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Raining by HarrietHopkirk
Format: Short story collection
Chapter 4: Common Room, Sixth Year.
New, amazing chapter image by Gwen! :)
Beta'd by the absolutely amazing and totally cool Michelle!
J.K is awesome, so I don't want to steal her stuff.
James Potter II was sitting casually on a Gryffindor sofa, his arm resting along the back of the sofa and whispering seductively in a girl’s ear. She giggled stupidly, hitting him playfully on the arm.
“We can’t do that,” she said, tapping him on the nose. James sat back dejectedly and let out a low whistle.
“Besides I have to get to Charms club, see you later Jamesy,” she kissed him longingly on the lips, her dainty hand resting on his chest.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” He asked huskily and the girl giggled again. She bit her finger in deliberation, as if thinking (stress on the ‘as if’).
“Sorry, Jamesy-poo,” she blew him a kiss and battered her long eyelashes. James watched her leave and then let out a loud sigh.
“Jamesy-poo? Really? I’m sorry for you, mate.”
Fred Weasley sat down next to James on the sofa; Quidditch plans with thousands of tiny pitch diagrams clutched in his fingers.
“Quidditch practice is cancelled - the weather is too rough,” he explained.
“But we have got the cup final tomorrow!”
“We’ll be fine…we flattened Ravenclaw last year.”
Fred took after his mother in many ways; he was a very talented Quidditch player and he was very good looking. He and James were often the subjects of the girls’ bathroom talk. They practically had the girls falling at their feet. And boy, did they know it.
“Anyway, I thought you’d have dumped her by now. Fuck and chuck and all that.”
“Shut up, Freddie,” James whispered, looking around the crowded common room, “if Amelie hears you saying that, she’s going to go into her massive long speech about women’s rights and sensitivity.”
Fred nodded sincerely and there was silence. He revised his Quidditch notes and James awkwardly hummed a Weird Sisters tune, tapping his hands to the beat.
“I’m not getting any,” James replied quickly.
“Shit. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I guess I could keep asking.”
Fred laughed, “Bad move, mate. No one likes to be pressurised.”
“Says the guy who got dumped by his girlfriend about two hours ago,” James retorted, his anger mounting, “did Alice not like to be pressurised?”
He hadn’t been having a good day. Perhaps he'd visit the Shrieking Shack with the bottle of firewhiskey he kept stored in his trunk for emergencies.
First, he’d got a detention for pissing around in Divination and then he’d heard several rumours about Rose and Scorpius Malfoy. Going out? I don’t think so. James had quickly found his cousin and interrogated her about it, and she denied any non-platonic connection with the boy. Thank Merlin. They broke up for the summer holidays in three days and at least then he’ll be able to keep an eye on her and he would know if the rumours were true. Scorpius practically lived at Godric's Hollow during the summer because of Albus. James practically lived at Teddy's because of this.
And then of course, there was the whole Amelie situation. She was in his head.
Fred gave a sharp intake of breath, knocking James out of his thoughts.
“Low blow, James, low blow.”
“Sorry, Freddie. I’m a bit…you know…frustrated,” James muttered.
“How delicately put,” Fred answered, looking over James’ shoulder and clenching his jaw. He returned to his Quidditch notes and crossed out several diagrams fiercely, his quill piercing the parchment. What made him so angry? James turned, and spotted a Gryffindor prefect flirting shamelessly with Fred’s ex in the corner of the common room. To be honest, she looked a bit scared. Fred stood and walked purposefully over to her.
“Back off, Larter,” he said threateningly to the other boy. The prefect stuck out his chest, flashing his prefect badge with all the courage he could muster seeing as a 6-foot hunk of seventh-year Quidditch keeper was looming over him.
James stared back into the fire, ignoring the argument in the corner that was slowly growing more heated. Threats of murder from Fred, threats of detention from the prefect and a squeal of terror from Alice as Fred finally punched Larter square on the nose.
James heard all of these noises as though through a thick fog, as if his ears were blocked with foam. He was too distracted by the way the flames were dancing and flickering in the grate, his eyes watering slightly from the heat. Someone calling his name shook him out of thoughts.
“Hey Potter. You look hot today.”
He turned around, and saw a leggy blonde walking towards him, her school skirt higher than average. James ruffled his hair and plastered his signature smirk on his face, his eyes travelling up her body.
“Aah, Watson. Prepared for tomorrow’s game?” He said smoothly, getting up from the sofa and standing next to her.
“Actually, Potter, do you want to come up to my dorm and help me with my technique?” She licked her lips seductively.
“What exactly are you having trouble with?” He answered coquettishly, his hand ruffling his hair once again.
“Well usually,” she stood closer to him, her hands playfully flirtatiously with his tie and looking at up him through her long eyelashes, “it’s my broom handling skill…”
Watson was interrupted as someone had just fallen unceremoniously through the portrait hole.
“Oopsy-daisy.” Amelie lay sprawled on the floor, a half empty bottle of firewhisky clutched in her hand.
Jumping into ‘best friend’ mode, James stepped away from Watson. Amelie’s eyes were open, and she was pointing at the ceiling of the common room with her free hand, tracing the lines in the wooden carving. Several scared looking first years were staring at her, their mouths hanging open. James shooed them away, and they ran quickly to the other side of the room.
“Jimmy! I like you!”
“I’m sure you do,” James said, “Do you want to try and stand up?”
“No,” Amelie shouted defiantly, “I am admiring the woodwork in the ceiling.” A number of other students were eyeing Amelie suspiciously and several fourth years were giggling stupidly. Watson was still standing by the fireplace, her face the perfect picture of rejection.
“What about my broom-handling technique?” She yelled after James.
“I’m a bit busy, Watson,” James shouted back, lifting Amelie into his arms and carrying her carefully towards the staircases. He had only put one foot on the staircase when it rapidly turned into a slide.
“Bloody thing,” James muttered angrily. Amelie hushed him, attempting to put a finger to his lips but missing and hitting him on the cheek before laughing hysterically. James smiled affectionately.
“I’m tired,” Amelie yawned, placing her arms around James’ neck and nuzzling into his chest. He couldn’t help but notice how natural this felt; apart from the fact that she is hammered, James thought, classy.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he replied, and began climbing the boys’ staircase.
Amelie smelt of alcohol. She had only once before been drunk at school, in fifth year, when she had a fight with her mother. James had supposed that was the way that she dealt with stuff, not being the type of girl to reveal her feelings through heart-to-hearts. He had no idea what to do then, being the insensitive and naïve 15-year old and had merely called Rose into help, her being the sensible and mature third year.
“That’s how my mum usually gets over a divorce,” Amelie had said, ‘but I suppose that’s not exactly the greatest example in the world.’
“I love you, Jimmy,” Amelie mumbled, her breath tickling and warm on his throat. His heart gave a funny leap in his chest at her words, although he immediately dismissed them as drunken ramblings. She couldn’t think the same way about him, it wasn’t possible. He was still the insensitive and naïve (albeit handsome) wanker that he was in fifth year, and she was this beautiful, funny and smart girl. She was Amelie.
‘I don’t feel too good,” she slurred, her face pale and pasty.
“Oh crap,” James said loudly, carrying her quickly to the bathroom, “you wait there and sit by the toilet…and if…you know.” He left her leaning against the bathroom wall, her head lolling onto her chest. James raced back down the stairs into the common room to find Fred and Alice kissing passionately in the corner, Larter the prefect out cold on the floor.
“James! What’s wrong?” Rose Weasley came over to him, her long curly hair bouncing slightly.
“Aah, Rose, perfect. Amelie is upstairs and…” James did a slight double take, staring at her, “what happened to you? You look a bit…dishevelled.”
Rose blushed, patting her hair.
“Err…well…the thing is…”
“Hey Rose, did you find your Potions book in the dungeons?” A very pretty blonde girl walked over to James and Rose, a slight French accent to her voice. Rose look confused and Dom nudged her in the ribs, and she gasped in pain.
“Oh hello Dom,” Rose said, through gritted teeth, attempting to be courteous.
“Dungeons? What?” James questioned, looking from Dominique to Rose and back again. They both shifted uncomfortably.
“What happened to Amelie?” Rose said quickly, changing the subject.
“Oh right,” James said, remembering the drunken girl upstairs, “well, she had quite a lot to drink and now…”
“You need someone to go sort her out because you’re afraid to touch her even though you seemed to have kissed every girl in your year apart from Amelie?” Dom said smoothly. James’ stomach disappeared at the thought of kissing his best friend, running his hand through his already unruly hair. He paused a moment to think what it would be like if they were together, his mind going off into a blissful daydream. He only realised that Rose and Dominique were still there when Dom slapped him lightly on the cheek.
“Err…yeah…something like that,” he said vaguely, looking at his shoes.
“Oh Merlin…you like her, don’t you?”
“What? No I don’t!” James objected.
“Yes! You do!’ Rose said, poking him in the chest, “you were just daydreaming about kissing her!”
James’ eyes flicked upwards to look at them. He was about to protest but he knew it was no good. Although he looked a lot like his father, he had inherited the Weasley-trait blush and Dominique and Rose stared at him with surprised looks on their faces. Since when did girls become so observant? James thought angrily.
“I can’t believe this,” Rose said in astonishment.
“Me neither,” Dominique snorted disbelievingly, “you actually fancy a girl for a change. I always thought you had a heart of stone. Looks like I underestimated you.”
James opened his mouth to retort but Rose cut across him.
“I had the idea that you fancied Felicity Bennet,” she said quietly, indicating a pretty girl sitting with her friends at a table nearby, “and you know how Potter men always fall for the redheads, and I reckon she’s got a tinge of the ginge.”
“So that explains the crazy over protectiveness - that was worthy of Ronald Weasley.”
“Hey! Back off my dad! Anyway James, weren’t you kissing Sarah Verner before she went to Charms club?” Rose questioned, raising her eyebrows.
“You sure have a funny way of showing your budding affection for your best friend.”
“I saw him flirting with Georgia Watson a few minutes ago!”
“God James you are such a man whore!” Dominique said, disgusted.
James allowed the two girls to continue their top-speed but pointless nattering. He never listened anyway. Finally, after several minutes, they seemed to remember why James had even talked to them in the first place.
“So, where is your lady lover?” Dom asked in a voice she presumed was seductive, waggling her eyebrows.
James sighed at their immaturity, “I’ll show you,” he said, and bounded back up the boys’ staircase, Rose and Dominique close on his heels. Once in the dormitory, James opened the door to the bathroom and the two girls rushed in, slamming the door behind them.
“Hey!” James shouted in protest.
Rose opened the bathroom door an inch and poked her head out, “sorry, James, but I think you might overload if you watch Amelie showering.”
Holy fuck. Get your mind out of the gutter, James.
“What?” James stammered, struggling to get the words out. Rose stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She placed a hand on James’ shoulder and began steering him towards his dorm.
“While you were questioning me about my activities in the dungeons, Amelie threw up. So we going to have to get her cleaned up. Now you sit in here,” she opened the door to his dormitory, “and think about Uncle Percy having sex. That should sort out your libido.”
‘I hate you, Rose,’ James groaned, falling grumpily onto his bed as his red headed cousin ran back to the bathroom.
“You finished yet?”
“Just a second!”
James was pacing along the corridor outside the bathroom when the door opened and Amelie came rushing out, her hair damp from the shower and wearing pyjama trousers and a t-shirt he recognised as his own. She flung her arms around him.
“Jimmy!” She yelled, obviously still very drunk. James looked over her shoulder at his two cousins. Rose was carrying a small vial of blue potion and when Amelie finally unattached herself from James, she gave it to him.
“I got some Sober-Up Solution. She needs to drink all of it. When she does, she’ll probably pass out. So make sure she’s on a bed or something.”
“So you’re not taking her back to the girls’ dorms?” James said, pulling Amelie away from the top of the stairs to avoid her falling down them.
“James, we can hardly carry and control a drunk 17-year old up the stairs,” Dom interrupted, “besides I thought you might like her to spend the night in your boudoir.” She wiggled her eyebrows knowingly.
“Who calls it a boudoir anymore?” James scowled at her. Rose rolled her eyes, looking more like her mother every single day.
Amelie was now spinning around, her arms and hair flying.
“Jesus James, just get her to bed!” Dominique said, ducking as one of Amelie’s arms flew dangerously close to her head. Rose quickly handed him the vial before Dom began pulling her down the staircase by the arm.
“She has to drink it all. Remember to put her on a bed before she passes out!” She shouted behind her.
“Fine! Leave me here with crazy drunken girl!” James stared desperately after his cousins, clutching the potion in his hand and momentarily forgetting that Amelie was whirling around behind him. Her hand hit the back of his head.
“Come on, Amelie,” he said, rubbing the sore area at the back of his head, “time for bed.”
Get all the subtle ScoRose hints?! I was proud of the sneakiness. Hope you liked this chapter, the next one might not be for a while due a stupendous amount of homework. (I shouldn't even be editing right now, but HPFF is so addictive!) I am so sorry! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Love you all! :)