Another Lily/James… what can I say? I love them!
No Use Crying Over Spilled Butterbeer
"Oh, Merlin! I'm sorry, James!" The tray of butterbeer you're holding hits him square in the chest, slopping the hot drink all down his torso. He hisses, cringing away from the scorching drink.
"It's okay," he breathes, swiping at his shirt. The portrait of the Fat Lady stands behind you.
"Are you two going to just sit there all night? Or are you going to open me?" She asks, irritated.
"Oh, um… Fanged Frisbee," you tell her, still flustered, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcagge. You enter the empty common room, tugging James along with you. "Here, let me help…," you trail off, pulling out your wand to try to dry him off.
"Oh, it's fine. I'll just…," he stops, reaching for the hem of his shirt. You suck in a breath, ready to turn away. "No, no, stay. I need help fixing this." He points at the spilled butterbeer and broken mugs. He yanks his sweater over his head, dragging the thin white tee-shirt that was underneath with it.
Oh, Merlin. And you have the sudden, irrational urge to trace those glorious muscles with your tongue. As much as you reject him, you would think that this wouldn't even faze you. But how can a normal hormone-ridden teenager look at a stomach like that without wanting to act on it?
He conjures a new, pale green shirt to replace that one and begins to pull it on, to both your silent dismay and encouragement. You finally release that breath that you didn't even know you were holding and bend down, looking at the mess you've made. You clear your throat, simultaneously ridding your brain of its wandering thoughts and clearly say, "Reparo." The glass jumps back together and the mangled tray rights itself.
James bends down next to you, pointing his wand at the spilled liquid. "Scourgify." And like that, there is nothing left for you to clean, but no butterbeer for Christmas morning. You never really cared, anyway.
"Do you think we should get some more?" he asks you, motioning towards the door. You look at him, scrutinizing, "if you know where to get it at," you check the large mounted clock, "twelve thirteen."
He grins at you, raising an eyebrow. "Of course, I know where to get it. Where do you think Sirius and I have been getting that food for all of these years?" You shrug, acknowledging their antics. He pulls a silver silk cloth out of his pocket. "Do you know what this is?" He asks, holding it up. The moonlight sends a pale stream of light onto it.
You gasp, leaning forward. "Is that—is that an invisibility cloak?" You ask in wonder, running your hands over the copious folds gently. He chuckles, brushing his hand against yours. You look up at him, the bewilderment clear in your eyes. "So this is how you've gotten away with everything!" You exclaim, much to his amusement. "Where did you get this?"
"My dad gave it to me a couple of years ago, before he passed away," he says sadly. You notice your eyes start to tear up, but you sniff morosely, pushing them away with several rapid blinks of your eyelashes. Then you look back down at the brilliant fabric and notice you're so close to holding his hand. You want to grab it and squeeze, but instead you pull back and look up into his face.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" you ask with a small smile. With a cocky grin, he swings it around the two of you and together you walk toward the portrait hole. He opens it and you both climb out, stooping low and moving slowly to keep covered. Of course, you think, we are the heads. Why would we need an invisibility cloak? But then the non-sensible part of your brain whispers, oh, shut up. It's an excuse to get close to him. So, for the time being, you remain quiet, trudging along down the corridor, following James, who is dragging you by the hand. Soon you realize that you're heading to the ground floor. Just as you're nearing the stairs, you trip. You were never very graceful to begin with, but then the hem of that bloody cloak got in the way and you fell, pulling the cloak away from James, who, by some miracle, remains upright. There is a resounding clatter as you hit the hard stone floor.
Footsteps sound, alerting you to another presence in the corridor. "Mr. Potter? Is that you?" You can hear the potions professor ask. "Can you come with me? I really need some help with something—" Professor Slughorn trails off. James turns his head back to where you remain hidden and mouths "go." You stand and James strides over to the other side of the corridor. You can hear him greeting the professor, and you scramble down the steps, being sure to hold up the bottom of the cape.
Slowly, you make your way down the hallway until you reach the portrait of fruit. You reach out and stroke the pear lightly, just enough to make it giggle and release. You step in to the vast room and reveal yourself, looking around. And then you can't see anything because of the number of house elves surrounding you and asking you questions.
"Mistress Lily! Would you like some treacle tart?"
"Maybe some pudding?"
"Would you like a mug of hot milk?"
You hold your hands out in surrender, silencing the small creatures.
"I would like," you pause mentally calculating the number of Gryffindors that stayed over the winter holiday, "fifteen flagons of butterbeer for tomorrow's festivities." All at once, dozens of elves leap forward trying to get you mugs and the hot drink. You step back from the mass chaos, letting them do their job.
Meanwhile, you can't even think of what it was that Slughorn wanted from James. Probably some ridiculous thing that wasn't even fathomable to a normal human being. But when you finally had a plate covered with goblets of butterbeer, and are heading up the stairs, you hear a male's shout. You, trying to hold the tray straight, race up the staircase, worried. But instead, he's simply standing there, looking somewhat dumbstruck. Waiting there, watching him pant, looking utterly delicious, even you must admit, you think oh, sod it! Your façade will be ruined, but at least you won't have to be afraid of temptation.
You drop the tray and run to him, sliding your arms around his neck and connecting your lips. You pull away just slightly, so your lips are still touching, and breathe heavily.
"What was that for?" James whispers into the night.
"I wanted to thank you. Before you got taken away… tonight was kind of… fun." You smile and lean in for another kiss, brushing your soft lips against his slightly rougher ones. In the midst of snogging him, you realize that you just dropped the whole tray of butterbeer. You laugh.
"What?" James breathes against your lips.
"I dropped the butterbeer." You giggle again.
"Damn."