seasons of the year
At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, everyone - from Albus Dumbledore, beloved Headmaster, to that little Z-named first year - knew there were precisely five seasons.
Five seasons? Yes, you read that right. There were five, no more and no less, and nobody could possibly argue with that. Which were those seasons exactly, one could ask. Well, they were the following:
Autumn, when the school year began, and each and every class still smelled of vacation and blissful ignoration (except McGonagall's, but that's a story for another time).
Winter, when snow filled the court yard and the domains and nobody could keep track of the enchanted mistletoes hanging in the most intricate of places ('Who the fuck hangs mistletoe in the dungeons?!') . Oh, and the Yule Ball. That was niiiice.
Spring, when students usually figured that yes, there will be exams at the impending end of the year, and no, who the bloody hell had studied during the winter hols, because pshh.
And Summer, when the youngsters went home and the castle remained almost empty, save for the House Elves, because where the fuck would they go? Obviously.
That's it, would say any sensible person - cough, cough muggle cough, cough . There's no other season, said person would continue. Well, they're wrong, because the most important season of them all has yet to be mentioned, for it was every little boy's and girl's dream and nothing could possibly compare to it.
Yes, folks, you guessed it right. The Quidditch Season. It began in autumn and ended in summer, practically swallowing up every other so-called season. If you think about it, it was more of a Quidditch year, but that's a different story alltogether.
Since the year Quidditch was introduced in Hogwarts, the wizarding world was never the same. Each and every student was hyped about it, in their own way. Some liked being quiet about it, enjoying the marvels of the sport in silence while sipping tea in some fancy armchair. Others, the brave and obnoxious men-of-action, that trampled over the aforementioned pansies... well, let's just say they liked it loud...er. Louder.
One of these, ahem, strong figures was, during the school year '76 - '77, one young, lovable lad named James Potter.
It was common knowledge that said student was a very brilliant, very handsome, very notorious and very Quidditch-obsessed young man.
However, common knowledge was also the fact that James Potter had had, over the years, one tremendously big problem. And this problem had red hair. And no, it wasn't a Weasley.
During their sixth year at Hogwarts, James Potter and his lovely problem (oh yes, she was very lovely) had, sort of, somehow, somewhat become friends. However improbable -impossible- it had seemed, during the Yule Ball, James Potter and Lily Evans had called it a truce and given their friendship a shot.
And, to the surprise of the most, they became quite good mates. Charming Evans and her band of pretty girls had moved next to the Marauders at the Gryffindor table under the scrutinous gaze of McGonagall, because Merlin knows what she expected to happen. To tell the truth, the entire Great Hall held its breath the moment Lily Evans politely sat across from James and wished him a 'good morning' while elegantly sipping her hot chocolate.
Potter and Evans becoming friends had taken its toll on the school and surprisingly, on themselves. James discovered that it was quite tiring to keep up with Lily's wit and subtle puns, Merlin knows where she got them all from. Also, he learned that whoever Darcy and Rochester were, who dared insult them could get a very nasty surprise ('Why is there slime on your bed, Padfoot?' asked Peter one particularly shiny morning).
In return, Evans had to stand his Quidditch obsession on the entire duration of the Quidditch Season. Being Captain of the Gryffindor House Team seemed very entertaining, but surprisingly only to James, as he realized that, after a two-hour long rant about strategies to Lily, she had peacefully nodded off in a
comfy armchair near the fire.
Unsurprisingly enough, Gryffindor won that year's cup in the match against Ravenclaw.
Even more unsurprising was the fact that all fifth to seventh years were invited at the very loud, very obvious Gryffindor After-party of the Century ('What? It's a brilliant name!' 'Keep telling that to yourself, Padds...' said Lily and Remus choked up on his Butterbear; Sirius having not observed the insult).
And, even though Merlin knew that alcohol wasn't allowed in Hogwarts - 'Yes, Filch, we know that.' -, there was plenty of it that night, in each and every form possible ('Is it me, or does the cream taste... diffr- well different?').
James, as the Captain of the winning team, was forced to do the honours and open most of the Firewhiskey bottles, more or less taking as prey half the beverage. Was it him, or were there lots of redheads in the room? Yep, it was him. There was only one, and she was very absorbed in what he believed to be muggle music, but he wasn't sure which band. Beetle? or the Stones, or something like that...?
Oh, well. he made a move to engage in conversation with her, because he was the hero, and he was her friend and there was no fucking reason she wouldn't want to talk to him that night, right?
And, even though James was sure that she'd somehow escape him, Lily was very happy to speak, and she was giddy and adorable and her eyes were lighting up... like grasshoppers, James thought, and really, they were so fucking green and pretty.
Love is in the air? No, that's definitely Firewhiskey. James wouldn't put it past Sirius - speaking of which, why was there a Hufflepuff tie around Sirius's head? - to do that, and his suspicions were correct because there was no way Prefect Lily Evans would have gone out on a walk through the hallways at night, if she were sober. Well, at least not with him, her once-upon-a-time-nemesis-now-kinda-good-friend.
He suspects Lily doesn't remember everything they talked about. Really, he wondered how she could say something about everything and anything, and then he'd affectionately snort at her, because 'Evans, you're such a dork!' and she's puff her cheeks and scowl at him in that adorable way of hers.
He couldn't really tell, but at some point, he was sure whole fucking strands of her red-red hair were falling into her face and she'd try to blow them out of it - and was James supposed to take them out of her face? And then smooth them over the top of her head?
At that, she looked up at him with her big, grasshopper-like eyes - Was she really that short? - and asked him in a rasped, disbelieving voice 'What are you doing, James?'.
And as an answer, he might have snogged her. Or rather, she had snogged him. The Firewhiskey made it seem quite blurry. James only knew that, at some point, he'd felt her serious demeanor change and she laughed and snorted in the dark of the hallway and he guessed she fell against him. Then, he felt he warm, laced-with-alcohol breath right in his face.
He imagined her rising on the tips of her toes, sliding her arms around his neck. James tried to remember what her flushed face against his felt like. Oh, well.
The next thing he knew was that a soft, warm and sweet mouth pressed to his. 'Hadn't Evans been there a moment ago?'and 'Who the bloody fuck was plastered against him?'were some of his more coherent thoughts on the matter.
When she figured she elicited no response, the mystery girl pulled back, her voice small and hesitant; and James swore he heard her whispering his name.
There was no mistaking that voice, at least not to James; so, as he felt her detangle herself from him, and realized that Lily - bloody- Evans had, in fact, kissed him, his hands went one on her lower back and the other on the back of her head, and he throughoughly snogged her,
His mouth slammed against hers, their teeth clashed and they swallowed eachother's mumblings. What in Merlin's name were they even saying?! For the life of him, James couldn't recall. Nor does he think he actually wants to.
Later on, James would remember how it felt to snog Evans and really, there was no feeling quite like it. During those times, Sirius would politely say 'For fuck's sake, mate! Stop having fantasies, or I'll throw pu my breakfast at you!' or some equally embarassing shit, and James would snap out of it because eww.
He thinks about the morning after that freak-ass Quidditch Final party quite fondly, which is strange, to say the least. At first, he really hadn't remembered anything but lots of colorful - red - blurs.
After darling Remus had shared (albeit a tad bit unwillingly) his anti-hangover potion with them - Peter having drunk half of it, the poor sod - , the four Marauders were as good as new, and very hungry.
That Saturday, most of the Great Hall was empty. The Professors were glaring at the very small number of students present, because they knew, oh Merlin, they bloody well knew that everyone, including Slytherins, Prefects and Heads, had gotten beyong pissed. And apparently, they didn't care. Well, besides glaring, they didn't do much and James didn't know whether to be shocked or scandalized at the fact that Dumbledore found everything very amusing, if that funny glint in his blue eyes was to be believed.
There were but a few Gryffindors present, James dully noted. Most of them were more or less hungover, because not everyone had as friend a Prefect and ace in Potions. The whole situation was quite satisfying, but that feeling didn't last too long for James because, as the poor lad was chewing his toast, he met Lily Evans's green eyes on the far side of the table, where she sat with her friends. Had she been staring at him?
When he looked at her, she scowled (What had he done?), her eyes disgruntled and her face flushed and - well, fuck.
His expression must have mirrored hers when it came crashing back. 'Shit, she knows. And she knows I know and shit - he swallowed his toast and broke eye contact, because - Merlin, bravo, Potter, bravo, you fucked up, shit, what do I do now?!' The blush crept up his neck, and he felt as is the Great Hall had fallen on his head.
And even though he tried drowning it with pumpkin juice ('James, that's my cup.' observed Remus calmly. ), he couldn't quite erase the feeling of her lips against his.
A/N: hello! if you don't already know, this week is Jily Week on tumblr, so you gotta go and check it out, 'cause the tag is full of lovely stories :3
so, this is my contribution to the most awesome week of the year, for day 2 prompt 'Seasons of the Year'.
if you enjoyed reading this, you might wanna leave your thoughts in a review! i'd appreciate it alot! :
disclaimer: i am not a billionare. nor some of the greatest autors in the history of books. characters belong to J.K Rowling, Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte.
thanks for reading!! :3