick she put my desk back together.
I wonder if she's had practice with that?
She looked pointedly at me and I realized she couldn't get this desk back together when I was lying in it's wreckage. I scuttled out of the debris zone on my hands and knees, worried that if I got up I'd break something else. I hesitantly used my desk to pull myself up as McGonagall fixed the second desk and made her way to the front of the room.
"Thank you, Professor," I said shakily.
But I had a right to be shaky. I mean, you would be shaky too if James Potter had just kissed you and then nearly kissed you again. And NO, I don't mean that kind of shaky, I mean the repressed rage kind of shaky.
"Anytime Miss Evans," McGonagall said, walking by me. I looked down and my eyes widened.
Oh Holy Mother of Cheese Whiz, my skirt is nearly hiked half way up my thigh!
I hurriedly made to fix it, looking at James to make sure he wasn't ogling me or something. I suppose that while I did this I must have taken a step backwards. It was just rather hard to see James since he was behind me and all, so taking a step closer to him would have been logical.
If only I had remembered that my chair was still lying there on the floor. I really don't like that chair. I felt my foot snag on the chair in a deja vu moment and all I had time to do was yelp before I was tumbling, arms flailing, down to the floor.
Guess what? I didn't quite make it to the floor.
I know what you're thinking, "Oh, James must have caught her."
Well he didn't. I more caught him, by surprise I mean. I landed smack on top of him while he was trying to get off the floor. He probably could have gotten out of the way. After all, you can't even be a decent Quidditch player without good reflexes (and I'll even admit he's a fantastic player), but he didn't use them. I guess he was being a gentleman or something, letting me fall on him.
Alright, alright, I admit I'm slightly grateful for his willingness to be my cushion.
James groaned as we hit the ground, I guess screaming in pain is too much of a girly thing. I, however, didn't feel too much since he is a very effective cushion.
I am now left in a bit of a predicament, though. I have managed to balance myself over him so a very little amount of my weight is resting on him, but I can't move because if I do I'll end up sitting on him or elbowing him.
I'm not panicking though.
No, I'm not.
Not in the least.
Alright, I'm panicking.
Moving as quickly as possible, I attempted to maneuver my left leg over to where my right leg was. This might have worked, really, it had possibility, but then again the fact that the floor under my right leg was kind of slippery also had possibility.
How come when ever it's a fight between me and the floor, the floor always wins? I felt my foot slip out from under me and I twisted my other leg, trying to regain my balance which some how ended up with me crashing head first onto James Potter. Now where did this put me?
Why, of course, it put my lips right on top of his!
Hey! It's my new fic to celebrate summer. I hope you like it. Please review if you have time!
Daystar: Thanks for reading it over! Soo ... are you working on your letter? Are ya? hehe.