An Eventful Evening: Oneshot
Disclaimer: I do nut own Hawwy or anyone related. In fact, I don't own anyone at all, at least, dun think so.
Hi, another Marauder ficlet.
Enjoy.
Side Note: Everyone is Muggle in this fic. Dun ask why, please, just leave me to my imagination, 'kay? 'Kay. Thank you.
In midst of vast, extensive floral lands, the aristocratic folks of the country resided, with a superstitious notion that merriment rooted from riches. These conservative folks were exceptionally loyal to their inheritance, and despite their traditional views, they stunned the threshold to the country's popularity.
However, they paid this act little value. These wealthy folks were naïve to the aspect that a flawless life couldn't be achieved. Instead of mourning in that dismal notion, the aristocrats felt compelled to refute that statement by constructing a groundhog's home beneath their heavy riches. They drank, they cheered, they celebrated; "soirée" was certainly worthy and fancy diction to delineate these particular events.
Inside the Meadowes' stately home, a light, carefree atmosphere streamed into the outdoors as others swarmed in. Some folks entered with inamoratas on their arms, some with their respectful families, and others requesting exchanges for a blunt nose instead of a sharp one. However, only the worthy blended with this scene.
As the honeycomb allured the presence of the swarm of bees, laughter could be heard, clinks of glasses, and shuffle of feet and boots. The wealth of the occupants were accentuated with their elegant attire. The generous amount of women present wore sophisticated wear, with intricate designs: a scarf around their shoulders, their dresses veiling their thorny heels, and the corsets thinning their breaths.
The men, however, were as simple as always. Nearly every man wore the same clothing, with plain white dress shirts, black trousers, and a robe that ended to their knees, emphasizing their refinement. While the women were austere and passionate about their outward appearance, the men were laidback. Consequently, there were others that were especially distinct in midst of firm appearances.
Indeed, a messy-haired young lad was rudely tromping towards the ballroom, earning distasteful looks from bystanders, but he paid them no mind. He was occupied with vilifying his mate's every existence; somehow, Sirius had managed to cajole him into accompanying his parents to this wretched party, promising that he, himself, would be there to entertain, but half an hour had passed, and the devil had yet to be revealed. Meanwhile, James cursed his mate's flawless manipulation skills.
Thus, James maintained a sour countenance as he entered the uninviting ballroom; he resolutely refused to humor a companion to the floor, not that he had intended. He sulkily occupied himself with circling the vast room, observing the room in vacant hopes that he'll find something – or someone – worth his time, at least until this foul party concluded.
"James?" A deep voice greeted James's ears, and he welcomed the sound as he turned to face his father with the gloomy aura still intact. Charles smiled. "Enjoying the party so far?"
"No."
His father elicited a booming laugh. "It is dull, isn't it?" James nodded, fiddling with the sleeve of his robes, looking akin to a child despite his coming of age. "Just do it for Mum, wouldn't you? You know how she is with these type of affairs."
James glanced towards the doors, spotting his mother lively chatting and greeting anyone who passed. "I know." James mumbled and sighed as his father placed a firm hand on his shoulder and swept away, leaving James to resume his place as the professor of misery.
Indeed, he resumed his pace, glancing disinterestedly around the room. After a while, twain creatures – too gallant to be called human – approached him with the insinuation that he would ask them to dance. He, in turn, deciding to accompany his shadow, left them downcast, feeling exceptionally proud of himself for his achievement.
Honestly, they were all the same, the same obnoxious manner, the same dresses, the same personalities, the same pretension. They were so similar in the particular aspects: they all desired wealth, a house, and a man. They all enjoyed parties, fashion, and money. He wanted one that was different, at least in the smallest aspect. At least from surface level.
And he found one – impulsively; he applauded his astute intuition.
He halted in mid-step, reaching a sitting area where tables were dispersed, wine was distributed, and food was gifted. At one of the tables, however, an exotic creature – accompanied by loneliness itself – sat with her hand supporting her chin, peering dully towards the room. James's heart danced as his eyes studied the strange creature, an endearing creature.
He wondered if he had spotted a flower in the grass.
Surely his mind had just witnessed the devil himself, for he had never been as intrigued, his mind surrendering its subtle rationality to a wicked demon. He had never seen such a sanguine hue, but it was there, tucked in a graceful manner, with spiraling, elegant locks framing the creatures fragile features. The owner to these locks bore a fair complexion, an elegant tint to her hair, but the one aspect that intrigued James, was the dispassionate expression she bore as she studied the room; James intuited that she was a reticent person as she didn't seem inclined to join in with the scandalmongers in the room.
Choosing to take advantage of this particular trait, his vacant mind coaxed his feet into implementation, and he maneuvered 'round the various tables, heedlessly disregarding his stumbling into a table, spilling wine on an unlucky man. Reaching the strange specimen, he felt his lungs short of oxygen.
Without an invitation (the girl still hadn't noticed), he promptly drew a chair beside her, and helped himself to a conversation. Hearing the sound of a groaning chair, the girl glanced surreptitiously towards the sound, her eyes immediately zooming to the suspect's hair. She blinked as the owner leaned his arms on the table, tilted his head, and smiled charmingly at her.
"Hello," he breathed softly, entranced. When she turned her head, her disinterested expression fused into slight confusion and suspicion. However, James's breath caught when he met a pair of almond-shaped bright green eyes. Their hue resembled that of a toad.
"Hello . . .?" she responded, civilly and politely, only her narrowed eyes expressing her suspicion as to why he was here, not that she had ever seen him before. "Can I help you?"
James, however, grinned. Yes, this was certainly his type. Not too polite, and not too rude.
"Haven't seen you around before," James's tone dripped in curiosity. He was sure he had never seen such a sight. "Are you new here?"
The girl's reticence was clear, for her features remained stoic when she responded, her eyes flickering down to her twiddling thumbs. "Yes," she said, her dull eyes roamed around the room. "My friend, Dorcas, hosts the party. My father thought it'd be rude if I missed it."
"And he's absolutely right," James affirmed firmly, irresistibly thinking that she wouldn't be here if she had refused. However, when the girl raised an auburn eyebrow questionably, he scrambled to distract her from his idiocy. "Where is this father of yours, anyway?"
She turned to scan the room. "He should be around here – somewhere," she muttered absentmindedly. "Both my parents are, actually."
"My parents, too," James said, inadvertently grimacing at the thought. He internally kicked himself when she caught sight of the look, but – to his relief – she smiled amusedly, and James couldn't help but admire how pretty she looked.
"Not very festive, are you?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement; James, in turn, shook his head in honesty, his hair splashing onto his glasses. In response, he roughly pushed the locks away. Resting his chin on his hand, he continued to converse with her, and – unbeknownst to her – admire her elegant features.
"I get it from my dad," he mumbled, feeling a strange purr in his chest when she chuckled; grace was apparent in her posture, speech, and manners. "He doesn't like parties much, either."
"Of course," she said seriously, and James was too absorbed in his state of admiration to fully register her next statement. "Let's blame all our flaws on our parents, shall we? Then we can be credited for our perfection."
He blinked as she rolled her eyes, and when he finally registered her words, he smirked helplessly. "Exactly," he said pretentiously, sitting up to stretch. The girl looked at him in astounded disbelief, and a twinge of admiration as well, "I am perfection personified, my dear, I trust you know."
The girl shook her head and sighed exasperatedly as she reoccupied herself with the scene, reverting her gaze to the clouds, and James frowned heavily when a predicament dawned on him.
He knew it was discourteous to ask, but he wasn't apt to be polite. "You haven't any suitors," James muttered, turning towards the girl, who was glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, her countenance one of piqued interest. "Have you?"
"Suitors?" she asked, removing her hand from her chin to fold them on the surface of the table; she merely looked on with a frown. "For what?"
"For marriage."
She looked stunned. "Er – no," she breathed softly, a light pink hue rushing to her cheek; in her timidity, she tugged a lock back into its bun as she continued, timidity apparent from the way she ducked her head. "No, I don't – I don't think so."
James, however, struggled to translate his shock into words. Who wouldn't want to marry someone like her? "None? Are you sure?" She gave him a strange look, a look reminiscent to the one his mother gave his father when his father said something that annoyed her, and he couldn't resist his grin.
"My family isn't of the rich bunch, you know," she stated obviously, tugging on the sleeve of her white dress while grimacing at the thought of her parents being rich. "I can choose whomever I want to marry, as long as he's well-suited."
He frowned as he eyed how uncomfortable she looked. "What's your family name, then?"
"Evans."
"Evans?" James echoed, a distant look apparent on his features as he mentally sifted through the list of family names; he hummed as he reached a metal barrier. "That's strange."
She half-shrugged in response, a troubling thought crossing her mind, but she was wary of the answer. "D'you – I mean – do you . . . have any suitors?" She bit her lip when he grimaced.
"Unfortunately," James sighed, stuffing his fists into the security of his pockets, watching the scene with cool eyes, but when he caught sight of her poorly concealed apprehensive gaze, he grew skeptical about her intentions with the question; he decided to humor her into deciphering her thoughts. "But they're easy to turn away, especially if you're willing to disappoint."
James mulled over his interpretations with the question when she eyed him skeptically.
"Er – are you?"
Impervious to her dilemma, James raised his eyebrows smartly. "Pardon? I think I've just been insulted." He placed a hand on his heart, exaggerating the situation in a somewhat humorous manner.
The girl, however, didn't appreciate the comment the slightest.
"I think I've just been rewarded," she muttered disapprovingly, and James grinned at the statement. She, in turn, peered hesitantly at him before, despite herself, her curiosity overruled her moral not to pry. "But honestly, don't you feel for them when you turn them away?" and James snapped his head in surprise, "I mean, what if they're genuine?"
James was stunned speechless. His eyes widened at her apparent sensitivity and her compassion for others. He had never thought that turning anyone down was hurtful, he had just done it out of habit. He studied her strangely, scrutinizing her, memorizing the crease in her brow, implying her hesitance and timidity, her twisted lip – her resolute eyes, depicting her deepest felt secrets, was the main cause for James's affirmation for love.
"Evans," he started slowly, attentively choosing his words, "I should tell you: they're mere strangers," her eyebrows furrowed as she opened her mouth to interpose, but James immediately cut her off with a mere raise of his hand. "I haven't a chance to know them – at all."
She bit her lip timidly, but nevertheless, she was determined to introduce alternate views. "You could, if you gave them the chance." She stated this as firmly and resolutely as she could, and James, feeling overwhelmed, felt an enigmatic smile crawl up his lips, and he didn't even notice.
"Well," James started quietly, a smile ever-present on his mischievous countenance, "I gave you a chance, didn't I? So if you're willing . . ." he stood up with an outstretched hand towards her, watching as her exquisite eyes widened in astonishment, and with apparent timidity, she slid her hand into his, permitting him to lead her to the floor while endeavoring to collect her thoughts.
"It's strange," she chuckled softly, earning a questioning stare from James; she peered up at him with a twist of her lips, "I don't even know your name."
James smiled as he twirled her and shrugged indifferently. "It's not important." He averted his eyes away from a moment as he pondered what her reaction would be if he had unraveled that he was the heir of an exaggeratedly wealthy family. He hoped she wouldn't take advantage of that fact, and if she did, he certainly wouldn't like to witness it personally.
"Not important?" the girl emphasized in astonishment, and James snapped his eyes back to his partner. "My father would behead me if he sees me dancing with a stranger."
He raised his eyebrows at her exaggerated comment. Reaching towards her neck, he playfully nudged a loose auburn lock in an attempt to emphasize his point. "Hmm, your head seems to be intact," she chuckled as she batted his hand away, "I reckon it's safe."
The corner of her crinkled with humor as she rolled her eyes.
"How optimistic."
He ignored her comment. "And besides," he stated obviously, a roguish smirk gracing his features. "I'm no stranger."
"No?"
"Not the slightest," he affirmed charmingly, feeling exceptionally pretentious with the childish interest apparent on her features; he felt like the host of an affair. "Actually, we were born from the same star."
She hummed as her eyes twinkled in mirth. "Really?" she asked interestingly, feigning a thoughtful look. "So we're virtual siblings, then, are we?"
He sighed and pouted childishly.
"I was trying to sound clever, Evans."
"Well, let me humor you, shall I?" she said as she walked away from the flock of partners, leaving James bewildered as he followed her. He found her with her hands folded behind her. "In my case, I was born from the seed of a root."
"A seed?" James asked bemusedly, and when she nodded, he adopted a thoughtful look, glancing at her as reached her side. "Why's that?"
She smiled enigmatically.
"That's for you to answer."
He shook his head amusedly; he felt compelled to challenge her.
He leaned against the frame of the entrance door to the ballroom as he immersed himself in his thoughts. "You were born from the seeds of your parents," he glanced at her as she approached him. "Yes?"
"Er―" a pink hue flooded her cheeks as her eyes flickered about the room, "I suppose."
James frowned as he peeled his side off the frame of the door and looked at her. "Everyone is, Evans, how does that distinct you from everyone else?"
The girl huffed as a lock fell into her eyes. "How about adding a bit creativity?" she tilted her head playfully, a fond smile gracing her features. "Let's say I meant it figuratively."
James watched as the occupants of the ballroom laughed and danced with feigned merriment. "You're as beautiful as a flower." He smirked as he painted her features a blinding red.
Nevertheless, she shook her head hastily in response. Twiddling her thumbs, she keenly listened to his alternate theories.
"You're hidden like the roots of a flower."
She chuckled.
"No."
"Could I have a hint?" James asked reluctantly, feeling exceptionally inferior in intelligence. He personally despised the feeling of being wrong.
Her smile reached the leaves of her eyes as she whirled around to exit the room. And as she insinuated, James followed her, the challenge heightening his rebelliousness.
"It pertains to a flower," she hummed as she glanced subtly at him, "A specific type of flower."
"Is it – Poppy?" he snapped his fingers in response, but when she shook her head, he frowned. "Primrose?"
She laughed.
"No, and no."
"Violet? Daisy?"
"No."
"Holly? Lily?
"Yes!" she exclaimed in delight, grinning widely as he whirled to face her in astonishment.
"Lily?" He breathed in pleasant surprise.
"Yes, that's my name," she laughed, and James could have sworn he had heard merry bells chiming as he caught himself – entranced – in her enthusiasm, "Don't you see? I was born from the seed of a flower."
Now – in the outside breeze – he swam past time by observing her blinding exuberance. He studied the way the corner of her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her graceful walk, her – not too extravagant – white dress, with sleeves billowing like that of a majestic robe. The bow (he now noticed with a suppressed groan) perched on her auburn hair was the answer to her riddle: a lily; and the loose locks from her bun provided a significant contrast to her dress, accentuating how rosy she really was. Everything about her implied her explicit connection to nature, everything including her eyes, which were the pretentious leaves to her blossomed bud.
And James knew that this was the one and only.
He chuckled quietly as he shook his head to rid himself of deep contemplation. "Funny," he muttered quietly; he peeked up at the girl – Lily – with an amused crinkle near the corner of his eye. "I thought I was good at riddles."
She chuckled, in turn, and they both snapped their heads up in surprise when they heard a cry: "Lily!" They whirled around towards the entrance stairs of the outside, sighting its setting.
They caught sight of someone – a girl – climbing up the stairs with her hands clutching her skirt so as to not trip on it. When the girl reached them, Lily noticed that it was her friend and host of the party: Dorcas.
"Lily! There you are!" Dorcas exclaimed exasperatedly, panting and clutching her chest in an attempt to regain her breath, causing Lily to wince guiltily, "Where have you been?" she demanded, scowling at her friend, "I've been – all over the mansion―" but Dorcas lost her breath to continue.
Lily glanced concernedly at James, who was looking helplessly amused. She repressed the urge to glare at him as she looked back towards her friend. "Sorry, Dorcas, I just – went wandering off . . . I'm sorry."
Dorcas straightened up, her eyes only registering her friend's companion. Her eyes widened significantly as she caught sight of James, and James sighed exasperatedly as he asked for a private moment from Lily's friend. Dorcas nodded absentmindedly as James nudged Lily to the side.
"Well, Lily," James started decorously, emphasizing her name in a manner that caused Lily to wince in guilt. "Pleasure meeting you, I'm sure." He furtively grasped her hand, bringing it forward to peck her fingers.
She blushed, but her inquisitive nature overruled her judgment. "Where are you going?" Lily asked, curiosity dripping in her tone, "Aren't you coming back inside?"
James shook his head. "No, I've got to get back home," he rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. "Got work in the morning, you know."
"Right," she nodded absentmindedly, feeling inadvertently dismayed at the thought that she would never see this interesting person again.
"But we'll see each other again, right?" James smiled as he tilted his head to meet her downcast eyes. She smiled as she peered up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Of course," she teased, "because we were born from the same star, weren't we?"
"Who told you that?" James said indignantly.
She smiled.
"Someone clever," she glanced towards the patient Dorcas before turning to gaze at him guiltily. "I should go."
He nodded in understanding. Lily watched as he walked backwards, saluted playfully (in which she waved decorously back), and whirled around to descend the steps. She watched until he was completely out of sight before reverting her attention to her friend, whom – she noticed – was looking quite smug, but nevertheless, pleased.
Dorcas grasped her friend's forearm as she leaned towards her to say softly, wary of onlookers. "Lily, don't you know who that is?"
Her friend frowned as she shook her head.
Dorcas's eyes widened significantly. "That's James Potter, son of the famous Charles Potter. Ever heard of them?"
Lily took the moment to study her friend meticulously, her eyes then flickering to the spot she had last witnessed the departure of the said subject. "No – I haven't," she then turned to face her friend, looking exceptionally apprehensive. "Why? Is that bad?"
Dorcas chuckled. "Not really. Don't fret on it much," she nudged her friend inside, "Now are you coming inside or not?"
Lily glanced towards the outside for a moment before turning around to her friend, who was standing against the entrance doors, looking at her curiously. Lily nodded in response, following her friend in, because, despite the conclusion, James Potter was certainly an interesting climax to her dull life.
She was prepared for a bit of spontaneity.
A/N: Why, hello. So this is a sort of Medieval era or Renaissance era. I tried to do as much research as possible, so sorry if there are still some discrepancies. Feel free to tell me about them, for my benefit, too. I won't get offended.
To wrap this up, hope you enjoyed another Jily fic for me, and welcome September.
Good night.
And review.