All Is Calm for lilyjames_fest
Title: All Is Calm
Author: museme87
Recipient: escribo
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,120
Warnings: a touch of politics, heavy exposition/reflection
Summary: She's the other half to his whole, but James isn't pushing her for anything more than stolen moments right now.
Author's Note: Written for lilyjames_fest 2011 for escribo. I really enjoyed writing this for you, escribo! The song prompt you left was completely inspiring, and I hope that you like the result of it. This was definitely based more on the feelings I felt while listening more so than the lyrics themselves, but I think everything comes across well enough even then. A huge thanks to L for the beta work. Happy holidays, everyone!
He can mark the time by years-the skips of his heart, the contractions and swells of emotion he has felt for this girl. Part of him always knew Lily was something special, something unattainable even for someone like him. So he let his feelings lie, succumbing only in brief moments when he could barely control himself let alone how he felt. James isn't particularly proud of those moments-afternoons by the lake, hexes in the hall, fingers molding around gold-but they have defined him. Not to himself, but to her. He always knew who he was; the problem was making Lily see him properly. James thought she never would.
She had.
It took time-a lot of time-but it happened. He sees it so easily now in her eyes as he drapes her cloak over her shoulders, her freckled cheeks warmed pink by the fire roaring next to their table at the Three Broomsticks. She flashes him a smile, rolls her eyes at his act of chivalry. Time has taught him that Lily is a sort of modern woman, the kind that pureblood girls can't really be. It puzzles him because all of the etiquette lessons his mother forced him to sit through never quite covered frighteningly independent witches. He thinks she'd rather study Transfiguration with him or race him on the grounds than take tea at Madam Puddifoot's or slow dance when Celestina Warbeck comes on the wireless in the common room. It's a bit of a shame, especially since he rather likes to dance.
But he'll take her, if she's offering. He's okay with being the one who likes sappy, romantic music in this relationship. James knows it's a lot to ask-not the dancing or the songs, but the acceptance of who he is-especially with the world working against them. He knows it's hard for her in ways it'll never be for him. He admires her for her courage; next to her, he looks like a Hufflepuff. James will never tell her that, though; she gets embarrassed by compliments. But somehow he thinks she understands anyway.
A lot of their conversations are silent like that.
Like now, as she holds her arm out for him to take. He can hear the are you coming in the tug of her lips and lift of her brow. He does take her arm, waving his goodbye to Rosmerta and thanking her for letting them steal away in here on a school night.
Walking out into winter is unbearable, the wind biting and snow deep in Hogsmeade. Lily takes a moment to straighten his scarf for him, securing it tightly under his chin. She understands he thinks it looks sexier just hanging over his shoulders or loosely knotted, but Lily's the sort that likes practicality. As she puts it, you can't be sexy if you're sick and you most certainly can't be sexy if you're dead, James Potter. She underestimates just how good he looks, of course, but he will forgive her for the oversight.
The return trek to Honeydukes is made more difficult due to the snow that has accumulated since their arrival and Lily's insistence that she wear these silly, Muggle boot-things in such terrible weather. He stands corrected; James supposes that his Lily likes practicality with the small exception of Muggle footwear. No self-respecting wizard shop would sell something like them, especially not with such heels.
Their only redeeming quality is that they have Lily half-hugging him for support and laughing uncontrollably with every trip or wobble. A little bit of that is due to the shots of Firewhisky that Rosmerta may-or-may-not have slipped them, no doubt. He's feeling a little warm and giggle-y too, and Lily's laugh being one of the most beautiful and contagious laughs he has ever heard, he can't help but start himself.
It's under one of the gas lamps lighting the street that James stops and spins Lily in his arms. Her eyes dance, and he can feel her happiness in the way she leans against him. He doesn't know how to tell her how much she means to him, how the world is more bearable when she's around. How he's sorry that his parents don't approve of her, how he doesn't give a damn about what pureblood socialites think of this "unfortunate tryst" of his. Just as long as she understands how much he loves her everything will be alright on his end. James understands it can never be so simple for her.
He leans over, captures her mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. Lily tastes like butterbeer and sugarquills and a magic beyond what he's capable of producing. She brings her mittened-hands to his face, moves her tongue against his, her nose cold against his cheek. The heat of her mouth makes him whimper, the press of her teeth against his lips has his eyes fluttering shut and his mind willing his hormones into control. He's not quite mastered the latter where Lily is concerned.
When she slips away too soon-far too soon-he can't help but be ensnared by her green eyes turned dark in the low light.
"I love you," he says, because he does even though it's still a sentiment that feels new on his tongue.
Lily grins sadly, bends her head in apology. James knows she can't say it, even if she feels it. At least, not yet. There are too many things going on right now for her to be able to entertain the idea of romance. And he understands that. James doesn't know why she's afraid, only that she is. Someday he hopes to help her work through it, and until then, he supposes he'll wait until she's ready.
Standing on her tip-toes, she brings her lips to his ear and whispers, "I'll race you to Honeydukes. Last one there has to brave the dorm to see if Remus and Sirius are properly decent."
Then she's off with a laugh, shoving him to ensure her a few steps head start over him. The moment he regains his balance he's on her heels, long legs giving him an easy advantage. Passing her, James looks back to find Lily in mid-fall, landing right on her arse in the snow. The lamp light brings her red hair to life-the only warmth on the street tonight, maybe in this whole bloody world-and her spirits seem to rise. Lily falls back in the snow and turns to look at him, green hat askew on her head and skirt inching up her tight-covered thighs. Her smile is wide and inviting, lighter than maybe he's ever seen it.
James will remember it until his dying day.
Author: museme87
Recipient: escribo
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,120
Warnings: a touch of politics, heavy exposition/reflection
Summary: She's the other half to his whole, but James isn't pushing her for anything more than stolen moments right now.
Author's Note: Written for lilyjames_fest 2011 for escribo. I really enjoyed writing this for you, escribo! The song prompt you left was completely inspiring, and I hope that you like the result of it. This was definitely based more on the feelings I felt while listening more so than the lyrics themselves, but I think everything comes across well enough even then. A huge thanks to L for the beta work. Happy holidays, everyone!
He can mark the time by years-the skips of his heart, the contractions and swells of emotion he has felt for this girl. Part of him always knew Lily was something special, something unattainable even for someone like him. So he let his feelings lie, succumbing only in brief moments when he could barely control himself let alone how he felt. James isn't particularly proud of those moments-afternoons by the lake, hexes in the hall, fingers molding around gold-but they have defined him. Not to himself, but to her. He always knew who he was; the problem was making Lily see him properly. James thought she never would.
She had.
It took time-a lot of time-but it happened. He sees it so easily now in her eyes as he drapes her cloak over her shoulders, her freckled cheeks warmed pink by the fire roaring next to their table at the Three Broomsticks. She flashes him a smile, rolls her eyes at his act of chivalry. Time has taught him that Lily is a sort of modern woman, the kind that pureblood girls can't really be. It puzzles him because all of the etiquette lessons his mother forced him to sit through never quite covered frighteningly independent witches. He thinks she'd rather study Transfiguration with him or race him on the grounds than take tea at Madam Puddifoot's or slow dance when Celestina Warbeck comes on the wireless in the common room. It's a bit of a shame, especially since he rather likes to dance.
But he'll take her, if she's offering. He's okay with being the one who likes sappy, romantic music in this relationship. James knows it's a lot to ask-not the dancing or the songs, but the acceptance of who he is-especially with the world working against them. He knows it's hard for her in ways it'll never be for him. He admires her for her courage; next to her, he looks like a Hufflepuff. James will never tell her that, though; she gets embarrassed by compliments. But somehow he thinks she understands anyway.
A lot of their conversations are silent like that.
Like now, as she holds her arm out for him to take. He can hear the are you coming in the tug of her lips and lift of her brow. He does take her arm, waving his goodbye to Rosmerta and thanking her for letting them steal away in here on a school night.
Walking out into winter is unbearable, the wind biting and snow deep in Hogsmeade. Lily takes a moment to straighten his scarf for him, securing it tightly under his chin. She understands he thinks it looks sexier just hanging over his shoulders or loosely knotted, but Lily's the sort that likes practicality. As she puts it, you can't be sexy if you're sick and you most certainly can't be sexy if you're dead, James Potter. She underestimates just how good he looks, of course, but he will forgive her for the oversight.
The return trek to Honeydukes is made more difficult due to the snow that has accumulated since their arrival and Lily's insistence that she wear these silly, Muggle boot-things in such terrible weather. He stands corrected; James supposes that his Lily likes practicality with the small exception of Muggle footwear. No self-respecting wizard shop would sell something like them, especially not with such heels.
Their only redeeming quality is that they have Lily half-hugging him for support and laughing uncontrollably with every trip or wobble. A little bit of that is due to the shots of Firewhisky that Rosmerta may-or-may-not have slipped them, no doubt. He's feeling a little warm and giggle-y too, and Lily's laugh being one of the most beautiful and contagious laughs he has ever heard, he can't help but start himself.
It's under one of the gas lamps lighting the street that James stops and spins Lily in his arms. Her eyes dance, and he can feel her happiness in the way she leans against him. He doesn't know how to tell her how much she means to him, how the world is more bearable when she's around. How he's sorry that his parents don't approve of her, how he doesn't give a damn about what pureblood socialites think of this "unfortunate tryst" of his. Just as long as she understands how much he loves her everything will be alright on his end. James understands it can never be so simple for her.
He leans over, captures her mouth in a breath-stealing kiss. Lily tastes like butterbeer and sugarquills and a magic beyond what he's capable of producing. She brings her mittened-hands to his face, moves her tongue against his, her nose cold against his cheek. The heat of her mouth makes him whimper, the press of her teeth against his lips has his eyes fluttering shut and his mind willing his hormones into control. He's not quite mastered the latter where Lily is concerned.
When she slips away too soon-far too soon-he can't help but be ensnared by her green eyes turned dark in the low light.
"I love you," he says, because he does even though it's still a sentiment that feels new on his tongue.
Lily grins sadly, bends her head in apology. James knows she can't say it, even if she feels it. At least, not yet. There are too many things going on right now for her to be able to entertain the idea of romance. And he understands that. James doesn't know why she's afraid, only that she is. Someday he hopes to help her work through it, and until then, he supposes he'll wait until she's ready.
Standing on her tip-toes, she brings her lips to his ear and whispers, "I'll race you to Honeydukes. Last one there has to brave the dorm to see if Remus and Sirius are properly decent."
Then she's off with a laugh, shoving him to ensure her a few steps head start over him. The moment he regains his balance he's on her heels, long legs giving him an easy advantage. Passing her, James looks back to find Lily in mid-fall, landing right on her arse in the snow. The lamp light brings her red hair to life-the only warmth on the street tonight, maybe in this whole bloody world-and her spirits seem to rise. Lily falls back in the snow and turns to look at him, green hat askew on her head and skirt inching up her tight-covered thighs. Her smile is wide and inviting, lighter than maybe he's ever seen it.
James will remember it until his dying day.