And so they made their way through the passage, up through boxes of sweets and into Hogsmeade.
Conversation had been somewhat strained for James. And the backs of his knees were growing sweatier with every step. (James had inherited this strange trait from his mother, who showed her stress by soaking her nylons.)
Luckily, though, James was a quick thinker under stress (This more desirable trait he had also inherited from his mother, who had helped Dumbeldore in his fight against Grindewald.) and he had already formed a semi-plan.
"Let's go to The Three Broomsticks and have some butterbeer. I'm chilled," James said.
"Sounds delicious." Lily replied, her lips curving into a smile. Lily was a sucker for comfort foods, and butterbeer happened to be on her list.
They could hear the little bell jingling as a group of wizards exited from the glowing pub, immediately entering the neighboring stationary cottage. The crisp, brisk, autumn air swirled around Lily and James, making Lily's long hair flutter around her, blowing pleasantly onto her wind-blushed cheeks. Dried leaves twirled in cyclones created by the elegant curves of the Owl Post Office façade, and the only sound to be heard was the satisfying crunch following their harmonious footsteps. This was James' and Lily's favorite season. (Though neither had ever told the other.)
James grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open for Lily as they entered.
"Thanks" Lily muttered, out of habit.
Once inside, they silently migrated to the round table at the back where they sat quite often. The weather outside had acted as a kind of drug, making them soft-spoken and subdued.
"So," Lily began.
"I'll go get the butterbeers." James finished.
Lily watched him stand up and walk easily to the bar where he placed the order. She liked watching the way James moved. It was an oxymoron. How could a person move so lazily yet so purposefully? So proud yet so weak? So fast going away, yet so slow coming back? In her drugged state, his every motion occupied her mind wholly.
"It's hot." James said simply. He never warned her of anything. He only told her the facts.
The lids of Lily's doe-ish eyes closed with contentment as she drank from her frothy mug. She childishly wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket, unembarrassed because she was with James.
"So," She began again, "what were you going to tell me in the library before Peeves knocked down that shelf?"
"Oh, yea," James said, stealing his thoughts away from Lily's quirky eyebrows that stopped just a bit too short, making them look like a painter's stray marks. "Well, I guess it's my fault in a way†You know those pyjamas you wear a lot? The ones with the bows and flowers?"
Lily nodded, a bit confused, but willing to let James take his own trail with it, as long as she found out what was being said about her.
"Well†the day we took the group picture, when I got your camera out of your trunk, I put a handprint on the bottom of them. You know, the bottom."
"Oh, that's it?" Lily said, relived "So people think I'm some kind of fashion diva now, huh. That is amusing. Amusing considering I'm not stylish at all—"
James interrupted "No, that's not it. I didn't just put a handprint. I also signed my initials. As a joke, obviously."
"So what does this have to do with what people are saying about me? Do they not think I'm stylish? Do they think I'm not stylish?"
So that's how this chapter ends. If you've enjoyed my story so far, let me know. Otherwise, I'll just quit writing. It took me an hour to write this, and it's not even a page!!
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