willow───james potter

12 | velvet

'PRONGS PRONGS PRONGS.' Sirius was sitting with his back against the balcony, twisting safety pins through the holes at the knee of his jeans, a cigarette nestled between his lips. 'Blimey, Prongs, where can I get one of these Muggle motorcycles?'

James watched a few smouldering bits of ash falling from the cigarette, saying nothing. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the aftermath of moonlight and Firewhisky shots and drunk Isla's pinky hooked through his.

Isla Montgomery, he mused. What are you exactly?

He looked out over the balcony - a little spot Remus had found in their third year, and had since been branded with four initials. He gazed out over the forest, over the lake and up at the stars, with their tails shimmering in a dazzling haze against the luminous glow of a crescent moon. He leaned against the rail, twisting Sirius' cigarette packet through his figures.

'Jesus, Prongs, are you even listening to me?'

James sighed, running a hand through his hair so that it was even more messy than usual. 'If motorcycles turn you on so much, just buy one, Pads.'

Sirius rolled his eyes. 'You've got a stick up your ass, haven't you? Is this about that Isla girl? Because I swear to God -'

The door behind them creaked as it opened and James turned around, expecting to see Remus, who was notorious for slipping away. But when he turned around, time twisted upon its axis as his gaze collided with Isla's.

In the cold winter evening, her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose, brown hair cascading down her shoulders in soft rivulets. She was devastatingly beautiful.

'Hey,' she said cautiously.

Don't say stupid things, don't say stupid things, he coached himself mentally.

Sirius put out his cigarette on the side of the balcony, muttering something about having to meet Remus to study. James nodded absent mindedly, gaze dropping to the soft cupids-bow curve of her lips, because he really, really wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to unravel her and push her to the edge just so he could see the pretty flush of her face when she was annoyed.

Isla glared at him (he felt like she was always glaring at him one way or another) and lowered her gaze to the packet of cigarettes. 'Do you smoke these things?'

Her eyes radiated a sort of shimmering intrigue, and she looked almost enthralled with a sense of innocent wonder as he twisted a cigarette between his fingers, prompting James to say (rather stupidly), 'Uh, yeah. All the time.'

She tilted her head, brown curls falling over her shoulders like ripples of moonlight, before she asked, 'Can I have one?'

A laugh tumbled from his lips before he could help it. 'You smoke?'

'All the time,' she said. The hesitancy orbiting her eyes made James believe she was lying just as much as he was, but he watched as, with a look of defiance on her face, Isla reached from the pack and nestled a cigarette between her lips. James laughed softly, shaking his head, and gently plucked it from her mouth.

'Wrong way, love,' he said, grinning as he inserted it back in her mouth. His knuckle accidentally brushed over her rose petal lips like a softly spoken prayer, and he was shocked when she didn't flinch away from his touch.

And something about James's smug smile tempted Isla to fall back into the siren call of daydreams and just rest her head above the waters of a wishing well for just a moment, flickers of memories and coloured pieces of glass encircling her figure like a waterfall.