Perfection / PG-13 / James/Lily, Remus/Sirius
Title: Perfection
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: MWPP, Lily, Mr and Mrs Evans, OMC
Pairings: James/Lily, Remus/Sirius
Summary: James wants a date, Lily wants to prove a point. Remus helps out a touch.
Author's Notes: I wrote this as a result of a challenge elyciel gave me. She wanted a fic that contained a play and a stage with dark, hardwood floors and a velvet burgandy curtain. This is what happened as a result. Many thanks to George Bernard Shaw for writing "Pygmalion."
Lily Evans could rant all she wanted about the annoyance of James Potter’s affections, but in the end he would maintain she had it coming.
The lips, the laugh and that unfathomed stare that promised to either devastate or delight. Her eyes, verdant and eternally lit, like she was keeping a secret, perhaps your secret. The rich plume of copper hair that drifted across her robes, down to where her shoulder blades - taut with the same celestial white skin of her hands and face, he imagined - must’ve been. And even her breasts, though he tried to be a gentleman about it, they were to fault as well. The small, easy curve of them, where he imagined he could lay his head some winter night, pressing a cheek against the gently sloping points.
Perfection. The gorgeous demise of any man.
If James had the grace, he could’ve written a sonnet for her right then and there in the hallway. Instead, he let her grab his left hand and shove a small piece of paper against his palm. He stared as she closed his clumsy fingers around it.
“What’s this?” He asked stupidly, holding up the paper.
“It’s a ticket. You said you wanted another date, but you didn’t specify where. I’m taking some initiative, here, Potter. You’d better not make me regret it.” Her eyes flashed and she looked beautifully amused.
“A ticket? To what?”
* * *
James didn’t know a damned thing about Muggle theatre, a point that he made devastatingly clear when he came to Remus for help.
“Hello to you, too, James.” Remus said when the other boy stalked purposively up to his bed and whipped a paperback book down in front of him. He looked up from his Arithmancy text. James was standing over him, arms stiffly akimbo, right foot tapping persistently against the stone floor of the dorm. His mouth was pursed, forming a hard, colorless scissure across his face, and his hair looked - if it were possible - messier than usual. Remus looked down at the book he’d been presented with.
“‘Pygmalion?’ What’re you doing with this?”
James’ foot snapped out one last impatient beat before his taut body unwound into a sort of kinetic panic. He began to pace, one hand ruffling through his manic hair. “It’s bloody Evans. She wants me to go see this bloody play with her! Her cousin’s a stage actor or whatever, and he’s in one of the main parts, right? Well, of course her family gets invited to see it for free during the Christmas hols. Only problem is, her sister Petunia’s going on some trip with her friends, so Lily’s got an extra ticket and now she wants me to go!”
Marking the page in his textbook, Remus rose cautiously from the bed. He didn’t take his eyes off of James, who kept pacing. “Well, that’s good, right? I mean, she wants to see you over the holidays. And a date along with her family...that’s a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to act around Muggles, Moony. For all I care about equality, I really know crap about them. I’ve never been in a Muggle house, much less a theatre.”
“Well, it really shouldn’t be too much different - ”
“And, I don’t know anything about art, either. I’m not some sensitive, twee poof...” Remus barely bristled, but James halted and spun to face him so fast that it was nearly comical. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Moony...I-I totally didn’t mean it that way, you know? Really, I’m sorry. I’m such an arse.”
A slight smile lit the other boy’s wan face. “It’s all right. But you know, not all poofs are twee and sensitive.” The two of them looked reflexively toward Sirius’ bed - unmade and covered with what looked like dirty Quidditch robes - as though they expected him to be there.
“Where is he anyway?” James asked.
Remus nodded toward the door. “He and Peter went for a kitchen run; they’ll be back any minute.” He picked James’ paperback off the bed. “So, ‘Pygmalion.’ I assume you want my help?”
“Have you read it?”
“Yeah, my parents have it in their library. Where’d you get this copy, anyway?”
“Jacob Abercrombie. Ravenclaw, fifth year. He’s into theatre.”
“‘Pygmalion’ is a great play. My mum’s quite taken by it. She loves Shaw.” Remus ran a hand over the worn spine of the book, flipping it over idly to read the back blurb.
James stared. “Who?”
Remus looked up; his expression looked all at once patient and pained, as though he were trying very hard to quell a stubborn sigh. He tossed the book back onto his bed. “This is probably going to take awhile. Why don’t we meet tomorrow in the library, after we finish our assignments?”
The other boy’s shoulders slumped in relief. He ventured a glimmer of a smile, even. “Thanks, Moony. Really, thanks.”
If Remus had anything to say in reply, it was drowned out as Sirius barreled through the door with a holler, his arms decked with a veritable treasury of sweets and cakes. Peter came tottering in behind him, bottles of butterbeer wedged between his stubby fingers. They laid the spread out on Remus’ bed and Sirius tossed himself down lazily beside it, already pawing through the pile of food. He sat upright a moment later though, pulling James’ crumpled copy of ‘Pygmalion’ out from underneath him.
“What’s this thing?”
“It’s called a book, Sirius,” Remus said with mock-patience and a smirk. He leaned over and attempted to pluck it from the other boy’s hands. Sirius swiftly pulled it away, causing Remus to fall rather gracelessly into his lap.
“I realize it’s a book, but what sort of book is it?” He read the title and wrinkled his nose. “Muggle literature, Moony? My, my, but you’re so eccentric.” Remus made another swipe for it and Sirius laughed, relenting this time. “Fine, but you owe me a good snog in return for your uh, ‘book’ as you call it.”
James rolled his eyes, but had to laugh when Remus met his eyes and said aloud, “Sensitive and twee, eh?”
* * *
Remus took the battered copy of ‘Pygmalion’ from his knapsack and slid it across the library table, into James’ hands. “All right. Now, I don’t know what you want me to do exactly, because I think it’d be a pity to tell you the whole story and ruin the ending for you.”
Looking from the book and back up at his friend, James felt despair setting in; there was entirely too much to cover and the Christmas holiday was fast approaching. “Teach me...I don’t know, Moony, teach me everything. I...I guess I should learn about the theatre first, right? I mean, what sort of stuff do they do on the stage?”
“Well, it’s not a whole lot different from Wizarding plays.” Remus chewed on his thumbnail thoughtfully. “I went to the Muggle threatre once with my mum and dad - we saw MacBeth ‘cause it’s Dad’s favorite. I could just tell you what that was like.”
“Fine, fine. That’s fine.”
“Well...” He spread his palms face down on the desk in front of him, apparently contemplating them before speaking. “Well, you hand over your ticket and sit just like at a Wizard’s theatre. But the actual show’s a bit different. You see, they don’t have a lot of the stuff we do. They can’t use magic or a lot of animals or anything like that, right? So, it’s less extravagant. The best things about Muggle theatre are subtle, I guess.” He hesitated, looking upward, as though the words he wanted were hovering in the air above them.
The library was, James thought, very strange. It was quite possibly the only place in Hogwarts where he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. It was also quite possibly the only place in Hogwarts - aside from their dormitory, perhaps - where he’d seen Remus Lupin look entirely relaxed. That room, with all its dark, hidden nooks and special spaces and staircases and labels and of course, all its books, fit Remus, he thought. It minimized his weariness and amplified his patient smile, his slight grace. The steady, orange glow of the room’s many candles lit the other boy’s face in a sort of perpetual sunset; he looked less peaky than normal, almost healthy
For the first time, James allowed himself to think about Sirius and Remus. Really think about them. He’d been a friend when it had first come to his attention that they were snogging. He’d gawked for a long moment, been inwardly stunned and repulsed, and outwardly cautiously accepting. He couldn’t understand it at first, the idea that an innate something would make them touch, make them think, feel, want one another in that way. He could wrap his mind around the kissing, maybe even that one fumbled grope, inundated with whispers and sweat, that he’d witnessed - quite by accident - one morning before class. Other boys had done that, he knew. No one he knew exactly, but there was gossip of one or two people experimenting with this or that. Practising, he thought. That’s all it was.
But this boy sitting across from him had been “practising” with their other best friend for several months already. And while they were rigidly careful about not displaying public affections - often to the point where inattentive strangers did not even notice their solidarity - James could see hints of something like love being passed between them, as strong and solid as a letter or a flower.
There were moments when the light would catch in Remus’ hair and Sirius’ eyes would in turn, start ablaze. There were touches that lingered and burned where the two did not notice because they were too familiar to the feeling; passing a plate of potatoes at dinner, sharing an inkwell during Potions.
And there were the quiet leaps and bounds that each made for the other. Sirius and his quest to make the animagus transformation. Remus loosening the tight, wary fist in which he held his secrecy and his privacy. Sirius attempting one night, under the covers with his wand, to read Yeats, even though James and Peter had laughed, because “Moony likes it.”
“...I guess is what I’m trying to say.”
James stared blankly at him, panic setting in as he realised that he’d completely ignored everything important that had been said.
“Does that make sense?”
A knot seemed to have formed in his throat, but James managed a quick nod and swallowed. “Er...Yeah, yeah, totally.”
Remus didn’t appear entirely convinced, but he nodded and took ‘Pygmalion’ from the other boy’s hands. “All right then. I guess you know about Pygmalion, right? The man who tried to make the perfect bride by carving her from ivory? He prayed to Aphrodite and she brought the statue to life. Pygmalion called her Galatea and married her.”
James grinned ruefully. “I wish it was that easy. Making a girl who would love you and be all flawless. Guess it would take some of the fun out of it, though. So, that’s what this play is about, then?”
“Not exactly. This play is based on the legend, but it’s not the same story, per se. You see, Shaw considered himself a feminist. And naturally, the idea that a man could create the perfect woman is somewhat offensive, so he twisted it some to prove a point.” Remus pushed the book back into James’ hands and regarded him thoughtfully. After a long moment, his expression changed from meditativeness to resolve. “You should read it.”
James groaned. “C’mon, Moony. We’ve got homework and there’s Quidditch practice...”
But Remus just shook his head and stood, collecting his things. He paused momentarily and looked at James - who was still gaping miserably at his friend - rather intensely. “Sorry, James. Normally, I might. But I think there’s a reason Lily wants you to see this particular play.”
And James watched Remus walk out of the library, a sinking feeling rather like despair enveloping him.
* * *
“That bitch!”
Remus looked up from his Potions essay to see a very peeved James Potter storm into the dormitory toward him. On the floor beside his bed, Sirius and Peter also looked up from their game of Wizard’s chess, in which the former was quite lazily trouncing his opponent.
“Where’ve you been, Prongs?” Sirius asked, his mouth like a maw in a long, exaggerated yawn. He tossed his arms above his head, patting around the bed blindly behind him to find his boyfriend’s hands. Remus batted him away, good-natured, and looked to James.
“I was in the library, reading.” James said, still addressing Remus and now waving ‘Pygmalion’ in his friend’s face. Sirius looked ready to laugh, but confusion stopped him, mid-bark.
“Really?” Remus smiled and looked mildly impressed. “How far did you get?”
“Far enough!” James barked. “I finished the damned thing. She’s testing me, isn’t she? She thinks I’m some sort of arsehole like that Henry Higgins bloke! She thinks I’m trying to make her something, something perfect and mine. Like I’m trying to conquer her!”
Remus gave a low whistle and there was still a smile hidden infuriatingly in the corners of his mouth. “Not bad, James. Not bad at all.”
His friend only glared in response. “I’ll show her,” he said, turning heel and storming back toward where he came. “I’ll show her I’m not some Henry Higgins!” He slammed the door when he left.
Sirius and Peter both looked wordlessly from where James had been standing, to Remus. “What,” Sirius said, “was that all about?”
* * *
James’ anger had subsided somewhat during the days leading up to the play, leaving only anxiety and a keening need to prove himself. The evening started off quite well. He didn’t forget his ticket, didn’t say anything foolish, and didn’t lose his way. And despite having arrived via floo powder in the Evans’ living room - which fascinated Lily’s parents - the Muggle suit James had purchased remained mostly clean; the bits of hoary dust that did cling to the material were removed by a laughing Lily, much to his delight.
She looked prettier than he’d ever seen her, wearing a snug dress of green velvet that was only a shade darker than her eyes. Watching her walk about fluidly in it, each movement clearly accented through the material by the twist and turn of a muscle here and a curve there, James firmly renounced robes. And though he’d been excited to ride in a Muggle car, when she moved closer to him to check his jacket for more dust, her proximity - along with the pale, flowery perfume she wore - was enough to send all other thoughts coranting out of his ears.
The play itself was done well, though James had to admit he wasn’t entirely impressed with the woman who played Eliza; he made a mental note to tell Moony, who might be interested to hear. Lily’s cousin Simon - who was not an Evans but a Shaffer - was very good as Freddy, though. During the second act, James allowed himself to grope across the armrest for Lily’s hand. She rebuked his first attempt with the flick of her wrist, but the second time she was still and let him curl his fingers through hers. Giving a sidelong glance her way, he saw that she was smiling. Quietly, but there it was. Settling into his seat, he thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the show.
* * *
James felt slightly uncomfortable standing in the lobby after the play had ended. Mr and Mrs Evans were wrapped up in an enthusiastic chat with Simon - apparently his ill mother had recently begun to recover - and Lily was listening attentively. To make matters worse, the hall was still thick with people pushing to move toward the exit and he was getting jostled and jabbed by impatient elbows.
Just as he was truly starting to feel unhappy, though, Lily tugged on the sleeve of his coat. When he looked up at her, though, she spoke to Simon. “Si, do you mind if James and I take a peek around the theatre? He’s never been in one before.”
Receiving Simon’s blessing, she grabbed James’ hand rather brusquely and began hauling him back through the ornate double-doors of the theatre. The huge room looked oddly empty, James thought, and maybe a little sad, with all its empty seats and the discarded programs littering the floor. “Where are we going?” He asked Lily, who dropped his hand when they were halfway down the aisle, leaving him feeling bereft.
“You’ll see. This place is gorgeous,” she replied. He followed her through a small door on the side wall and up a short flight of concrete stairs. Emerging, James saw that they were in a cramped hallway through which people wearing black were pushing racks of costumes or carrying metal cases.
“Lily?”
“C’mon, this way.”
She lead him down past several doorways. A man emerged from the second one and James bumped into him. As he went to apologise though, he saw that the man had on quite a bit of makeup, and he very nearly yelped aloud. When they were a safe distance away, James grabbed Lily’s arm and hissed, “he was wearing makeup. Did you see that?”
Her gaze was torn between imperious exasperation and amusement. “Honestly. He’s an actor, Potter. Muggle theatre, remember? They can’t very well use glamour charms, now can they?”
“Oh.” He frowned, trying not to look embarrassed and failing most terrifically.
She just smiled kindly and shook her head. “It’s all right, come on.” He quickly forgot his abashment when she took his hand again. Wordlessly, she pulled him into a dark room. “Hello?” she called out. There was no reply, and she seemed satisfied.
“Er, where are we?” James stumbled forward into the dark as Lily released his hand and took a few steps ahead of him. He felt his face sliding into a sly smile. Oh, this situation was definitely inviting inappropriate ideas...
“Any bad jokes or attempts to cop a feel, Potter, and I swear I’ll make you regret it,” Lily snapped archly, apparently sensing his thoughts.
“I would never...” James thought he caught a flash of Lily’s very white teeth in the dark; his eyes were beginning to adjust. She stopped shortly and began to fumble for something in front of them. He reached out a hand and touched metal. Lily seemed to be rummaging about in a lectern of sorts. “What’re you looking for?”
“Aha!” She stepped back, brandishing something small in triumph. There was a soft click and suddenly, a beam of light issued from her hands. She waved it around into his face; he leapt backwards, startled, and she laughed. “It’s a flashlight.” Blinking, he moved closer to see the device she was holding. “I wanted you to get a look around.”
She stepped away from the lectern and directed the flashlight upward. James let out a small gasp and for a moment, felt like a dazzled child. They were standing where the play had taken place less than an hour ago. However, while from the audience it had appeared as a window into Henry Higgins’ drawing room, James now saw it for what it was: just a stage. The ceiling vaulted upward farther than Lily’s light could reach, but he could make out ropes and sandbags and pulleys draping downward, the intricate canopy to the forest of the theatre.
Directly in front of him hung an elegant burgundy curtain, trimmed with the sparest gold threads. He reached out to touch it; it swayed heavily and he realized that it was not made from cretonne like a drapery, but rather from some sort of velvet, thicker and richer than Lily’s dress. It smelled rather dusty, but comfortingly so. Tracing a hand down one of its folds, he let his eyes trail lower to where it met the aged and heavily-waxed oak floor, stained dark as the healthy earth.
“What do you think?” Lily’s voice was oddly soft, still, as though she were speaking in the presence of something fragile and frightened and beautiful.
“It’s magnificent,” he replied honestly. He felt strange in the dark, detached. It was as though the James Potter who attended Hogwarts and played Quidditch and teased his best friends was someone else. The person he was at that moment had never been anywhere but that theatre, locked in that precious moment, listening to Lily Evans’ breath in the dark.
“Did you like the play?” She was still quiet. The light in her hands wavered as she left it drop slightly. He turned to face her, the memory of his anger and her trickery coming back in a deluge of reality.
“Yeah, I did. A lot.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “I read it, you know. Beforehand, I mean. After you asked me to go. Because...because I wanted to get this evening right.”
“Oh?” She sounded far away. He stepped closer to remedy the feeling.
“Yeah. And, Lily, I wanted you to know, I’m not...like that, all right? I’m not some Henry Higgins or, or Pygmalion, or anybody. I’m just...I’m just James Potter.”
The quiet mood about her was suddenly dispelled and he could all buy taste the frostiness reclaiming her voice. Her shoulders stiffened. “And what do you want with me, Potter?”
He was taken aback for an instant. “Why does it always have to be like this, Lily? Look, I like you. I like you a lot. More than a lot. I-I just can’t understand why...why you can’t just take that. I’d do anything for you, you know that, don’t you? I read bloody George Bernard Shaw for you! Merlin!” His shoulders dropped in defeat. He shifted from one foot to the other. “I like you. Maybe someday I could love you. I...I don’t have anything else to give you.”
She sighed and flicked the flashlight off. He heard her moving away from her and his heart sank to his feet. After a moment though, her footsteps stopped and he heard the rustle of her dress as she turned to face him. “Listen to me, okay, Potter? I’m going to say all of this once, so you’d damn well better pay attention. You’ve spent our entire time at school chasing after me, and I’ve spent a lot of it trying to figure out why. The only conclusions I can come to aren’t exactly favourable. The first idea I had was that you just wanted win our stupid battle of the wills and get me to decide and admit that you were the amazing guy you always professed to be. The second idea was that you saw me as something I’m not. The perfect girl.”
“You are perfect.”
“No!” James started as she suddenly threw down the flashlight. There was a clatter of metal against the floor and the sound of two small things rolling around. He heard her take in a sharp breath; when she spoke again, she’d reclaimed her quiet intensity. “No, Potter, I’m not perfect. I’m just...me. I’m a girl, and I’m not your statue and I’m not a dream come true, okay?”
There was a ringing silence. The moment could not have lasted long, but James could not recall ever having felt more agony or misery. To be so close.... Lily turned away from him. “Come on, let’s just go.”
“Wait.” He reached out blindly and caught her by the delicate crook of her wrist, pulling her toward him. “Lily. I...I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not like that. I promise it is not like that.”
It took him a long moment to realize she was trembling, but her voice betrayed her. “Then tell me what it’s like, Potter.”
James closed his eyes, tracing over her wrist with his thumb, following the nervous throbbing of her veins beneath that flower-soft skin. A memory was coming to him: pale sunlight and boyish laughter.
He cleared his throat.
“I have these two...that is, I know these two people, all right?” She nodded and he felt the weight of her hair on his shoulder, she was so close. “And I think...well, they’re young, but I still think they love each other. And I think that maybe I’ve learned a lot about that sort of thing...love, that is, from them, even though I never really thought about it like that. It’s just that t-they remind me of things I want to have with you, Lily. They...Merlin.”
He swore and she laughed hesitantly. “I’m sorry. This...this is hard to say. Look, I’m not good with words, okay? I just know that there are moments when I see you, and there’s...there’s this light in your eyes, right? And I think that maybe it’s the best thing that’s ever been in the world. And...it’s not just because you’re beautiful. It’s because...for me, it represents everything you are, okay? It’s you, and you’re shining, and you make me want to be around you, and you make me want to make you laugh and smile and be happy and be proud, and Lily, I don’t - ”
His voice faltered as she took his hands in her own and very, very slowly wrapped them around her slim, velvet waist. Her breath quivered fragilely in her chest when he stepped closer and pressed against her.
“I love you, Lily.” And there it hung, priceless and vulnerable in the warm air between them. “I really love you,” he whispered into her hair. The smell of her, the supposition of her body, invisible in the dark, against his, was driving him mad.
She was still, but he felt her body press back against him, felt her muscles melt, felt something in her resolve thaw. “I...I’m sorry James. I just...” A moment later, something slight and fluttering and heavenly brushed his mouth, effectively setting his blood on fire.
“I guess...I guess I love you, too.”
* * *
It took Remus a few minutes to understand when he returned from his Christmas holiday to find his bed literally covered in packages of Honeyduke’s chocolate. After moving aside a particularly large pile and thus uncovering a rather battered paperback book, though, he smiled.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: MWPP, Lily, Mr and Mrs Evans, OMC
Pairings: James/Lily, Remus/Sirius
Summary: James wants a date, Lily wants to prove a point. Remus helps out a touch.
Author's Notes: I wrote this as a result of a challenge elyciel gave me. She wanted a fic that contained a play and a stage with dark, hardwood floors and a velvet burgandy curtain. This is what happened as a result. Many thanks to George Bernard Shaw for writing "Pygmalion."
Lily Evans could rant all she wanted about the annoyance of James Potter’s affections, but in the end he would maintain she had it coming.
The lips, the laugh and that unfathomed stare that promised to either devastate or delight. Her eyes, verdant and eternally lit, like she was keeping a secret, perhaps your secret. The rich plume of copper hair that drifted across her robes, down to where her shoulder blades - taut with the same celestial white skin of her hands and face, he imagined - must’ve been. And even her breasts, though he tried to be a gentleman about it, they were to fault as well. The small, easy curve of them, where he imagined he could lay his head some winter night, pressing a cheek against the gently sloping points.
Perfection. The gorgeous demise of any man.
If James had the grace, he could’ve written a sonnet for her right then and there in the hallway. Instead, he let her grab his left hand and shove a small piece of paper against his palm. He stared as she closed his clumsy fingers around it.
“What’s this?” He asked stupidly, holding up the paper.
“It’s a ticket. You said you wanted another date, but you didn’t specify where. I’m taking some initiative, here, Potter. You’d better not make me regret it.” Her eyes flashed and she looked beautifully amused.
“A ticket? To what?”
* * *
James didn’t know a damned thing about Muggle theatre, a point that he made devastatingly clear when he came to Remus for help.
“Hello to you, too, James.” Remus said when the other boy stalked purposively up to his bed and whipped a paperback book down in front of him. He looked up from his Arithmancy text. James was standing over him, arms stiffly akimbo, right foot tapping persistently against the stone floor of the dorm. His mouth was pursed, forming a hard, colorless scissure across his face, and his hair looked - if it were possible - messier than usual. Remus looked down at the book he’d been presented with.
“‘Pygmalion?’ What’re you doing with this?”
James’ foot snapped out one last impatient beat before his taut body unwound into a sort of kinetic panic. He began to pace, one hand ruffling through his manic hair. “It’s bloody Evans. She wants me to go see this bloody play with her! Her cousin’s a stage actor or whatever, and he’s in one of the main parts, right? Well, of course her family gets invited to see it for free during the Christmas hols. Only problem is, her sister Petunia’s going on some trip with her friends, so Lily’s got an extra ticket and now she wants me to go!”
Marking the page in his textbook, Remus rose cautiously from the bed. He didn’t take his eyes off of James, who kept pacing. “Well, that’s good, right? I mean, she wants to see you over the holidays. And a date along with her family...that’s a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to act around Muggles, Moony. For all I care about equality, I really know crap about them. I’ve never been in a Muggle house, much less a theatre.”
“Well, it really shouldn’t be too much different - ”
“And, I don’t know anything about art, either. I’m not some sensitive, twee poof...” Remus barely bristled, but James halted and spun to face him so fast that it was nearly comical. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Moony...I-I totally didn’t mean it that way, you know? Really, I’m sorry. I’m such an arse.”
A slight smile lit the other boy’s wan face. “It’s all right. But you know, not all poofs are twee and sensitive.” The two of them looked reflexively toward Sirius’ bed - unmade and covered with what looked like dirty Quidditch robes - as though they expected him to be there.
“Where is he anyway?” James asked.
Remus nodded toward the door. “He and Peter went for a kitchen run; they’ll be back any minute.” He picked James’ paperback off the bed. “So, ‘Pygmalion.’ I assume you want my help?”
“Have you read it?”
“Yeah, my parents have it in their library. Where’d you get this copy, anyway?”
“Jacob Abercrombie. Ravenclaw, fifth year. He’s into theatre.”
“‘Pygmalion’ is a great play. My mum’s quite taken by it. She loves Shaw.” Remus ran a hand over the worn spine of the book, flipping it over idly to read the back blurb.
James stared. “Who?”
Remus looked up; his expression looked all at once patient and pained, as though he were trying very hard to quell a stubborn sigh. He tossed the book back onto his bed. “This is probably going to take awhile. Why don’t we meet tomorrow in the library, after we finish our assignments?”
The other boy’s shoulders slumped in relief. He ventured a glimmer of a smile, even. “Thanks, Moony. Really, thanks.”
If Remus had anything to say in reply, it was drowned out as Sirius barreled through the door with a holler, his arms decked with a veritable treasury of sweets and cakes. Peter came tottering in behind him, bottles of butterbeer wedged between his stubby fingers. They laid the spread out on Remus’ bed and Sirius tossed himself down lazily beside it, already pawing through the pile of food. He sat upright a moment later though, pulling James’ crumpled copy of ‘Pygmalion’ out from underneath him.
“What’s this thing?”
“It’s called a book, Sirius,” Remus said with mock-patience and a smirk. He leaned over and attempted to pluck it from the other boy’s hands. Sirius swiftly pulled it away, causing Remus to fall rather gracelessly into his lap.
“I realize it’s a book, but what sort of book is it?” He read the title and wrinkled his nose. “Muggle literature, Moony? My, my, but you’re so eccentric.” Remus made another swipe for it and Sirius laughed, relenting this time. “Fine, but you owe me a good snog in return for your uh, ‘book’ as you call it.”
James rolled his eyes, but had to laugh when Remus met his eyes and said aloud, “Sensitive and twee, eh?”
* * *
Remus took the battered copy of ‘Pygmalion’ from his knapsack and slid it across the library table, into James’ hands. “All right. Now, I don’t know what you want me to do exactly, because I think it’d be a pity to tell you the whole story and ruin the ending for you.”
Looking from the book and back up at his friend, James felt despair setting in; there was entirely too much to cover and the Christmas holiday was fast approaching. “Teach me...I don’t know, Moony, teach me everything. I...I guess I should learn about the theatre first, right? I mean, what sort of stuff do they do on the stage?”
“Well, it’s not a whole lot different from Wizarding plays.” Remus chewed on his thumbnail thoughtfully. “I went to the Muggle threatre once with my mum and dad - we saw MacBeth ‘cause it’s Dad’s favorite. I could just tell you what that was like.”
“Fine, fine. That’s fine.”
“Well...” He spread his palms face down on the desk in front of him, apparently contemplating them before speaking. “Well, you hand over your ticket and sit just like at a Wizard’s theatre. But the actual show’s a bit different. You see, they don’t have a lot of the stuff we do. They can’t use magic or a lot of animals or anything like that, right? So, it’s less extravagant. The best things about Muggle theatre are subtle, I guess.” He hesitated, looking upward, as though the words he wanted were hovering in the air above them.
The library was, James thought, very strange. It was quite possibly the only place in Hogwarts where he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. It was also quite possibly the only place in Hogwarts - aside from their dormitory, perhaps - where he’d seen Remus Lupin look entirely relaxed. That room, with all its dark, hidden nooks and special spaces and staircases and labels and of course, all its books, fit Remus, he thought. It minimized his weariness and amplified his patient smile, his slight grace. The steady, orange glow of the room’s many candles lit the other boy’s face in a sort of perpetual sunset; he looked less peaky than normal, almost healthy
For the first time, James allowed himself to think about Sirius and Remus. Really think about them. He’d been a friend when it had first come to his attention that they were snogging. He’d gawked for a long moment, been inwardly stunned and repulsed, and outwardly cautiously accepting. He couldn’t understand it at first, the idea that an innate something would make them touch, make them think, feel, want one another in that way. He could wrap his mind around the kissing, maybe even that one fumbled grope, inundated with whispers and sweat, that he’d witnessed - quite by accident - one morning before class. Other boys had done that, he knew. No one he knew exactly, but there was gossip of one or two people experimenting with this or that. Practising, he thought. That’s all it was.
But this boy sitting across from him had been “practising” with their other best friend for several months already. And while they were rigidly careful about not displaying public affections - often to the point where inattentive strangers did not even notice their solidarity - James could see hints of something like love being passed between them, as strong and solid as a letter or a flower.
There were moments when the light would catch in Remus’ hair and Sirius’ eyes would in turn, start ablaze. There were touches that lingered and burned where the two did not notice because they were too familiar to the feeling; passing a plate of potatoes at dinner, sharing an inkwell during Potions.
And there were the quiet leaps and bounds that each made for the other. Sirius and his quest to make the animagus transformation. Remus loosening the tight, wary fist in which he held his secrecy and his privacy. Sirius attempting one night, under the covers with his wand, to read Yeats, even though James and Peter had laughed, because “Moony likes it.”
“...I guess is what I’m trying to say.”
James stared blankly at him, panic setting in as he realised that he’d completely ignored everything important that had been said.
“Does that make sense?”
A knot seemed to have formed in his throat, but James managed a quick nod and swallowed. “Er...Yeah, yeah, totally.”
Remus didn’t appear entirely convinced, but he nodded and took ‘Pygmalion’ from the other boy’s hands. “All right then. I guess you know about Pygmalion, right? The man who tried to make the perfect bride by carving her from ivory? He prayed to Aphrodite and she brought the statue to life. Pygmalion called her Galatea and married her.”
James grinned ruefully. “I wish it was that easy. Making a girl who would love you and be all flawless. Guess it would take some of the fun out of it, though. So, that’s what this play is about, then?”
“Not exactly. This play is based on the legend, but it’s not the same story, per se. You see, Shaw considered himself a feminist. And naturally, the idea that a man could create the perfect woman is somewhat offensive, so he twisted it some to prove a point.” Remus pushed the book back into James’ hands and regarded him thoughtfully. After a long moment, his expression changed from meditativeness to resolve. “You should read it.”
James groaned. “C’mon, Moony. We’ve got homework and there’s Quidditch practice...”
But Remus just shook his head and stood, collecting his things. He paused momentarily and looked at James - who was still gaping miserably at his friend - rather intensely. “Sorry, James. Normally, I might. But I think there’s a reason Lily wants you to see this particular play.”
And James watched Remus walk out of the library, a sinking feeling rather like despair enveloping him.
* * *
“That bitch!”
Remus looked up from his Potions essay to see a very peeved James Potter storm into the dormitory toward him. On the floor beside his bed, Sirius and Peter also looked up from their game of Wizard’s chess, in which the former was quite lazily trouncing his opponent.
“Where’ve you been, Prongs?” Sirius asked, his mouth like a maw in a long, exaggerated yawn. He tossed his arms above his head, patting around the bed blindly behind him to find his boyfriend’s hands. Remus batted him away, good-natured, and looked to James.
“I was in the library, reading.” James said, still addressing Remus and now waving ‘Pygmalion’ in his friend’s face. Sirius looked ready to laugh, but confusion stopped him, mid-bark.
“Really?” Remus smiled and looked mildly impressed. “How far did you get?”
“Far enough!” James barked. “I finished the damned thing. She’s testing me, isn’t she? She thinks I’m some sort of arsehole like that Henry Higgins bloke! She thinks I’m trying to make her something, something perfect and mine. Like I’m trying to conquer her!”
Remus gave a low whistle and there was still a smile hidden infuriatingly in the corners of his mouth. “Not bad, James. Not bad at all.”
His friend only glared in response. “I’ll show her,” he said, turning heel and storming back toward where he came. “I’ll show her I’m not some Henry Higgins!” He slammed the door when he left.
Sirius and Peter both looked wordlessly from where James had been standing, to Remus. “What,” Sirius said, “was that all about?”
* * *
James’ anger had subsided somewhat during the days leading up to the play, leaving only anxiety and a keening need to prove himself. The evening started off quite well. He didn’t forget his ticket, didn’t say anything foolish, and didn’t lose his way. And despite having arrived via floo powder in the Evans’ living room - which fascinated Lily’s parents - the Muggle suit James had purchased remained mostly clean; the bits of hoary dust that did cling to the material were removed by a laughing Lily, much to his delight.
She looked prettier than he’d ever seen her, wearing a snug dress of green velvet that was only a shade darker than her eyes. Watching her walk about fluidly in it, each movement clearly accented through the material by the twist and turn of a muscle here and a curve there, James firmly renounced robes. And though he’d been excited to ride in a Muggle car, when she moved closer to him to check his jacket for more dust, her proximity - along with the pale, flowery perfume she wore - was enough to send all other thoughts coranting out of his ears.
The play itself was done well, though James had to admit he wasn’t entirely impressed with the woman who played Eliza; he made a mental note to tell Moony, who might be interested to hear. Lily’s cousin Simon - who was not an Evans but a Shaffer - was very good as Freddy, though. During the second act, James allowed himself to grope across the armrest for Lily’s hand. She rebuked his first attempt with the flick of her wrist, but the second time she was still and let him curl his fingers through hers. Giving a sidelong glance her way, he saw that she was smiling. Quietly, but there it was. Settling into his seat, he thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the show.
* * *
James felt slightly uncomfortable standing in the lobby after the play had ended. Mr and Mrs Evans were wrapped up in an enthusiastic chat with Simon - apparently his ill mother had recently begun to recover - and Lily was listening attentively. To make matters worse, the hall was still thick with people pushing to move toward the exit and he was getting jostled and jabbed by impatient elbows.
Just as he was truly starting to feel unhappy, though, Lily tugged on the sleeve of his coat. When he looked up at her, though, she spoke to Simon. “Si, do you mind if James and I take a peek around the theatre? He’s never been in one before.”
Receiving Simon’s blessing, she grabbed James’ hand rather brusquely and began hauling him back through the ornate double-doors of the theatre. The huge room looked oddly empty, James thought, and maybe a little sad, with all its empty seats and the discarded programs littering the floor. “Where are we going?” He asked Lily, who dropped his hand when they were halfway down the aisle, leaving him feeling bereft.
“You’ll see. This place is gorgeous,” she replied. He followed her through a small door on the side wall and up a short flight of concrete stairs. Emerging, James saw that they were in a cramped hallway through which people wearing black were pushing racks of costumes or carrying metal cases.
“Lily?”
“C’mon, this way.”
She lead him down past several doorways. A man emerged from the second one and James bumped into him. As he went to apologise though, he saw that the man had on quite a bit of makeup, and he very nearly yelped aloud. When they were a safe distance away, James grabbed Lily’s arm and hissed, “he was wearing makeup. Did you see that?”
Her gaze was torn between imperious exasperation and amusement. “Honestly. He’s an actor, Potter. Muggle theatre, remember? They can’t very well use glamour charms, now can they?”
“Oh.” He frowned, trying not to look embarrassed and failing most terrifically.
She just smiled kindly and shook her head. “It’s all right, come on.” He quickly forgot his abashment when she took his hand again. Wordlessly, she pulled him into a dark room. “Hello?” she called out. There was no reply, and she seemed satisfied.
“Er, where are we?” James stumbled forward into the dark as Lily released his hand and took a few steps ahead of him. He felt his face sliding into a sly smile. Oh, this situation was definitely inviting inappropriate ideas...
“Any bad jokes or attempts to cop a feel, Potter, and I swear I’ll make you regret it,” Lily snapped archly, apparently sensing his thoughts.
“I would never...” James thought he caught a flash of Lily’s very white teeth in the dark; his eyes were beginning to adjust. She stopped shortly and began to fumble for something in front of them. He reached out a hand and touched metal. Lily seemed to be rummaging about in a lectern of sorts. “What’re you looking for?”
“Aha!” She stepped back, brandishing something small in triumph. There was a soft click and suddenly, a beam of light issued from her hands. She waved it around into his face; he leapt backwards, startled, and she laughed. “It’s a flashlight.” Blinking, he moved closer to see the device she was holding. “I wanted you to get a look around.”
She stepped away from the lectern and directed the flashlight upward. James let out a small gasp and for a moment, felt like a dazzled child. They were standing where the play had taken place less than an hour ago. However, while from the audience it had appeared as a window into Henry Higgins’ drawing room, James now saw it for what it was: just a stage. The ceiling vaulted upward farther than Lily’s light could reach, but he could make out ropes and sandbags and pulleys draping downward, the intricate canopy to the forest of the theatre.
Directly in front of him hung an elegant burgundy curtain, trimmed with the sparest gold threads. He reached out to touch it; it swayed heavily and he realized that it was not made from cretonne like a drapery, but rather from some sort of velvet, thicker and richer than Lily’s dress. It smelled rather dusty, but comfortingly so. Tracing a hand down one of its folds, he let his eyes trail lower to where it met the aged and heavily-waxed oak floor, stained dark as the healthy earth.
“What do you think?” Lily’s voice was oddly soft, still, as though she were speaking in the presence of something fragile and frightened and beautiful.
“It’s magnificent,” he replied honestly. He felt strange in the dark, detached. It was as though the James Potter who attended Hogwarts and played Quidditch and teased his best friends was someone else. The person he was at that moment had never been anywhere but that theatre, locked in that precious moment, listening to Lily Evans’ breath in the dark.
“Did you like the play?” She was still quiet. The light in her hands wavered as she left it drop slightly. He turned to face her, the memory of his anger and her trickery coming back in a deluge of reality.
“Yeah, I did. A lot.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “I read it, you know. Beforehand, I mean. After you asked me to go. Because...because I wanted to get this evening right.”
“Oh?” She sounded far away. He stepped closer to remedy the feeling.
“Yeah. And, Lily, I wanted you to know, I’m not...like that, all right? I’m not some Henry Higgins or, or Pygmalion, or anybody. I’m just...I’m just James Potter.”
The quiet mood about her was suddenly dispelled and he could all buy taste the frostiness reclaiming her voice. Her shoulders stiffened. “And what do you want with me, Potter?”
He was taken aback for an instant. “Why does it always have to be like this, Lily? Look, I like you. I like you a lot. More than a lot. I-I just can’t understand why...why you can’t just take that. I’d do anything for you, you know that, don’t you? I read bloody George Bernard Shaw for you! Merlin!” His shoulders dropped in defeat. He shifted from one foot to the other. “I like you. Maybe someday I could love you. I...I don’t have anything else to give you.”
She sighed and flicked the flashlight off. He heard her moving away from her and his heart sank to his feet. After a moment though, her footsteps stopped and he heard the rustle of her dress as she turned to face him. “Listen to me, okay, Potter? I’m going to say all of this once, so you’d damn well better pay attention. You’ve spent our entire time at school chasing after me, and I’ve spent a lot of it trying to figure out why. The only conclusions I can come to aren’t exactly favourable. The first idea I had was that you just wanted win our stupid battle of the wills and get me to decide and admit that you were the amazing guy you always professed to be. The second idea was that you saw me as something I’m not. The perfect girl.”
“You are perfect.”
“No!” James started as she suddenly threw down the flashlight. There was a clatter of metal against the floor and the sound of two small things rolling around. He heard her take in a sharp breath; when she spoke again, she’d reclaimed her quiet intensity. “No, Potter, I’m not perfect. I’m just...me. I’m a girl, and I’m not your statue and I’m not a dream come true, okay?”
There was a ringing silence. The moment could not have lasted long, but James could not recall ever having felt more agony or misery. To be so close.... Lily turned away from him. “Come on, let’s just go.”
“Wait.” He reached out blindly and caught her by the delicate crook of her wrist, pulling her toward him. “Lily. I...I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not like that. I promise it is not like that.”
It took him a long moment to realize she was trembling, but her voice betrayed her. “Then tell me what it’s like, Potter.”
James closed his eyes, tracing over her wrist with his thumb, following the nervous throbbing of her veins beneath that flower-soft skin. A memory was coming to him: pale sunlight and boyish laughter.
He cleared his throat.
“I have these two...that is, I know these two people, all right?” She nodded and he felt the weight of her hair on his shoulder, she was so close. “And I think...well, they’re young, but I still think they love each other. And I think that maybe I’ve learned a lot about that sort of thing...love, that is, from them, even though I never really thought about it like that. It’s just that t-they remind me of things I want to have with you, Lily. They...Merlin.”
He swore and she laughed hesitantly. “I’m sorry. This...this is hard to say. Look, I’m not good with words, okay? I just know that there are moments when I see you, and there’s...there’s this light in your eyes, right? And I think that maybe it’s the best thing that’s ever been in the world. And...it’s not just because you’re beautiful. It’s because...for me, it represents everything you are, okay? It’s you, and you’re shining, and you make me want to be around you, and you make me want to make you laugh and smile and be happy and be proud, and Lily, I don’t - ”
His voice faltered as she took his hands in her own and very, very slowly wrapped them around her slim, velvet waist. Her breath quivered fragilely in her chest when he stepped closer and pressed against her.
“I love you, Lily.” And there it hung, priceless and vulnerable in the warm air between them. “I really love you,” he whispered into her hair. The smell of her, the supposition of her body, invisible in the dark, against his, was driving him mad.
She was still, but he felt her body press back against him, felt her muscles melt, felt something in her resolve thaw. “I...I’m sorry James. I just...” A moment later, something slight and fluttering and heavenly brushed his mouth, effectively setting his blood on fire.
“I guess...I guess I love you, too.”
* * *
It took Remus a few minutes to understand when he returned from his Christmas holiday to find his bed literally covered in packages of Honeyduke’s chocolate. After moving aside a particularly large pile and thus uncovering a rather battered paperback book, though, he smiled.