“ you're pretty amazing. you know that, right? “
“You’re pretty amazing, James. You know that, right?”
He just stared at her, lost for words.
“I’m really glad we’re mates,” Lily said, one hand twirling a strand of dark red hair. “I have to admit, I may have been a bit skeptical at the beginning of the year, but you truly are the best Head Boy a girl could have hoped to be partnered with. I’m,” she paused, and went shy, “really, really glad it was you, James.”
Merlin’s balls, this could not be happening. Surely this was just a dream.
But, alas, Lily only smiled wider, looking happier than he’d ever seen her, cast in amber light in the dimly lit Gryffindor common room.
“I should get you to Mary,” he said finally, after a long silence where his heart was rapidly sinking, down and down and down.
Lily pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. “I’d really rather be with you.”
But James shook his head, adamant. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Lily leaned in closer, and the scent of firewhiskey on her breath intensified when she pursed her lips. He automatically traced the movement with his eyes, flushing and averting his gaze when he realised what he was doing.
Lily, having noticed his eyes wandering, grinned in satisfaction. “Oh, but I’m sure. Now, will you get me another drink, or should I do it myself, Potter?”
James grabbed her wrist from where it was sneaking toward him, fingertips brushing his knee — Good Godric, was she trying to kill him on the spot? — and leveled her the firmest stare he could manage.
“No more drinking for you, Evans,” he scolded gently, squeezing her wrist once before letting go. “I can see your eyes glazing over already.”
He, for his part, wasn’t completely sober either, which was the only thing keeping him from shuttling the tipsy Head Girl over to her friends immediately. James, after consuming a healthy amount of butterbeer himself, was rather selfish about Lily’s having attention to himself.
Although, it didn’t look like he had that to worry about tonight, at least. Lily seemed hellbent on driving to the brink of insanity, what with her knee touches and compliments and full-on flirting.
“I’m not drunk,” she protested, and he almost believed her; after all, she did sound rather coherent. Her words weren’t slurred yet, either, nor had she been walking unsteadily.
But... “As if you would say any of that to me sober,” James scoffed, cheeks warming of their own volition. “I won’t hold it against you, though, if you do me a favour and spare me your anger tomorrow morning when you find out what you said.”
“The only thing I’ll be angry about tomorrow morning is if you leave me now,” Lily said, and sounded oddly sincere about it, too. But the illusion was broken when a coy smile crept up her face and she scooted closer to him on the crimson couch, unaware or uncaring of the dozens of sixth- and seventh years milling about around their little bubble, his and her mates included. “And if you don’t accept my compliments right this moment. What part of ‘thanks for the words of encouragement, Lily,’ is so hard to say?”
“Because you don’t mean it!” he exclaimed, the words escaping his mouth involuntarily. He leaned away from Lily, unable to bear the warmth she radiated.
Her smirk immediately morphed into a small frown. “Of course I mean it, James.”
“You’re drunk,” he said flatly, irritation oozing out of his voice, plain as day. “Forgive me for not taking what you’re saying at face value.”
“Christ,” she said, exasperated, and scooted further closer to him so that their thighs were pressed together. He tried not to spontaneously combust and barely managed, by a hair’s breadth. “I mean all of it, drunk or sober. What part of what I said was so hard to believe?”
He bit his lip, uncertain. “You said that — that I’m... ‘pretty amazing.’”
Lily, for her part, didn’t even bat an eye. “Yes, and I stand by that. You are pretty amazing.”
He huffed, hand jumping to his hair as he flushed. “Erm... thank you?”
A teasing smile crept onto her pink lips, the curtain of long red hair falling into her face as she tilted her head sideways. “Good. Have you finally learned manners, Potter? How wonderful — shall we celebrate with a drink?”
“Oh, I see what you did there,” he said, shaking his head with a grin, “buttering me up with compliments so I’d let you get another drink. Alas, that’s a hard no, Evans.”
Lily pouted, leaning her head on his shoulder. She was now close enough for him to reach over and plant a kiss on the crown of her head. And he almost did, truly, with all the adrenaline and alcohol buzzing through his veins.
But then she lifted her head to covertly eye the nearest sixth year carrying a cup of butterbeer, and he stuck out a hand to pull her back.
“Potter,” she mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Relax, it’s a Saturday. I can afford to let loose a little bit.”
He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow when you have a raging hangover.”
Lily grimaced, then met his gaze sheepishly. “Alright, you’ve got me there.”
“Let’s wrap up this party and head to bed?” he suggested, but didn’t move. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready to leave her side yet.
“Sounds good,” she agreed. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she snuggled into his chest. James’ heartbeat sped up twice as fast, and he thought, briefly, that he’d never, ever move if it meant having Lily Evans sleeping on him forever.
The logical thing to do would be to gently nudge her off him; to hand her over to Mary or Bess or one of her other roommates; to stand up and walk the other way with his head held high.
“Sweet dreams, Lily,” he murmured.
“Sweet dreams, Jamie,” she murmured back.
He held her there, arms wrapped around her, and drifted away.
