willow───james potter

11 | gorgeous

NEEDLESS TO SAY, Isla got really fucking wasted after Slughorn's Christmas party.

The night was quiet: it was mostly filled with her soft snores as she travelled in and out of her dreams, and James cast a quick look over his shoulder just to check she was alright. Her hair was messy and her dress was riding up on her thigh, and he felt an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness. She was an innocent, wild thing - a girl who saw the world with fire in her irises and snow on her skin. A little clumsy and brash, but nothing that a few seductive lines from his part wouldn't fix.

'Isla,' he whispered into the darkness. 'Isla, love, wake up.'

She stirred slightly, her vision blurring into stars. James wondered if he ought to have started her on Butterbeer instead of Firewhisky, but she'd seemed so desperate for some kind of escape and he'd wanted to be the one who gave it to her.

Tomorrow, he thought, we're going to work on healthier ways of getting you better.

'James,' she murmured. Her voice caught onto the velvet of the night, syllables soft and slurred. 'James, I'm tired ...'

He clicked his tongue, fingertips running gently through her hair as she lingered between the realms of reality and dreams. 'I know, Vix,' he said. 'Do you think you could get up and go to bed?'

She curled up tighter. 'Just want - I want to sleep ...'

He sighed. 'I can't take you up to your dormitory, Vix, the stairs won't let me in,' he told her, even though it was no use: she wasn't listening, mouth slightly parted and milky skin flushed a delicate pearl-pink.

Isla reached out and hooked her pinky through his before resting it on her stomach. 'M'kay,' she whispered. 'S-stay with me.'

He released a shaky breath and gently - so, so carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking her - secured an arm around her waist and guided her to her feet. At this moment, it was hard to forget that she was delicate, skin smooth against his heated touch.

She rested her head against his shoulder. 'James.'

'What?'

'I want you to kiss me again.'

The low murmur of her voice was enough to make his breath catch, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. 'Maybe some other time, Vix.'

She pouted. 'I thought you liked me.'

'I do like you,' he said.

She shook her head, waves of tangled curls cascading down her shoulders. Her voice lilted with a tone of accusation. 'I bet you've told heaps of girls that.'

'Yeah, well, I might have reconsidered if I'd known you'd hold it against me,' he muttered, distracted as he began to haul her up the stairs. 'Okay, gorgeous, let's get you to bed.'

Isla stopped abruptly, swaying on drunken feet. 'Call me that,' she paused, 'again?'

James knew exactly what she meant, but he was still playing the role of a smooth sadist, so he said, with a small smirk, 'Call you what?'

'You know what.'

He grinned, lips forming the edge of a wielded knife. 'I need you to ask nicely.'

'Gorgeous.' Her hand tightened around his wrist, a butterfly's touch, made of silk and satin and liquid starlight. Her eyes were misted over with a drunken desperation that James found stupidly endearing as she whined, 'Call me gorgeous again.'

He paused. 'How much of this will you remember in the morning?'

With stars swirling across her vision, Isla just shook her head slowly.