Author's Note: Just a quick LilyxJames drabble, that hit me (no kidding. I jumped in my seat and everything) during English. We were reading 'The Flea' by John Donne, and all I could think of was 'This is such a Lily and James poem...' Couldn't concentrate at all, because all these plot bunnies were running about and mating in my head.
So, I figured I'd best appease the reproducing bunnies, and write this.
Disclaimer – I don't own any characters you recognise (they're J.K. Rowling's), or the poem 'The Flea' (that's John Donne's. Brilliant poem).
There's a strange feeling in the air today. I think it's the heat – we seem to get so little of it that when it hits us, everyone just goes quite mad. Ties are loosened, cloaks are removed, and poor Professor Flitwick is rushed off his feet by requests by students for him to teach them the 'Aguamenti' charm – only for him to later find that students were using it for a makeshift water pistol.
"Lily, why's it so hot?" Alice moans from my side, fanning herself with her hand. I shrug lazily, stretch my legs out on the grass, and kick off my shoes.
"No clue. But I'm soaking up my vitamin D for the year, so don't ask me anything too strenuous. I- ow!" Alice rolls onto her back and squints up at me, one hand shading her eyes.
"What's up with you?" I look at my arm, and see – oh Merlin, that's disgusting!
"There's a flea on my arm! I think it just bit me – gross, gross, gross-" I raise a hand to slap it dead, but a hand clutches hold of my wrist. Thinking that it's Alice, I turn to ask what the hell she thinks she's doing. But what I see is almost as bad – no, definitely worse – than the flea.
"Potter. What do you think you're doing?" Potter looks down at me, still holding my wrist.
"That flea just bit you, didn't it?" This boy is trying to drive me to senility, I just know it. Why can't he just be normal, like Remus, or Frank? Why do he and Black need to be such... children? I nod slowly in response to his question, and his face lights up with a smile. Still holding onto my wrist with one hand, he extends his other arm.
"See? It bit me too." True to his word, there's a small red mark on his forearm.
"That's great, Potter. Now let me kill this flea, and go do whatever it is you spend your time doing." Potter gasped, and held on to my wrist tighter.
"No, you can't kill it! Look at it – it's so small..." He grins at me suddenly. "Hey, Evans, you know something? It sucked blood from me, and then sucked from you, so our blood is mixing together inside that flea!" He stares at the flea reverently, which is now sitting contentedly on my arm. If fleas had faces, I'd imagine that this one would have that full, placid expression that people have on their faces after Christmas dinners. It'd probably have this really irritating, smug grin on its face too... Smacking its lips...
Alice, meanwhile, has somehow managed to sneak off without me seeing her – probably to see Frank. Or to witness my pain from a reasonable distance.
"That's disgusting, Potter. Let me kill the damn thing," I growl at him, shaking the hand that is still grasping mine. He refuses to let go; instead, he kneels down next to me to gaze closer at his beloved flea.
"No, Evans. Our blood is in that flea... It's like we're married," he whispers, awestruck.
"How does both of us being bitten by the same flea equate to marriage? Has Black confunded you again?" He shakes his head rapidly, and then looks at me as if I'm the stupid one.
"Imagine the flea is like a marriage tent-"
"Tent?"
"Yeah. Wizards tend to go for outdoor weddings – more space for drunken magical mishaps. Anyway, imagine this flea is the marriage tent... We're in the marriage tent, Lily! Our blood is in the tent..." I almost reel back in shock – that's the first time he's used my first name in what feels like years – but then I refocus on what he's just said.
"That doesn't even make sense, Potter. Why would you even think that?" Potter, however, doesn't seem to be able to hear me, lost as he is in his world of flea-tent weddings. Eventually, he looks at me with a patronisingly kind smile.
"So, Lilykins, you can't kill the flea, because then you'd really be killing us." He nods wisely, while I stare at him, horrified. And then, I see my chance.
With skill I didn't even know I possessed, I flick my elbow up, causing the flea to soar through the air – and land softly in my hand. Where I proceed to squash it in my fist.
"...You killed it. You killed an innocent, tiny flea," James says blankly. I start to feel guilty, before coming to my senses – this is a flea, Lily, that sucked up your blood. It's just the circle of life.
I open up my hand, and see the purple and black smear on my hand. I consider waving it in Potter's face, but that would be a tiny bit odd.
"See, Potter?" I say cheerfully. "We're fine. Killing the flea didn't make us any weaker." I suddenly realise that Potter is still holding on to my wrist, but he doesn't seem to be aware of it. Instead, he's staring thoughtfully at my face.
"True," he says slowly. His face is then transformed with a smug smirk. "I guess I was scared for no reason. Huh." He stands up, letting go of my wrist in the process – a small part of me feels almost... bereft. Not because it was Potter holding it, just that it was someone holding it, and that they'd now let go.
"So," he says, putting his hands behind his head casually, "when you do finally go out with me... Your happiness loss will be the same as your loss of life from the death of the flea." He grins at me and saunters off, whistling casually. I stare after him, my mouth open, before I finally jump into action.
"James Potter, I will not go out with you – ever! And anecdotes about fleas aren't going to change that!"
Although, I must say, it's certainly one of his more... original attempts.