A/N: Happy New Year!
Electric
He felt invincible. He always did, afterwards. A strange, electrifying magic pumping through him, his head, his whole body full of vibrating power, it was all so familiar to him, but no one could ever get used to this. He stepped off his broom. A tsunami of red-and-gold dragged him under, then lifted him up and he sailed across it, with Sirius and Marlene and Marcus and everyone, for years, for seconds, for one, glorious moment nothing mattered. Nothing at all. In those moments, James understood exactly how intoxicating this kind of admiration – this kind of power – was, and he could sympathize with all those dictators. Of course, when they finally did set him and the rest of the team down, he checked his head, stopped sympathizing with genocidal maniacs, and laughed and chanted with the rest of the peasants.
For that particular match, a rough, unhinged brawl with Slytherin, James felt especially light and electrified. Gryffindor and Slytherin had tied most of the game, Slytherin making up what they lacked in offense with their rather sickeningly stellar defense. It was after three grueling hours of back-and-forth play, and any number stinging hits and shouted insults, that Marcus-freaking-Turner caught that sodding illusive snitch and ended the game, Gryffindor only winning by 151 points. And now James felt pretty damn electric. He walked up to Marcus and pat him hard on the back, the rest of the team charging over and smashing them in the tightest group hug ever conceived.
"Alright, you bloody wankers," James, somehow, heard Sirius shout from within the avalanche of Gryffindor pride, "to the Common Room!"
"To the Common Room!" everyone echoed in response. And to the Common Room they went.
The victory party started off utterly and completely mad, and devolved into total anarchy as the younger students fell off to bed and the Firewhiskey came out to play. To say James was entirely smashed was a bit of an exaggeration, but only a bit.
"OHHHHHHH Gryff'ndor, where dwell the brave o' heart," James sang with the rest of Marauders, who were all well past smashed - they had practically veered head-first into the Whomping Willow by that point- "we trounce Slyther'n's sorry arse, and pull it all apart!" A vulgar little ditty, for sure, but the rest of the common room chimed in anyway, adding in their own slurred Slytherin-slandering verses. James laughed and sang for a little while longer until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a very familiar red-head slip out of the Common Room. Normally, he would have hesitated following her, maybe gone over some things to say or otherwise calm himself down, but he didn't even think about it when he pulled away from the throngs of drunks surrounding him and made his way out of the portrait hole.
She stood just outside, leaning against the corridor wall, eyes closed, hair splayed across her shoulders, and a little quirk on her lips. The only light the flickering flames of the torches, which was warm and welcoming and quiet. So, so quiet despite the commotion of the drunken bash. James sobered instantly; Lily's eyes opened as James shut the Fat Lady completely, muffling the party.
"What are you doing out here?" James asked smiling and inching a little closer.
"Our lot get quite loud when booze get involved. I'm trying to preserve my hearing." Lily slipped a full, shining smile James' way. His heart slam against his chest.
"Ah…good plan. Good plan." He felt like a ponce, but his mind was still reeling from the Firewhiskey and the victory and her.
"I thought so," Lily said, still smiling, still throwing his poor hear into conniptions, "although, I really did enjoy your singing. Honestly, James, you should consider that career-path." James, she had called him James. This wasn't new, of course. Since the beginning of this year, their seventh and final year, Lily had slowly and seamlessly transitioned from Potter to James, as they grew closer as Head Students. James had always known they had something, but it wasn't until this year that he really realized the extent of this something. They worked shockingly spectacular together, his impulsiveness and her thoughtfulness blending and meshing into so much more than he could have ever hoped. They fought still, but they were engaging fights; they were nothing like anything he had ever had with anyone else, and if their fights were like that…merlin, what would other things be like. He pushed that thought aside though, because thoughts of other things could leave more than his poor heart with conniptions.
"I'll think about it," he mumbled giving a little crooked grin. They were silent for a moment that wasn't exactly awkward as it was simply full, because he knew she knew there was something, and she would have to bloody blind not to see that he knew, as well. So, for a moment they just stood there, two stupidly prideful kids who really really wanted to snog each other. For starters.
"You played well," she started, then, as an after-thought, "don't let that get to your head." It got there anyway, though not in the way Lily was implying. He felt dizzy.
"Well…" he scratched absently at the back of his neck, but maintained the crooked grin, "can I promise to try?" Her tinkling laugh bounced off the walls and James could not help but joining. She shook her head at him.
"Your crazy," she said, "I'm crazy and your crazy."
"We're pretty insane," James agreed. Then, because he wanted to, and because he definitely wasn't entirely sober, he took a rather large step toward her, so he had to look down and she had to look up for them to see each other.
"Mungo's will probably pick us up in the morning." Her eyelids began to droop.
"We better make the most of tonight, then," they both laughed again. Her eyes opened then, so bright, so full.
"We better." Then she pulled his shirt-collar down until their lips collided.
It was right then that James found out winning Quidditch matches was not the only way to make electricity. And there was no getting used to that.