Jilytober Vignettes—Chapter 21: Firewhisky Stream of Consciousness
“To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.” —Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice
The upbeat music from the enchanted vinyl player was louder than necessary for what had been intended, per Sirius, as a small affair to celebrate Gryffindor’s win over Hufflepuff. A more responsible Prefect may have cared about the commotion. Instead, Lily’s eyes lingered on where James stood across the—definitely overcrowded—Common Room with the rest of the Gryffindor team and, of course, his three best friends. An off-beat hum escaped her lips in tune with each one of James’s laughs. The current laugh a result of alcohol and Sirius’s playful nature, the kind that only came out with those he trusted most. With his arm around James’s shoulder, Sirius used his knuckle to ruffle up the already-disheveled hair. Trying to fend off the attack, James’s own arm came around Sirius’s waist and attempted to knock them both down. Already accustomed to the two’s antics, Remus and Peter continued their conversation though both boys looked at their friends with a sort of fondness that spread a warmth through her chest. Roused by the drinks in their system, the Gryffindor team cheered on the spectacle. Bar Peregrin Marwood, that is. The third year had had his firewhisky confiscated earlier in the night by James with a knowing look aimed at the blushing boy and, after an hour of celebrating, a reminder to head upstairs with the rest of the younger students. Of course this only made Lily want James more. Stupid—responsible—toerag.
Perhaps she should follow his lead.
A more responsible Prefect would have barred non-Gryffindors from the shared space rather than self impose torture. No doubt the scarring on the inside of her cheek would remind her of Leonie Featherstone and Sybil Vell for days to come. Typically, Lily didn’t mind the two Ravenclaws. She still wouldn’t mind them had they not raced toward the fireplace seconds after arriving. Raced for James. The giggles emitted may as well have been repeated stab wounds to her chest. The amused smile that played on James’s lips the knife twisting. A potential Head Girl would have confiscated the firewhisky that circulated around rather than down her own cup because Sybil’s fingers fell on James’s bicep. Unsurprising, the bright red color Lily’s face turned had little to do with her drink. Nor did the aggravated sigh that slipped through her lips despite whatever will she had left.
That had been two hours ago.
Sirius who sat across from her then, another outlandish comment on his tongue about who knows who, had turned his attention to her. Without a word, he pushed Remus’s untouched drink in her direction. “Our own liquid courage,” he said with a small smirk once his eyes landed in his friend’s direction and concluded the source of her elicited sigh. She wanted to trounce him. Righteous prat.
The three boys had of course rejoined the fourth member of their group, which left her at her secluded table with Mary and April. Without the unwarranted supervision Sirius often entailed, Lily’s thoughts were free to stray. She wasn’t the most traditional pick for Head Girl given her own reckless and willingness to creep around the rules. Yet none of the other things she’d done in her time at Hogwarts could beat “inability to take her eyes off James Potter” as the top task a Head Girl shouldn’t do. It was too dangerous.
But once again he was laughing and that too was dangerous. He was always laughing, and it drove her insane for reasons she’d hex her own tongue off before explaining. The liquor was perhaps making her dramatic. Regardless, her point stood.
James Potter had no right to be that hot, not when the abnormal heart palpations in her chest felt worthy of the Hospital Wing. The sight of his laugh stirred her heart and distracted her from whatever April had said to make Mary stick her tongue out at her. It was a nice laugh, though it wasn’t her favorite laugh of his, not the laugh Lily had memorized in recent months. The one that trickled through every part of him. His torso would shift in her direction, followed by knobby knees knocking into hers. An arm thrown around her shoulders that brought her the slightest inch closer to him so her head rested in the crook of his neck. And a slight angle change caused those hazel eyes—those bottomless hazel eyes—to meet her own where they revealed the mischievous spark that cleared away any thought beyond him. The laugh had taken her by surprise more than once. Almost spilled more secrets than she could bear. It promised more to come, even if she sometimes had to pry the laughter out of him on days he was conceited enough to make her work for it. Nonetheless, it was the kind of laugh that made her feel seen, special even, and deluded her into thinking she’d give him anything he wanted if she could just listen to that laugh a moment longer. Still, this laugh had the annoying characteristic of almost ruining her resolve to stand up, walk the short—infinite—distance, and let herself be the one to make him laugh, to elicit that laugh she may already be half in love with.
Sirius had offered for the girls to join the group by the fireplace. Before the glint in his eyes had fully formed, she had already guessed what the invite meant. She declined the offer and feigned innocence in response to the skeptical eyebrow he rose at her. Don’t be a coward, Evans, she practically heard him think. The rational part of her mind assured her she wasn’t being a coward. It was caution. She and James were friends. Close friends. They were all but inseparable at this point, and it was too much of a risk to lose that.
She really, really did want to congratulate him. A two hundred and thirty point advantage was no small win, especially with the number of goals he had scored himself. But she couldn’t. It was too intimate.
So admittedly, she was a coward when it came to James, preferring to live in the comfort of the known. A comfort zone that went beyond Sirius’s understanding. He liked to push her, convince her to be more brave. It didn’t matter to him that she had jumped off of a broomstick—from five feet off the ground—or swam in the Great Lake on a cold November night, both times because he said she didn’t have the nerve. Both times she proved him wrong.
The broomstick incident resulted from a boredom-induced episode back in November. With Remus in the Infirmary and Peter and James in detention, Sirius had been left to his own devices. While he no longer hated her then, he only barely tolerated her. Sirius, it seemed, would do anything to avoid being bored, so he had decided to talk to her. He recounted part of his summer with James, grinning at the dangerous Quidditch tricks he and James had tried over the summer. Lily shared her own story of jumping off swing sets as a child and had been adamant she could jump off a broom like the boys had.
“You jumped a few inches and used accidental magic to catch you. That’s not remotely the same,” he insisted, unimpressed.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Wanna bet?”
She ended up falling a few inches away from the magic safety net Sirius set. Thanks to magic, her sprained arm had been no worse than a head cold. Still, she had expected a little sympathy from him. She should have known better. Instead of an apology for his role, he said, “That was stupid, Evans, not brave.” His grey eyes roamed over her. Whether from intrigue or perplexity she still wasn’t sure. “We’re in Gryffindor for a reason, so if you want to be friends,” he told her, “get over yourself.” Seeing Lily’s offense at the implication, Sirius explained his three rules under this philosophy: 1) don’t overthink, 2) don’t assume you’re important enough for people to tell you the truth, and 3) don’t do something just to prove a point.
She fell under rule three. “Being a reckless idiot doesn’t make you a Gryffindor,” he elaborated, taking a seat next to her on the infirmary bed.
Sirius wouldn’t force her to admit her crush on James before she was ready. He wanted her to act because she was brave, not to prove him wrong. To get over herself, Lily had to make a choice for herself, not for James or Sirius or anyone else. He promised to leave it to her, and solemn promises were dear to the boys; she knew he wouldn’t break it even if she didn’t quite understand the grin when he shook her hand and uttered, “I solemnly swear.”
The promise didn’t stop his attempts to orchestrate events for his preferred outcome, but she wasn’t ready to be brave yet. Instead, Mary and April stayed by her side so Lily wouldn’t have to sit alone ogling the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Perhaps, she was just a little pathetic right now.
But just a little.
James became a puppeteer whenever he told a story, his hands animated with movements in all directions to get the stage cues just right. It was one of the things she loved most about him. Under his touch, the excitement infected everyone. Whatever story he had decided to tell right now was no different. He leaned back against the wall, moved his hands at the speed of a Snitch as he spoke, the way that commanded everyone’s attention. Sirius interrupted him, no doubt inserting his own twist on the tale. She grinned at the gesture, her heart soaring at the jubilant expressions mirrored on each boy’s face. Two boys who had added a liveliness to her own story, to a year she had prophesied as the worst one of her life. The grin lingered and only stopped when James eyes flitted over to her, the corner of his lips formed his signature lopsided smile.
The pounding in her ears was just from the music, she reassured herself, and not her heart’s failed escape.
She took another sip of her drink, convinced he knew. He had to know. Discreetness had long abandoned ship where her feelings were concerned, and she suspected even Severus had had his suspicions about her attraction to James. The accusatory and pointed expressions he had aimed at her were as subtle as her current crush.
Her fingers tapped on the glass of her cup, trying and failing to ground the influx of emotions. Sometimes, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. No other crush had made her act this demented. A crush that had always been spotty in the past, phases that were to be waited out like a bad storm. The minuscule—practically microscopic—crushes she developed on him in the past had lasted no more than a few weeks at most, distilled by something he said or did and waved away like the momentary loss of judgment it was. Assuming the same cycle, she hadn’t worried when her crush reappeared back in November. By mid-December, James started dating Annalisse again and Lily expected that to be the catalyst. So she waited and waited and waited, but still the crush continued. It was only in January when she realized how much trouble she was in: the smile she offered upon him entering her train compartment frightened her. A smile beyond her control, one so wide and instant she had practically fled the room anytime they were alone together after that. He has a girlfriend, she had reminder herself.
Physically, there was nothing special about James Potter—nothing that should make her remember a specific lopsided smile he cast her way at a shared joke once or to relive the bit of toned skin she had seen outside the Prefects’ Bathroom another time, which no one could prove had been a frequent visitor of her dreams for weeks after the incident. By all accounts, he should’ve been easily overlooked. Pale skin that lost its soft tan in the weeks after returning from summer break. His raven hair, while uncommonly disheveled, did not carry the weight of Sirius’s elegance unless you counted the extra effort James took to ensure his hair couldn’t be mistaken for having a hint of order. Even his tall stature didn’t distinguish him in a crowd. It did thrill her to have to look up at him, especially when he had that challenging spark in his eyes that made her want to push him against a wall or into a broom closet (she wasn’t picky).
Unfortunately for her, these conventional features did not stop him from being heart-shatteringly gorgeous. More unfortunate, it wasn’t his looks that would have had first-year Lily check her into St. Mungo’s. No, she could have suppressed the longing had it just been his looks. After all, Quidditch had been working in his favor long before sixth year. What truly converted her crush on James into a permanent fixture in her life was that he cared. Caring, she had long since realized, was another thing that just came naturally to him, like he didn’t understand why everyone else didn’t go to extremes.
A month ago when everyone had gone up to bed, James had stayed up teaching Lily chess with a set that had belonged to his grandfather, Harry. Spiral gold pieces stuck out elegantly along the sides of the three-dimensional board with minuscule pearl and lapis lazuli gems sporadically placed. Gold mini-figures guarded each corner, waving around their swagger sticks and, like the rest of the pieces, offered unsolicited advice.
“Most people think I’ll play Quidditch after Hogwarts,” he told her before he commanded his silver Knight toward its new position, following an impatient cough from the chessman. The swish of his gold cape sounded after the Knight’s swift move. “But that hasn’t been my dream since I was twelve.” He hesitated for a second, the bashful smile on his face had sent a warm sensation down her spine. “I told McGonagall during the career meeting last year that I wanted to work for the Department of Mysteries. Invent new technology or research the unknown.” With one hand in his hair, he shrugged like what he said held no significance. “Maybe I will…eventually. But not now.”
The somber tone held a seriousness that washed away his classic carefree nature. She ignored her pawns’ whines, fixated on detecting even the slightest change of expression.
“What changed,” she remembered asking.
“The war.” His jaw clenched. “Once we graduate, I’m going to go out there and fight Death Eaters, help bring Voldemort and his followers down. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way to even if it means going down with them.”
And by god if she hadn’t wanted him already, that would have been the moment that did it for her. By god if a little part of her hadn’t fallen in love right there.
It hadn’t just been the words he said but how he said them. How he meant them. Lily knew she might not make it out of this war. She would willing die if it came to it, but no other options existed for her—either the war ended or she did. Unlike her, James had endless options. Being a Pureblood meant he didn’t need to pick a side so long as he stood out of the way. Aside from her, he had no close Muggle-born friends, nor Muggle-born relations. And yet, he wanted to fight for people like her; he would willingly seek to fight and even die for people like her without ever being asked. She considered him selfish once, self-centered and self-serving. She had never been so wrong.
Last term, Lily had gone out with Gareth Ainsworth, a Muggle-born in their year. He was polite and a gentleman and had piercing blue eyes that made her melt on the spot whenever his gaze lingered. He was creative with a refreshing sense of humor that she had previously sacrificed in past boyfriends in favor of kindness and intelligence. Normally, he’d be the type she’d date to see where things led. But…he confessed he was scared and thought Muggle-borns should avoid added attention to themselves lest they land a target on their backs. She hadn’t blamed him for thinking so. After all, it was preservation for them, but nonetheless, she turned down a second date with the Ravenclaw. People were killing those like her…fighting to say she didn’t deserve the magic that flowed through her. Laying low meant diluting herself, her accomplishments, for a fascist’s pride. Preservation, she supposed, meant little to her if it meant living in fear or hidden her entire life.
Sadly, the lack of self-preservation meant hours spent daydreaming about James at a party, not willing to break down the blurry line of their friendship. The line she crossed back and forth between because she had no idea what that would mean, for her or him. Whether they won or lost, she might soon become a war casualty. Could she start a relationship with James knowing the statement it could become? Knowing his back might soon become the goalpost because of her?
She knew a relationship between them would last. Unquestionably, it would last. The firewhisky—her second of the night—burned on the way down her throat, and she hoped it was enough to drown the harrowing thought. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in a moment of frustration—frustration at herself, at the sick and cruel universe, at James for not being the arrogant toerag she had once believed him to be.
“You could congratulate him with a big snog right here in front of everyone,” April suggested, cheeks rosy from her drink. “I think he deserves it after all his scoring today.” Mary giggled at the remark and almost spit up her own drink.
“Not funny,” Lily replied. Rolling her eyes did little to deter her friends’ loud giggles, which were just as quickly masked by the music.
Mary’s slurred words followed. “Oh, come on, Lily,” she practically shouted. The wobbly table creaked as Mary brought her hands on top of Lily’s. “He fancies you, you fancy him—what’s so complicated?”
The conversation resurfaced at least once a week since James’s break up. Ignoring the first part of the statement, Lily repeated the variation she answered every time. “He just broke up with Annalisse a month ago.”
“A little more than a month ago now,” Mary argued, “which is basically years at Hogwarts.” Lily shrugged like she had the other times Mary had voiced the point. “Plus, it wasn’t serious. It’s not like he loved—” Mary began only to be stopped by the pressure of April’s foot on hers. “April—what was that for?” Mary whined and lifted her foot up to her leg, rubbing at it as if it had been flattened rather than stubbed.
April nudged her head in the direction of the fireplace. “They’re coming over here.”
To Lily’s amusement or horror, Sirius pushed James in the girls’ direction. Remus and Peter followed along at a distance in case things escalated (they often did) between their dorm mates.
“Oh, he’s so in love with you,” Mary sighed dramatically before once more being stepped on. This time by Lily. “That’s my good foot!” Nonetheless, she dropped the other foot back on the ground, a faux pout now graced her face.
Lily placed her head down on the table, groaning into her elbow. “I’m going to do something stupid, aren’t I?”
“Oh, a hundred percent,” Mary said at the same time April added, “We could always steal you a time-turner.” Lily lifted up her head, noticing the suppressed laugh fighting at the corner of April’s mouth. Although the shine in her eyes was enough for Lily to know she would not like what was coming next. Not giving Lily time to respond, April got up from her seat and held out a hand for Mary. “Let’s dance, Mare.”
April shot Lily a knowing look, the laugh no longer hidden, and mouthed what Lily could only interpret as “snog him.”Mary, mimicked the former and replaced the “no” in the first word with an “ha” and caused Lily to blush. In her moment of distress, she almost didn’t notice the boys take their seats.
With James plumped down in Mary’s vacated chair and his lopsided smile already on his face, it didn’t take long for the dizzy feeling of being near him to go to her head. The firewhisky in her hands—her third of the night—probably didn’t help. “You haven’t congratulated me yet, Evans.”
She leaned into him, the smell of rain and grass clung to him and mixed with the smell of his own firewhisky. Lily could only hope the dangerous combination allowed her to escape the night without consequences for tomorrow’s Lily. “I think an entire party’s worth of people have congratulated you, Potter. Any more and your head won’t be able to stay balanced on that broomstick of yours.” In her drunken haze, her eyes gazed down to the lips between his teeth (the lips she wanted between her own teeth), then back up to his eyes (those stupid beautiful eyes). “And I suppose we still need you to get the Cup.”
He smirked. “Is that all I’m really good for?”
“Oh, I can think of a few more things.” Now it was his turn to lean in closer to her. Abort mission, her lovely, rational brain screamed. Behind his square frames, the glint in his eyes challenged her, and the chance of any rational thought was no longer feasible.
“Like what?”
She bit her tongue for a moment and swallowed all the different things that crossed her mind. Some sweet and some Veritaserum would have to be forcefully poured down her throat to reveal. Even then, she might have bitten off her tongue to avoid the embarrassment. “Dance with me,” she said instead.
“I don’t know,” he said in the teasing tone of his, the one he used whenever he clearly had a death sentence. The conceited tone that was far too attractive. Far too dangerous for her. “I’ve been standing all night.”
“Then you can stand for a few more minutes—don’t be a prick and come dance with me.”
His eyes roamed over her face. A wide smile formed and the hint of softness appeared. Abandoning his seat, he offered her his elbow. “Just so you know, Evans. I’m a phenomenal dancer,” he warned. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin you for all other dance partners.”
Now on her feet, she looped her arm through his. “I danced with Sirius earlier, so you have a bit of competition. But if that does happen, you’re stuck being my dance partner. A noble sacrifice I’m sure.”
He chuckled and led her toward the center of the room. When they found a spot that didn’t require them being pressed against other people, he let go of her hand and placed both of his on her waist. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
The firewhisky lulled his voice and almost broke her own ability to talk. The same lull she’d hear on sleepless nights when they both stumbled down to the Common Room, on tired mornings when he’d be half asleep in the Great Hall. The lull that accompanied the affection that left her speechless: the twirl of her hair in his index finger, the proximity of his face so close to hers that the idea of not kissing him tortured her, his thumb brushing careless circles on her thigh, his head against her shoulder in dramatic agony, the laugh that tumbled out of him so often that her heart palpated. Affection that made it hard not to let her sink into him. She wanted to sink into him so much that she could feel the spot reserved in her chest just for him.
She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at his lips, then his face. Her grip on his shoulders tightened more than necessary, but if it bothered him, he didn’t say. She tried to control the river-like thoughts overtaking her brain, aided by the firewhisky in her bloodstream. Whoever was in charge attempted to convince her how many bad ideas could work out if she let them. And how she wanted to let them.
“Maybe it is,” she confessed, her hips moving in tune with the song. “Haven’t you heard of the Twelve Dancing Princesses.”
He shook his head. “No—are they Muggle nobility?” His thumb traced along the curve of her waist, back and forth in absentminded strokes. She resisted the urge to sigh as she moved closer to him, letting her chin fall to his shoulder.
She hummed into his shoulder, a small laugh reverberated there before she explained who the Grimm Brothers were and delved into her favorite Muggle fairytale about twelve sisters sneaking out every night to dance. Their observant father—the king—noticing the strange status of their worn-out shoes challenged the men of the kingdom to discover what the sisters were up to. “Whichever men could successfully find out what they were doing could have his choice of princess to marry and, when the time came, he would become king. However, if he failed, he’d be killed.”
“Killed?” James scoffed, his chin resting on top of her head slightly shifted with the gesture. “What kind of messed up stories do Muggles read to their children.” His breath hot against her ear caused her to sigh, the sound muffled into his shoulder.
She lifted her head up to aim a warning glare his way. “Most of the fairytales we’re told get a kid-friendly version—now let me finish.” One of her hands came down to slap his arm gently, her fingers lingering more than necessary. Maybe she was no better than Sybil Vell.
She placed her hand around his neck again and continued. “Where was I? Right, so the men have three days to find out what the princess get up to at night or they’re beheaded. A few try but none are successful. Then, an injured soldier enters the edge of town when he’s stopped by this older lady. She gives him an invisibility cloak to try his luck. However, she warns him not to drink anything the girls give him and to pretend to sleep after they visit him.”
“An invisibility cloak?” His lips twitch upward. “Are you sure these Grimm Brothers weren’t wizards?”
The movement of his palm, now on her back, delayed her response. “It’s just a story, James,” she practically crooked out. “I doubt they actually knew about invisibility cloaks.” He pulled away from her as the song came to an end, taking with him the warmth of his body flushed against hers. Her hands fell to her side reluctantly, and she began moving away. The boyish grin on his face stopped her, and one of his hands took hers loosely as the next song started. The other ghosted along her waist.
His hand guided her to a spin and she followed, the fingers on her waist lingering through its entirety. She swallowed, the heat residing in her felt like magic threatening to burst out.
“You were saying?” he prompted when she came to a halt, once more pressed against him. Although, this time his hands held hers clasped in his, guiding one over his shoulder where he let them rest. The other wrapped around each other’s waist, tangled. Intimate.
Please don’t do anything stupid, she pleaded with herself. Like kiss him. Kissing him would definitely be stupid. So stupid.
She closed her eyes for a second. “The soldier agrees to the king’s challenge, following the advice of the old lady. After the elder sister visits him and offers him a drink, he feigns sleep and overhears the sisters reveal the information he needs to follow them.” She let herself enjoy his hand in hers, the gentle hold contrasted against the indecipherable screeches coming from the record player. James had long since given up following the rhythm of the songs, and as it kept her close to him, she didn’t argue. Her eyes angled to look up at him as she told the rest of the story: the secret trap door that lead out the palace; the use of the invisibility cloak to track them through the forest to the nearby lake and into the beautiful castle where each princess danced the night away with her respective prince; and the soldier’s stealth in hiding away with one of them in the boats, returning through the passage, and pretending to be asleep before they got back.
“He follows them again with the cloak the next two nights,” she explained, “and made sure to get tokens on his way—some tree branches and a cup from the castle. When the king summons him after the third night, the full truth comes out.” Lily scrunched up her nose. “My cousin Matthew used to tell me a version where all the sisters danced until their feet bleed raw. But thankfully, this is actually one of their less twisted stories.”
James lessened his hold on her to spin her again, faster this time, and brought her in closer to him. Her front flushed against his, so close she could feel the heat of skin from underneath his robes. Tease.
“So which sister does he marry?” he questioned, his breath sweeping over her lips.
“Hmm,” she uttered, forgetting what he asked.
“The soldier—who does he marry?”
“Oh, the eldest sister.” She tightened the hold of her hands on his shoulders, not willing to let any distance come between them so soon. “I always thought he should have picked the youngest. She was the smartest of the girls and the only one to suspect something out of the ordinary. Not that the eldest believed her.”
He stilled for a second and raised one of his hands to her chin. “You’re not being bias are you?” If she moved the slightest, her lips would land on his. They looked as soft as the messy stands of hair on his head, the kind of soft that might ruin her.
Now it was her turn to scoff, to hide the inappropriate thoughts that only partially resulted from the amount of firewhisky she consumed tonight. Although, the slight upturn of her mouth likely wasn’t convincing anyone. “Of course not.”
As much as James loved being cocky, he loved taking everyone else down a peg. She wished that characteristic didn’t make her want to let her own smugness over take control for the sole purpose of James’s attempt to humble her. She should have known it was coming when the slight rise of his mischievous grin and the matching glint in his eyes took form. He moved to spin her around again, only to take the last few seconds to dip her instead.
Only the hand around her waist steadied her as he held them close to the ground, the grin never faltering in spite of the half-contained laugh that threatened to escape him. Had it been anyone else, she might have feared the stability, but she’d let him lead her anywhere, no questions asked. Her heart rate quickened at the realization.
Still, she had a part to play. “You arse!” Her laughter no doubt lessened the severity of the scream, but it made him laugh too, so she didn’t mind.
When he finally brought her back up, her vision a little disorientated, the next song had started. At this point, she had lost track of the songs they circled through.
James used the hand he still held to twirl her for real this time and lead her back into his chest, closer than before. The adorable grin now on his face intensified the thumping in her chest. Maybe one day she would stop knowingly placing herself in trouble.
His chin rested back on her head, and she counted to ten, not trusting herself to speak. “So who taught you to dance?” she asked after her time was up.
The warmth of his laughter against her hair did not help the panicked part of her brain. “My parents are the madly in love sort,” he said. “When I was younger I used to sit around drawing while they danced around the living room. ‘Course most of the time I wound up just watching them. Mam would end up forcing me to dance with her whenever dad got tired. ‘A gentleman must know proper dance etiquette, cariad’ she’d say.” The fondness in his voice was clear and made her look up, wanting to memorize this look among the others she had unconsciously collected. “I still watch them dance when I’m home for breaks. It’s what I want.”
“To dance?” she teased.
Fondness still rolled off his tongue. “My parents, unfortunately, have set really high standards for me when it comes to love. They’ve been together for far too many decades to count, including a decade they spent apart after Hogwarts because both were scared to admit they were mad about the other, scared that it was just a fleeting infatuation.” He laughed, a small smile on the corner of his lips. “It wasn’t, and after all that time, they still want to spend every day together. They still look at each other like they did in their wedding pictures—the ‘I can’t believe this is really happening’ look of happiness. And, well, it’s nice to know that kind of love exists. That you can spend decades of your life with someone and still want more.”
The look he sent her caused goosebumps to go down her arms and her brain to question the nature of their friendship. He didn’t still fancy her? She knew better than to think that. It was the look Mary would try to convince her meant he was madly in love with her. The one Sirius would have raised his eyebrows at her for and nudged her to make a move, though he’d never directly tell her James’s feelings. “I won’t divulge his secrets anymore than I’ll divulge yours,” he had told her when she finally admitted to her crush. “But know that I wouldn’t encourage you to fail, Evans.”
The smile on James’s face now wasn’t the lopsided one he often wore but rather one that took up the entire bottom half of his face and summoned the dimples on both sides of his mouth. The creased corners of his eyes visible behind his glasses as he looked down at her. The look was firewhisky, a warm sensation coursing through her veins and sending every thought spiraling through her head.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her voice parched.
“Like what?”
Like maybe you love me. He couldn’t look at her like that or she might actually need that time-turner for the amount of stupidity she would commit for that look. “Like you’re trying to read my mind,” she settled for instead.
He stopped his sway, forcing them both to a stop. “No—it’s just. Merlin, Evans, you are—” He broke eye contact and exhaled, a hint of frustration detected. “Never mind.”
She broke away from him slightly. “No, say it. I’m what? A terrible dance partner?” An idiot? The love of your life?
“Stunning.” He mumbled, tensed. “You’re stunning.” He avoided catching her eyes but placed his hands slightly above her waist and resumed their dance. “I might be a little sloshed.” The drumming of his fingers on her dress matched the pace of her soon to be heart attack.
“Is that so?” she managed to get out, not sure what to say that wouldn’t make her sound demented.
“Just a bit.” He tightened his hold on her. “I’m not even sure whether music is playing right now.”
She laughed, the arms around his neck aided her in pulling him in closer as well. “I think someone put on an instrumental, so you’re probably not that pissed.”
She knew Sirius was right. She needed to be brave, to make her own choice. Problem was she wasn’t sure how. James showed her how to play chess, but even then, Lily had been clueless on making the first move and even more clueless on ending the game. This moment felt like that. Lily had never made the first move on a boy. She had never had to. In the past, all it took was a bit of flirting before whatever crush she had took the hint and asked her out. Simple. As the bane of her existence, James was anything but simple.
Flirting with James hadn’t led to anything in the past month, except for confusion and a string of made-up headaches whenever her failed attempts placed her in a bad mood for the remainder of the day. Her lack of momentum where James was concerned had caused Lily to reach two conclusions to everyone’s frustration. James didn’t have the heart to let her down. Or, James Potter wouldn’t know what flirting looked like if it hit him with a bloody Bludger.
Right now, she was hoping it was the latter. She could do this. She could ask out a boy.
“Hey, James—” she said at the same time he spoke.
“I’m glad we’re friends, Lil.” His voice low, as if he hadn’t decided whether he wanted her to hear him or not.
Could he hear the whispered “Crucio” aimed at her heart in a voice that sounded just like his?
“I hope we’re always friends,” he mumbled. I don’t, she wanted to say. I may be falling in love with you, she wanted to scream with a stump of her feet, frustration at him—for him—tethering on insanity. Please don’t let him see the disappointment running through her.
She waited out the song and all but fled back to their group of friends when it finished.
James Potter, Lily decided as she stole the firewhisky in Sirius’s hand, had no right to be that hot when he was breaking her heart.
Throwing back her fourth cup of firewhisky, Lily recalled the six words she had said earlier that night. Louder though, she heard three words Sirius had spoken to her only two weeks ago in the Common Room when her frustration became clear. “Make him jealous,” he advised her with the casual shrug of his. She told him she was above that. Still believed it too. Unfortunately for her, the firewhisky was not so sure.
James Potter was either not into her or a complete idiot. Perhaps both. But she would have to find out. Needed to find out if nothing more than to let it rest.
Without a word, Lily moved away from where her group of nine—now joined by Moira and Roland—sat and headed toward the retreating Ravenclaw.
“Bran, wait up!” she yelled. The golden haired boy paused before the exit. He turned around, eyebrows furrowed together as he registered who had called after him.
He cast an appreciative look at her, followed by a raised eyebrow. “What can I do for you, Lily?”
On paper, Bran should have been her type. Prefect. Played Quidditch, though not Captain. Brainy. Attractive. His blonde curls contrasted against his tan skin. Broad shoulders set him apart in a crowd, a natural athletic build. He stood out.
In practice, Bran wasn’t Lily’s type, not now.
She was about to tell him to forget it, make up an excuse about switching Prefect patrols. Yet seven blasphemous words tumbled from her lips before any rational thought could warn her against the idea: “Care to go to Hogsmeade with me?”
The moment the words were uttered, a dread settled over her. Please say no.
Lily didn’t like the smile he sent her way. It wasn’t the lopsided smile she had become accustomed to. Or one of fondness. It didn’t make her feel special or make her want to spend hours committing it to memory.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He winked at her. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.” With that, he stepped through the exit.
She couldn’t meet James’s eyes when she rejoined the group, eyes that scorched her. He brought the drink in his hand to his lips, taking a big gulp before setting it back onto the table, the force he used caused the table to shake and easily could have broken the glassware had he wanted. She avoided looking at the girls who knew her enough to realize the horrible mistake she made, knew her enough to recognize she thought Bran Studwick was a massive prick.
She skimmed past Peter and Remus and let her gaze rest on Sirius. Lily didn’t expect kindness, and perhaps that’s what she wanted: judgement, anger. However, Sirius wasn’t looking at her. His gaze lingered on James instead. A worried frown replaced the laugh Sirius’s face had held minutes before.
What had she done?