in which A is a slightly tipsy James,
B is the bright idea of going sledding and
C is some ridiculously adorable fluff.
You're sitting in the Gryffindor common room, something you do quite often on Saturday afternoons, and attempting very diligently to do your homework while simultaneously watching the Marauders, well, be Marauders – an activity which tends to be quite loud and, if Sirius is in the room, slightly graphic at times, and therefore very distracting from homework, even if said homework is a most interesting Charms essay. You'll turn your head down, scribble down a few words, and then look up again, either at a particularly loud noise or that peculiar sensation you feel always drawing your eyes towards him.
Ah, yes. Him. The near-constant occupant of your thoughts since almost the first days of First Year, though the direction of these thoughts had changed often and considerably in the past six and a half years. At first, you thought him cute, in that adorable boy-next-door way; but that all changed when he threw his (admittedly sub-standard) Burning Solution on you in Potions ("It was an accident, I swear it was!") and burned holes all over the brand new robes you had only just bought in Diagon Alley the month before. Since then, he had only been referred to as Potter, and always in that scathing tone you reserve for him and only him.
Recently, however, you've noticed that things have began to change: your thoughts are occupied by him more and more, and the context is less and less negative, and quite frankly it's very confusing. You have no idea why this is happening, you only know that it is, and you can't say that you like it too much. You have always thought of Potter as intolerable, arrogant and incredibly self-absorbed, but lately you've been finding yourself wanting to call him James, thinking that those qualities you used to find insufferable are now adorable and endearing and not nearly as negative as you think. At the back of your mind, you know exactly what's happening, but you're avoiding it as firmly as possible since you think your head might implode if you actually acknowledged it. And so you settle for staring at him in the common room when you're supposed to be working on your Charms essay.
It's almost as if you have some invisible radar tuned to him, because you feel it as soon as he gets up and makes his way across the common room towards you.
"Lily?"
"Hey, James."
"Hey. So, the guys and I were planning on going sledding outside... do you think you'd like to join us?" He punctuates this statement with a hiccup.
"James, have you guys been drinking again?"
He has the good grace to look ashamed, even in his slightly tipsy state (the Marauders could hold their alcohol like no one's business – except maybe for Peter).
"James, I told you, not in front of the first-years! I don't want them getting influenced by your Marauding ways at such a tender young age."
"Tender young age?" he snorts, and you can't help but laugh at your own choice of vocabulary. "Besides, do you see any firsties around?"
You scan the room, hoping to spot even one errant little first-year so as to have reason to continue berating him (you find it oddly satisfying) but come up disappointingly short. With a sigh, you turn back to him and hold your hands up in defeat. "Fine, no firsties. Just do try to keep it in check, will you?"
"Will do, Lils. Now how about that sledding?"
Your heart skips a beat when he calls you 'Lils' – no one calls you that except him – and you only barely catch the end of the sentence. "What? Sledding, yeah, sure. Just let me get my cloak, okay? I'll meet you here in five."
"Brilliant," he replies, and you grab your Charms essay – completely forgotten at this point – and head up to your dormitory to ditch the books and grab your cloak. You take a minute to braid your hair, frowning at the strands that won't reach and stay where they are, framing your face, but deciding that faulty braids are still the most convenient option. Winding your Gryffindor scarf around your neck as you go, you descend the stairs to find that the other Marauders have gone outside already, leaving only James to wait for you. This suits you fine, however, even if you do try to smother the pleasure you feel at the notion of walking outside with him.
"My lady," James says with a small bow and a grin as he offers you his arm, which you gladly take. Giggling slightly, you allow yourself to be led to the portrait hole and out of the common room, doing your level best (and yet failing miserably) to ignore the curious glances you get. You let them watch, for once not caring about the rumours that are bound to fly throughout the school once it gets out that James Potter was seen leading Lily Evans out of the Gryffindor common room, both of them laughing and neither looking ready to blow the other's head off. You're too happy at that exact moment, too happy to care about what you'll have to deal with tomorrow.
Once you arrive at the designated sledding spot, you notice that there is exactly one sled and five people. Of course, this wouldn't be a problem, were the Marauders not the sort to pile everyone up in the same sled just for the hell of it.
"Before anyone says anything, I am not getting into that sled with all five of you, just so you know," you say with a grin.
"But, Lilyyyy," Sirius whines. "It's perfectly safe!" he attempts to prove this statement by grabbing Remus and Peter and shoving them into the sled and jumping aboard before pushing off rather enthusiastically. All three end up sprawled in the snow. You laugh again. "Nuh-uh. So not happening."
James suddenly looks at you with a glint in his eye you know can't mean anything good. "How about it, Lils?" He summons the sled and sits in the very back, patting the space between his legs. "Come on... it'll be fine, I swear it will." Another hiccup reminds you again of the fact that he's slightly tipsy at the very least, and it would therefore probably be extremely unwise to get into a sled capable of going Merlin-knows-how-fast with him. You ignore it and sit down, leaning back into him ever so slightly. He wraps one arm around your waist to keep you steady, and yells, "Fire in the hole, mates!" down at his friends before pushing off at least as vigorously as Sirius.
The ride down is short and exhilarating; you find yourself screaming and his arm tightens around you instinctively. You laugh, partly at his over-protectiveness and partly at the pure thrill of gliding downhill at unforeseen speeds.
However, it's over way too soon. The sled hits a rock or something, and you find yourself flying through the air, and for the briefest moment it's like you have wings (except for the part where James's arm is still hooked somewhat around your waist). The feeling only lasts for a second, though, and suddenly you find yourself lying in the snow on your back, and somehow James has managed to fall right on top of you. "Oof," you let out instinctively; 17-year-old boys tend to be quite heavy. James, however, doesn't seem to notice; it's like the possibly copious amounts of spiked Butterbeer he's had today finally catches up to him, as his eyes go all dreamy and unfocused. The next second they're totally focused again and staring straight into yours. The next thing he says confirms your spiked-Butterbeer-theory:
"Lily, I love you." The words make your heart skip a beat, another one, a third one – you're wondering how many beats is it possible to skip. He's said it before, but never with this expression on his face. Your head is actually threatening to implode as you finally realise what's been staring you in the face for about three months now. You take a deep breath, hardly believing what you're about to do.
"James... I think I love you, too."
He turns away reflexively, as if ready to go nurse his wounds again, and then turns back so fast you're surprised he doesn't get the clichéd whiplash.
"Wait... what was that? I don't think I heard correctly." A smile begins to play at the corners of his mouth as he begins to process what he thought he heard. An identical grin spread across your face as you realise the full truth of the words you just said.
"I said, James, that I think I love you too."
His grin is now reaching levels you didn't think possible. He leans down to kiss you, and your senses are so full of him you wouldn't notice Sirius's wolf-whistles if it weren't for the arm James briefly removes from around your waist to give him the finger before bringing it back to cradle your face.
B is the bright idea of going sledding and
C is some ridiculously adorable fluff.
You're sitting in the Gryffindor common room, something you do quite often on Saturday afternoons, and attempting very diligently to do your homework while simultaneously watching the Marauders, well, be Marauders – an activity which tends to be quite loud and, if Sirius is in the room, slightly graphic at times, and therefore very distracting from homework, even if said homework is a most interesting Charms essay. You'll turn your head down, scribble down a few words, and then look up again, either at a particularly loud noise or that peculiar sensation you feel always drawing your eyes towards him.
Ah, yes. Him. The near-constant occupant of your thoughts since almost the first days of First Year, though the direction of these thoughts had changed often and considerably in the past six and a half years. At first, you thought him cute, in that adorable boy-next-door way; but that all changed when he threw his (admittedly sub-standard) Burning Solution on you in Potions ("It was an accident, I swear it was!") and burned holes all over the brand new robes you had only just bought in Diagon Alley the month before. Since then, he had only been referred to as Potter, and always in that scathing tone you reserve for him and only him.
Recently, however, you've noticed that things have began to change: your thoughts are occupied by him more and more, and the context is less and less negative, and quite frankly it's very confusing. You have no idea why this is happening, you only know that it is, and you can't say that you like it too much. You have always thought of Potter as intolerable, arrogant and incredibly self-absorbed, but lately you've been finding yourself wanting to call him James, thinking that those qualities you used to find insufferable are now adorable and endearing and not nearly as negative as you think. At the back of your mind, you know exactly what's happening, but you're avoiding it as firmly as possible since you think your head might implode if you actually acknowledged it. And so you settle for staring at him in the common room when you're supposed to be working on your Charms essay.
It's almost as if you have some invisible radar tuned to him, because you feel it as soon as he gets up and makes his way across the common room towards you.
"Lily?"
"Hey, James."
"Hey. So, the guys and I were planning on going sledding outside... do you think you'd like to join us?" He punctuates this statement with a hiccup.
"James, have you guys been drinking again?"
He has the good grace to look ashamed, even in his slightly tipsy state (the Marauders could hold their alcohol like no one's business – except maybe for Peter).
"James, I told you, not in front of the first-years! I don't want them getting influenced by your Marauding ways at such a tender young age."
"Tender young age?" he snorts, and you can't help but laugh at your own choice of vocabulary. "Besides, do you see any firsties around?"
You scan the room, hoping to spot even one errant little first-year so as to have reason to continue berating him (you find it oddly satisfying) but come up disappointingly short. With a sigh, you turn back to him and hold your hands up in defeat. "Fine, no firsties. Just do try to keep it in check, will you?"
"Will do, Lils. Now how about that sledding?"
Your heart skips a beat when he calls you 'Lils' – no one calls you that except him – and you only barely catch the end of the sentence. "What? Sledding, yeah, sure. Just let me get my cloak, okay? I'll meet you here in five."
"Brilliant," he replies, and you grab your Charms essay – completely forgotten at this point – and head up to your dormitory to ditch the books and grab your cloak. You take a minute to braid your hair, frowning at the strands that won't reach and stay where they are, framing your face, but deciding that faulty braids are still the most convenient option. Winding your Gryffindor scarf around your neck as you go, you descend the stairs to find that the other Marauders have gone outside already, leaving only James to wait for you. This suits you fine, however, even if you do try to smother the pleasure you feel at the notion of walking outside with him.
"My lady," James says with a small bow and a grin as he offers you his arm, which you gladly take. Giggling slightly, you allow yourself to be led to the portrait hole and out of the common room, doing your level best (and yet failing miserably) to ignore the curious glances you get. You let them watch, for once not caring about the rumours that are bound to fly throughout the school once it gets out that James Potter was seen leading Lily Evans out of the Gryffindor common room, both of them laughing and neither looking ready to blow the other's head off. You're too happy at that exact moment, too happy to care about what you'll have to deal with tomorrow.
Once you arrive at the designated sledding spot, you notice that there is exactly one sled and five people. Of course, this wouldn't be a problem, were the Marauders not the sort to pile everyone up in the same sled just for the hell of it.
"Before anyone says anything, I am not getting into that sled with all five of you, just so you know," you say with a grin.
"But, Lilyyyy," Sirius whines. "It's perfectly safe!" he attempts to prove this statement by grabbing Remus and Peter and shoving them into the sled and jumping aboard before pushing off rather enthusiastically. All three end up sprawled in the snow. You laugh again. "Nuh-uh. So not happening."
James suddenly looks at you with a glint in his eye you know can't mean anything good. "How about it, Lils?" He summons the sled and sits in the very back, patting the space between his legs. "Come on... it'll be fine, I swear it will." Another hiccup reminds you again of the fact that he's slightly tipsy at the very least, and it would therefore probably be extremely unwise to get into a sled capable of going Merlin-knows-how-fast with him. You ignore it and sit down, leaning back into him ever so slightly. He wraps one arm around your waist to keep you steady, and yells, "Fire in the hole, mates!" down at his friends before pushing off at least as vigorously as Sirius.
The ride down is short and exhilarating; you find yourself screaming and his arm tightens around you instinctively. You laugh, partly at his over-protectiveness and partly at the pure thrill of gliding downhill at unforeseen speeds.
However, it's over way too soon. The sled hits a rock or something, and you find yourself flying through the air, and for the briefest moment it's like you have wings (except for the part where James's arm is still hooked somewhat around your waist). The feeling only lasts for a second, though, and suddenly you find yourself lying in the snow on your back, and somehow James has managed to fall right on top of you. "Oof," you let out instinctively; 17-year-old boys tend to be quite heavy. James, however, doesn't seem to notice; it's like the possibly copious amounts of spiked Butterbeer he's had today finally catches up to him, as his eyes go all dreamy and unfocused. The next second they're totally focused again and staring straight into yours. The next thing he says confirms your spiked-Butterbeer-theory:
"Lily, I love you." The words make your heart skip a beat, another one, a third one – you're wondering how many beats is it possible to skip. He's said it before, but never with this expression on his face. Your head is actually threatening to implode as you finally realise what's been staring you in the face for about three months now. You take a deep breath, hardly believing what you're about to do.
"James... I think I love you, too."
He turns away reflexively, as if ready to go nurse his wounds again, and then turns back so fast you're surprised he doesn't get the clichéd whiplash.
"Wait... what was that? I don't think I heard correctly." A smile begins to play at the corners of his mouth as he begins to process what he thought he heard. An identical grin spread across your face as you realise the full truth of the words you just said.
"I said, James, that I think I love you too."
His grin is now reaching levels you didn't think possible. He leans down to kiss you, and your senses are so full of him you wouldn't notice Sirius's wolf-whistles if it weren't for the arm James briefly removes from around your waist to give him the finger before bringing it back to cradle your face.
