upinapinetree

[upinapinetree]

cooking up a storm

Part of "a patient and plodding green skin", which will be envisioned as a series of one-shots on James and Lily's relationship.

Also at AO3

James Potter thinks there must be a certain magic in celebrating Christmas at Hogwarts. Hogwarts is over-indulgent with the holiday decorations in a way that not even his mother could compete (although she does come close), the floating torches throughout the castle seem to glow a bit more orange that makes one feel warm and fuzzy inside, the snow does come down in the prettiest and most touching way in their part of Scotland - but let Sirius never know that James has thought this. James never manages to snap out of his reverie that he is lucky enough to count himself an inhabitant of this dark, Gothic, magical castle, where in spite of the eerieness at times, the grand, looming nature of it matches perfectly with the rich feeling of Christmas. The Potter Manor is no Hogwarts, but his Mum and their team of house elves do a spectacular enough job as it is. Plus it’s home, and nothing beats home. (He really hopes his parents have gotten him the latest Nimbus Ultra, because there is Slytherin butt to kick in their next match in March.)

It has been a week since James has been home for the holidays, and one morning he traipses down in his white shirt and snitch pyjama pants blearily towards the kitchen, when he spots Professor McGonagall in his sitting room, sipping tea with his parents.

He yelps and jumps a mile high. Clearly awake now. “Min - Professor! Morning but - what are you doing here?”

Professor McGonagall gave him a look that he was all too familiar with, and was about to reply him in her trademark irritable way, when Euphemia Potter, who was sitting next to her, cut in. “James, dear, Minnie missed our monthly tea last month - she had so much on her plate, what with that slew of attacks on a number of families of the Muggle-born students, you remember, I’m sure - but she’s making up for it now.” she beams and faces McGonagall. “I wish you did join us for Christmas dinner though, we would have made space for you!”

McGonagall quipped, “I see enough of Potter enough at school, holidays are for ah - recovering and recalibrating.” to which his mum and dad give some mixture of exasperated sigh and awkward laughter.

Fleamont Potter, who had been sitting in his chair by the fireplace (a large, tufted navy armchair that has been around as far back as James can remember, and he swears retains some imprint of his dad’s arse. Fleamont is protective to death of it, and reiterates its continued utility to no end, particularly when Euphemia is adamant on tossing that thing out), lowered the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading and says, “Say - Minnie, speaking of Hogwarts - how is dear James here doing with his classes? He never mentions much in his letters, you know, it’s all Quidditch, and pranks with the boys, and -”

James sighs and flops himself down to the ottoman opposite his mum and McGonagall.  He hasn’t even had his coffee or any breakfast yet. School! It was holidays, wasn’t it?

McGonagall set down her teacup and saucer down on the table daintily and started, “Well, Potters, I must say, while my hopes that your son would focus less on the pranks and daydreaming, he has nevertheless shown himself to be an innately bright and talented wizard with a great intuition and flexibility with magic.” Euphemia and Fleamont beamed at each other. “But -”

James groaned inwardly. Euphemia and Fleamont whipped their heads back in shock. “But…?” they say slowly together.

McGonagall fixes her piercing stare at James across the table. “It seems that this term, his Potions grade seems to ah - have slipped a few notches.”

Fleamont sputtered, “Potions? A few notches?”

“Now, I don’t ordinarily reveal this to the student’s parents so early in the term. At Hogwarts, we understand that Fifth Year has usually proven a steep bell curve for students to adjust to, and from our experience, students do seem to have a better grasp for the topics by the month leading up to O.W.Ls… but Potter, I too struggle to understand - you had been consistently adept at Potions since First Year, and you come from a particular Potioneering pedigree! You were doing well at the start of Term too, so Professor Slughorn was as aghast as I that he had to mark you a “T” for your last essay -”

Euphemia and Fleamont were clutching at each others hands now, from their respective sofas. “A - a “T”? Surely Minnie, you must be mistaken…”

“No, not mistaken, unfortunately. The strange thing, Potter, is that Professor Slughorn mentions that your essay was entirely fine and sound until your concluding thesis that ran entirely counter to everything you had been arguing before! And the same for your last practical on the Confusing Concoction - you were doing fine up until the last step, when you had sprinkled some chopped Rotsworth Root that nullified all your efforts before!”

James would have to vet his parents’ guest lists in the future.

--

James had managed to extricate himself from the party to grab a plate of whatever his house elf Cubbi had cooked up for him and ran upstairs to the safety of his room. He could still hear his parents and McGonagall downstairs. He whipped out a handheld mirror from his bedside table and started, “Pads - hey Pads, you the -” when he heard his parents knocking on his door. He sighed and stashed the mirror under his pillow.

(Ordinarily, parents would feel entitled to barge in to their child’s room, and James’s parents had been those parents up till the last summer, when they very unceremoniously walked in to James wanking off. Which is why they now waited for James’ green light as so -)

“Come in.”

Euphemia and Fleamont stepped in gingerly (the events of last summer still burned bright in their minds) and sat down at the foot of James’s bed. “James - well we’re just going to cut to the chase here - hm, ah…” they shot each other looks as if not knowing how to start.

“James, as your parents, we care most of all about your happiness and well-being -”

“ - and we love you very much, and know that O.W.Ls must be a very stressful topic for you, and we would never want to cause you undue stress -”

“ - and O.W.Ls don’t determine your worth, and we count ourselves so lucky to have such an obedient, filial, bright, and thoughtful child -”

“ - we don’t want you to think that one bad grade puts you on a certain path -”

“ - but if you feel you need support, as your parents, we are only too willing to provide you with all the resources you need -”

Fleamont couldn’t help himself with the pleasantries any longer, and let out a pained cry. “ - but of all things, Potions? James, it already doesn’t lend Sleekeazy’s credibility that you have… the hair that you do… but if people found out my son couldn’t brew even a Pepper-Up potion…”

James interjected, “I know how to brew a Pepper-Up just fine, thanks,” but was ignored.

Fleamont grabbed at James’s hands. “I thought I gave you enough guidance at home! Your entire childhood, all those summers you’ve spent in my Chambers, brewing potions even your classmates wouldn’t have heard of…! You’ve seen the finest and rarest potions ingredients that people would kill to experiment with…!”

“What are my options for tutoring then? Did Min - Professor McGonagall say anything?” James raised hopefully.

Euphemia is standing now, arms crossed, and shot a look at Fleamont before she answered James. “Well, she was as puzzled as us on why you suddenly are turning these grades for Potions - Professor Slughorn normally would give it some time and see if the student improves, but we all felt that with O.W.Ls looming quick…”

Fleamont looked closely at James as he said, “Well Minnie suggested a tutor. One of the other Fifth Years, who is doing well with Potions at present and on whom the extra responsibility of tutoring you might not be so onerous…”

James inched closer to his parents. And…?

“You’d think you’d be turning the same grade as Sirius, since you two practically copy off the other anyway, and you’re like two pumpkin pasties in a packet - really, I don’t understand how you managed a “T” - anyway, we were of the view that if Sirius’ potions knowledge hasn’t rubbed off you the last Term it wouldn’t matter if he tutored you, not that you two would get anything done -”

“Dad!”

Fleamont set his hands on his knees and stared at the ceiling. “She did say ah - Euphemia, what were those names? - Robert Turnpike [here, James made a rude sound], I think, some odd name, S… Severed… Severus, was it? Severus Snape [James turned pale], and … ah, yes, Lily Evans.”

“Lily.” James jumped off his bed. “It should be Lily Evans. Should I write McGonagall now? Is it too soon? It shouldn’t be, since I should ideally start tutoring sessions once Term begins next week. Lily Evans should have some advance notice too. Mum, Dad - didn’t you say you were going to pop by Hogsmeade to pick up some treats from Honeydukes?” James was practically pushing them out of his room. “I have something to do now. Bye.”

[upinapinetree]

Gryffindor Blood

Also at AO3

“The thing is - I’ve never felt much of a Gryffindor from the start, have I? The whole Sorting Hat business is a little… it’s just, well, who really knows? Some say it detects your core traits, which could be a result of genetics, family upbringing, a reaction against family upbringing, exposure to the outside world, personal preference, a mix of all of the above, or even because of that which you lack and need some prodding and pushing toward, because it could complement and then strengthen your other core traits. There’s the other school of thought which argues - we sort much too early at the tender age of eleven and we are hardly anywhere near cogently formed and conscious. What’s eleven got to say about the high and mighty traits of bravery, ambition, justice, wisdom, fairness, loyalty? Eleven cares about the latest limited edition Honeydukes bundle, or getting an owl for a birthday present, or smuggling their broomstick to Hogwarts, or… just not about who they are, you know? Because we’re hardly self-conscious at that point, and we exist as we are. Without any mirrors of sorts. And then - why even sort at all, and be grouped with people of the same personality traits as you? Isn’t that - isn’t that a little limiting, and even close-minded? Can - should - you put in such close proximity a group of people who are all tiringly like you, and wouldn’t each house just implode from the sheer concentration of a few dominant traits?”

She went on rambling madly to the amused, if not slightly confused, wizard standing in front of her. “I never considered myself brave, you know. My mum and dad always said it, but I always suspected that any smidgeon of bravery or recklessness I possessed was only thrown in sharp relief next to my sister, Petunia, who toed all the lines expected of her. Maybe I was only curious, or just lacked any lucidity at all. I don’t - I don’t even know if I prize those traits even; I see you and Black and the rest of you strutting around the corridors saying the most outrageous things and I know you gallivant around the school compound in the middle of the night doing probably the unimaginable and… and how you’ve always stuck out as the few Purebloods here who actually bother to strike back against the nasty, bigoted Slytherins who taunt the muggle-borns, especially the young ones who don’t really know how to stand their own yet, and even started that mini-Duelling Club for the second- and third-years even though you’re so busy with Quidditch practices. And how you wrote in to the Daily Prophet last month in response to Cantankerus Nott’s article on the legitimacy of the Sacred 28 and everyone thought you were nuts for doing so. But you were so brave. You - you always have been, you know.”

“Even when I thought you were the swottiest of swots, and the toerag to beat all toerags, you still stood out for me as the archetypal Gryffindor. All of us look to you, in a way, as a leader for what is good, noble, and decent. Because you don’t only think it, you act on it. This summer, when you asked me out to Diagon Alley and told me in that flabbergasted tone how you couldn’t believe you made Head Boy and how Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were off their rockers… I believed it - don’t give me that look, I did! And no one was surprised, not one bit. The student population at Hogwarts wouldn’t deserve anything less than James Potter for Head Boy.” She drew a breath and grew silent for a bit, fiddling with her fingers and pacing up and down in front of the tall, lanky, messy-haired boy. The boy sat in an alcove tucked away at the end of the second-floor corridor, where the girl had led them to after his Quidditch practice, which ended an hour ago.

“Even among the Gryffindor girls, I was never much the epitome of brave or adventurous or passionate. Awhile ago, I thought - well, loyalty. I’m loyal, perhaps even to a fault. And as you know, everything with… with Petunia, and Sev, and… I guess something in me broke in sixth year, because I went around wondering - well what ruddy good is loyalty for? When… when you can’t count on it to be reciprocated, or your loyalty gets taken advantage of. I felt a little like a fool. I was so angry and bitter with myself, I even toyed with the idea, well, what if I don’t want to be loyal anymore?”

At this point, James Potter had been doing a remarkable job in keeping silent. (He supposes, he didn’t really have much of a choice there. His first interjection had been met with a rather formidable glare from the lady.) “That doesn’t make you a fool! It says more of them than of you! You’re wonderful!”

Lily Evans pivoted on her heel and shot him a tender, appreciative look. She paused, and took a step closer to him, taking his dark, calloused hands in hers. Even in the drafty corridor, his hands were warm. She looked down at his knobbly knees, clad in the khaki corduroys.

“I had wondered… when would be my Gryffindor moment in life, you know, when you definitively know, yes! This is it, this is what’s been lurking underneath all this while, that which had been lurking beneath the surface all this while, but never really had a moment to come into full bloom. Dancing about in heels and a taffeta skirt with a bright green wig on top. Never - never had anything important to stand for, nothing that was worth having that would… feel so pure, and pressing, and poignant.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

“I probably knew it from that first day I met you on the Hogwarts Express. That I would never really be rid of you and that you’d always intrigue me. I’ve - and you’d struggle to see this - I’ve always had a tiny crush on you. And this crush has only gotten more crazy and nagging in sixth year, and by summer I knew I was screwed. James Potter, you are brave, daring, chivalrous, and reckless. And most times, the death of me. But you are also brilliant, bright, good, and kind. You fight for people and you fight for me. There is a war going on beyond these walls, and there’s some of it in the castle too. I want to be brave and daring, and I want to be brave and daring with you. The Gryffindor within me has been lying in wait for far too long. If there’s anything that should beg hold of this latent Gryffindor, it’s you. If there’s any moment, it’s now.”

And she grabbed his stunned face and presses her lips onto his, leans into him, and it isn’t before long that his arms encircle her waist.

[upinapinetree]

The Brightest Light

Also at ao3

His face lit up, far too brightly for her liking. “You’re jealous. You - Lily Evans - are jealous!”

“I am not,” Lily snapped back. “Eat your toast, it’s getting soggy.”

“You are - you -” he broke off in laughter. “You have never even given me a glare as bad as that! And you sto -”

Lily took the liberty to stuff James’s soggy toast into his shit-eating grin. “That didn’t happen. Now do you want to continue having a girlfriend, or not? I was under the impression you rather liked having a girlfriend. But all this,” she gesticulated. “I consider bullying.”

James gulped down his toast (a miracle he didn’t choke), all the while keeping his hazel eyes, bright with mirth, trained on his girlfriend, who was furiously blushing to her roots and decidedly not looking him in the eyes. He hooked his arm around her waist, bringing his face to her neck and gently nuzzling her. She was warm. Warm with embarrassment, surely, but it brought her distinctive Lily scent to the fore. Sandalwood, vanilla, and something bright. “But I love it that you’re jealous. It signals to the other girls that I’ve a formidable force around me. I’m untouchable, as they say.”

“There is no ‘they’,” Lily grumbled, as James continued with breakfast cheerily, his thumb making motions over her hip all the while. “You’re getting cocky. I need to take you down a notch, make googly eyes at Filch or…”

James picked up his other languishing toast and pointed it at her in a mock aggressive manner (it flopped down pathetically), his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “I will not be having that. Who knows what other unsuspecting lassie could be latching her eyes on to me while you do that? That’s dangerous, that is! Leaving me stranded among the amorous.”

Lily scoffed and said, “The amorous or the ignorant? She was an overeager fourth year. I would not deign -”

“Liiiiilyyyyyy… won’t you just flatter your boyfriend some…”

“Oh,” Sirius chimed in. “Lily’s certainly flattered someone well enough last night, weren’t you there, Prongs? I could’ve sworn…”

“Oi, that’s enough now!”

“I thought I heard the door open early this morning, see Mary, it wasn’t my imag -”

Lily shot a look at the too-pleased boy next to her.

---

“I wasn’t jealous.”

The two were lying on James’s bed, his right hand intertwined with her left, both hands running motions around the other. James looked over at her, her face steely in resolve but eyes strangely glazed. The sharp moonlight from the windows of the boys’ dormitory hit the lines of her face, illuminating the peaks and dips. The night had cast them all in a middlish purple glow. The boys lay in the other four-poster beds, the occasional sound coming from beyond the hangings. He brought their hands to his lips, and she could feel the smirk on his face. “Are we still on this?”

“I wasn’t -”

“Lils, you stomped your feet and dragged me away from that poor girl, it was Milkens that told her I had the new Quidditch gloves and Ferrina only wanted to know…”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, and -”

“No,” Lily’s voice became harried, and she pulled her face into James’s chest, her voice muffled. “You didn’t see what she was like before she came up to you, or… well you just don’t know how girls are like and… and - and well I know, okay, it’s not a very big school, and girls talk, and all the talk gets around and…”

He felt a dampness at his chest and felt stricken. “Lily, wha -”

“I know you. I know you are loyal, I know you are unwavering… and I know that you love me. And I you. And I want to trust in all of that. But…”

James felt entirely taken aback by all this. Boys are bad with these things! It’s almost a universal truth, or something. “Lils, what’s wrong? Maybe I’m daft but I thought we were fine.”

“We are, Merlin, we are but…” She drew a sharp intake of breath, and gave a long shudder.

“We’re good… more than good, really. I love you so much. And my days have never been so bright as when we are together. But, but I don’t know, is that all there is? People - people say things and -”

“What do I care what other people say? And what do you?” He clenched their hands tighter together. “Why? What have you heard?”

She stayed silent. “Lily -”

“They say I’m a phase of yours. That you were just drawn to the chase of it all. That it’s nothing serious, and you would know better - that, that even if you were in love with me, there’d be other forces drawing you, like some subconscious obligation to keep the Potter bloodline pure, or that you wouldn’t, couldn’t want the Deatheaters’ attention on your parents, and maybe your parents and your friends are just humouring you… me… that this wouldn’t last past Hogwarts…” She pressed her thumbnail into his palm.

James let out a growl of frustration and tucked his chin more firmly over her head. “Lily - what, no - don’t you - don’t you know me even a little? That doesn’t -”

“I know it doesn’t - I know you… ”

“My parents - they love you, you’ve seen them at Christmas, they couldn’t -”

“I -”

“They don’t give a rat’s arse about the blood purity crap and you of all -”

“James - James - I know but people…”

“If you know, then what does it matter what other people figure?”

Lily broke herself off from his embrace and lay flat on her back again. “Because we can think that we exist on our own accord - because I love you and you love me, and that’s all that matters, but we don’t exist in a vacuum, especially not in these times, and there are people around - people who do things, people who sabotage, people who talk and -”

“I don’t care.”

She closed her eyes shut, and covered her face with her hands. “But you should... How can you - how can you not, it’s just - reckless, really…”

It grew silent. The room felt blacker, and heavier, and Lily didn’t dare to imagine James’s face now.

“Lily… what are you saying? So… so what do you…” James’s exhales felt like they were weighing the whole room down. “Is this it for us?”

A breath hitched in Lily’s throat. “Wha - I - I don’t know… I don’t want that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with all you’ve said? Wha-”

“I love you. So much. And us - I see us going on, and on, indefinitely, forever, really, and I couldn’t imagine a day without you, because you’re all I know now but -”

“But what?”

“But there are people who say that you should be with a pureblood. That I will just muddy your line.”

She peeked at James through her fingers. It was safe - he wasn’t looking at her, but staring resolutely at the ceiling. And she couldn’t help herself - didn’t even know what was between them really - but brought herself closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his torso. And by some miracle, it felt like, he tightened his arm around her too. He sighed.

“Lils… there’s a reason why the Potters aren’t considered one of the Sacred 28. I am a pureblood, but the Potter line hasn’t been pure in decades. And -” he broke off in a bitter laugh. “And my family is as close to blood traitors as you can get! My grandfather, he spoke out on behalf of Muggles during World War I, he’s why we’re not considered part of the Sacred 28, and my father, my mother, me, that legacy is in our blood, not some whacked up, half-assed theory about blood purity!”

Lily tried to say something but he went on. “And if indeed my parents, myself, are put in danger because of this decision, us, then we die by principles we believe in. And myself by this love. And Lily - you must know by now, that I rather die by the hands of Deatheaters because they consider me the worst of blood traitors, than to live a mediocre, dull, comfortable life according to the expectations of a pureblood - that by the way, is only propagated by the cowardly - and, and without you by my side, with all this love that I have for you with nothing to show it for…”

He sighed again. She glanced up at him, and saw his clenched jaw and fierce eyes. “That is the Gryffindor in me. It’s reckless but I rather die by this.” He adjusted them, so that his forehead fell upon hers. Even in the dark, his eyes were bright, and blazing. “Is that okay? Is all of that okay?” He let his eyes shut, and his lips reached for the bridge of her nose.

“Lily. I love you. You know that much is true. And if I die, I die fighting for a chance at a world where our love would be at home. It's reckless. Yes, but reckless is what I know, and it hasn't failed me. And…” he grabs at her hand. He whispers. “Even if we don’t win, our love is … our love is okay. Our love is fine, more than fine.”

She winds her arms around his back, her hands clutching at his shoulders. They are tense. She whispers, “Yes. Yes, all of that is okay. I love you. I love you.” He crushes his lips to hers, and she is aching for him, aching for the boy who has just promised her the world, and as his hands reach under the hem of her nightshirt, and run up her stomach carelessly before finding their way to her knickers, … even in the dark dormitory, even as the news from outside Hogwarts grow malicious and threatening, there is the brightest light between them to house their love. This dumb, stupid, teenage love. She has a feeling that this might just defeat it all - prejudice, fear, death… This feels big, urgent, and strong enough against the darkest of magic.

And she will die by this truth. It blazes with a finality, and there is no way she isn't right about this.