jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog - Tumblr blog

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

I ship it → Emmeline Vance & Books (for Lumpkin)

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

OOC: LILY I WROTE YOU A POST

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

remme post. I suck.

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

remme post. I suck.

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

ooc

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Lily, Seventh Year

James vaguely registered Lily's pleas -- to be angry, to yell, to say something --, half-understood her offers -- whatever he wanted in bed, buy him a new broom, no complaints about Quidditch --, but the only thing that really resonated clearly in his head was the fact that he was causing her pain.  She was causing him pain, true, but hers had been accidental, completely unintentional, and here he was, returning the favor with no thought to her feelings, how his being in pain effected her, being totally selfish.  He took a deep, shuddering breath and forced his lip to stop quivering, hoping hers would too.  He squeezed her hand tightly, with a little more force than he normally would have, and dropped the broomstick pieces on the carpet.  They clattered, to James very audibly, and he rested his forehead against hers, eyes shut, breathing in and out meditatively.

So focused on his breathing was he that he was completely unprepared for Lily falling on him.  They both fell onto the floor, James under Lily, and he blinked up at her.  He offered her a smile, albeit a much less bright smile than he'd had when she'd first walked in this morning, and spent a moment merely looking at her.  He'd really upset her, simply by being upset.  He let out a breath and stole a quick kiss from her surprised lips, made aware once again that she was braless.  That the entire exchange had taken place while she was braless.  That she had cleaned his room braless.  He smirked half-heartedly, and sat up, bringing her with him.  He made a face at her, shutting his eyes and wrinkling his nose and making an exaggerated kissy face, before standing up.  He put his arm around her waist and pressed his lips into her hair, taking a moment to lean on her while he stared at the two pieces of his broomstick.  He kicked them under the bed, to be concealed for the time being, and stood up straight.

"It shouldn't ruin my birthday." He said at last, attempting to smile and having minor success.  "You didn't mean to, I know.  I still love you.  I'll always love you."  He added as an afterthought.  Getting back on topic, he continued, "I can't let you buy one for me, Lily, they're several hundred galleons.  As for doing whatever I want, I'm not going to make you be my slave or anything, Lils.  ... Unless you're into that," he amended, smirking.  He shook his head, fringe falling into his eyes, then ran a hand through his hair.  "I see no reason my birthday shouldn't continue as planned.  Since you hate flying, I doubt that was part of my present."  He quipped, looking at her again and pecking her nose.  "Go on, then, what were you saying before I was so rudely ushered out of my room so you could clean, of all things?"

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Lily, Seventh Year

"What the bloody--"  James had started to murmur, when there was suddenly a loud series of bangs from inside the room.  His eyes widened behind his glasses, and, frowning, he tried again to melt the door with his laser vision.  When this failed, he tried his x-ray vision.  However, said x-ray vision hadn't worked on Lily in fifth year, and it seemed his prowess for the skill was still lacking, for the wooden door before him was no less see through.  He pouted, slumping against the door, and allowed his mind to wander. I suppose the good thing is now I don't need x-ray vision to see Lily's boobs. He grinned, remembering when she'd come into the room, and the countless number of times he'd seen her wonderful breasts. Well, it's probably not countless.  Probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 600.  I know we've made love exactly 138 times, but I never thought to keep track of anything else.  It's ruddy amazing, a year ago I could barely stay in the same room as her, let alone hug her, let alone unhook her bra, let alone slide her knickers down her legs--

James' train of thought was broken  before he could get to imaging sexcapade #139, and good thing to, because his musings were not helping the morning wood issue, by the door opening.  Only his reflexes saved him from an uncomfortable nose smashing, for, stepping back quickly, his eyes sought hers immediately (after admittedly wandering to what little part of her torso was visible since she'd barely opened the door at all).  When she spoke, Lily's voice was anything but natural, and it raised his suspicions immediately.  "Of course, I love you too," he responded automatically, trying surreptitiously to peer around her.  He nudged open the door with his left arm, simultaneously placing the right one on her waist, and budged her out of the way, doing a quick survey of the room, noting the gold streamers and how utterly clean the room was (the source of the banging sounds became clear to him), and then looked back to her, black brow raised.  "What's the problem?"

He searched her face intently, and although Lily did not lack the ability James so obviously did to mask his facial expressions, her eyes betrayed her.  That, and when she was concerned a wrinkle appeared in the junction between her nose and left eyebrow.  He traced it with his free thumb, then shut the door behind them. 

"What is it?"  He asked her again, tearing his eyes from hers to look at the room again.  Finding nothing, his eyes found hers again.  He bent and pressed a kiss to her mouth, choosing to stay at the shorter height after.  She was nervous, that much was certain, but what about?  He couldn't think, and honestly he hoped it wasn't anything he'd done, it was his birthday after all, and long, emotional talks while "necessary for a healthy relationship" were trying and he did not fancy them on his birthday.  He thought Lily was speaking, but he missed the beginning.  He was glancing around the room, trying again to ascertain the source of her nerves, when his eyes caught a stick of wood, splintered in the middle.

A crease appeared on his brow and he straightened up to his full height, stepping around Lily but taking her hand as he went in order to further inspect the snapped wooden stick.  He crouched, not letting go of Lily's hand and so forcing her to crouch with him, and picked it up with his free hand.  The end he'd spotted finished in a very smooth, very polished end, which rather looked like a broomstick's handle.  He picked it up, confused, and inspected the splintered end.  He turned over his shoulder to Lily, "Some poor sod's broomstick got stepped on," he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned back, picking up the other end.  This time, this piece culminated in the wicker end of a broomstick.  He traced it with his free hand, noting again the glossy feel of the wood, the trimmed ends, and the initials 'J.P.' carefully written in small script toward the tail.  "J.P.," he repeated thoughtfully, "someone's got the same initials as I do." 

One beat.  Two beats.  Three beats.  He glanced at Lily again, noted the guilt in her expression, and looked once more at the remains of his prized broomstick.  "My... my broom," his voice broke on the last word and he dropped her hand, which fell onto the carpet, limp, and focused on not crying.  He'd had this broom since fifth year, since he was first made captain, and it was sentimental to him, sure, but it was just a broom. Just a broom.  Just a broomstick.  Nothing special at all.  Just a broomstick he'd gotten to pick out when he'd been made Captain.  Just the broomstick he'd gone riding on with Sirius when they'd discovered the end of the Forbidden Forest.  Just the broomstick he'd taken Lily riding on in January.  Just the most prized possession he owned.

He choked a little, completely unused to this new kind of heartbreak, and shut his eyes against the, to his absolute horror, tears that were very real threats to his masculinity.  All remains of morning wood gone, James could only stare at his precious, precious broom his precious, precious girlfriend had stepped on.  Now, it appeared he was mourning wood.  He sniffed and brushed impatiently at his eyes with his forearm.  Finally, he looked again at Lily, whose expression was so completely struck, so completely horrified at her own action, that he found the anger would not come.  The anger, the rage, the unbridled fury that would have come for anyone else, even Sirius, was absent.  It made him feel empty.

The two halves of his broom clutched in his hands, James could only stare at Lily, lower lip quivering, and sniff pathetically.  If the Marauders saw him like this, they'd never let him live it down.

All manner of repairing charms flew through his brain, but the memory of purchasing his very first broomstick entered his mind before he could muster the concentration to try any one of them.  The shopkeeper, who James learned had recently passed away, had been very clear: repaired broomsticks are never the same.  Treasure them, he'd said, they'll last you to the end if you take care of them.

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Lily, 7th year

"I can't believe she locked me out," James moaned to no one in particular, bum against the wall as he stared helplessly at his dormitory door.  "My own room and she locked me out!"  He lamented again, brows furrowing when he didn't get a response.  He spent a few moments attempting to stare daggers through his door, though apparently the old wood was quite magical, as his stare did nothing more than aggravate his eyes.  He stood fully, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his sore hazel eyes.  He blinked the world back into being and knocked again on his door.  "Lily!  Let me in!  You can't just go into my room when the guys aren't here andnot let me in!  That defeats theentirepurpose!"  Once he was finished shouting, he resumed brooding.  It wasn't at all fair, her tactics. 

Lily had come in, announced she was braless, tried to seduce him (and succeeded, but he couldn't be held responsible for falling victim her powers of seduction), gave him nothing more than a peck on the lips, and promptly shoved him out the door, yelling about needing to do something for his birthday.  He hmmphed at the memory and banged on the door again.  "Lily Juliet Evans!"  He made a sound rather like a horse does when frustrated, and slumped against the darn magical wood which would not open to him at this time.  His bloody girlfriend had probably enchanted the door.  A glance outside reminded him of the early hour and he sighed again, defeated and reduced to waiting outside his door in the wee hours of a new day.  Talk about morning wood.

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

'

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

Sirius, Marlene and James fooling around during a trip to Hogsmeade

Taken by a giggling Mary, before she got hit by a snowball

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Mary, end of first term, 6th year

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me,"  The usually tightly-sealed lid James had on his control was loose today, and the words had tumbled from his mouth before he'd so much as thought them, much less had a chance to stop them.  And unfortunately, the swear too had come out of his mouth in a loud, irritated fashion, in perfect clarity of Professor Slughorn.  Said Professor looked up from where he'd been talking to Snape -- of all people -- at the front of the room, and raised a bushy eye brow.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"

James' hazel eyes came to rest on the Potions Master,  then on the greasy-haired git beside him who was already smirking with glee at the mere prospect of James getting another detention, but his mouth would stubbornly not budge from its scowl.  Somehow, though, he managed not to betray the intense irritation that was currently kicking up tornadoes in his chest cavity.  "No, sir,"  He sat, just missing the look of disappointment on Snape's face when Slughorn shrugged it off, and pushed his chair roughly back from the desk, dutifully ignoring the screeching it made against the stone.  Slughorn and Snape looked up again, and Sirius took his seat next to James with a sigh.

"Prongs--"

"Amortentia," the Quidditch Captain hissed, hazel eyes ablaze with something less like fire and something more like pain, "the potion one understands best if one is in love."

Sirius' gaze drifted to Evans, then rested again on James.  "Don't worry about it, mate."  He looked uncomfortable, concerned, sympathetic.  It made James' blood boil.

He ripped his gaze from Sirius' and proceeded to bore a hole into the table.  Every impulse he had was screaming at James to get up and leave.  Fuck Potions.  He didn't need Potions.  He was going to play Quidditch.  All he had to be good at was flying.  The only reason he'd even taken the class in the first place was McGonagall's insistence.  And somehow, the Head of Gryffindor House had garnered herself a place of respect in the mindset of her best Chaser, so much so that James actively listened to her opinions -- whenever she gave them without a detention tailing along.  He took a deep breath and then he took four more.  Slughorn was rambling off instructions.  He heard the scratch of quills against parchment.  He looked up to see the board, but somehow his eyes found her instead, and the self-inflicted knife in his gut twisted deeper.  With an effort to control his voice, he said, "Get the ingredients would you, Padfoot?"  To his relief, Sirius got up, and James just managed to give him a smile.  He turned on the fire and set their bronze cauldron atop it.  While Sirius was gone, watching the flickering green flame gave him something to do.  But, as it would happen, distraction was not needed by the way of flame; it arrived in the way of Snape.

"Amortentia ought to be interesting, eh, Potter?"

James' head snapped up.  The automatic response to retort flashed through him, but he forced it down, and instead only met the hateful black gaze directed at him.

"Such a pity you're all the way back here, away from the good ones.  Don't worry, though, I'll be sure not to tell you what Lily smells in hers.  Although when we leave arm in arm, do try not to embarrass yourself."  Snape sneered nastily at James.

Now the impulse to retort was monstrous, and after battling valiantly with it for few seconds, James opened his mouth to let out his hatred when--

"Seeing as you embarrass yourself every time you leave your cave, you were hoping Prongs'd graciously distract from your especially oily hair today?  Quite a shine it's got, Snivellus, you use extra grease this morning?"

Snape's glare left James and moved on to Sirius, and, for a moment, they locked eyes, but then Snape swept off sharply, now outnumbered, and James was, in fact, struck by how bat-like he was.  "Prick," he muttered under his breath.

Sirius nodded in agreement, beginning to mash an ingredient.  "I still don't get why you're keeping your mouth shut, Prongs.  He's not gonna do anything.  He's a great, sodding coward."

James made a noncommittal sound of agreement, and somehow managed to get through the rest of the lesson with minimal interaction with either of the banes of his existence.  As Remus pointed out to him the other day, the less he interacted with Lily, the more he seemed to hate Snape, although both Gryffindors knew by now that he saw even less of Lily than James did.  In fact, just about the whole castle knew.  The word "mudblood" had been more constant than the biting December wind; somehow, six months later, it was still big news.

Prongs and Padfoot were first out the door the instant the bell rang, having already delivered their perfectly functioning, vile pink potion to Slughorn minutes earlier.  Sirius was going on about something or other, but James was hardly listening.  Fruit, he kept smelling fruit.  Not any fruit in particular, mind, just a fruity smell.  Parchment, too -- there was something distinctly parchment-like about the odor.  And, if he thought more, cinnamon.  All in all, it was an odd combination, but it was his amortentia, and he knew exactly who it reminded him of.  Sirius, apparently fed up with James' behavior, had found a couple of blonde girls to chat up.  He could practically see them swooning across the corridor.  Disgusted (though not with Sirius) James went the opposite direction, his feet and not his brain in charge of his destination.  When they stopped walking, though, at the library, he felt the knife again twist.  There was that parchment smell.  He thought seriously about leaving, about getting his broom and ditching the rest of the week with a small supply of water, about breaking things until he no longer felt upset, and about taking off into the woods, going stag, and simply running until he collapsed.  In the end, he simply sat next to Mary, ignoring the books spread out around her.

Shoving one out of his way, he banged his head on the table and stayed like that, forehead on the wood, limbs dangling toward the ground, glasses digging into his temple.  By way of explanation he offered none.  Instead, he patted her blindly on the shoulder and muttered something about "loathing ruddy pink potions".

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Emme, 5th Year

He offered her a slightly stronger smile and sat down next to her.  Emme would talk.  He exhaled, chest unclenching a few centimeters.  Of course, he'd been sure she'd talk to him, but that certainty wasn't too different from the certainty he felt before he asked out Evans.  Somehow, each and every time he put himself out there with a new idea, no matter how fierce or nasty her previous rejection had been, he expected to get a resounding yes.  Earlier that day had been no exception.

This morning James had been brooding as well, face down on his four poster, laying horizontally instead of vertically, the blood rushing to his face, legs dangling dangerously over the end where Peter was attempting to paint his toenails without James noticing, when his latest idea had occurred to him.  He'd thought it genius.  Poetry!  Girls loved poetry!  And Evans, mad as she was, was surely no exception.  In his excitement, he'd nearly kicked Peter in the face.  However, upon turning around and seeing Wormtail's guilty expression and quickly deducing his plan, James tackled his friend and ended up getting nail polish on him anyway.  After they'd wrestled a bit, James spent a full ten minutes on every vanishing spell he knew to get out the horrid pink nail polish from his jumper.  Finally forced to accept his failure at Sirius fifth "vanishing liquid" joke, James went down to the Common Room to find a girl to enlist in his struggle.  Lucky for him, Mary had been there and had been feeling particularly charitable.  He'd grinned at her, kissed her cheek loudly, then raced back up the stairs to write out his master plan.

To his dismay, his cleverness did not extend to the world of poetry.  An hour of endlessly frustrating work had produced the meager results before him:

Evans my Evans

Your eyes take me to the heavens

All I see is you, not even a tree

Won’t you please go to Hogsmeade with me?

Still, James was never easily deterred, and went ahead with his plan.  He'd more or less cornered Evans at lunch and had promptly began shouting his literary masterpiece with no regard for the conversations or previously-pleasant lunch times of other students.  When he finished, there was a healthy bit of chuckling amongst his peers, but James had only been able to focus on Lily.  He smiled hopefully, encouraged by her delayed response.  He more felt her hex coming toward him than heard or saw it.  His shield charm had been quick to come up, but Evans' jelly legs had permeated it a bit.  And no wonder -- dejection was not a helpful emotion in shield-casting.  His left leg had felt jello-like for nearly two hours after.

"I assume you already talked to her?  Her bloody jinx had my leg feeling wonky for two hours after.  Stupid shield charm didn't work," he grumbled.  He exhaled deeply.  "I don't know what the problem was this time.  I wrote her a poem.  I thought girls liked poetry?"  His face took on a dejected, downward appearance at his instant as the memory flooded back to him once again.  "I enunciated, I wasn't shy about my feelings, I smiled at her, I wasn't right up next to her -- I was at least three feet back -- and she just... She hexed me."  A frown pulled down the corners of James' lips.  "I don't get it, Emme."  Try as he might to hide it, as he met his friend's gaze, his hazel eyes were sad.  Sometimes it scared James how much he thought about Lily, how he couldn't get her off his mind.  Sometimes it frustrated him.  But mostly it just hurt.

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Sirius and Hestia/@Emme, Fifth Year

"It's not that our standards are high," James started, sharing a glance with Sirius, "it's that we're so used to entertaining ourselves, and, let's face it, we're pretty hilarious."  He offered Hestia a grin then took a healthy swig of his butterbeer, setting it on the table firmly.  In the next few minutes, when Hestia did apparently find a topic to go on about and entertain them, James found himself with a lack of things to say.  Not only was this rare for the newly-appointed Quidditch Captain, but his silence would surely be noticed if he didn't act fast.  Really, no matter how torn up James was about Lily's latest rejection, he didn't want to talk about it.  That wasn't how he and Padfoot worked.  Sirius clapped on the back and said "bad luck, Prongs" and that was it.  They moved on and they pulled a prank.  They weren't birds, after all.  It wasn't how James and Sirius worked.  And if he didn't tell his best mate about it, he certainly didn't tell Hestia.  Nice enough though she was, James simply was not comfortable talking about Lily to either of them.

Talking about Lily made him feel weak.  It made him feel vulnerable and small and feminine.  All things he strove not to be.  James wasn't awkward with many things at all; he was a very proud sort.  Each part of him he showed off without fear of rejection or judgement.  And that was just the problem.  Lily wasn't part of him.  Lily hated him.

James stood up abruptly and gulped down the rest of his butterbeer in one mighty swig.  "See you two back in the Common Room," he stated, offering a half-smirk to each of them but carefully avoiding Sirius' eyes.  Sirius knew James sometimes better than he knew himself, and he would be able to tell in an instant what was wrong.  Not the most sensitive of wizards, Sirius would likely berate James until he just laughed it off.  Which, while an effective method, was not a pleasing concept to the messy-haired Chaser.  He then left the table, holding his head high and his shoulders back.  Lily Evans would not ruin his day.  Lily Evans would not control his mood and make him sulk.  Lily Evans would not have this much power over him.  He refused to let it happen.  She would not have this much influence over a bloke she hated.  It just didn't make sense.  Ah, but that was the worst part.  She hated him and he, he...  Well, whatever he felt for Lily, he was only fifteen.  Much too young for such complicated emotions.

As James trekked the path up to Hogwarts, however, the swirling turmoil that was his mood would not brighten.  It tugged and tugged at his heart until James felt the need to do the most unforgivably feminine of problem-solvers.  He wanted to talk about his feelings.  And there was only one person James liked to talked to about Lily: Emmeline Vance.  It may have been putting Emme in awkward situation, being Lily's best friend and James' confidant, but she was only too happy to do it, James was sure.  She never minded.  He and Emme were close.  She would understand.  She wouldn't make fun of him, not even if he tried to explain to her the turbulent emotions running amuck in his fifteen-year-old heart.

He pulled out the map as he entered the castle, locating her dot quickly in the Gryffindor Common Room.  Unconsciously, his feet moved quicker.  Whatever this nagging feeling was in his chest, it wouldn't go away.  He couldn't place his finger on it no matter how hard he tried, but dammit was it bothering him.  No, it was burning him.  In little time, he was at the portrait hole.  He all but snapped the password and clambered through, spotting Emme quickly, by her lonesome with a book in her favorite armchair.  "Emme," he started, trying to smile and failing.  "Can we talk?"

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

ooc post

"I have come to the conclusion that silvia is the perfect goddess of everything and I love her that is all"

- Meg

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

The Marauders

[jamespotterthemarauderr-blo-blog]

@Sirius and Hestia, 5th year

James flashed a thumbs up back at his best mate in return, winking exaggeratedly.  His attention was quickly focused back on Hestia as she spoke again.  He grinned at her.  "Sirius has a way with the ladies," he replied quickly.  He put a hand to his chin, pretending to think.  "All the ladies, that is, except you."  He leaned forward conspiratorially, "I wonder why that is?  Surely you're not just immune to the 'ol Black family charm.  It'll just break the poor bloke's heart if you tell him that, you know, Hes.  He looks tough, but on the inside he's just a big ball of mush."  The grin still on his face, James leaned back in his seat and placed his elbow on the table, then his chin on his fist, as he listened to Hestia's response.  A few moments later, Madam Rosmerta came by with their food, and James walked up to get Sirius.

"Padfoot," he started, grinning in turn at each of the girls at the table, "our food's here, mate.  Say goodbye to your bird."  He waited for Sirius, clapping his back as soon as they left the Ravenclaws' table.  "Good on you.  Isn't she a sixth year?"  He smirked at his friend, then took his seat again at the table.  After taking a long swig of his cold butterbeer, he turned again to Hestia.  "And how is your food, Miss Jones?"  He flashed his grin at her.

While it may have been true that both Marauders had becoming grins, they were distinctly different, and, while James would always relish being compared to Sirius, he was adamant that they were not the same person, as some were inclined to believe.  They shared many things in common, both in their physical characteristics and in their personalities, but where Sirius was abrasive, James was broody.  Where Sirius was handsome, James was dapper.  Where Sirius was a Beater, James was a Chaser.  Maybe Sirius didn't exactly know when enough was enough, and maybe James had more of a conscience.  Sirius was a Black, and James was a Potter.  They were best mates, they were brothers, but they were not the same person.