Just James
Author's Notes: This is my first MWPP era story. The idea came to me, and it was a bit strange, but all of the sudden, and it's basically kind of pointless, but one must always follow the hopping of the plot bunny on its trail.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or James, or Lily, or Sirius, or Quidditch, or Hogwarts, or Gryffindor, or anything else that J. K. Rowling owns in this story. All of this is an homage to her, anyway.
They told me today that I was spectacular. That I was amazing. That I was a god.
They carried me on their shoulders, chanting my name and singing my praises. They brought me up to the tower, and when we got there, food and drink appeared, almost like it was magic. Come to think of it, it probably was.
I was given the best seat in the house, right by the fire, and regaled with tales of how wonderful I was. Everyone wanted me to tell the story of the Quidditch match again, relive the glory so that they could have a piece of it too.
And maybe, so that they could have a piece of me as well.
It was strange, first coming here, and suddenly becoming the center of everyone's attention. I had lived a remarkably understated life before that; so understated that perhaps no one would have believed it to be that way. I was, essentially, no one before I stepped through the doors into these sacred halls. I wasn't particularly special or heralded at all. I was just a boy who could never keep his room clean enough or his hair brushed properly. I was just James.
As grateful as I was for the warm welcome (and as much as I took advantage of it in my earlier years at Hogwarts), I've never felt that I earned it. All of my successes have been because of an inborn gift that I couldn't control, an ability to make a broom move in ways that only few people could manage. The things I'm truly proud of are the friendships I've made; those are the things I think I've actually earned. My friends know I don't like all of this (much). They know that I never feel like I deserve it.
But I know it can't be easy for them either. Most of them take turns standing in a shadow I wish I could shorten. They each have their one brilliance, their own bravery that I see so clearly and the rest of the world ignores. And they're bigger people than me, I'd say. If I were shunted to the side as much as they were, I imagine I'd leave me behind.
Wait a second. Hold on, that wasn't quite right, was it? Bugger, just forget it. The point of this whole thing is a girl, anyway, so I'll just get to that.
Come on, as if I'd get this insightful if it weren't over a girl.
So, let's set the scene again, with a little more honesty if you please. Yes, I feel greatly undeserving about all of the attention I've been given (sort of), but right now, I'm just trying to take my mind off of the attention that I'm not getting, the attention that I can't get.
That attention is currently sitting in the corner. Her friends – of which she has many – are all around her. She's talking and laughing, tossing that red, bouncing curtain of what most people call hair, but what, when it's tumbling down her back, I call beauty in its greatest form.
That girl, it seems, has me figured better than anyone in the room. She doesn't sing my praises, and she damn sure knows I'm not a god. What's most interesting about it is that she doesn't even know me that well. She just took those (heart-stopping) eyes of hers and saw right through me, penetrating my devil-may-care disposition that everyone else calls "cool." She's constantly unimpressed, admonishing me in a way that actually makes me sit up and take notice. Everyone else steps around me at times, not wanting to upset me and make me take my celebrated attention away from them. But that girl, she doesn't flinch before telling me when I'm being a prat. It seems that where I've enchanted everyone else, the one person I wish would fall under my spell is completely immune.
I reckon that's part of the attraction. I would be lying if I said that the challenge wasn't part of the whole thing. She's like a Quidditch move I can't make; a Transfiguration spell I can't master. I could have any of the other girls in this school, but the one I want is the one that I can never, ever get.
She's sitting alone now, sipping on one of the butterbeers that Sirius nicked from the kitchens. Her friends have gone up to bed, along with most of the people who were only hours ago clamoring for my attention. She's eyeing her book bag on the table next to her, inwardly debating whether or not she should skip working on an assignment for the night.
For some reason, in this moment, I feel hopeful. There's no one else around, and for what I feel is the first time, I've got a chance to show that girl what I'm really like when there aren't a hundred people expecting around me, heralding my existence.
I get up and start walking towards her. At the last second, I feel my confidence leaving me, but she's seen me now, so I can't turn back. Her look is brief and unyielding. "Hello Potter," she says, turning her attention back to her book.
"Hey Ev-" I stop myself. No. Not Evans. Not this time. Not like everyone else. "Hi Lily," I say instead.
I was about to start wondering if she'd even notice the difference, but I don't get the chance. She gives the smallest of smiles while still reading her book. I stand a little longer, giddy at my small victory. "Do you mind if I sit here?" I ask, motioning to the chair across from her.
"Go ahead," she answers without looking up. That was a little disheartening, I admit, but she didn't send me away with a scathing remark, so that was better than our usual encounters.
I rub my hands on the legs of my jeans, even though they are itching to run through my hair – my signature move – but, as I learned in a rather...unpleasant encounter with her the year before, this action disgusts her. "So what are you reading?" I ask, hoping it's a benign enough question to keep things as civil as they have been so far.
"Terrific Transfiguration: A Guide-"
I cut her off. "To Understanding Advanced Transfiguration Theory by Alfred Merryweather."
She looks at me, bewildered. "How in the name of Merlin – have you read this book before?" The shock on her face is hilarious; never before have I seen her break her constantly hard line of self composure and ability to never be surprised.
I grin slightly. "Yeah, of course I've read it. Merryweather has some good points on conjuring, but he hasn't got a real clue when it comes to Animagus transformations; his theory is rubbish. Bailey Burkes really has a better book on that."
"Animagus, Animag – I? Magical Theory of the Animagus. I spoke with Professor McGonagall about the difference between the theories, and she said that Burkes definitely had it right and Merryweather was an idiot." She smiles – a real smile! "Of course, McGonagall didn't say it quite like that, but that was the gist of it," she finishes, putting the book on the table. Suddenly, her disposition changes. "How do you know so much about Animagi theory? I mean, you haven't been trying it out or something like that, have you?" she asks, looking almost – oh damn - suspicious?
"Oh! Oh, Merlin no..." I stutter, putting on my most believable and innocent laugh, trying to cover as quickly as I can. God, that girl didn't miss a thing, did she? "I just like reading about Transfiguration. It's my favorite subject." That actually wasn't too much of a lie. Well, the reading part was, because really, what a bore-fest, but Transfiguration really is my favorite.
"Right," she says, unbelievingly. She glances at her watch, sighing. "Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed. I don't think I'm going to get any of this work finished tonight, anyway." She starts gathering her books. One of them falls, and I bend to pick it up.
"Here," I say, handing it over. "And I think you can afford the night off. You're one of the smartest, most hard-working people in Hogwarts. You deserve a little rest." I hadn't meant to say it; it just kind of tumbled out. Her face is unreadable; she doesn't look specifically angry, but she doesn't look pleased either. She looks...confused, I think.
"Thank you," she finally says, picking up her bag and walking towards the girls' staircase. I'm not sure if she was talking about the book or the compliment, but to be honest, I don't care. The fact that we'd just had a whole conversation without resorting to cutting remarks was enough for me. As I revel in my small but significant victory, I watch her walking, admiring the confidence she carries herself with. But then the confidence drops, a little. She stops walking, gesturing with her hands, almost looking like she's having a conversation with herself. Finally, she turns around.
"I know we fight a lot, and that I'm sometimes a little...hard on you. But I just wanted to say, you played well today. Really well." She smiles briefly and turns again, going to the stairs.
I feel like I might burst with joy. Lily Evans gave me – ME! – a complement, and considering the fact that we live in an almost constant battle with one another, that's really saying something.
"Goodnight, Lily," I call after her, not entirely expecting an answer back.
But she surprises me. "Goodnight, James," she calls, closing the door to the girls' dormitory behind her.
She said James. Just James, not Potter, not you-useless-excuse-for-a-wand- bearer (and I'm almost CERTAIN that was a double entendre), but James. Merlin, I didn't think a name could ever sound so good.
Except, of course, for Lily.
Author's Notes: This is my first MWPP era story. The idea came to me, and it was a bit strange, but all of the sudden, and it's basically kind of pointless, but one must always follow the hopping of the plot bunny on its trail.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or James, or Lily, or Sirius, or Quidditch, or Hogwarts, or Gryffindor, or anything else that J. K. Rowling owns in this story. All of this is an homage to her, anyway.
They told me today that I was spectacular. That I was amazing. That I was a god.
They carried me on their shoulders, chanting my name and singing my praises. They brought me up to the tower, and when we got there, food and drink appeared, almost like it was magic. Come to think of it, it probably was.
I was given the best seat in the house, right by the fire, and regaled with tales of how wonderful I was. Everyone wanted me to tell the story of the Quidditch match again, relive the glory so that they could have a piece of it too.
And maybe, so that they could have a piece of me as well.
It was strange, first coming here, and suddenly becoming the center of everyone's attention. I had lived a remarkably understated life before that; so understated that perhaps no one would have believed it to be that way. I was, essentially, no one before I stepped through the doors into these sacred halls. I wasn't particularly special or heralded at all. I was just a boy who could never keep his room clean enough or his hair brushed properly. I was just James.
As grateful as I was for the warm welcome (and as much as I took advantage of it in my earlier years at Hogwarts), I've never felt that I earned it. All of my successes have been because of an inborn gift that I couldn't control, an ability to make a broom move in ways that only few people could manage. The things I'm truly proud of are the friendships I've made; those are the things I think I've actually earned. My friends know I don't like all of this (much). They know that I never feel like I deserve it.
But I know it can't be easy for them either. Most of them take turns standing in a shadow I wish I could shorten. They each have their one brilliance, their own bravery that I see so clearly and the rest of the world ignores. And they're bigger people than me, I'd say. If I were shunted to the side as much as they were, I imagine I'd leave me behind.
Wait a second. Hold on, that wasn't quite right, was it? Bugger, just forget it. The point of this whole thing is a girl, anyway, so I'll just get to that.
Come on, as if I'd get this insightful if it weren't over a girl.
So, let's set the scene again, with a little more honesty if you please. Yes, I feel greatly undeserving about all of the attention I've been given (sort of), but right now, I'm just trying to take my mind off of the attention that I'm not getting, the attention that I can't get.
That attention is currently sitting in the corner. Her friends – of which she has many – are all around her. She's talking and laughing, tossing that red, bouncing curtain of what most people call hair, but what, when it's tumbling down her back, I call beauty in its greatest form.
That girl, it seems, has me figured better than anyone in the room. She doesn't sing my praises, and she damn sure knows I'm not a god. What's most interesting about it is that she doesn't even know me that well. She just took those (heart-stopping) eyes of hers and saw right through me, penetrating my devil-may-care disposition that everyone else calls "cool." She's constantly unimpressed, admonishing me in a way that actually makes me sit up and take notice. Everyone else steps around me at times, not wanting to upset me and make me take my celebrated attention away from them. But that girl, she doesn't flinch before telling me when I'm being a prat. It seems that where I've enchanted everyone else, the one person I wish would fall under my spell is completely immune.
I reckon that's part of the attraction. I would be lying if I said that the challenge wasn't part of the whole thing. She's like a Quidditch move I can't make; a Transfiguration spell I can't master. I could have any of the other girls in this school, but the one I want is the one that I can never, ever get.
She's sitting alone now, sipping on one of the butterbeers that Sirius nicked from the kitchens. Her friends have gone up to bed, along with most of the people who were only hours ago clamoring for my attention. She's eyeing her book bag on the table next to her, inwardly debating whether or not she should skip working on an assignment for the night.
For some reason, in this moment, I feel hopeful. There's no one else around, and for what I feel is the first time, I've got a chance to show that girl what I'm really like when there aren't a hundred people expecting around me, heralding my existence.
I get up and start walking towards her. At the last second, I feel my confidence leaving me, but she's seen me now, so I can't turn back. Her look is brief and unyielding. "Hello Potter," she says, turning her attention back to her book.
"Hey Ev-" I stop myself. No. Not Evans. Not this time. Not like everyone else. "Hi Lily," I say instead.
I was about to start wondering if she'd even notice the difference, but I don't get the chance. She gives the smallest of smiles while still reading her book. I stand a little longer, giddy at my small victory. "Do you mind if I sit here?" I ask, motioning to the chair across from her.
"Go ahead," she answers without looking up. That was a little disheartening, I admit, but she didn't send me away with a scathing remark, so that was better than our usual encounters.
I rub my hands on the legs of my jeans, even though they are itching to run through my hair – my signature move – but, as I learned in a rather...unpleasant encounter with her the year before, this action disgusts her. "So what are you reading?" I ask, hoping it's a benign enough question to keep things as civil as they have been so far.
"Terrific Transfiguration: A Guide-"
I cut her off. "To Understanding Advanced Transfiguration Theory by Alfred Merryweather."
She looks at me, bewildered. "How in the name of Merlin – have you read this book before?" The shock on her face is hilarious; never before have I seen her break her constantly hard line of self composure and ability to never be surprised.
I grin slightly. "Yeah, of course I've read it. Merryweather has some good points on conjuring, but he hasn't got a real clue when it comes to Animagus transformations; his theory is rubbish. Bailey Burkes really has a better book on that."
"Animagus, Animag – I? Magical Theory of the Animagus. I spoke with Professor McGonagall about the difference between the theories, and she said that Burkes definitely had it right and Merryweather was an idiot." She smiles – a real smile! "Of course, McGonagall didn't say it quite like that, but that was the gist of it," she finishes, putting the book on the table. Suddenly, her disposition changes. "How do you know so much about Animagi theory? I mean, you haven't been trying it out or something like that, have you?" she asks, looking almost – oh damn - suspicious?
"Oh! Oh, Merlin no..." I stutter, putting on my most believable and innocent laugh, trying to cover as quickly as I can. God, that girl didn't miss a thing, did she? "I just like reading about Transfiguration. It's my favorite subject." That actually wasn't too much of a lie. Well, the reading part was, because really, what a bore-fest, but Transfiguration really is my favorite.
"Right," she says, unbelievingly. She glances at her watch, sighing. "Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed. I don't think I'm going to get any of this work finished tonight, anyway." She starts gathering her books. One of them falls, and I bend to pick it up.
"Here," I say, handing it over. "And I think you can afford the night off. You're one of the smartest, most hard-working people in Hogwarts. You deserve a little rest." I hadn't meant to say it; it just kind of tumbled out. Her face is unreadable; she doesn't look specifically angry, but she doesn't look pleased either. She looks...confused, I think.
"Thank you," she finally says, picking up her bag and walking towards the girls' staircase. I'm not sure if she was talking about the book or the compliment, but to be honest, I don't care. The fact that we'd just had a whole conversation without resorting to cutting remarks was enough for me. As I revel in my small but significant victory, I watch her walking, admiring the confidence she carries herself with. But then the confidence drops, a little. She stops walking, gesturing with her hands, almost looking like she's having a conversation with herself. Finally, she turns around.
"I know we fight a lot, and that I'm sometimes a little...hard on you. But I just wanted to say, you played well today. Really well." She smiles briefly and turns again, going to the stairs.
I feel like I might burst with joy. Lily Evans gave me – ME! – a complement, and considering the fact that we live in an almost constant battle with one another, that's really saying something.
"Goodnight, Lily," I call after her, not entirely expecting an answer back.
But she surprises me. "Goodnight, James," she calls, closing the door to the girls' dormitory behind her.
She said James. Just James, not Potter, not you-useless-excuse-for-a-wand- bearer (and I'm almost CERTAIN that was a double entendre), but James. Merlin, I didn't think a name could ever sound so good.
Except, of course, for Lily.