Blithering Mc Gonagall

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?”

Lily snorts at James as he stuffs one spoon after another of her mother’s chocolate fudge into his already full mouth, creating a rather nasty scene that would ignite a sense of disgust within her if she wasn’t so fond of the boy sitting before her.

They’ve just finished the rounds, choosing to sit on the windowsill in the owlery as Ash dropped off the parcel from her mother. When she procured the tin, James had proclaimed her mother to be an absolute goddess—only after his—but one nonetheless, and ripped off the cover before divulging into it like a starved dog, tough Lily’s certain she’d seen him eating two slices of pie for dessert.

He may be insane and disgusting, but she’s far too sure that while her face contorts in mockery, a fond smile tugs away at her lips.

Merlin, the things she bore for him.

“Tell, your mum I need more.” he says, screwing the now empty tin shut before handing it to her, flashing a smirk when she shakes her head.

The corridor is quiet, only gusts of wind filling the air and taking in the comfortable silence. Their hands brush once, twice, and she keeps counting them to ignore the butterflies that have sprouted within her stomach—some brushes more deliberate than the others.

She really doesn’t mind.

James links their fingers, shooting delicate sparks through the touch, and pulls her through the portrait into their head’s common room, hands still latched when they reach the staircase leading to her room.

He smiles down at her, “Thanks for the fudge.”

Lily smiles back, not bothering to answer as she steps forward. They stare at each other, mere inches of air separating them.

It’s an invitation, an opening.

If only he’d take it.

The silence stretches, and she nearly gives in--ready to step back until his hoarse whisper drifts to her ear as his eyes brighten.

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?”

Hazel eyes disappear beneath closed lids, forehead resting on hers.

She can’t seem to breathe anymore.

“Lily—“

Her free hand reaches up to the side of his face, tilting it slightly backwards to press her lips to his.

And she can never get enough—not when his lips are soft and laying there to be tugged and played with. Not when he smells like the night air and definitely not when his hair is full of the fluff, gentle underneath her fingertips. His tongue runs along her lower lip, sending shivers down her spine where his arms hold her up, hard and tight around her—pulling her till her person is up his. His glasses nudge upwards as their noses bump against each other.

It’s far from perfect—teeth still knocking against each other and she has to brush her hair away more than once.

But it's still sweet.

They have all the time in the world to perfect it.

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

James shoved the hair out of his eyes, knocking his glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose as he pushed the portrait to the Head’s common room with the fist closed around his broom.

Returning from the showers after quidditch practice had run him ragged, muscles sore from running through the strategies one after another, throat slightly raw from shouting at his teammates. He supposed that came with the package of being the team’s captain.

He left the broom by the hole, making his way through the room to the stairs leading to his room.

Lily wasn’t on the couch or the windowsill, and the door to her room was wide open. Which meant she was in his.

James let a small smile break through his features.

The year had come with a load of responsibilities thrown at him, but along with it had come her friendship, and he really wouldn’t have it any other way. The head duties only sought to bring them closer, and really, who could resist his charms and terrible puns? She’d done it for six years but it could only last so long.

He’d nearly given up that summer, but the letter from the school had rekindled a small one akin to it and he couldn’t help himself.

There had been signs here and there, a barely noticeable rosy blush creeping from the neck when he got too close, a small brush of arms when they sat at the table, pouring over schedules and notes, fiercely fighting his insecurities when they became far too visible and assuring him to no end, but he really couldn’t let himself hope too much.

But they were still signs.

No use overthinking about it all now, he chided himself, climbing the stairs and pushing the door open and heart nearly stopping at the sight that graced his eyes.

He wanted it forever etched to the back of his eyes.

Lily sat propped cozily on pillows of his bed, book in one hand over a fluffed up pillow on her lap and other flipping lazily through the pages. Her hair was gathered up into a lazy bun held by her wand.

Was that—

Merlin, Agrippa and Circe, it was.

James grinned at her as she raised her head, landing his bum on the other edge of his bed and raising her ankles only to drop them over his lap.

“I thought you said you completed the curriculum last night?”

“This is revision.”

“Lil, c’mon, you always say that.”

She raised an eyebrow over the book, “Well, unlike you, I don’t have insane hobbies like polishing a fork collection or dangerous flying sports, James.”

“My fork collection isn’t insane it’s gorgeous.”

“Whatever you say, rich boy.”

He grinned at her already bowed head, wondering how to bring it up. This had to be a sign.

A blatant and obvious one at that.

He couldn’t just let it go unnoticed.

“Lily?”

“Hmn?”

“Why are you wearing my jumper?”

“Because it smells like you.”

He stopped fiddling with the frayed edges of her socks, head snapping up so fast he felt the crack in his very bones, heart speeding up to catch up in the race with his thoughts, just barely managing to keep up. The entirety of Scotland could probably hear his heart beat.

And even if they didn’t, she probably did, tough she seemed preoccupied otherwise by the book before her, but he could see that her eyes weren’t moving and barely skimmed it.

So she was faking it.

Bloody hell, how was he supposed to not get the wrong idea with all this?

Unless...it wasn’t the wrong idea.

But, then again, that’s what he’d said to himself all those years ago. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Ah, er, right, yeah. I’m—just going to start on Slughorn’s essay—“

Her hand paused the flipping of the pages, head raised to look at him incredulously.

“What?”

“You nitwit.”

“What?”

“That was an invitation, for fucks sake.”

“An—an invitation?”

Her lips stretched into a rueful smile, “You really are over—I—nevermind.”

A sigh, then, “I’m sor—“

James knew it was a far off chance, but he couldn’t help wonder. Which meant letting his mouth run off with its own feet.

“An invitation for snogging?”

Lily paused, glancing at him, “I prefer the term kissing, but sure.”

James looked back into his lap, hands fingering the loosened loop of the sock, “Same difference.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Lily, I would like a kiss.”

She grinned like a Cherishie cat, all but shoving the book to her side and firmly placing herself in his lap, “Well, James, all you had to do was ask.”

He spluttered, “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a kiss.”

He stared at her lips until it came crashing down on his—sweet, wonderful, soft and broadcasting his heartbeat for the entire world to hear. He wanted this for so long now and it’s finally happening and he can’t process a comprehensive thought, but it was alright—he was where he wanted to be. In his bed, glasses knocked asknew, Lily Evans on his lap and snogging the living daylights out of him, hands looped around his neck and fingers tangled with his dark locks, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other clutching onto her back. Her red hair fell on his hand, soft and fluffed up, lips moving against his to prise it open and tug playfully, emitting a moan from within.

They parted after what seemed like an eternity, close enough for their breaths to mix. Lily removed his crooked glasses with her thumb, tossing it aside before touching their noses. James can’t see her anymore, but he hardly cared when he pulled her back in, lips soughting to be bruised once more.