Disclaimer: I don't own (any part of) James Potter. Or his son, for that matter.
A/N: I wrote this about a month ago for Glisseo's birthday (or bigquidditchhero on tumblr. You should read her things. I am in love with her James), so I thought I should post it here. Enjoy some UST Jily this Wednesday :)
"Dear Mum, my favourite relative." James Potter looked up, frowning, trying to work out where the familiar voice was coming from. "I am writing to inform you of..." There was a small pause, then, with determination, the voice added, "My imminent departure from this Earthly plane. This will be due to..." Another pause, wherein James was able to ascertain that the voice was coming from the armchair in the corner, only its occupant was sitting on the floor, hiding herself from view, "Entirely too much work. In capitals, underlined, three exclamation points."
There was a grunt of satisfaction, and James took the opportunity to creep off the sofa he was lounging on, behind the armchair against which the letter-writer was sat. "Because of this," she began again. "I am including my last will and testament in this letter. As my mother, you are entitled...to everything nice I own...but there are a few things...I would like to leave to friends."
James's ears pricked up. "To Petunia...my best blue dress with the daisies on the front...because I know she likes it...even though...she tells me I look hideous. Cow." He gathered that this last was an aside. "Aisling gets...all my Holyhead Harpies Quidditch stuff...because she was the one who introduced me to Quidditch..."
Another pause. "And to Mary Macdonald...all my records...because she is the only one who'll know what to do with them...because the rest of my friends...do not understand about muggle culture...because they are...uncultured swine."
"You know," James said conversationally, popping up from behind the armchair, "that's not true. Sirius has a muggle record player whatsit." Lily screamed, fell sideways, and poured her bottle of ink all over herself.
"It is very rude," she said, glaring at him pointedly, "to listen to people's private conversations at doors!"
"It was behind an armchair," James pointed out, jumping over the back to sit in it, "and why were you reading it out to the entire room, if it was private?"
"The room is empty!" Lily replied. James waved. "Well, I thought it was. It's two o'clock in the afternoon, on a Tuesday! Everyone is supposed to be in lessons. I," she added with dignity, "have a free period."
"Me, too," James said.
Lily paused in using her wand to siphon the ink off her blouse. "Really? I'm always in here in my Tuesday afternoon frees, and I'm always the only one."
"I've always had this period free," James maintained. "This year, at least. Oh, sixth year. So good to us, with it's many free periods and opportunities for naps..."
"I have not seen you in the Common Room at this time on a Tuesday before now, and it's April," she replied. "We've had most of the year. Forgive me if I don't think you're skiving something. What is it—Arithmancy?"
"Nah, I dropped that after OWLs," he said. "I'm usually in the library, though, so that might be why you haven't seen me. Though, if I'd known you were looking, I'd've done something with my hair, I've come over all self-conscious now, look..."
Lily blinked, then burst into peals of laughter. "Simmer down there, Evans, the joke wasn't that good," he said.
"It wasn't," she agreed, "but the one about you being in the library was."
"It wasn't a joke!" James said, looking mildly offended. "I do normally go to the library on my Tuesday afternoons! Remus and Sirius are in Arithmancy, and Pete's in Care of Magical Creatures. What else am I supposed to do?"
"You do not go to the library, unless it's to play a prank on someone," Lily said. "I still remember what happened there in third year, with those flamingos, and the strawberry jam, and Madam Pince's favourite hat. I don't think Susie Barlow ever recovered."
"You remember that?" James said, looking delighted. "It was a good one—but I still think that the one in fifth year, with the Honking Daffodils and the—"
"Oooh, and the exploding pears? And the banjo?" Lily asked. "That one was quite good, yes."
"Hah—I knew I'd seen you laughing behind all those books. We were banned for a month after that...ah, good times," he said, reminiscing.
"That's exactly my point," Lily said. "There have been no reports of explosions or wild animals or criminal damage in the library, so you cannot possibly have been in there."
"Not today, no," he agreed. "But in every other Tuesday afternoon free this year I have. You can ask Madam Pince. She likes to keep an eye on me, you see, because—don't tell anyone, yeah?—she fancies me. Huuuge crush. It's quite flattering."
"I'm sure she and Professor McGonagall fight over you in the staffroom, yes," Lily said. "I still don't believe it, though. James Potter, in the library, studying!"
"I don't know whether to be offended that you're so surprised about the thought of me opening a book, or flattered that you thought I was so naturally gifted I could ace all my exams without so much as doing a piece of homework," he said thoughtfully.
"What did you get in your OWLS, in the end?" she asked.
"Five Os, four Es," he said proudly. "You?"
She pulled a face. "Five Os, four Es. What did you get in Transfiguration?"
"An O. Yourself?"
"...E," she said. "But I mean you clearly only got that because Professor McGonagall fancies you."
"Obviously," he said, smoothing back his hair. "And you got your Potions O because Slughorn fancies you."
"Oh my God, don't," she warned. "That's so close to the truth you can't even joke about it."
He shuddered. "You're probably not wrong. Let's change the subject. Why are you writing letters to your poor mother saying that you're going to die?"
"Huh? Oh, right, yes," Lily said. "Well, before I was so rudely interrupted—" She coughed pointedly, and James hummed, "I was writing to her instead of doing the sixteen million pieces of work we've been set this week. And to let her know that the sixteen million pieces of work are going to kill me when I do get round to doing them, so she should...prepare herself for that."
"It is ridiculous," James agreed. "Like, the teachers think that just because we don't have any official, Ministry exams this year, we should be punished by being given a ridiculous amount of work for them to do, instead. Have you seen that Charms essay Flitwick wants us to attempt?!"
"I know!" Lily exclaimed. "It should be illegal!"
"It should," James nodded. "Though, I've got to say, I'm surprised. You procrastinating?!"
"I have absolutely no idea where you get the idea of me as this goody-two-shoes from," Lily replied, "when I did not do a single piece of Divination homework after forth year."
"Stupid subject..."
"It is," she said, "but I still got an E just making stuff up. It's almost worrying..."
"Almost," he nodded. "Anyway, your poor mother."
"My poor mother," she agreed. "It's why I'm writing my will. I want to make this as easy on her as I can. Only I suppose this letter is useless now," she nodded towards it, so covered in ink splotches the writing was unreadable.
"You'll have to rework it," he said, "but that's okay. You should leave your records to not just Mary. Sirius, like I say—he loves muggle music." She shot him a sceptical glance. "Seriously! He's a massive fan of The Wurzles."
"No way."
"Because of him, I know all the words to 'Combine Harvester'."
"But you are from Somerset..."
"Well yes," he agreed. "So if Sirius, who's a bloody Southerner, is getting your Wurzles records—"
"I don't have any Wurzles records!"
"—I'm sure. If he's getting those, what am I getting?!"
"My nail varnish collection."
"Nail varnish?"
"Sure," she nodded. "A nice hot magenta on your nails would make your hands look even better!"
"...even better?" He raised an eyebrow.
Later, she would attribute it to the surprisingly nice weather they were having; sitting in a patch of sunshine in the Common Room had obviously gone to her head. She would definitely not attribute it to the way he always made her laugh, waving his arms about in that ridiculous way. Or the way he'd helped out that first year Hufflepuff when she'd fallen into the trick stair last week, pulling her out oh-so-gently, crooking his hands under her elbows to get a good lift. Or the way his ridiculous, stupid hair always looked best after winning at a Quidditch match (like Gryffindor had against Ravenclaw the other weekend), the way he ran his hands through it all the time so it would look particularly windswept. Or the way he, and his hands, snaked his way into certain dreams at night, always seeming—
Nope. None of that. Because that would just be too much.
And it absolutely, certainly, categorically, definitely had nothing to do with the way he was lying crossways in the armchair leaving his hands directly in her line of vision.
Because she maybe, maybe, possibly, slightly had a crush on James Potter's...hands. They were good hands. She sometimes thought they'd be better hands, intertwined with hers, but they were good hands nonetheless.
"Well, I mean," she floundered. "All hands are good and...very...useful? But...could be better if there was also...nail varnish. Usually in hot pink shades..." She might've got away with it, if it wasn't for the blushing. Stupid ginger genes...
"Of course," he said. "That sounds just what I need. After all, couldn't have the ladies thinking I wasn't any good with my hands…"
"Is that the time?" she said, looking ostentatiously at her watch. "I must go—I've got Ancient Runes, and the classroom's over on the other side of the castle. Absolutely nightmare getting there. I sometimes think they should lay on a bus for me..."
"They should," he agreed. "Having to walk the length of a castle to get to lessons? Outrageous."
"Indeed!" she said, not meeting his eye. Or hands. "See you later, then!" She shoved all her belongings in her schoolbag and all but ran for the portrait hole.
She did indeed see him later: after Ancient Runes, she had Transfiguration, where she and Mary sat in the desk directly behind him and Sirius. It was here that she'd developed her crush on his hands—the seating arrangements giving her ample view of them as he laced his fingers together around the back of his head, or waved them around ostentatiously casting spells. They were, it had to be said, nice hands. Shapely, strong, masculine...
It was no wonder she was a goner.
That day, she walked into the classroom, chatted with Mary, listened to Professor McGonagall's introduction, then planned to get on with the practical, as normal. But, when the class stood up, readying themselves to turn their cacti into porcupines, she noticed James, waving his wand at the plant on his desk, had hot pink nail varnish on his fingertips.
She gripped hold of Mary's arm. "That's not pink nail varnish on—"
"What?" Mary, who had been staring at the instructions in the textbook with a slightly worried look on her face, turned and frowned at her. "What is it?"
Lily realised she would look ridiculous at best, and bordering on stalkerdom at worst, if she pointed out James's fingernails to Mary. Especially in earshot of James Potter himself. "Oh—nothing. Er, which page is it?"
"What was that, Evans?" James turned his head.
"Nothing, nothing!" Lily said, flipping through the pages of her textbook with vigour. "Nothing at all!"
He smirked, and turned away.
He had, she noticed almost absently, a rather attractive grin, too. She shook herself. It was one thing to have a crush on James Potter's hands. That was perfectly normal. Probably. If she started adding in other parts of his anatomy, too—well. That was something else entirely.
(When Professor McGonagall came round to view their progress, she praised Lily's porcupine, noting it to be very lifelike indeed, "Except for the colour. I don't believe I've ever seen a hot pink one before...")