Player's Cigarette Mate - [ James Potter ]

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001

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001. player's cigarette mate

PAIRING; James Potter x Reader

HOUSE; Gryffindor

YEAR; Sixth and Seventh

DATE; October 27th, 2019

WORD COUNT; 8605

WARNING; A real lot, bad words, SMOKING (if you didn't get it from the title), underage drinking, and kissing. 

A/N; So, this is my first one shot after a real long ass time. But I like to think I have improved in writing. But for those of you who like my original one shots, I will be eventually re-writing those. I just don't know when. 

TRAILER; in which a girl's bad habit turns into a good one. 

It was a cold November evening, Saturday, when it first happened.

She had snuck up to the Astronomy Tower after Olivia had finally stopped giggling about Thomas MacMillian, a sixth year Hufflepuff prefect, complimenting her new haircut. Y/N thought she ought to have been flattered as well, since she was the one that originally cut Olivia's hair—and it did look fantastic—but there was a limited amount of time one could spend talking about Thomas' baby blue eyes and two hours had been more than enough for her.

Thanking Merlin, God, and many other great witches, wizards and deities, Y/N rolled across her bed searching her drawer for the small purse. Upon finding it she quietly departed from the dormitory hoping she wouldn't encounter anyone in the common room. Luck was on her side, for the room was indeed empty despite it being only mere thirteen minutes after midnight on a Saturday night. The h/c haired girl quickly tiptoed to the entrance door, leaving the Gryffindor Common Room behind as the Fat Lady noted how it was far too late for a respectable young lady to roam the castle on her own.

Getting to the Astronomy Tower usually didn't take long but it always, without a fail, demanded that the person doing the sneaking possessed a certain amount of wit mixed with a sense for mischief. Avoiding the prefects was easy, in fact some of them were rather tolerant. The professors, however, were much worse. They patrolled the hallways, carefully and in a surprisingly quiet manner, especially Professor McGonagall who often times patrolled in her animagus form. Thus, sneaking through the hallways demanded a certain level of expertise, a detour on the right, taking care not to step into a trap step on the way, a few simple shortcuts and Y/N was well on her way towards the Tower.

It was a little before 1 o'clock when she had finally reached the very top of it. She checked if she was truly alone—she lost count of how many times she had walked in on couples in various stages of undress—before leaning against the wall and sliding to the floor breathing heavily, lungs heaving to get more air inside as her pulse drummed, courtesy of Mrs. Norris sneaking around the bottom of the Astronomy Tower. At least the h/c haired girl hoped it was Mrs. Norris and not Professor McGonagall, otherwise the woman would be extremely disappointed in her. Once she had finally calmed her breathing Y/N reached inside her purse, her hand nearly elbow deep in the tiny thing. The girl had a knack for extension charms. First she felt the cool metal of her tweezers, then the warmer, softer texture of the lip balm she always carried and finally a small bottle of perfume. Groaning she roamed her fingers around the inside of the purse until they grasped a pack of Players' cigarettes and, after searching a bit more, a lighter. With a sigh of relief she pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between her lips. Bringing the lighter to the tip of it she tried lighting the cigarette once, then twice, and then finally the third time before realizing that her lighter was of no use any longer which elicited a small groan from her lips.

Just her luck.

The one night in the whole week when she was able to sneak out on her own and her lighter decided that its time to become a faulty-no-use lighter had finally arrived.

Ruddy, faulty, of-absolutely-no-use-lighter.

Without a second thought she chucked it back in the purse, her temper slowly rising. If there was one thing that Y/N L/N absolutely abhorred it was using magic to light a cigarette. The mere thought made her shudder and the actual deed took away everything that was alluring about smoking in the first place.

She needed a lighter. And she was looking forward to that silly cigarette—and maybe, just maybe, one more after it—but now she couldn't have it, and she really wanted it. Not to mention how much she needed it, especially after having to listen about a certain sixth year Hufflepuff and his gorgeous blue eyes which, Y/N thought, weren't that gorgeous at all.

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