by Arcynic
"Potter, what are you doing skulking around at this time of night?"
James inwardly winced, recognizing the irritated tone of her voice, and sighed. As much as he did worship the very ground Lily Evans walked upon, he didn't quite feel like getting into a row so late at night, especially when all he did want was a little food to fill his poor aching stomach. He had just been on the verge of sleep when the sudden urge for a treacle tart and some butterbeer had assaulted him. Alas, James had previously lent his invisibility cloak to Sirius, but he thought he could manage to sneak away from the Head dorms with just the Marauder's Map. He thought wrong. In fact, he always seemed to think wrongly whenever it had even the slightest bit to do with Lily.
Silently, James bid a fond farewell to his impromptu trip to the kitchens. Turning, he pasted a big grin on his face as he hid the map behind his back, "Why Evans, I daresay I should ask you the same question!"
She rolled her eyes, "I was trying to get some studying done when I heard you stumbling about, hissing and cursing, in the other room."
James coughed, running his free hand through his messy black hair. He had left the lights off in the lounge that joined their rooms because he saw the lights on in hers, lest she catch him trying to sneak out—which she did anyway. He had then stumbled over an ottoman, stubbed his toe on the leg of a table and tripped over a—something, he couldn't see very well in the dark—or the light even. Although this probably could have been avoided if his thoughts hadn't idly wandered over to what Lily was wearing at the moment. At least he knew now, though flannel wasn't exactly black negligee, it was still incredibly sexy on her, with her hair all mussed and—
"Stop that."
He paused, wide eyed and guilty, "P-Pardon? Stop what?"
"Stop running your hand through your hair, no one's around to see you making an arse of yourself."
"You always seem to be," he muttered gloomily under his breath.
"Pardon?" She asked sharply.
"I said you look lovely tonight." She stared at him in disbelief and he frowned slightly. He was beginning to rethink his theory that that line would work on her one day.
"Potter, just get back to bed so that I can do more studying and less worrying about what havoc the Head Boy can and will cause in the middle of the night." When she saw him smirk, she added, wearily, "And not my bed, your bed."
"Aw Evans, you wound me with your lack of faith." He crooned pitifully.
"If that were true, you'd be in a casket by now," she muttered darkly under her breath.
"Pardon?"
"Bed, Potter, I really have to get back to studying and I won't be able to concentrate with you running amuck all over Hogwarts."
"Study, study, study, don't you ever do anything else, Evans?"
"Like what?" She asked, taking a step closer and crossing her arms over her chest. He took a step backwards, hand still gripping the map behind his back, as he wisely forced his eyes up to her face.
"Something—" he made to tousle his hair again but refrained just in time, "I don't know…something spontaneous?"
She snorted, "Of course I would sometimes, but tripping over furniture in a dark room and wandering the halls in the middle of—oh for Merlin's sake, Potter, I can see that you're trying to hide something behind your back."
"What are you going on about?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he mentally scolded himself for being so obvious.
"Oh can it and just let me see what it is." She huffed, walking over to reach behind him. His mind was at war, part of him wanting to just let her see it if it meant having her at such close proximity and the other part telling him that his friends wouldn't be too pleased if she had found out about this map—since he hadn't been able to mutter the counter phrase to clear it up. He had to think quickly if he didn't want a certain black dog to bite him in the arse—literally.
"Dance with me, Evans." He whispered suddenly, leaning in so that they were face to face. She looked momentarily stunned and he took the chance to stuff the map into his back pocket and offer his other hand to her.
"What?" She asked incredulously, bright green eyes peering at him oddly.
"Dance with me."
"You're insane, Potter, we're in the middle of the hallway."
"A hallway—" James paused, "or a great ballroom with opulent lights and décor?"
"A hallway," Lily snapped impatiently, "and if you think this will distract me, Potter—"
"Just one dance, Lily," he replied quickly, neither one of them noticing his slip, "one dance and I swear I'll go to sleep."
"But a dance?" She returned skeptically, "Look at what you're wearing—look at what I'm wearing!" She pointed to her wrinkly old flannel pajamas.
"I see nothing but the most handsomely suave dressrobes on me and the most gorgeous emeraldgreen dressrobes on you."
"I hate the color green."
"Then maroon?"
She stifled a smile and he knew he was wearing her down. He offered her his hand again, "Well?"
She tentatively reached out her hand before shaking her head and curling it before her chest, "I-It's silly. There's no music."
"So we'll make some." He declared, taking her hand and pulling her close as he started to hum softly.
"Po—"
"Shh," he said softly, gently pushing her head against his shoulder as they swayed to the music created by him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, wanting so desperately to memorize every second of this moment—the feeling of finally having her in his arms after so many years of wishing—without her shrill and angry voice in his ear. And they continued to dance into the night, with him starting a new song even after the first had ended.
"You really do look lovely, tonight." He said, opening his hazel eyes to look at her.
"Potter…"
"I'm serious," James replied lowly, curling her red locks between his fingers, "I'm always serious."
She didn't reply, but he felt her grip around his neck tighten just a smidge. He inwardly grinned in triumph. His theory was correct, so he could tell Moony to piss off later.
"Hey, Evans…?" He mumbled after another few songs.
"Mm?" she replied vaguely, eyes half closed as she looked up at him.
"I—" he leaned in closer so that he could feel her breath tickling his nose.
Suddenly a bell chimed and the two blinked, startled, both looking to the portrait of Big Ben, whose face read midnight. She started to chuckle and he soon joined her, running his hand nervously through his hair again, without thought.
"I think your spell has worn off." She whispered dangerously close to his lips, before sidling out of his slackened grip. He nodded dumbly as she stood before him, already feeling incomplete from the loss of her body next to his.
"Good night then," she paused, pursing her lips, "James."
His eyes widened as she hastily turned and disappeared into the darkness of the corridors, cheeks tinged pink. All former thoughts of treacle tarts and butterbeer and midnight cravings were instantly forgotten as James stared after her.
He suddenly felt like dancing.