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42
A CATALOGUE OF CLICHÉS
MUSICAL MOOD FOR THIS CHAPTER:
DRESS - TAYLOR SWIFT
"Oh my holy homegirl Circe, what did that boy do to you?"
A/N: As you all know, I take really long to update and then like to apologise profusely to you all, hoping that you will forgive me. I've had a couple of really tough weeks as my dad went through multiple emergency surgeries and a rough recovery and I've been pretty wrapped up in it all.
I'm still writing, I promise. Brace yourselves, though… I needed this chapter to be gushy and fluffy and mushy to make my heart happy. Some of you requested to give our girl Seth a break and I'm happy to oblige.
But, as we all know, nobody puts drama in a corner :)
I hope you enjoy this and thank you for all your love. It was much needed.
"Describe it to me." Katie's voice was low, barely rising over the rushing of the shower that filled the room as she watched me rummage through the pile of jumpers I had dropped onto my bed. "In detail."
I could see her from the corner of my eye, how she was lounging across her four-poster, head propped up and legs kicking back and forth, her fluffy-socked feet stirring her curtains that were still drawn around one side. "I already did. Twice."
"You told me nothing." She grinned, wickedly, and my stomach flipped. "Like, how much tongue was there exactly?"
I stopped pulling out jumpers for a moment, staring at the dark blue one in my hands while my thoughts swerved. There was an unsettling jolt somewhere behind my navel when I thought about James and his mouth on mine; about the way he had nipped my bottom lip; how his grip had tightened as he had leaned into me, his fingers digging into my waist. How I had felt like my insides had burned up and molten together.
He was such a stupidly good kisser.
"Oh my holy homegirl Circe, what did that boy do to you?"
"It's not like that." I tried to really mean it, but I could feel the treacherous grin tug on my lips. The problem was that it was exactly like that. I had kissed James before - admittedly a little tipsy but still quite successfully - but that yesterday, the way he had held me, the things he had said, how he had looked at me; that had been something else entirely - something more - something I didn't quite understand yet.
"There are still so many weird, unsaid things between us and I can't focus around him and -" I cut myself off, the sentence fizzling out into a frustrated groan as I buried my face in my hands. "This is dumb. I hate boys."
"Sure you do." Katie crawled out of her bed just to plop down onto mine instead, blatantly ignoring the layer of discarded jumpers. "Just to be clear here, I'm Team James. All the way."
I yanked at the sleeve of my favourite white sweater, trying to get my best friend to budge so that I could pull it out from underneath her. "As opposed to Team…?"
"Um, as opposed to Team Let's-pretend-the-guy-that-flew-up-to-your-bloody-window-in-the-freaking-rain-doesn't-fancy-the-shit-out-of-you?"
Katie rolled onto her back, releasing my jumper, and I snatched it away a little too ferociously. But my heart was pounding in my chest at her words. Because I was mortified they could be true; because I wanted them to be true. "How - What am I supposed to do now?"
"I suggest more snogging." Katie sat up in my bed, her wild curls flying around her and a wicked grin on her face. "Maybe some light groping. Or heavy groping, you know, whatever…"
"Sure, because that'll make things less awkward." I laughed and picked up my bag from the ground, throwing in a book and my wand on top of the random debris that coated the bottom.
"It definitely will. Believe me." Katie had slid to the edge of my bed, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead as she watched me pull on my trainers. "Hey, where are you going? I was just kidding about the groping. A little."
"I have to go check on you-know-what before the game." I sighed and slung my bag over my shoulder just as Bernice came out of the bathroom, wrapped into a towel and a cloud of steamy coconut-scented haze. "I'll meet you at the pitch, OK?"
I liked Greenhouse One; not particularly what I was doing in here, but the place itself. It felt like something out of an old fairy tale; something that existed apart from everything else, isolated from the world beyond the cloudy glass panes and the curtains of moonlace.
On the desk where I had set up the cauldron, underneath the crawling vines that curled around my make-shift brewing station - only sharing but never entirely yielding the space - there were engravings in the wood. They were random; initials, wonky drawings that had been left unfinished, some expletives, but they were a reminder that this place had once been alive.
I traced the outline of what might have been half a heart with my index finger, thinking of a similar carving; of how I had been sitting across from James in the Stumbling Stag and we had talked - really, truly talked - for the first time; about our families and about their expectations. Of how he had walked me through the streets of London and kissed me in the telephone box.
"Damn it." I felt the sting a little too late to draw my hand back in time. The cauldron was hotter than I had thought and touching it without protective gloves had left an angry red mark across my palm. Here I was, an amteur potion forger with scary blackmailers breathing down my neck and a half-baked plan, yet all I could think about was James Potter.
This could not be happening.
When I left Greenhouse One, it was still too early for the game. Only a few scattered people - mostly visitors who had come to watch the last game of the season - milled around the dewy grounds, apparently in no haste to get onto the stands. I could have gone back up to the castle and join my friends for breakfast, but the sun was out and there was something strangely calming about the Quidditch stadium right before a game; like it was extra tranquill, just to make up for the absolute mayhem that would ensue in a little bit.
The stands were still empty when I sat down at the edge, fishing for the book I had thrown into my bag before, but I couldn't focus. My eyes kept sliding over the same passage over and over again, no matter how much I tried to concentrate, and then, suddenly, the door to the changing rooms swung open and I almost dropped my book as I watched James walk out.
But he didn't notice me. He didn't seem to notice anything, really, as he braced his arm on the wooden broomstick stand at the edge of the pitch, dragging one hand down his face. I should have just gotten myself out of there as quickly as possible - take my things and leave before I had to deal with, well, all of that - but my feet wouldn't move and then, suddenly, he looked up.
Straight at me.
Shit.
I had been prepared to see him from a safe distance, cocooned by a rowdy crowd that didn't require me to look pretty or be cool or try to keep my heartbeat in check. I wasn't ready to be alone with him - at all.
He turned towards me and my mind went into some sort of nervous overdrive as I tried to figure out what to do without looking like I was panicking. But then, suddenly, there were noises, shouts, laughter, and I dropped my book for real this time as people began to file in through the entrances in droves, climbing onto the stands around me.
I bent down quickly to pick up my book before it would be trampled by the mob and, when I looked up again, all I could see was a glimpse of the yellow letters on the back of James's jersey as he vanished into the changing rooms, pulling the door close behind him.
The sea of burgundy was in ecstatics. Banners and flags rose above the cheering crowd, billowing in the soft breeze as the chorus of voices chanted his name like a prayer. James's parents stood at the very front of the raised stand like captains on a ship, following their son's manoeuvres and plays with rapt attention. Harry Potter looked stoic as he stood with his arms braced on the railing in front of him, hair almost as windswept as James's, while his wife was shouting herself hoarse.
I could only imagine what Ginny Potter would have to say if she knew that I had kissed her son yesterday; that I was thinking about kissing him again. A lot. But if our strange encounter before was any indication, I wasn't so sure that snogging was in our future. For all of his talk about not shagging anyone and how we were not going to pretend we didn't kiss this time, James had acted supremely weird when we had run into each other before.
Maybe I should just leave it at that and make my life a million times easier.
"Nice play," someone said close to my ear and I turned my head to find Hector close behind me, his dark eyebrows scrunched up as he followed James's path across the pitch.
"Um, sure. I guess." It was all the Quidditch talk I could offer, really, but Hector didn't seem to be deterred by my lack of insightful sports knowledge.
"He's always been a brilliant player. James, I mean."
I only nodded in reply, because who was I to question the professional assessment of the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, but Hector seemed to barely notice as he leaned in a little, his voice suddenly low.
"He's good at games."
I snapped my head around, staring at Hector for a dumb second because this didn't feel like we were talking about Quidditch anymore. But he couldn't know. I hadn't told anybody except for Katie and, though my best friend loved to indulge in gossip of any sort, she would never talk about this before I was ready; before there was even anything to talk about at all.
"I just… I need you to be careful, OK?" He frowned at me - so intensely that something unshapely lodged itself behind my chest, pushing against my lungs - and I was too confused to do much but stare at him. "I know James."
I hadn't really considered this before, but, of course, Hector actually would know him. They were in the same year; they had been sitting in classes together for almost seven years, playing Quidditch against each other, probably hanging out occasionally. There was even a very persistent rumour that his mum and James's dad had been dating for a while in their fifth year. I had never thought about this before because I only knew Hector when he was with Sam - with us; but before he was Sam's boyfriend, he had been one of the Quidditch lads.
"It's not - we're not…" I felt the words slip away, refusing to shape any sort of denial as my cheeks glowed from the mere attempt. I was clearly past the point of pretending that I didn't care about James, especially in front of my friends. But this was something else; this didn't feel random. It was a very specific warning and the urgent expression on his face was not encouraging. "What exactly are you talking about?"
Hector swallowed and then his eyes darted to Sam who had stopped following the game in favour of watching us. "Just…" He whispered and then pressed his lips together, cutting himself off. "Promise me you'll be careful, Seth."
"Hector -" I tried again, but Katie's attention had shifted to us as well, making it impossible to keep up our whispered conversation.
"Please," he said, his voice deep and serious, and I could do nothing but nod as the crowd around us suddenly rose to their feet in a sweeping motion, their shouts melting into a massive roar. My mind was still reeling as I turned back towards the pitch where a tangle of red blurs had launched themselves at James, pulling on his jersey, ruffling his hair, and Freddie basically screamed into his ear. He had scored the winning goal - spectacularly so - just before the Slytherin seeker had caught the snitch.
Celebrations had started right away. It was no secret either and the teachers made sure to stay far away from Gryffindor Tower the entire day so as to not have to step in and ruin all the fun when yet another student stumbled out through the portrait hole, cross-eyed and barely able to walk in a straight line.
Before everything - before I had known about James Potter's half-smiles and the genuine dimple - it wouldn't have crossed my mind to go to a Gryffindor party, most of all not in one of Katie's gauzy tops. But here I was, right in the middle of it all, severely questioning my decision-making skills.
The noise was deafening; music and laughter and shouts spilled out into the hallway like they were too much to be contained by the confines of Gryffindor tower. The common room was packed. Bodies were pressing against each other from all sides in a constant wave of movement so that it was impossible to tell whether people were dancing or just swaying with the pulse of the crowd.
The air was hot and dense; a mixture of salty sweat and alcohol that made my skin sticky and my head dizzy as it crawled up my nose. I could feel Katie's hand grow clammy in mine as I pulled her along, searching for a less rowdy spot at the back of the room, but our progress was slow.
"Bar!" Katie shouted into my ear, much too loudly. I turned to find her gesturing at the boys who were following Hector towards a group of tables that had been pushed together at the left side of the room, crowded with bottles and plastic cups.
I nodded because I didn't have a better plan, allowing her to pull me along to the side. Unlike me, Katie was ruthless, cutting through dancing groups and conversations and even right through a snogging couple.
"Sorry!" I gave them an apologetic smile, but they hardly even seemed to notice that they had been interrupted. It was just that kind of atmosphere; ridiculously exuberant, like the sudden surge of shouts and cheers from the other end of the room that were loud enough to drown out the music for a second. Like so many others, I turned my head automatically towards the source of the commotion and my stomach plummeted.
It shouldn't have surprised me to find James in the centre of it all, really.
He had odd smudges all over his arms and neck - black and red and pink - like weirdly coloured bruises. Some of the other Quidditch players had them too, but it was too dark and they were too far away to see what exactly they were. There were so many hands on James that it was hard to tell who they belonged to - tugging and patting and grabbing his rumpled T-shirt, vying for his attention. It looked like everybody was trying to get a piece of him. But he was grinning, laughing, as though it didn't bother him at all, because, of course, he was used to this; to people craving his affection, his proximity.
Katie had successfully manoeuvred us through the crowd and I tore my eyes away from James again. This was good; safe. Yesterday night felt as far away as James did across the room, surrounded by a thousand people.
"Drink?"
I accepted the red plastic cup Hector was holding out to me, even though the last time I had had a drink at a Gryffindor common room party hadn't exactly ended too well for me. But it felt like a necessary prop, something to hold on to, so I cradled the cup with both of my hands, the pungent whiff of whatever was in there oddly steadying.
"You know that James is staring at you, right?" Sam had bent his head towards me, talking quietly so only I could hear him as he nodded at something over my shoulder. And, even though I knew I really shouldn't, I followed his gaze; all the way to the other end of the room.
James was looking at me and my heartbeat lapsed into chaos.
I turned away from him with a jolt even though he had been the one staring at me, not the other way round, then took a too large gulp from my drink that possibly cauterised my gums. It felt as though my heart had dropped to my stomach, churning the alcohol with its frantic beats.
"Seth?" Katie arched a concerned eyebrow at me. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I said, though my voice sounded shaky and weird, "sure."
Her gaze slid over my shoulder and I knew she had seen him too. The expression on her face shifted into something softer and I wished that my best friend didn't know me that well; that she couldn't tell how nervous I was.
"Is he still looking?" I asked quietly and Katie nodded, looking equal parts delighted and fascinated as she continued to stare unabashedly.
"Why are you acting so weird?"
I groaned, shaking my head as I thought about the encounter on the Quidditch pitch. "I ran into him earlier and… it was really awkward. I don't know. Maybe coming here was a dumb idea."
"Mhm, yeah…" She nodded absently, still looking over my shoulder rather than at me. "He's coming over."
"What? No!" Wild panic flooded my system, tingling in my limbs, and I grabbed Katie's arm to keep myself from running. "Why would he do that?"
"Maybe he just wants to talk." She prised my fingers off gently and I realised that my nails had left little white indentations in her skin. "Or snog you senseless." The grin on her face made my stomach twist.
Profoundly.
I couldn't stand here and wait for James Potter like a petrified unicorn. I had to sort out this tangle of emotions and thoughts and whatever it was that my stomach was doing, not expose myself more to this madness. I needed to be rolled up in a fluffy blanket and sipping hot tea.
"Seth!" Katie hissed behind me, her hand brushing my arm as she tried to hold me back, but I was already moving. I wasn't running. I was just choosing to not deal with this situation at the moment; to be alone with my burning throat and my wayward heart and far away from James.
But I didn't make it very far before I felt a hand wrap around my wrist and I was pulled to the side, crashing right into someone's arms; James's arms. I stumbled for a moment, my hands landing on his biceps in an attempt to steady myself - to increase the distance between us - but his hands had slid to my waist, drawing me closer.
"Sorry… I called after you but you didn't hear me." His lips curved into a smile as he looked down at me and my gaze unfortunately caught on the corner of his mouth that was slightly higher than the other. It was terrifying; mostly because my knees felt too soft to hold up my weight and my heart was about to crack my chest.
I was pathetically falling apart in James Potter's arms.
"Hey!" I tried to not let it show - how much being this close to him affected me - but my voice was breathy and brittle and flickered even on that one lousy syllable. His lips were entirely too close like this and so I tried to focus on the strange markings on his skin instead - messages and drawings by the looks of it - but it was useless.
"Hey." His head dipped, bringing his face even closer to mine, and I inhaled sharply as I felt his fingers brush fleetingly against the strip of skin between my top and my jeans, leaving a tingly trail of sparks in their wake. "I was looking for you, Woodley." His voice had dropped even lower, tying tight little knots into my stomach.
Holy Sorceress.
"You were?" I sounded like I had three brain cells. But he really shouldn't say things like that. Not when he expected me to be all cool and composed and continue breathing.
"Yeah," he whispered, pulling me into him and his gaze slid from my eyes to my lips like he actually couldn't help himself. It would have been my undoing, too, if I hadn't noticed the curious glances that flickered our way. People were properly staring at us and I panicked, clumsily pressing away from James, peeling myself out of his arms.
Because he wasn't just any boy. He was James Potter. Even just standing like this - a little too close to be casual - meant that the entire castle would have heard about it before the night was over, and, considering my less than stellar experiences with school gossip this year, I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with another onslaught of horrible rumours.
"So, um… good game," I said awkwardly, fully committed to pretending like James hadn't been about to kiss me in front of half of Hogwarts' uppers. I had barely managed to untangle myself from him, though, when I caught the expression on his face; cloudy and laced with frustration and something more visceral.
"Woodley…" His voice sounded strange, too; strained - half-groan, half-plea and entirely too good. I should have known then that this was going to end in disaster. "You want to talk about Quidditch? Really?"
"Sure." I didn't. At all. But it was all I could do to retain some bare minimum of control over the situation and I needed to hold on to this last shred of composure. After all, I wouldn't have been the first girl to publicly make a fool of herself over James Potter. "You played really well, Potter."
He frowned at me, which caused a small crease to form next to his left eyebrow. Unfortunately, even that was attractive. "I'm sorry for not talking to you earlier at the pitch," he said quietly, tousling his hair with one hand. The expression on his face was entirely disarming and earnest and it made me feel all sorts of things that I desperately tried to push away. "I get weird before games."
"No, that's not…" I bit my bottom lip, cutting myself off mid-sentence; because maybe I had been thinking about that - about whether this was part of some twisted game, about Hector's cryptic admonitions, about the look on Bernice's face when she had caught us kissing last night, about all the girls I had seen him with over the years, about all the ruthless gossip that surely wouldn't spare me.
Mostly, however, I had been thinking about how all of that still wasn't enough to keep me away from him.
"Come with me," I said before I could overthink this and, without waiting for James's reaction or even checking if he was actually following me, I turned around, aiming straight for the labyrinth of nooks and crannies that snaked towards the back of the room.
There was a different kind of magic to Hogwarts' common rooms. Of course, every part of the castle was magical, but these rooms, they worked for us; not the teachers, not the headmistress, not the school. The common rooms were ours, our home, and I wasn't surprised that, even though everybody and their mother seemed to have shown up to the party, I found myself quite alone with James after slipping behind a towering bookshelf.
I had barely turned around when I felt his hand on my hip, felt him walk me back against the shelf as he hovered over me, and my heart slammed into my chest. We stood like this for a moment, long enough for me to move, to pretend like I hadn't come here to be alone with him, but I had stopped kidding myself that I didn't want this, that I hadn't been thinking about this - him - for days, weeks, maybe even months.
"Shit, Seth," he breathed out a strangled laugh - a groan - and then shook his head, "you've got to stop doing this."
I frowned at him, not sure what he was talking about; what I had done. "What?"
The muscles in his jaw tensed as he swallowed and his eyes narrowed. "Biting your lip. I swear, I can't -" Hs voice trailed off and his gaze dropped and my stomach lurched.
From the corner of my eye I could see his fingers dig into the book spines next to me, mirroring the pressure of his hand against my hip; he wasn't pulling me towards him, though, he was trying to push me away, like he physically had to keep himself from coming any closer.
Like I had that kind of power over him.
"Fuck, why do you think I fell out of that bloody picture nook?"
I thought about the odd look he'd had on his face then - almost like I had done something shocking - and my insides tightened. "You - that's why you fell out of the shag nook? Because I bit my lip?"
"Because," he said, and his voice did that gravelly, scratchy thing that resolutely tugged on something below my navel, "I wanted to kiss you, Woodley." There was suddenly hardly anything to look at but him - at his sharp jawline and the way his broad shoulders filled out his T-shirt - and when he leaned in, I was pathetically helpless.
I wanted so badly to stay cool - to seem absolutely untouched by the way his hand felt on me as he slowly dragged it up to my waist and his warm breath tickled on my skin - but I could do nothing as my eyes fluttered close and my stomach gave a satisfied jolt.
I wondered briefly if he could tell - that he was the only boy I had ever kissed like this - but then he tugged on my lip and my thoughts scattered as I felt his tongue brush against my Cupid's bow. He was careful at first; still bracing his arm on the bookshelf behind me to keep himself from pressing against me. But I wanted him closer, and I felt his control waver as I slid one hand up his chest and to the nape of his neck, into his slightly damp hair.
James groaned softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. His fingertips slipped just underneath the hem of my top and my breath hitched with the strange sensation that trickled down my spine: hot and thick, pooling low in my stomach. But he wasn't pushing it - wasn't trying to go further than that - and this, maybe even more than the touch itself, felt insanely intimate, like he wanted to make sure that it felt good for me, too.
"OK?" He murmured in between kisses, his nose nudging mine, and I nodded.
"Yes." My voice was breathy and strange, catching in my throat as I saw the look on James's face; his dark, heavy-lidded gaze that clung to me with an intensity that made me feel like I was in control yet losing it at the same time.
But he was too; I could tell by the way he pulled me into him - roughly, urgently - one hand sliding lower down my back, slowly but not at all smooth, like he had difficulty pacing himself. This close, it was impossible to not notice the more obvious signs of what this was doing to him - what I was doing to him.
Heat and fear and want; all at the same time, stealing my breath.
I was lost for a moment. Like yesterday. Like I had been in the telephone box, in his dishevelled light blue sheets. But he had pushed me away then. My thoughts latched onto this, echoing the venom in Athena's words, Hector's warning, my own insecurities. My fingers slipped on something greasy and I opened my eyes, staring at the blotchy stains on my hands that matched the ones on James's neck.
I had forgotten about that.
Many of the things that had been scrawled onto his skin had been reduced to mere smudges, but some of it was still legible, scribbled with black marker and what looked to be eyeliner and lipstick. It wasn't anything particularly flirty, but next to the notes of praise and admiration and the drunken nonsense stuff between the odd Slytherin slur, I spotted a few wonky hearts.
He's good at games.
James must have noticed that my eyes kept sliding down to the drawings on his skin because the expression on his face sobered considerably. He cleared his throat and dragged a hand along the side of his neck, smearing the remainder of the words and shapes in the process, leaving a muddled trail of lipstick marks.
The image was familiar enough to make me push my hands against his chest in an attempt at moving away from him.
But his fingers dug into my waist, holding me in place. "No, Seth, what are you doing?" He whispered, skimming his lips against mine, but I drew back before he could kiss me.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Potter." I truly meant it, even as I struggled to not just give in to him again. "Maybe we should…" I wasn't sure what I even wanted to say anymore, what exactly I thought we should do, and my words fizzled out a little helplessly as James moved closer again.
He didn't try to kiss me this time, but his proximity felt like a promise.
"Let's just - let's go somewhere," he said, voice scratchy and a little pleading, and it was annoyingly effective.
But I shook my head, unable to not laugh; because even the idea of James Potter sneaking out of a room full of people was ridiculous. Everybody was watching him. Always. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to leave, captain."
I made to push away again, but my heart wasn't in it and he stubbornly refused to let me go. "We could go up to my room."
He was grinning then - one of his perfectly imperfect lazy smiles that were half of his charm - even more so when I narrowed my eyes at him. Like he could tell that I was only pretending; that maybe a part of me wanted to be dumb and reckless and follow him to his room.
"To talk. I just want to talk."
"James -"
"Well, maybe not just talk." He pressed against me again, voice dipping almost painfully low as his lips traced the edge of my right ear. "But I promise that I'll try to behave."
I was a little ashamed of the effort it took me to not tip my head back and beg him to please don't stop. "Absolutely not, Potter."
At least my voice didn't crack. Mostly.
"It was worth a try." He shrugged and his grin was devastating and adorable and I really had to get a grip. Like this, with his hands on my waist and his nose brushing against my cheek, I was defenceless. How was I expected to think straight when I could hardly remember how to breathe?
"I should…" I looked up and his hand slid along my neck, my jawline, into my hair, and my train of thoughts drove straight off a cliff where it crashed and burned.
It was barely a moment; I could still see the remnants of the grin that had curved his mouth before, but it was fading fast as his eyes roved across my face, like he was searching for something. My fingers flexed against the nape of his neck, the others pressing lightly into his chest. I could feel his heartbeat underneath my palm - fast and frantic - as I allowed myself to look at him, taking in the details; the curve of his dark eyebrows, the way his hair stuck up above his left ear, the tiny scar on his cheekbone that I had never seen before.
I didn't think it through when I slid my hand from his neck to his face, cupping his cheek as I brushed my thumb against the thin, white indentation. James sucked in a breath, his heart suddenly thumping against his chest as though it had tripped over itself, and I met his gaze again.
I had had no idea that I could do this to him.
I marvelled at the effect, unable to not smile at him a little, and an odd expression flashed across his face. But before I could analyse it, his mouth was on mine again, stealing whatever scraps of mangled breath I had left. I moved my lips against his, like I actually knew what I was doing; like I knew the extent of the damage he was causing with every brush of his tongue against mine and didn't care. Kissing James felt like an electrical current was running through my veins, sparking my nerve endings like they might be set alight.
We tumbled into the shelf, into each other, the urgency of it all sending shockwaves through my body, and I gasped as I felt the book spines behind me dig into my back.
"Sorry," James said, more breath than sound, and he turned us around easily, leaning his back against the shelf to pull me into him. I didn't resist, even though I knew he could probably feel my frantic heartbeat. Even though my hands were shaking and my breaths were shallow and all the other clichés I couldn't think of because snogging James Potter was melting my brain.
There went my plans of going to uni; of ever doing anything useful with my life.
I pulled away from him softly. Not enough to suggest any sort of serious intention to leave, but it felt at least as though I was trying. A little. "My friends are probably looking for me."
"Probably." He murmured the words against my neck, starting to kiss me there - slowly - and I desperately tried to focus on the titles that were embossed into the books behind him to not to lose my mind from the sensation.
The Bog Life: Hepworth's Compound Catalogue of Helophytes
One of James's hands was on my hip, fingers digging into my skin just above the waistband of my jeans; the other one was cupping my face, tipping my head back as he kissed my throat. Maybe he knew that he was disgustingly good at this. He must have. Girls must have told him. This couldn't just be mere intuition, could it?
House of Greatness: From Gryffindor to Potter
I closed my eyes as James began to kiss me harder, my hands threading into his thoroughly mussed hair like they had a life of their own. His mouth left a burning trail along the column of my neck, all the way down to my collarbone, and my eyes flew open as he suddenly slid the strap of my top over my shoulder.
Errare Magicis Est: A Compendium of the Greatest Mistakes in Magical History
"No. James." I pushed away from him - still gently but more resolutely than before. Not because I wanted to, but because I was half-panicked with my heart in my throat; because I had no control over the way he made me feel. I didn't know what it even was that I was feeling and we still hadn't talked about any of it.
He yielded, easily, like he had been waiting for this; like he had expected me to put a stop to this eventually. "Right." he said, panting, his breathing ragged and fast as he frowned at me. It was almost enough to make me fold myself into him again; to reconsider going up to his room.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, allowing his fingers to trail down my neck, and I swallowed, trying my best to ignore the way my skin prickled under his touch. We couldn't stay here. Not like this, not with the noise of the party and the constant threat of some nosy fourth years who were ferociously drunk on butterbeer stumbling around the corner.
"So, um, do you want to go first or…"
I motioned towards the direction of the party where someone seemed to have turned up the music to a fantastically bad 90s song, but James caught my hand in his, weaving our fingers together. "Woodley…" He looked like he was trying not to grin too broadly. "Everybody saw us go back here half-an-hour ago. What do you think they think we were doing?"
Honestly, I hadn't considered this. All I had been able to think about was gossip and James and snogging - mostly James and snogging - like the dense teenager that I was, and getting away from prying eyes had seemed like the best course of action at the time. But, of course, that had been naive; like someone who had obviously never done anything like sneaking away with a boy at a party.
"Some light reading?" I said, trying to gloss over my glaring inexperience with bad humour.
"Definitely." He laughed. "So… Is this OK?" His fingers pressed lightly against mine and I felt a violent lurch behind my chest.
Just going with something was different. It didn't require any confessions or soul-baring and there was always the possibility to deny it later; to pretend it had been coincidental. But he was asking me if I wanted this - his hand intertwined with mine - and whatever myriad of possibly complicated repercussions that came with it; there was nothing vague about it.
Sure, we had just spent the better part of 40 minutes more or less pressed against a bookshelf and this should not have been such a big deal. But a boy was asking me if I wanted him to hold my hand in front of everybody and it felt like admitting that I wanted it also gave away everything else - how much more I actually wanted.
"Seth?"
I looked up, realising that I still hadn't answered. James was frowning at me, strangely, and then I felt his grip loosen, his fingers slipping, unlacing from mine, and I instinctively grasped his hand harder, potentially crushing his fingers in the process.
"No!" I shouted and then, at the completely confused expression on his face, "yes!" It came out much too loud and I knew that I had sounded like an overenthusiastic puppy.
Heat pooled in my cheeks and I cleared my throat. "I didn't mean to shout that."
"Sure, Woodley." James grinned, looking way too happy with himself, but I could feel the smile tugging on my lips as well, allowing him to pull me closer.
"Oh, shut up, Potter," I said with as much dignity as I could muster and he laughed, his arm brushing against mine as I walked past him, around the corner, back to the party, with James Potter holding my hand.