Thanks to all my faithful reviewers!
A one-shot I was inspired with yesterday, that includes Lily history, new-found James maturity, old scars, and the beginning of love...? I do think I need to lay off the Lily-and-James-right-after-fifth-year-fight-with-Snape scenario...I will eventually. But anyway, here's a small story of how it may have, could have happened. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter. Wish I did, though. Anywaysss...on with the story!
It was raining the night that James Potter couldn't sleep. It wasn't a heavy, driving, winter rain; nor was it a light, watering-the-lawn, late spring rain that was so common at that time of year. This rain was grey and steady, dignified in its melancholy; it seemed to seep into one's mind, calling back ghosts, and encourage every silent tear to echo its own sorrowful, pattering rhythm.
It was on a night with such a rain that James trudged down into the Gryffindor common room, trying to find peace. As he padded down the stairs of the boys' dormitory, the conflict of that afternoon replayed in his head; Snape's humiliation, Lily's anger, all the harsh words exchanged... and that word, the one that made a wound in Lily's eyes, that made James want to pound Snape's face into a bloody pulp, but also, he secretly hoped, that would take Snape out of the picture so he could have a chance with Lily.
She had seemed so withdrawn that evening, curled up silently in an armchair away from everyone, alone in her thoughts. James found he could not approach her, not yet. He did not have the heart to interrupt her mourning for her lost friend.
Now he went back down to the silent, empty common room, hardly knowing why he was there. Glancing at the darkened hearth, James knelt down beside it and set to work; in no time a warm fire was burning, and the dark-haired boy sat on the fireplace rug, rubbing the well-muscled arms that his sleeveless white t-shirt left bare to the cold.
His back leaned against the couch that sat in front of the fireplace, and his thoughts turned to what he knew he'd be doing two nights from now: transforming into a stag, to help Remus with his... furry problem.
James' hand went to his shoulder blade, fingering a long, thin scar the werewolf had accidentally given him one night. He closed his eyes against the memory of Remus' distraught face at glimpsing it the day afterward. He had told Remus, it really was nothing, it didn't even hurt. But they both knew that even if it caused James no physical pain, they hated the visual reminder of Remus' dark side that could be seen in broad daylight.
James let out a low sigh and leaned his head back on the couch cushion; it took him a moment to realize that his head was resting on something warm. It took him another moment that the something warm was, in fact, Lily Evans' knee.
With a start, James sat up straight and stared in surprise at the pale, slender body stretched out in sleep on the couch's length. Her dark red waves of hair fanned around her head, providing a stark contrast to her silvery features in the firelight, and her sleeping brow was furrowed at some undesirable turn of events in her dreamscape. Her limbs shivered ever so slightly, clad only in a thin-strapped blue tank and plaid cotton pants, and a small smile edged at James' lips as he concentrated not think about all the very male fantasies springing up in his mind.
He distracted himself by running up to his dormitory, snatching a warm flannel blanket from his bed, and running back down to the common room to where Lily lay. Upon his arrival, he found she had turned over slightly in her sleep, towards the fire.
As James draped the blanket over her slender form, his eye caught an unexpected sight: on Lily's outside arm was a thin, horizontal scar. It was shorter and deeper than his own, and definitely older. James frowned and stretched out a fingertip to stroke it gently, wondering what could have made a scar on such beautiful skin.
At the brush of his hand on her arm, Lily's eyelids fluttered slightly. Before James could do anything, her brilliant green eyes opened and were looking at him, first in a dreamlike haze, then in sleepy confusion. Then she looked down where his hand still was, on her arm, and the dreamlike haze swept over her eyes again, and her voice tumbled out of her lips like that of a sad, quiet drunkard's.
"From a bullet graze. I was ten...went to go see Dad at work." She spoke slowly, staring into nothingness. "He was a security guard, at the bank. Good one, too. That day...I must've distracted him. Robbers busted in, told people to get down...Dad tried to draw his gun—but they were faster...one.....two....." Lily's voice trembled. "...three shots...and Dad was on the ground...and the pain in my arm..."
A silent tear slid down her cheek. James knelt there, for once completely bewildered and wordless. Being a pureblood and ignorant of what a bullet or a gun were, he couldn't understand half her story. He only heard the sound pain of painful memory in her voice, so he pressed a warm hand to her arm and waited, silent.
Lily's voice came again, low and strong, but pained. "You could never know...what it's like to lose a father like that...right beside you..." She closed her eyes slowly. "Or your best friend...you could never know what's like...to choose between your best friend...and what you believe in."
James was frozen there, truly silenced by Lily for the first time in his life. He felt something strange stir in him as he leaned over Lily's anguished face in the firelight. Looking into her face intently, he found his childish lust over this beautiful girl wither away, burned by some new flame in his chest.
He found he didn't really want to snog her senseless or have mindless sex with her in a broom closet. In fact, he didn't want to do anything she didn't want to. All he had was the irresistible urge to take this fair maiden in his arms and hold her, console her.
And so that's exactly what he did.
Lily was still weeping quietly when James' strong arms encircled her and pulled her off the couch. Her eyes remained closed, an internal pain rendering her speechless.
"I'm so sorry," James whispered almost inaudibly, holding her tightly. Then, without warning, he leaned down and, gently but firmly, held his lips against hers.
At the sudden, long pressure on her lips, Lily collapsed in James' arms for a moment, as if giving up a fight. James pressed a little more, deepening the kiss. Then, as if waking up, Lily pulled away, eyes wide.
"I—I...you—can't—" she stuttered, moving out of his arms.
"I'm sorry, Lily, I..." James reached for her hand.
"No—I...I...am going up to bed." Lily mindlessly grabbed the flannel blanket off the couch. "And don't ask if you can come with me!" she spat, sleep daze wearing off and her contempt for James slowly returning.
"I won't," he said quietly.
Lily looked back at him, a surprised, conflicted look in her eyes.
"...g-good night, Potter," she snapped half-heartedly, and turned up the staircase.
"Good night...Lily." Potter spoke to an empty room.
The two climbed into their respective beds that night, and couldn't help wondering what the next day would bring, if the brief heart-to-heart encounter would still be there, if that kiss by the fire would mean anything...
Lily's hands clutched James' flannel blanket tighter than she would let herself admit; she felt James' scent of fresh soap and woody aftershave follow her into her dreams.
Okay, wow. I did intend this to be a short one-shot about James' thoughts when he finds Lily sleeping in the common room....I mean, it still is a one-shot, but I swear, even I didn't mean for that kiss to happen. ^_^
Well, anyway, please review? Tell me how it was?
~Pepper Lane