I was trying to write a prologue and this came out. I'm not sure if it will be a stand alone one-shot or have a whole multi-chapter deal to go with it. Depends. And excuse my often use of cigarettes in everything, it's just that... well, I don't have an apology and I guess I have always envisioned Marauders Era people drinking whiskey (firewhiskey) and smoking.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously. I'm not nearly brilliant enough.
The slow killers, Sirius called them. Harmless, yet dangerous—quite like ladies, he'd say. They can't harm you if you don't help them on the way, just like no bird can do any damage unless you hand her your heart on a silver platter. Sirius always loved metaphors.
Thin, white sticks – slow killers.
It was Sirius who nicked the first pack of cigarettes when they were only 15. It was Sirius who then gave each of them one and brought out an old lighter with a smirk on his face. It was Sirius whose cigarette was lit first. It was Sirius who coughed loudly after properly inhaling the smoke for the very first time. But it was James who brought a pack of cigarettes back to Hogwarts afterwards. It was James who strutted around the hallways, a hand in his pocket playing with a blue lighter. It was James who always had cigarettes, whenever Sirius asked him, and it was James who smoked much more.
He smoked more, he smoked better; he was the one who ultimately made smoking look healthy to anyone who watched him. It was the image of James Potter holding a cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly that girls though of when someone mentioned smoking.
James without a cigarette didn't look quite like James at all, not after their fifth year at Hogwarts.
It was James who was addicted to the white sticks of death; the slow killers, fags, cigs, cigarettes, tobacco in general.
There were times when he was very keen on denying it, because James Potter didn't actually need anyone or anything and he was intent on proving it to everyone. Ever since he was a little boy he craved independence and recognition, which he often got. James was brave and proud, never afraid to speak his mind. And James didn't need anyone at all, except for his best friends and a cigarette.
She hated them. She despised them as much as she used to despise him. But it amused him, inexplicably so, when he would remember it. True enough, she was once far from even talking to him. Once, not so long ago, she was far more happier yelling at him, which she still loved to do.
Often she would ask him to quit, but he would chuckle, for they both knew that he wouldn't quit. He couldn't quit was a more accurate explanation. He could cut back and he could try to stop, but he would eventually slip up and disappoint her much more than if he just refused to quit when she asked.
And they were at war, and the cigarettes calmed his nerves.
Lily blamed Sirius for introducing James to the silly vice; James was silently thankful for it.
James Potter never needed much in his life; just his best friends, cigarettes and the girl he loved. If there was a chance they all might die tomorrow then a cigarette more or less would never make a difference.
A/N: Review please? Tell me what you think. I am aware that this is not enough to judge if you'd like to see a multi-chapter fic, but if you do please tell me. Okay. Bye.
Love.