Seven Minutes in Heaven with the Marauders

Card Two

PRONGS

The card now in my hand felt so unwelcoming that for a moment, all breathing halted.

It read 'J. Potter.'

I swivelled out of my chair very, very reluctantly.

What did I do in my past life?!

In the corner of my eye, someone began approaching me as I tucked myself at the far end of the sofa. And after noting the catcalling and whistling from our classmates as they put two and two together, realising which couple were up next in the game, I knew exactly who was heading my way.

"Jeez, do you have any patience?" I didn't have to look at the face that accompanied the hand now leaning down to collect me. He radiated a confidence no other student could even attempt.

James Potter, the most popular boy in sixth year, the best Quidditch player, highest achieving in most of his classes, pack leader in his circle of friends, and a fan favourite for the girls of our year.

But not this one.

Scowling with complete distain, I slapped my hand against his palm. He jerked me up and I fell into his chest. Gathering myself against him for support, I winced.

"Easy tiger. Wait until the closet, huh." He said sexily with an exaggerated, almost patronising grin.
"Come on." I growled, "I want this over and done with."

"That's the spirit. My kind of woman." James bit his lower lip with a mocking smirk.

The stench of overbearing charisma and conceit churned my stomach, and all I wanted in these seven minutes was peace. I'd consented to the game well before playing, knowing what could potentially happen behind that mahogany door, but I fooled myself into believing I'd be comfortable with the likelihoods now that I was mere feet away and escorted by the likes of a total prat.

Sirius Black, a fellow friend of his, was leaning against the door, as if its personal guard, issuing us closer in a sing-song ringmaster's voice of step right ups.

My eyes closed in disapproval as they exchanged quick fist bumping pleasantries to each other, and in no time, I was left alone with James inches behind me.

I stared hopelessly into the nothingness, my fight or flight with limited visuals allowed me to hear every breath, every ruffle, even every heartbeat.

Above anything, I could feel; the immobilising chill of the broom cupboard, the minute hairs standing to attention against my entirety, followed swiftly by a comforting heat of James' breath against the nape of my neck.

I let out a weary sigh, imbalanced by vulnerability before him. He stepped forward and I flinched, feeling the sudden glide of his large paw-like hands against my sides and finally my front.

"What's up?"

"What are you doing?" I stammered, consciously hearing my panting echo throughout the box room.

"Give me the word and I'll stop." He whispered, now scanning the tip of his nose against my cheek, before teasing thinly his lips against my neck.

I had wanted him to stop long before we entered the closet. I was adamant of it before now. But yes, that was before. Long before I felt him against me - before I could taste the burn of his aftershave in the dense air. Before he had me alone in the dark.

"I thought you didn't like me." I could barely articulate. My legs were numbing by the chill and the sensation of James against me. My knees buckled and I grabbed at the forearms that had encapsulated me in an embrace.