Petal in the Rain
Chapter 3 - You Found Me
Lost and insecure,
You found me, you found me.
Lying on the floor,
Surrounded, surrounded.
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
-The Fray
London, 1940
"Lily? Have you been paying attention to anything I've been saying?"
Lily Evans frowned absentmindedly, her best friend's chatter falling on deaf ears. She methodically stirred her cereal—which was beginning to resemble porridge—in a counter-clockwise motion, unresponsive due to depressing thoughts of Lord James Potter.
It had been weeks—perhaps even an agonizing month—since Lily had last seen him, but to her it had felt like an eternity. Her adventure with the dashing Lord was now a far-away dream...an out-of-body experience that didn't seem grounded in reality. Though she desperately yearned to repeat the night and escape from the school once more, she knew her chances of escaping again were slim.
He's probably forgotten about me by now anyways...
Lily sighed, desolate. The boy with messy black hair, wire-rimmed spectacles and chocolate-coloured eyes would become just another memory she'd have to bottle-up and store in her endless archive of pipe dreams.
"Lily!"
She recoiled—Roxanne's shrill voice finally jolting her out of her fantasy-induced stupor—and sent her goblet of orange juice flying.
"Sorry," Lily mumbled, weakly trying to mop up the mess of liquid trickling onto the hard-wood floor. "What were you saying about knitting patterns?"
"Knitting patterns?" Roxanne mocked, rolling her pretty grey eyes. "I was talking about the French Revolution and its international consequences!"
"Close enough," Lily murmured, feeling fatigued as she took a sip of her tea. "Since when do you talk about such witty subjects anyway?"
"Since we have a History test on the subject this morning," Roxanne replied, cocking an eyebrow at Lily's uncharacteristic lack of interest. "Tell me you at least reviewed the chapter?"
"I didn't have time to study," Lily snapped, an inexplicable blush creeping onto her cheeks. Her gaze dropped down to her bowl of mush as she prayed Roxanne would drop the subject.
"Didn't have time?" Roxanne echoed suspiciously, snorting. "What exactly are you doing up in that attic that's occupying all of your time? Counting the spiders on the ceiling?"
"No!" Lily fired back, her eyes flashing. "Can you stop being a prying hag, please?"
"Sure, if you stop ignoring me and find something more interesting to stare at then your bloody breakfast!" Roxanne retorted irritably.
To Lily's dismay, Roxanne's tirade was cut short by the heavily-built headmistress of St. Madeline's, Sister Agatha. The large woman rose from her seat—seemingly crosser than ever—and scanned the choir of breakfasting girls, as if looking for any illegal activity.
"I demand the attention of the hall!" Sister Agatha bellowed inelegantly, sounding more like a beached-whale than a human being. "I have an important announcement and I will not tolerate interruption."
The nun's interlude caused both Lily and Roxanne to forget their argument, the prospect of ridiculing the dumpy woman far more appealing than perpetuating an irrelevant spat.
"If she announces her resignation I think I might flood the dining hall with my tears of joy," Roxanne whispered, causing a smile to flit over Lily's lips, "Maybe she's decided to leave the monastery and find a man?"
"Fat chance," Lily replied, smirking. "She probably became a nun because she couldn't find a man in the first place."
Roxanne's suppressed snorts of hilarity were enough to catch the wicked nun's attention. She turned sharply to glare in Lily's direction.
"Would you like share your amusing story with everyone, Ms. Evans?" Sister Agatha communicated in a sickly-sweet hiss. "We are all ever so intrigued."
"I would be more than happy to, Sister," Lily countered, a rebellious grin lighting her face. "I was just telling Roxanne how ridiculous you look with your robes on inside out."
Roxanne gasped, astonished by Lily's unparalleled perceptiveness, as it was true: Sister Agatha had put on her robes incorrectly, the inside seams on prominent display.
The nun glanced down at her robes and outwardly fumed, her eyes burning as she registered Lily's satisfaction. Everyone—including Lily—knew there was nothing Sister Agatha hated more than being made a fool of, especially by the student she detested the most.
"Dress in the dark this morning, Sister?" Lily inquired coolly, keeping constant eye contact with the enraged headmistress.
"Follow me," Sister Agatha said, her tone hoarse as she stormed into the hallway toward her office. The silence that followed was unsettling; only the sound of the nun's thick heels clinking against the hardwood floors filled the hushed dining hall.
Lily rose from her seat to follow, winking at a petrified Roxanne before trailing in the nun's wake. As soon as she exited the hall, students began to whisper animatedly, most speculating about the punishment she would receive for her insubordination.
"You've really done it this time, Lils," Roxanne whispered.
Lily had experienced the inside of Sister Agatha's posh, wood-paneled office many times before, though she could never remember enjoying her visit.
The sterile bureau was covered in bookshelves and paintings, a disgusting portrait of the headmistress hanging in one of the far corners of the space. A large mahogany desk was positioned in the middle of the room, a high-backed leather chair placed behind it, and an antique grandfather clock presided against the wall beside it. Besides the ostentatious furniture, the room was very gloomy, the only window in the office covered by thick satin drapes.
Lily cringed as she looked about the room, her eyes watering and her nostrils burning due to the pungent religious incense. The only feelings the room conjured for her were morbid ones.
"Sit down," Sister Agatha commanded as Lily entered the room's dark embrace. The nun shuffled through one of her lacquered desk-drawers, intent on finding an elusive object hidden within its wooden fortifications.
Lily took a seat on the chair placed in front of the nun's desk and yawned loudly, hoping the flustered woman would become even more infuriated by her disinterest. She knew if she intentionally provoked the nun it would result in more misfortune for herself; however, she could not resist, the pleasure it gave her to see the nun's perturbed expression well worth the turmoil.
Her emerald eyes eventually focused on an object Sister Agatha placed upon her desk. The entity was about three feet in length, having a thin and cylindrical body, and was painted an alerting black colour. Lily did not recognize the foreign object, though she likened it to a finely-leathered branch.
"Any idea what this instrument is or what it does, Ms. Evans?" Sister Agatha inquired, her chubby forefinger stroking the outline of the newly-discovered prize.
"Interesting how you refer to that as an instrument, Sister," Lily replied evenly, narrowing her eyes at the twisted smile distorting the nun's normally placid and stern face. "I think the appropriate word here is weapon, but who knows? Maybe you scratch your bottom with it when nobody is looking?"
"'Tis an instrument of God," Sister Agatha began, eminent possibilities swimming within her squinty eyes: she seemed so thrilled by the prospect of using the tool that Lily's provocation did little to faze her. "It's called the slipper. It is newly ordered; you will be the first recipient of two lashes."
"Such an honour—" Lily chirped sarcastically, crossing her arms and providing the malicious nun with a challenging grin, "—and all because I rightly pointed out you're too thick to even dress yourself."
Sister Agatha suddenly scraped her chair backward on the lumber floors and jumped to her massive feet, wielding the instrument she called the slipper, screaming, "Get out of that chair and show me the palms of your hands, NOW!"
Lily emerged from her seat, prepared to endure any physical pain the plump nun threw at her. She would never show fear to the torturous woman, her delicate pride at stake. Within seconds of exposing the palms of her hands, Lily Evans heard the air whistle and the disastrous crack of leather upon flesh. She closed her eyes to keep angry tears from trickling down the sides of her cheeks, daring not to look down at her hands.
Once more, the air cracked and sensational stinging plagued the fleshy parts of her hands. The pain was unimaginable; white stars appeared behind her closed eyelids, nausea threatening the back of her throat. Like those silly clowns at festivals and parades, it felt as if she had walked on her hands over mile upon mile of thick, icy snow.
When Lily finally mustered the courage to open her eyes and face the woman she despised more than anyone in the world, she felt nothing but disgust. Sister Agatha's eyes, both cold and superior, roamed over Lily's pathetic, vulnerable state with a predatory hunger. A sadistic sneer crept onto her face as she noted Lily's blotchy, tear-stained skin, the realization that her investment in "the newest innovation in corporal punishment" had been well worth it.
As an eerie silence beleaguered the room, Lily's gaze dropped down to her battered and beaten hands. Fresh blood oozed from two clever cuts on each hand. An array of rainbow-coloured bruises also began to pattern Lily's palms; she winced, repulsed by the state of them.
"Gather your school texts and deposit them in the attic. The pupils of this fine institution are off to learn proper manners from a very refined and aristocratic lady in London. Now go," Sister Agatha exclaimed, ushering a resentful Lily out of her office and slamming the door shut behind her.
The sound of Lily's tinkling uniform pumps reverberated off of the paneled walls of St. Madeline's school as she made her way towards the attic. She cradled her hands, hatred and sadness forming tears in the corners of her eyes.
"Oh my giddy aunt! Lily, what happened?" Roxanne cried out from down the hall, hurrying to her best friend.
Roxanne's shrill inquiry startled Lily, causing her to hide her hands behind her back. In no mood for pity, Lily plastered on a cheerful facade to mask the feelings burning inside of her.
"I just received a stern talking to from the Wicked Witch of the West; nothing to worry about," Lily said, offering a reassuring smile that betrayed her distraught feelings.
"Well that's a bloody relief!" Roxanne said happily, grinning ear-to-ear, "Did you hear we are going on a field trip?"
"To learn 'proper manners'? Yes, but I would hardly call that an amusing field trip," Lily said, rolling her eyes.
Roxanne giggling as Lily imitated the headmistress wobbling about the school, shouting orders at haphazard people and sculptures, never once noticing her massacred hands. Their fun was cut short, however, when another nun spotted them and demanded they convene in the front foyer.
"Go on, I have to bring my books back up to my room. I'll meet up with you in a moment," Lily excused herself, leaving Roxanne to head to the foyer as she clambered up to her attic.
Truthfully, all Lily wanted was a private moment to clean up her botched palms and wallow in self-pity. She sighed and approached the aged trunk in the corner of the attic, untangled the buckle and pried open the lid. Inside the trunk laid a neatly folded linen cloth with small embroidered flowers blooming in its corners. Lily tore the cloth in two and wrapped each half around her hands, uncaring about tarnishing the fabric. She choked back tears as she performed the tedious task, her badly-beaten hands scarcely able to flex.
Once finished, Lily admired her handy-work, stretching her hands against the fabric. As she did so, she looked out the attic window and noticed the St. Madeline's grounds filling with animated girls fashioned in navy blue. The exhilarated girls were lined up in pairs, readying themselves for the fleeting walk down London's paved boulevards.
As if on cue, the gathered girls started striding down the stone sidewalks, glancing shyly at any young men who eyed them as they departed.
"No, wait!" Lily cried out feebly, realizing she was being left behind.
She hastened down the raspy attic stairs, her glossy ringlets bobbed dizzily as she dashed out of the double-doored exit and spilled onto the St. Madeline's grounds. Common people hugged their newly-purchased, brown-bagged groceries tightly to their chests as the spirited female sprinted by in a blur of crimson and cobalt.
Within the spidery branches of an ancient willow tree, a roguish male lay stretched along one of the tree's thick arms like a drowsy lion, serenely basking in the silence rarely found in the thunderous environment he called home.
James had been in a surreal state of mind lately, his thoughts continually revisiting the night he had been in the presence of an angel. He had tried, without success, to rid his mind of the redheaded woman dancing in his every dream, but her graceful presence never seemed to elude him...
"Still hiding in that god-awful tree, Potter?" a sardonic voice demanded, the wind lifting the sarcastic tone to James' ears.
"You would too if you had to endure a mother like mine, Black," James returned, one of his legs hanging limply from the branch.
"Your mother is no better than the old nutter I have to put up with," Sirius Black called back. "Now get out of that tree before I blast you from here to Istanbul."
"Do you even know where Istanbul is, Sirius? You should stop trying to sound witty; it doesn't suit you," James said, his sniggering alarming many of the plumaged species inhabiting the willow tree.
"I don't give a rat's arse where it is. Get down here!" Sirius replied moodily.
Deciding it best to face his hotheaded friend, James swung his legs over to one side of the thick branch he occupied and jumped, landing stylishly as he made contact with the ground.
"Why are you bothering me today, Black? Didn't I make it clear I'm not in the mood for your antics?" James asked, a challenging smirk adorning his handsome face as he observed his best mate, Sirius Black.
"You haven't been in the mood for anything lately," Sirius complained, giving James a pitiful look. "I can't stand you acting like a grump any longer, so I've decided I'm going to help you conquer this bloody sulking you're so intent on."
James rolled his eyes. His best friend Sirius was one of the most charismatic men alive. He had dark, coffee-bean eyes, thick hair and a well-toned body that rivaled even James'. Women literally threw themselves at his feet, his compelling looks and charm overwhelming them to the point of acting like a pack of trollops. Quite unlike the ladies, James considered Sirius a total prat—yet he still loved him like a brother.
"And how are you going to manage that?" James contested, leaning against the jagged bark of the willow tree.
"If there is one thing I have learned in life, it is how to cheer up a mate," Sirius said, an ill-behaved twinkle in his eye. "There are two universal remedies for any man's misery."
"Is that right?" James grasped a willow bough above him and swung on it like a tamed chimpanzee. "Care to enlighten me?"
"Whiskey and women! Brandy and broads! I urge you to take your pick, my friend!" Sirius' grin was expansive at the prospect of assimilating alcohol with attractive women.
"Such a typical and tasteless thing to come out of your mouth—" James said, mocking a scolding tone as he restrained a maniacal grin. "—yet I expect nothing better from the likes of you."
"Oh, come now, Jamesie! Two dashing Lords like us could effortlessly court five gorgeous lasses on each arm. Why not lift your melancholy and strut about town with me?" Sirius persuaded, wondering what could be the matter with his friend.
"I will not "strut" about town with you because having five women on each arm will not make me feel better," James said in a cross between a mumble and a whisper.
Sirius Black watched in sheer astonishment as James plucked his polished wand from his pocket and sullenly made a speckled toadstool explode into a firework display of fungi. He was aghast; he had never come across a problem that a few respectable shots of liquor and big-breasted women couldn't fix in a matter of moments.
As James continued blasting assorted species of mushrooms into smithereens, Sirius planned his next move, dusting fungus particles off of his freshly-pressed dress shirt.
"When you have successfully destroyed every defenseless truffle in your garden, we're going for a walk," Sirius said resolutely.
"As long as you pledge "strutting" and loose women aren't involved," James demanded, sighing as Sirius offered him his arm as if he were a lady in need of an escort.
"Anything for you, Lord Potter," Sirius cooed in a girlish tone, batting his eyelashes and pouting his lips as he tried to clamp firmly onto James.
James shoved Sirius' arm away from his, sending his friend flying into a nearby garden hedge. It providing him with liberal occasion to unbolt the wrought-iron gate and run into the crowded streets of London. "You're mad, Black!" he shouted mischievously before disappearing around the corner.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Sirius Black mumbled as he scrambled to his feet and raced after his friend.
The snaking crevices between the stone sidewalks of London provided Lily with quite the challenge as she scampered down the industrious boulevards towards the uniformed cluster of girls. The high-heeled, black-leather pumps she wore seemed prone to wedging themselves between the gritty concrete.
As the distance between Lily and the choir of St. Madeline's girls started to decrease, Lily made the split-second decision to cross the road and blend into the paired formation of students, hoping her absence had not yet been noticed. Pointedly checking to see if it was appropriate to cross the street, Lily entered the lane, not realizing an attractive Lord walking toward her on the adjacent sidewalk was observing her in stunned silence.
She was sheer meters away from joining Roxanne in the cueing line of girls when she felt her heel dig sharply into one of the prominent clefts in the road. Lily yelped, losing her equilibrium and awkwardly falling to the ground as her heel wedged into a fissure at a forty-five degree angle.
It was in that moment that Roxanne glanced over her shoulder and glimpsed the pathetic state Lily was in: it was also then that Roxanne observed a wax-kissed motorcar racing toward her friend's fallen figure...
The heel snapped off of the bottom of Lily's shoe, but she didn't notice as pain seared through the palms of her hands. Hoping to break her fall, she had instinctively outstretched her already savaged hands and landed on then—a move that caused her pain to triple. Absorbed in her own suffering, she did not notice the speeding vehicle barreling towards her...
"LILY!" Roxanne screamed, starting to run and flail toward the redhead like a woman with her hair aflame, "GET OFF THE STREET!"
Lily heard her best friend's shouting and turned, but just as she became aware of the jetting vehicle mere feet away from where she now stood, a strong arm came around her waist and jerked her forward towards the sidewalk.
Yet again, Lily was sprawled on the ground; however, she did not recall the hard concrete ever being so temperate and inviting. She suddenly felt nauseous, her head spinning and ears ringing. Relenting to darkness, the last thing Lily remembered grasping from the dizzying scene was the concerned eyes of the man she was laying atop of.
Sirius Black dashed down the sidewalk in search of his messy-haired mate. He was about to turn down one particularly popular street when he noticed a group of kilt-adorned schoolgirls and red-faced nuns crowding around a fallen couple at the curb. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull when he noticed James was one of the persons involved.
"Excuse me gorgeous, must get through," Sirius gently commanded to one of school girls, causing the female in question to lapse into persistent giggles.
The scene Sirius walked in on was questionable to be sure, for in James' arms lay a red-haired beauty, her head cradled in his broad shoulder. It was apparent that the schoolgirl had fainted, but even more startling was the concerned look on his best friend's face as he held the woman close to him.
Sirius positioning himself beside the fallen pair, turning to James, "What's going on here?"
"Hold her for a minute, will you?" James directed, letting Sirius collect Lily in his arms so he could get to his feet.
Once he swept the dirt off his clothing and fixed his glasses properly on the bridge of his nose, James inclined Sirius to give him back the unconscious girl; however, he was interrupted by a big-boned, snappish nun.
"You will drop that girl and be on your way, kind sirs," Sister Agatha growled in a superior tone, using her large figure to appear overbearing. "Your...bravery is admirable."
"I'm taking this girl to see a doctor," James replied coolly, barely giving the woman a glance.
"What?" Sirius blinked at his friend in disbelief.
"You most certainly will not," Sister Agatha barked in indignation, ready to snatch Lily out of the arms of Sirius. "We will be returning her to the academy—not that it's any business of yours."
"Do you know who I am, Sister?" James snapped, turning his full attention on the nun, making his contempt and annoyance evident. "I am Lord James Potter, not some schoolgirl you can command. This woman will be coming with me, with or without your approval, unfortunately."
"Lord...P-P-Potter?" Sister Agatha stuttered, wiping the sweat from her bushy brow as her eyes filled with culpability. "My apologies…I did not recognize you."
"Clearly. Now, I will be taking her back to my residence to see a doctor and will return her once she's been given a clean bill of health. Is that understood?" James spoke in regal manner that allowed for no objections.
"Of course, my Lord!" Sister Agatha replied in an overkill of enthusiasm, "Truth be told, the students and I were on our way to your residence when this awful event occurred."
"Why is that?" James demanded, irritated at the thought of the face-changing nun entering his home.
"Your esteemed mother is conducting an etiquette class that will provide essential skills needed in the upbringing of fine aristocratic ladies in society," Sister Agatha replied, trying to portray a refined and concerned teacher wishing to improve the lives of her pupils.
"I see. Well, this young lady needs medical assistance, so I we will take our leave," James said dismissively, persuading Sirius to pass the lifeless figure of Lily over into his protective arms.
Roxanne pushed her way through the many students standing on tip-toe to catch a glimpse of the two dashing Lords, confused as to why Lord Potter would take on the responsibility of aiding a schoolgirl back to health.
As Sirius moved to follow James back to the Potter estate, Roxanne caught up to him, pulling on the sleeve of his white shirt. Sirius Black circled and smiled curiously at the brunette vying for his attention.
"Excuse me, could you do me a favour?" she inquired, unfazed by the man's immeasurable attractiveness.
"Anything for you, darling," Sirius replied, his eyes unashamedly scoping out the woman's kilted figure.
"Please thank Lord Potter for me. If it wasn't for his noble actions, Lily might have been killed today," Roxanne exclaimed, offering a small curtsy before re-joining the cueing line of girls.
Sirius shrugged and started for the Potter mansion, pondering why James had insisted upon caring for the fallen woman. He recognized that the redhead was young and stunning, but James wasn't the type of man to take advantage of an ill schoolgirl. It was rare for him to even compliment a woman, never mind risk his own aristocratic arse to save one.
"What are you up to, Potter?" Sirius whispered, his eyes clouding with incredulity.
A tranquil breeze caressed her cheeks while a ray of sunlight kissing her temple and warmed the sheets embracing her. She stirred, heaving a contented sigh as she hugged the silk sheets closer to her body. A small smile passed over her lips as she turned over, her auburn hair splayed across the cream-coloured pillows.
Lily had never felt so at ease with her surroundings—never had a pillow so soft below her head. She felt comfortable, safe, and uncharacteristically relaxed. When her unusual feelings and the pleasant atmosphere finally made her feel curious, her eyes opened to behold the extravagant room she inhabited.
Where am I?
Lily looked around the room in bewilderment. The bay window to her left was ajar, sunlight bathing the entire space and a soft breeze causing the sheer, silver-trimmed curtains framing the windows to sway. The massive bedroom was lined with mirrors and bookshelves, the floors covered in Persian rugs and the walls in oil paintings and tapestries. Beside the bed resided a walnut nightstand with a porcelain bowl atop it filled with a damp cloth, glistening water and a floating slice of lemon.
Lily's attention soon turned to the room's double doors, the polished knobs jerking and the rustling of tarnished keys sounding. She pulled the duvet cover up to her chest, anxious to learn who was behind the doors.
Once the finely-carved doors were thrust open, a podgy woman wearing a set of white robes and a pair of oddly pointed shoes paraded in, a parcel wrapped in brown paper with white string tucked underneath one of her arms. As she busied herself, she didn't notice Lily curiously watching her.
"Excuse me, miss?" Lily inquired meekly, sitting up in the four- poster bed.
"Holy mother o' pearl!" the woman exclaimed in fright, dropping the parcel and gaping at the redheaded girl. "Yeh gave me a 'right scare there, child!"
"I'm sorry!" Lily apologized, still unsure of where she resided and why. "Could you please tell me where I am?"
"How are yeh feeling, m'darlin? Haven't developed o' fever, hav' yeh?" the harried woman asked in an Irish accent, ignoring Lily as she picked up the fallen parcel and deposited it on the end of the bed.
"I...um…no?" Lily replied in confusion as the woman rushed to her side, dampened a cloth in the cool lemon water and slapped it onto her forehead.
"Yeh can call me Mrs. O'Leary," the curvy woman explained, holding the linen cloth to Lily's head despite her protests. "The doctor says yeh'll be fine by tomorro'. Aren't yeh glad? Now, must be off...lots to do, yeh know!"
Before Lily could respond, Mrs. O'Leary dumped the cloth back into the porcelain bowl and removed herself from the edge of her expansive bed. Lily watched as she gathered up a pile of laundry and exited the room without another word.
"I managed a lot of information out of her..." Lily mumbled, wiping away water that had slithered down her neck. As she dabbed at the wet droplets, she noticed the white, silk slip she wore for the first time.
"She can be a smidgen self-absorbed, can't she?" a voice announced from the doorway, causing Lily to become aware of the man who had entered the room unnoticed. Her eyes grew wide at the appearance of James Potter.
"James?" Lily sputtered in astonishment, her lips parting in bewilderment. She pulled the burgundy and gold embroidered duvet up to her chin.
The burning ginger sun illuminated Lily's hair splendidly, creating a fiery crown that contrasted with her pale skin. James paused: it took all of his self-control not to walk up to her and run his fingers through her beautiful curls.
"Surprised to see me, Lily?" James grinned handsomely. "I do recall mentioning I would see you again."
"Why is it every time we meet its in some absurd circumstance?" Lily asked, embarrassed and reeling from the shock of seeing him. "Does it please you to always find me in some ridiculous condition?"
"I thought I made it clear that it pleases me to see you in any condition," James teased, leaning against one of the lacquered posts belonging to his bed frame. "I'm trying to decide if I like you better in that Victorian gown or your schoolgirl kilt."
"Why not come a little closer so I can slap you?" Lily dared, though she blushed deeply at his mischievous comment.
"You would be so bold as to clock a lord, Miss Evans? You would cause quite the scandal," James remarked, sitting on the edge of his plush mattress while he watched Lily squirm uncomfortably because of his close proximity. "I suppose you glory in risk-taking, though, don't you? I think our last encounter is evidence enough of that."
"I do enjoy the occasional risk—" Lily said simply, a small smile tugging at the edge of her mouth, "—and yes, I would not hesitate to slap a provoking Lord, should he deserve it."
"I will keep my distance, then," James commented, cocking one eyebrow. "Or...perhaps I won't?"
"If you want to avoid bodily harm, I suggest you do," Lily shook her head in amusement.
"Imagine," James replied, mocking insult. "Striking the very person who saved your life."
"I don't recall you saving anyone's life, never mind mine," she scrunched up her nose. James found the gesture immensely adorable.
"You don't remember me pushing you out of that speeding motorcar's path?" James asked. "I'll have you know I valiantly risked my own neck for you!"
"If that is true, I shall not praise you for doing so," Lily suppressed a grin, twisting strands of red around her battered fingers. She was, however, impressed by his chivalry, which he seemed keen to demonstrate whenever she was around. "It seems that you have praised your own actions enough as it is."
"Ouch! That's a blow to my ego," James exclaimed, placing his right hand over his beating heart and feigning immeasurable sorrow. "I will never save such an ungrateful woman again!"
Lily's cheeks acquired a rosy flush as she laughed at his playfulness; she enjoyed glimpsing the juvenile, boyish side of his character—something he had not shown her yet.
"In all seriousness, why am I here?" Lily asked once her hilarity subsided. "Shouldn't I be at a hospital or back at school?"
"I didn't think that elephant-of-a-nun would take proper care of you," James said, careful not to seem too concerned for the redhead's well-being. "She's a foul creature to reason with."
"I'm assuming you are referring to Sister Agatha," Lily frowned.
"Was I right to think she wouldn't have attended to you suitably?" James asked.
"Let's just say if I had been hit by that car, Sister Agatha would've laughed herself hoarse," Lily said sourly, her stare retracting from James to her freshly-bandaged palms. James noticed Lily wince in pain and took in the appearance of her dressings.
"What happened to your hands?" James probed. "The doctor said they're not a product of this morning."
"I was punished for talking back to Sister Agatha," Lily revealed, avoiding eye contact. "I often provoke her; it's my own fault."
James' eyes narrowed at the thought of Sister Agatha hurting her. He couldn't fathom why anyone would want to cause damage to the exquisite girl, never mind fill her eyes with painful tears. Fury bubbled in his chest.
"She is a wretched monster of a woman," James growled, rising to his feet. "I'll have her sacked for having the nerve—"
"What? Don't!" Lily sputtered, whipping the bed covers off and running to the double-doors before James could make a swift exit. She used long limbs to block him from utilizing the door.
"Lily, you shouldn't be out of bed!" James insisted, scolding himself for wondering what lay hidden beneath the delicate slip she wore.
"I can't let you sack Sister Agatha. The satisfaction of knowing she gets to me would ruin my reputation at school! My pride is at stake!" The words rushed out of her as she grappled with a sudden onslaught of dizziness and nausea.
"Pride? Good lord, you're trembling. Get back to bed," James demanded, his gaze fixed on her quaking limbs.
"Not until you promise!" she said stubbornly, feeling faint. James caught her as her knees gave out, lifting her clear off the ground.
"Merlin, injure yourself further why don't you?" James sighed in concerned annoyance, holding her securely in his arms.
"Well if you hadn't gone on a bloody rampage—oiy, watch where your hands are!" Lily yelped, squirming uncomfortably as one of James' hands started to slide under her slip.
"Sorry," James said throatily, fighting his biological urges as he deposited her back onto his bed. "Don't you dare get up again, hear?"
"I won't have reason to if you swear you won't go badgering Sister Agatha about me," Lily retorted tiredly, her legs tingling from where James had touched her.
"Fine," he sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. Then his mouth twitched in amusement. "I won't go see Agatha if you promise not get out of bed, you insane woman."
"It's a deal...and I'm not insane."
Lily pulled the bed dressings over her bare legs and comfortably situated herself in an upright position as James begrudgingly watched bare skin disappear under the covers. He sighed and plucked the cold cloth from the water bowl and handed it to her.
"Should I start addressing you as Dr. Potter?" Lily inquired, plumping up a pillow behind her before accepting the cloth. "I don't believe even a real doctor would be as insistent as you."
"Well I can't have you collapsing all over the place," James said in a mock-serious tone. "My arms are getting tired from continually having to pick you up."
"Hey!" Lily giggled, throwing her freshly-plumped pillow at James' head and depositing the cloth back in the bowl. "And here I thought you were concerned for my well-being."
"I don't want my arms to fall off!" James countered, fixing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as his laughter mingled with Lily's and filled the room with tinkling snorts and shrieks.
"How insulting!" Lily sputtered, her mouth narrowing into a criminal smile. "Now I will have to behead you with this pillow, my Lord!"
"You may try, my Lady, but if you attempt such an endeavor I will have to do something unthinkable," he said slyly, his husky voice sending chills down Lily's spine.
"And that would be?" Lily challenged.
Many sensual ideas swam through James' one-track mind; however, he pushed such tarnished thoughts aside and quickly formulated a more innocent answer.
"Tickle you, of course," he said simply, a chaste smile appearing on his handsome, roguish face.
As if on cue, Lily plucked a satin pillow from behind her back and hit James in the head with it, knocking the glasses off of his face and causing him to holler in hilarious indignation. With a contemptuous look upon his face, James jumped onto his bed and started to prickle Lily's sides, sending her into screams of injustice.
"James!" Lily yelped shrilly, unable to maintain composure or hide her laughter. "Stop it!"
"Not until you say I'm your hero!" he returned, feeling gleeful; her contagious laughter was foreign to his ears. In his aristocratic circle, he hadn't been exposed to enough of it. "Go on, say it and I'll stop!"
"Never!" she persisted, desperately trying to squirm away from his probing hands.
"Then you must face the consequences!"
After nearly five minutes Lily stopped wriggling, feeling out of breath. Thinking he had won, James pinned Lily down with his body and smiled at her triumphantly; however, as she was determined not to lose the childish game, Lily reached out and snaked her arms around his back, surprising him as she pulled him down to her level. With both of their chests pressed against one another's and James dazed by her apparent seduction, Lily stealthily maneuvered herself on top of him and pinned his arms to his sides.
"I underestimated you," James whispered in surprise; he tried desperately to keep his eyes away from the camisole that was riding up towards her thighs, as well as her provocative cleavage which—from his position beneath her—seemed ample.
"So you did..." Lily replied softly, suddenly hyper-aware of their entangled bodies.
Lily and James' breathing suddenly became laboured, though not because of their playful struggle. Silence filled the room, only the soft breeze whistled in their ears and caressed their faces. James' brown, purple-flecked eyes locked with Lily's emerald ones; his hand, which was situated on the back of Lily's leg, slowly began to ascend upwards. His forefinger had barely grazed Lily's satin slip when the sound of fidgeting keys and churning doorknobs rattled throughout the room...
"Bloody hell," Lily heard James murmur in annoyance as she quickly—and with an embarrassed blush on her face—jumped off James and dug her legs under the duvet covers.
James picked up his elusive, wire-rimmed glasses and fixed them onto his face once again. Smoothing out his navy-collared shirt, he sat at the end of the bed again, while Lily nervously fidgeted with the gold hem of the bed dressings.
"Oh my heavens!" Mrs. O'Leary bellowed upon entering the room and spotting James alone with Lily. "What in the name of Merlin are yeh doing 'ere, Lord Potter?"
"I came to check on Miss Evans," James replied in a formal tone, his playful, boyish characteristics evaporating in the presence of the housekeeper.
"Don't yeh know that's my job, Lord Potter?" the Irish housekeeper stated more than inquired, flushing as she soaked another cloth in the lemon water and slapped it onto Lily's forehead. "Yer dear mother had been searchin' 'round the house like a mad woman trying 'ter find yeh!"
Lily wriggled painfully as droplets of acidic lemon water slithered down her forehead and stung her eyes.
"I don't care if my mother—"
"Stop stallin', Lord Potter!" Mrs. O'Leary bellowed like a perturbed hen, ignoring him as she had ignored Lily, "Can't leave yer mother waiting, now can we?"
James was unwillingly shooed out of his magnificent, well-furbished room and into the adjacent corridor; he rolled his eyes and gave Lily a half-hearted, apologetic smile before disappearing behind a gleaming suit of armor.
"What was that boy thinkin'?" Mrs. O'Leary inquired in a curious huff, seemingly talking to herself instead of addressing Lily, "Never know what ter expect from him next!"
Lily chose to remain silent as the disconcerted housekeeper busied herself in the room, believing it unwise to interrupt her agitated chatter. She watched the woman approach the hearth of the fireplace and pluck something from her apron pocket to ignite it. Lily frowned when the fire lit instantaneously, engulfing each log within seconds—a feat she knew was not possible with a simple match.
"How did you—?"
"Nevermind," Mrs. O'Leary barked brusquely, continuing to flick about the room like a bee in search of honey, "Yeh'd best be getting ter sleep now. I left yeh a tray of food on the foot of yer bed; eat up and then off to bed, yeh hear?"
Lily inclined her head to the foot of her bed and eyed the silver tray filled with assortments of bread, cheese and vegetables. A goblet filled to the brim with a steaming liquid also occupied the gleaming surface. She puckered her brow; she was certain the tray had not entered with Mrs. O'Leary only moments ago...
Before exiting the elegant room for the second time, Mrs. O'Leary shut the silky drapes over the bay windows tightly. Gathering up more laundry in her arms, the housekeeper left via the double doors and—once outside—locked it shut.
Though the hot fire crackled and snapped comfortably, Lily felt oddly alone without James occupying the foot of his four-poster bed. She picked up the goblet of liquid on her food tray and, with pursed lips, sipped it. The spicy liquid trickled down her throat and filled her with warmth; she was sure she had never tasted something so delicious before.
With no external means of entertainment, Lily contemplated the situation she had awoken too. She had been certain she would never set eyes upon James Potter again—unless the front page of the city newspaper counted—yet she had been wrong. Seeing him again had changed her perception of him, for he no longer seemed to be just an aristocratic Lord bent on authority and chivalry, but a playful, charming twenty-year-old man who wasn't afraid to laugh and tease.
Lily stretched out in James' colossal bed after finishing her supper, her subtle curls cascading over the snow-coloured pillows as her mind swam with thoughts and images of him. Lost in thought, she didn't notice two beady eyes peering over the edge of the four-poster bed at her as she drifted back into slumberland…
James stepped into the windowed room fashioned in cherry marble. The ceiling of the room was a complex dome comprised of translucent, frosted glass; around its perimeter were colourful plants—most imported from exotic locations—framed in porcelain pots. He scowled: The conservatory was Marissa Potter's favourite room in the extensive manor and therefore a place he deliberately avoided.
"You beckoned for me?" James inquired bitterly, observing the lounging figure of his mother from beneath the door frame of the conservatory.
Marissa Potter loafed stylishly on her Parisian chase lounge, oblivious to her son's presence. With the sound of his impatient tone reaching her ears, she inclined her head toward him, her brown, purple-tinged eyes sweeping his attire critically.
"Please tell me you did not dart about town wearing those hideous denims, James Gerald."
"What do you want?" James retorted, ignoring her superior manner. He felt more irritated with her than usual, unhappy he had to leave Lily's side for her relentless lecturing.
"I demand manners from you, James Gerald," Marissa hissed, her eyes narrowing into menacing slits as she addressed her son. "I called you here because a disturbing occurrence has come to my attention."
"What? Did I forget to tuck my shirt into my pants? Did I accidentally use the wrong fork at lunch? You and I have different definitions of the word disturbing, Mother," James countered dryly.
"You've gone too far this time," Marissa said scathingly, ignoring James' jibs as she removed herself from her lounge and let the train of her royal-blue dress trail behind her. "Why is there a muggle peasant in my home?"
"She may be a muggle, but she attends St. Madeline's just like Justine, your daughter, did," James snapped, his brow furrowed, "Will you be referring to Justine as a peasant soon, too?"
"You know I only sent her there because she's a squib," Marissa fired back, upset at the notion of her daughter possessing no magical ability. "She would have been placed in Hogwarts or Beauxbatons had she been otherwise."
"Precisely. You don't even realize how hypocritical you're being, looking down upon this girl when she is the same status as your own daughter," James said, feeling instinctively compelled to defend Lily.
"Justine is of noble birth!" Marissa lashed back in denial; "You are reverting from the original question. What is that...girl…doing in my house?"
"That girl has a name. I saved Lily's life. She is ill and the nuns from St. Madeline's were not properly equipped to aid her," James spoke firmly, staring into the cold, granite eyes of his frosty-tongued mother. "She will remain here until tomorrow morning."
"This is absurd...absolutely preposterous! If your father were home he would surely have kicked that muggle to the curb," Marissa spat, picking up her peacock feather fan from a glass table beside the lounge and fanning herself irritably.
"I was under the impression you were joining him in Cairo tonight," James stated, choosing to ignore his mother's prejudiced manner. "Isn't there some grand gala being held in his honour?"
"Yes, I will be departing within the hour," Marissa spoke coolly, stroking the stem of her beloved venomous tentacula, which she had imported from Portugal. As the exotic plant had been cruelly tamed, it did not try to bite or gore her.
"Excellent," James said cheerfully, bounding up the polished marble steps and out of the conservatory despite his mother's protests about Lily. "The sooner you leave, the better."
"JAMES GERALD!" Marissa shrieked in utter indignation, her purple eyes flashing. "I WANT THAT MUGGLE GIRL GONE, DO YOU HEAR ME?"
James Potter slammed the double doors of the conservatory closed, causing them to shatter and scatter shards of sharp glass all over the marble floors. The clinking of glass and marble echoed in the conservatory; Marissa's screech of vehemence accompanied the noise.
"Master Potter, sir!" a timid, tea cozy-adorning house-elf squeaked meekly, following in the wake of James. "Where is Master Potter going? Can Libby get Master Potter some supper?"
"I'm going back to my study...then perhaps to visit Miss Evans," James said, turning a corner toward the extensive library. "Supper won't be necessary."
"What will Master Potter do when he sees Miss Evans?" Libby asked in a perplexed, high-pitched voice, her bowl-shaped eyes glazed over in curiosity.
"Perhaps I shall invite her to stay at the mansion longer," James added conversationally, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth pleasantly.
"But, Master Potter, sir!" Libby peeped in awe-inspired fright, her spindled fingers jittering nervously. "Mistress Potter will be furious, sir!"
"Exactly."
James left the bemused house-elf and entered the Potter library, an octagonal room littered with books on every magical subject imaginable. Flopping down into a leather chair, James summoned three books with his wand. Fixing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he delved into three particular volumes: Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles by Wilhelm Wigworthy, Muggles Who Notice by Blenheim Stalk, and finally The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why Muggles Prefer Not to Know by the eccentric Professor Mordicus Egg.
"Now to find out what makes you tick, Miss Evans," James whispered, flipping through numerous mouth-eaten pages with a content smile gilding his handsome face.
Author's Notes
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-pratty-prongs-princesse
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