willow───james potter

09 | honey

Before she could think of a response, Lily leaned into their conversation. 'Vix. Remind us why you call her that?'

'My patronus is a fox.' She raised an eyebrow, an expression of challenge painted over her delicate features. 'Still think it doesn't suit me?'

'I think you're more of a cat.' James tilted his head. Isla hated that look in his eyes, hated how he was looking at her like he was seeing right through her. 'Do you scratch when people get too close?'

She flinched at the hidden message underlining his words: do you run away?

Isla refused to meet James' eye. The cold was creeping over her skin again, so frozen it almost hurt, fingers trembling with a sort of feverish delirium. Trying to control herself, she leaned across the table.

'Hey Remus. Do you like cats?'

He glanced up, swatting away Sirius' hand as he picked pieces of dried tomatoes off his plate. 'No, I've always been more of a dog person actually. Why?'

'No real reason ...' She glanced over towards James, making sure he was listening, before adopting a sweeter tone towards Remus. 'Just that I'm going to Slughorn's Christmas party this weekend and most people are bringing a partner. I thought you might want to come with me?'

She heard James scoff from down the table, but she didn't deign to look at him.

Remus shrugged. 'I don't know ...'

'Please,' Isla said, wincing as a hint of desperation unfurled in her tone. 'It'll be fun. I feel like the two of us haven't hung out in ages.'

Both James and Sirius were eyeing her as though she'd said something unthinkably treacherous; two pairs of eyes flickered between her and Remus.

'Fine,' Remus eventually gave in. 'Fine.'

Isla glanced down the table at James. She knew she'd won, but it didn't feel like a victory, more like a sting of loneliness circling her stomach.

James leaned back to study Isla's expression. She looked tired with the skin under her eyes a bit darker than usual; it was almost as if she was running on autopilot, mind entirely somewhere else as she avoided his gaze.

He could see the weight of shadows clinging to her back, satin and silk, and wondered vaguely if she'd done anything with the book they'd found at the library. Maybe if he'd gotten his head out of his ass and had taken things slower like he'd promised himself he would, he would be able to help her through it, instead of becoming another fraction of a distorted and twisted past.

Look at me, he thought desperately. God, Isla, just -

She looked. And when their eyes met, James felt a rush of warmth strike his body, and his lungs closed over completely. Time slowed down to a trickle of sand in a curved glass. His hands were shaking - what the fuck was that about?

Stay, he wanted to tell her. Just stay - let's try again.

But Isla wasn't his anymore, if she ever was, and so he let it go.

She scraped back her chair and stood up. The cold was still there, still lingering underneath her skin and penetrating deep into her bones.

She was just out of the Hall when James caught up with her. His hand caught her wrist, and his touch was soft, the fragrance of rose oil. Isla let a small, tentative sound escape her mouth, apples of her cheeks tinting a baby peach, just holding it there, hot to the touch.

'Isla,' he breathed. 'Can I talk to you about something?'

'I'm busy,' she said.

His eyes glinted like liquid sunlight. 'Isla, wait. You're shaking.'

Her breath halted in her throat. 'Sorry,' she whispered.

'Why?'

Tears were pricking the corner of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She's spent too long keeping up her guard just for it to fall under the gaze of pretty eyes and a whisper of concern. 'I just - everything's moving so fast. It's all going too fast and I can't - I can't keep up. I can't.'

'I know,' James whispered, and his voice lingered over her collarbones like honey rose tea and soft silver bells and everything beautiful she could ever think of. It burned, in a way. 'I know -'

'James -'

'Let me finish,' he interjected. 'Let me finish, you brat. You'll cry and you'll bleed and you'll fall. God, you'll feel like running for the hills as soon as you face it, and it's not - it won't be pretty. And you'll probably feel like shit.'

'Well, this is helping -'

'Wasn't done,' James said again, and Isla glared as she closed her mouth shut, noting the tension seeping into his shoulders before leaking down to the base of his collarbones. 'You'll probably feel like shit, but that's not a good reason not to do something.'

He reached out for her hand, and all she could see were glimpses of champagne gold, warmth delicately seeping into her frost-stained skin.

'It's not that simple,' she whispered, and she turned away.

***

a/n: sorry for the slow updates bffs, i havent re read this chapter so it might suck idk

ik that in canon gwenog jones is probably older than the marauders, but she was in the slug club at some point and that seemed like a better idea than creating a whole new character :)) thank you as always for reading !!