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Wild nights! – Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be,
Our luxury!
– Emily Dickinson, 1861 –
“Good form today, Evans,” Potter patted her shoulder as he walked past her. The touch – however brief it might have been – made her heart flutter. She turned her head sideways, saw him walk over to where he’d kept his school uniform, already taking off his shirt and baring his skin. She was – and this was a miracle, she thought, for it had become a near impossibility for her not to – the only one who watched him as if he were a work of art.
The thing about teenage boys and summers was that, whenever they returned after one, they always showed up disgustingly altered and such was the case for James Potter too. He had arrived to Hogwarts after the summer of 1977 with a fresh tan, windswept hair unstyled to perfection and a good few additional inches on him. Not to mention that there were two badges pinned to his chest these days. One bearing a scarlet C for Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, the other a golden HB for Head Boy.
It was as if Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had conspired together over a cup of tea in early July: “Who would make the most attractive walking, talking billboard for Gryffindor, do you think?” “Why, James Potter, of course!” Then, they’d proceeded to give him both badges to keep up with the theme and colour scheme for the Hogwarts House.
(Not that she was complaining. She had a badge of her own, one that complimented his golden-lettered one.)
A few years ago – before she had realised they were alike in nearly all the ways that truly mattered, which had led to a stupid infatuation that she had yet to shake – she might have taken offence to his being paraded around like the school’s Chosen One. She had disliked him then, albeit over a misplaced loyalty to a friend who had turned out to be anything but. Now, a foundation had been laid between them that allowed for a tentative partnership between Hogwarts’ Head Boy and Girl, even if it still annoyed her that one person could have it all: the beauty, the brains, the bod. Not to mention his drive, his athleticism and his sportsmanship. She reckoned a professional Quidditch offer was only a matter of time for the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and where in the past she would have rolled her eyes at that, she could now only see its value to the team: their chances of winning the Quidditch Cup with Potter guiding them were significantly increased.
She changed back into her own uniform, back turned to the others – conscious as ever that she was one of the few girls in the room – slipping into her shoes easily and reaching for the tie in her hair that loosened the ponytail she had created for the purposes of their practice.
“Do you have time to proofread my Herbology essay?” asked Marlene, who was seated on the bench beside her, pulling on her knee-high socks.
“Some, yes,” she replied as she turned to her friend and one of the Gryffindor Beaters with a smile, “but I’ve got to patrol with Potter in an hour and a half and I haven’t eaten yet.”
“Don’t let Potter hear it,” Marlene scoffed. “You know how he gets when we mount our brooms on an empty stomach.”
“Safety hazard, I know,” she had to resist the temptation to roll her eyes, but couldn’t stop them from flitting to the handsome wizard in question. He was laughing with Chester Killick, their Fourth Year Keeper. She tried not to linger on the way his lopsided smile revealed the dimple in his cheek, the one she had wanted to taste for the past year or so. Feeling flushed, she turned away from him now. “But he’s not the boss of me.”
“Technically, when it comes to Quidditch –” Marlene supplied, but Lily merely snorted and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.
“He wishes he could tell me what to do.”
“Oh, I bet he does.”
“– downright shit Rufus said,” Killick rambled on enthusiastically, while James’ gaze was locked on Evans, who – with a small wave and a hurried goodbye – left the locker room. His fingers had stilled on the buttons of his shirt, too preoccupied with processing the way her hair caught the light of the poorly lit room they were in. “But I reckon we still need to be careful, even if one of their Chasers keeps fumbling.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out, watching the door close behind Lily Evans, the spell she’d cast on him not yet broken. He cleared his throat, willed his fingers to action and then turned to his Keeper. “Good job on getting all the intel, but I’d like to see it before I believe it.”
“If all else fails, we’ll always have Evans, right?”
James let out a choked sound that made him sound like he was back at the end of Second Year, his voice just having cracked. He clapped the Fourth Year’s shoulder in an attempt to distract him from whatever that noise springing from him might have been. “We sure do, yeah,” he muttered, thinking to himself that the boy next to him couldn’t even begin to understand how deeply rooted his faith in and fascination with his Seeker was.
The thing about James Potter’s obsession with Lily Evans was that he had attempted to downplay it for years. He had become so successful even that Fourth Years such as Chester Killick apparently no longer remembered how he’d nicked a Snitch in an attempt to impress her at the end of his Fifth Year. It had been a stupid move, he was aware of that now, but when he was newly sixteen, he had believed that the Gryffindor Seeker and Prefect would have dropped her panties at the mere sight of his fingers so dexterously wrapping around the golden, fluttering thing.
(Even though this had only been the case, because he was up close. There was a reason he wouldn’t make a good Seeker on the pitch and it had everything to do with his poor vision.)
Of course, this was far from what had actually happened, but he liked not to think about that. Whenever his thoughts strayed to that moment at the lake, he would grab a piece of parchment and scribble down some possible Quidditch plays and strategies he wanted to try out with the team. It was the only cure.
“I reckon she’s faster than Shacklebolt at any rate,” Chester continued still, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. The wizard could clearly already smell the victory he believed the Gryffindor team was due over Ravenclaw in a week or two.
“She’s been doing well on her sprints, absolutely.” He ran a hand through his hair, envisioning her on her broom now, hair flying as she dove for the ground, his heart in his throat as she pulled up only just in time for her not to crash. She liked to live on the edge, his Seeker and Head Girl, and damn if it didn’t do things to him. “Whether she’s faster than Shacklebolt or not, we will find out soon enough.”
He said it as if he didn’t know she could outpace nearly all Quidditch fanatics at the school, like she hadn’t been exceeding his expectations from the very first moment he had met her. It was agonising, really, how perfectly built she was to his exact tastes.
“Sorry,” she told him, cheeks flushed as she nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to meet him outside the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room. He leaned casually against the wall just outside it, twirling his wand between his fingers as he looked up, his smile widening upon her arrival.
“No problem,” he said, pocketing his wand and waiting for her to reach him, so they could fall into step together. “Did you manage to get yourself something to eat or do we need to stop at the kitchens?” She started, turned her head, eyes wide. He laughed. “McKinnon told me to make sure you had,” he shrugged and she rolled her eyes, because of course Marlene had seen fit to betray her while she had been busy editing the girl’s essay. “I can’t believe what a little rulebreaker you are. You know I like none of the people on my team to fall off their brooms –”
“And I didn’t,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Plus, I’m pretty sure that I was faster today than I’ve ever been, so you should be pleased –”
“Pleased?” he asked, eyebrows rising on his forehead. “How can I be pleased when my star Seeker –” she snorted, wished to remind him that he had no more than one, but he bumped his shoulder against hers lightly, “my star Seeker, yes –” he continued with a serious look on his face. “How can I be pleased when my star Seeker doesn’t take proper care of herself and is at risk of falling to her death?”
“I thought all was fair in love and Quidditch,” she asked him as they descended the first flight of stairs.
“Except for self-sacrifice,” he spoke gravely. “You happen to be a little too important to the team, Evans.”
“To the team, huh?”
He rolled his eyes. She wished he had blushed.
“To Gryffindor too, I suppose, to the entire school, really –” his eyes widened in his mock dramatics. “Actually, imagine the state of dear old Slughorn if he were to find out about your unfortunate demise?” She sent him a look that clearly communicated her annoyance at that final remark, which only widened his smile and caused his eyes to glitter mischievously. His expression softened a mere moment later and he lowered his voice slightly. “In all seriousness, though,” he started, “let me know if we need to go down for a snack or a proper three course meal, yeah?”
She shook her head, hid her blush by bowing her head and creating a curtain of her hair. “No, it’s fine, I ate.”
“Shame,” he replied swiftly, sighing in a fashion that made the corners of her lips twitch at his complete and utter ridiculousness, “I wouldn’t have minded stopping for something myself.”
She could no longer contain her smile. “As if you didn’t stuff yourself at dinner –”
“Hey!” he protested, flashing his white teeth at her in a cheeky smile. “I’m a growing lad still, Evans. Us Potters are skinny, scrawny bastards, that’s for sure, but it’s not for any lack of nutrition.”
Skinny and scrawny he had been in their first two years at Hogwarts, perhaps. He had been knobby-kneed too. But she would surely not describe him in those terms now. James Potter was lean, this much was true, but he was well-defined too. She would know, given the fact that she had seen him shirtless a disproportionate amount of times for someone who had once upon a time declared to hate him. Then again, it wasn’t as if their being around each other in a state of undress that she was sure her sister would balk at if she were to know about it, could be avoided given the fact that they played Quidditch together.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” she asked him, turning to teasing in an attempt to hide the truth of her feelings for him, a secret she guarded so closely. “You know you’re far from skinny or scrawny, Potter. You’re perfectly well-built.”
“Perfectly well-built…” he repeated, placing a hand over his heart. “Evans, you don’t know what you do to me when you say things like that.”
She could only laugh, her cheeks feeling warm, but she hoped he would contribute this to his jibing rather than to the fact that she fervently hoped that there was some truth to his statement and that she affected him as much as he did her.
This, however, was a fear that came to a sudden halt when James Potter made a misstep and – as a consequence – tumbled down the steps off the staircase they were descending.
Perfectly well-built. Perfectly well-built. Perfectly well-built.
He had tried to play it down, to act as if she hadn’t just said something that made his heart hammer inside his chest, a beat that he was so frightened she might overhear that he – being his ridiculous clownish self – had lost his footing and – grimacing and suppressing a groan – left him rubbing his back as Lily Evans crouched down beside him, her face a mask of horror and concern.
“Oh my –” she said, hands hovering over him rather awkwardly. She had paled considerably, making him wonder if the pinkness on her cheek when he’d told her she didn’t know what she did to him, had been a figment of his imagination. He figured it most probably was. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Do we need to go to the Hospital Wing?”
He closed his eyes, blocking out her face as he attempted to hide his complete and utter mortification. “It’s nothing, really, I’m just an idiot, clearly –”
“You’re not,” she sounded so worried and he found himself pretending it was because of more than just her – and he knew how much she cared about Quidditch, nearly as much as he himself did – thoughts that had undoubtedly flitted to the upcoming match against Ravenclaw. “Are you sure it’s nothing more than just a bruise? Do you feel lightheaded or nauseous or –”
“Believe me, Evans,” he said, opening his eyes as he startled to scramble up, “the only thing you should be worried over is the fact that I’m pretty sure my ego shrank a size or two –”
She let out a surprised laugh. “Well, I can’t exactly complain there, seeing as it might make you human rather than godlike –”
He chuckled awkwardly, his own face beetroot red, he was certain as he dusted himself off, ignored the way his back smarted. “Yeah, well,” he righted his glasses on his face, “I’m as fallible as they come.”
“If anyone had told me a couple of years ago that you would say such a thing about yourself, I would have scarcely believed it.”
“You would have laughed in their face more like,” he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, noted how she seemed to be scanning him for any discomfort as a result of his fall. He cleared his throat. “Let’s not mention this to anyone, shall we? I’m afraid my sense of self-worth might be stamped into the very ground if anyone else were to find out about my hurtling down the stairs –”
She nodded, schooling her face into a mock serious expression, as if she understood the levity of his request. “I solemnly swear that Black will never know,” she spoke and he wondered if she knew what that exact phrase – one she had undoubtedly overheard him and his friends utter before – did to him. “Pinky promise?”
She held out her hand, her pinky finger lifted, her eyes smiling up at him and – despite his sheer nerves – he lifted his own and wrapped his pinky finger around hers. The shock that went through him the moment their pinky fingers locked was difficult to conceal and he thought – but surely, this was indeed his imagination playing tricks on him – her eyes widened too, even if it was barely noticeable to anyone who was not James Potter and didn’t play close attention to anything Lily Evans.
“Hey,” surprise was evident in his voice as he laid eyes on her. She smiled, made her way inside the locker room, willed her heart to still for – of course – he had once again been shirtless. “Going for a fly?”
“Yeah,” she breathed out, hands already running through her hair as she readied herself to tie it up in a ponytail, “I thought there wouldn’t be anyone here, because of the weather.” The sky outside was grey, the air thick with the anticipation of the rain that she was certain would fall down in a matter of minutes.
He sent her a look that indicated his disbelief. “You’d be right, Evans. No one in their right mind would fly out in an actual storm.” He was still not wearing a shirt and she wondered if he did so on purpose, if he – like her – recalled the moment a couple of days ago when she had called him “perfectly well-built”. It was difficult not to let her eyes stray and check if she had perhaps misremembered the tautness of his flawless chest. “I’ll join you then,” he continued, pulling her out of her daze. “I don’t want you to battle through the rain by yourself. What if something were to happen?”
He turned around, her mouth already opening to insist he did not have to join her, but then her eyes fell on the purplish bruise on his lower back and she gasped, her feet carrying her over to where he stood. He had turned his head to look at her over his shoulder at the noise she made.
“Oh my god,” she said, her fingers grazing against the skin that was black and blue in several spots, “is this from when you fell down the stairs?”
He turned around, her fingers bumping into his side, his cheeks pink. “It’s nothing,” he was quick to tell her. “It looks far worse than it actually is. I can barely feel it, really.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she informed him, her hand on his elbow now in an attempt to turn him back around, but he stood as if bolted directly to the very floor. “Honestly, Potter, I just want to see if I can help, maybe there’s a spell or anything to cushion some of it –”
“Evans, you don’t need to –”
“I really think I do –”
“I’m perfectly all right –”
“You’re so stubborn –”
“Can you just –?”
“I don’t see what the problem might be, I’m just trying to help –”
“But I don’t need your help, I just need to nurse my ego back to strength. If anything, the pain is a reminder never to actually trip over your own feet when the prettiest girl in school tells you you’re perfectly well-built.”
This shut her up, blood rushing through her, making her go slightly dizzy and she thought she might topple over, but James Potter gingerly placed a hand on her lower back.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was barely more than a deep whisper, his eyes having darkened slightly, but there was something in them that she could not place. If she didn’t know any better, she would guess he were nervous. “I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, a blush spreading up his neck.
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You don’t think I’m the prettiest girl in the school?” she asked him, her Gryffindor courage taking over. She rejoiced in the way he so clearly flushed, in the way his breath so clearly got caught in his throat and then – she would wonder at her own bravura later on, when her own lips were so very bruised that it was obvious she had not been dreaming – she rose on her tiptoes, placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and her lips on his. It didn’t take long for him to reciprocate.
The noise he let out was a startled one, but his hand on her lower back pulled her closer towards him, his other one on the back of her neck so as to make it impossible for her to pull away. His mouth moved against hers, opened slightly, allowing for their tongues to meet.
They stumbled slightly, or – maybe – she swayed on her feet and – in response – he walked backwards, let himself sit down on one of the benches, pulling on her waist as he silently begged her to come closer once more and before she knew it, she was straddling him, her face growing ever warmer as she felt him harden where she pressed down against him, as her mouth sought out his again in an all but quiet whimpering.
(Or maybe his found hers in a toe-curling groan, she couldn’t tell exactly. Her brain appeared to have ceased working entirely.)
She felt his hands untuck her blouse from her skirt, his fingers darting up her skin experimentally and she sighed against his lips, one of her hands moving to fist his curls as he started to trail kisses down her neck, sucking, nipping and licking as he took his time to explore the canvas she presented to him.
This isn’t real, she thought as she moaned softly when his lips brushed against a spot she hadn’t known she would beg him to return to over and over in the next few weeks. This is a dream, surely.
Her hips had started to move in an involuntary rhythm against his, him meeting her grinds in tandem and she felt such heat pool in the bottom of her belly that she wondered what he would do if she were to beg him to take off all her clothes. The thought alone made her blush.
“Evans,” it was more of a groan the way his lips formed her name, his hands tightening around her waist. “Fuck, I –”
She grabbed the back of his neck this time, planted her lips hard against his and they stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, familiarising themselves with the taste of the other, the way they slotted together like they were meant to fit, meant to touch at any and all times.
(Or, this was something she found herself thinking, she had no way of knowing he felt similarly or that he had thoughts that were anything like her own.)
They broke apart, her heart racing, his – she could feel it, so close was she – slamming against his chest in a rapid rhythm that she thought matched hers perfectly. She felt shy under his ardent gaze, when she noted the way his lips looked so well-kissed and she awkwardly climbed off his lap, careful not to – as if she hadn’t ruined this already by rocking into him – touch him as she did.
“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to look at him now. “I got a little carried away, I –” she resisted the need to bring her fingers to her lips to test the sensitivity of them, they still tingled with his kiss.
“No, please don’t –” he got up, practically propelling himself forward as he took a hold of her hands. He looked perfectly dishevelled, his hair a proper mess from – she was both embarrassed and delighted as the thought occurred to her – the way she had run her hands through it. “I really liked it,” he was already pink in the face, but the grimace at his own words indicated that he might have gone redder in the face if it had been possible. “The kissing, I meant. I really, really enjoyed doing that with you.”
“Oh,” she breathed out, a small smile playing at her lips, “good, because,” she took in a shaky breath, squeezed his hands, “so did I.”
He nodded along, his head bobbing like one of the tiny figures in Muggle stores that her father was obsessed with. “Good, yeah,” the words rushed out like a waterfall, “if you ever want to do this again, I’m – you know –” he stepped closer, swallowed, “– I’m game.” He pressed his lips against hers once more and she let herself get lost in him, their fingers intertwined, their lips slanting against the other so deliciously that she found herself thinking that she never wanted to come up for air.
When they did, however, she took a few deep breaths, trying to regain some control over herself before she said: “Me too,” and when he looked at her funny, she explained: “I would be interested in doing this again, if you’d want, I mean.”
He beamed, she thought, as he answered simply: “I want.”
“All right,” she spoke.
“All right,” he copied.
They both had promptly forgotten about Lily’s desire to fly and the bruises that plagued James.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it, not even as he stood between Lily Evans’ legs, his hands up her skirt, fingers digging into the softness of her thighs, his mouth attached to hers, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pulled him ever so close against her. (He was, by the way, not complaining about this situation he found himself in, in the least.) Surely, he had gone insane or this was a dream that he had yet to wake up from, for there was no way that Lily Evans – for the past week, an entire seven days – had willingly snogged him, that she had sought him out to do it even.
He wished it would never end. He wanted to be as close to her as humanly possible for the rest of his life. He was aware of the fact that some people might argue that he knew nothing of life just yet, being only seventeen, that forever to him was a concept he could just not fully grasp, but he thought they were wrong. What he felt for Lily Evans, what he felt when he was with Lily Evans, when he could see her, hear her, smell her, taste her, touch her – he was quite certain nothing in his life had ever compared to it or would ever quite compare to it. It was possibly transcendent how wildly his blood rushed through his veins.
“Potter,” she sighed, her fingers tugging at the locks of his hair. She swallowed his groan, he shuffled ever closer, tugged her to the edge of the table she was sat at, her thighs hugging his hips, his cock so stiff that it was nearly painful.
“Evans,” he replied in turn, kissing his way down her neck his mouth latching on to her collarbone. His fingers brushed against – what he realised with a shudder – were her knickers and he – frozen for a second only – pulled back his hands, covered her knees instead. “Sorry,” he told her, “I shouldn’t have –”
“It’s okay,” she said, blushing furiously, her hands sliding down to settle on his chest. He wondered if the way his heart pounded gave too much of his feelings for her away. “We should probably finish patrolling anyway.”
The grip of her legs on his hips relaxed, he stepped back, ran a hand through his hair, took in a deep breath and turned away from her as she hopped off the table, adjusting his trousers in the process, trying to think unpleasant thoughts.
A couple of minutes later, they were walking side by side, checking empty classrooms and broom cupboards before they made their way back up to the Gryffindor Common Room. His lips still felt well-kissed and he grasped her hand before she could give the Fat Lady the password, pulling her towards him and dropping one final kiss to her lips.
Her eyes were still closed when he pulled back, a smile playing at her lips and he couldn’t help himself, he voiced the question that had been on his mind these past seven days and he hoped – against better judgement perhaps – that he would like her answer: “Evans, what are we doing?” Her eyes opened, she blinked up at him, he felt incredibly awkward. “Are we just snogging or –” he didn’t dare voice the alternative, already fearing the inevitable rejection that would follow.
Her eyes dropped, she took a step backwards, pushed her hair behind her ears. “I mean…” she started, inhaling sharply, “I suppose we are, right? We’re just having fun. Or –” his heart dropped, but he tried not to let it show on his face, “– I know I am, but if you’d rather end this and make everything less complicated –”
The smile he plastered on his face was nearly painful in its fraudulence. “No, I wouldn’t want to end it –” he stopped a moment, collected himself, “– that is to say, I’m having fun too and I think we can continue to have that unless you’d rather stop it before it gets to be too –”
“No,” she answered swiftly and with an intensity that stroked his ego, “not if you don’t want to end it. I’m –” she bit her lip, toyed with the hem of her skirt, a movement which drew his attention and caused his nostrils to flare, “– I quite like what we’re doing and we can keep doing it until we get tired of it.”
That would be never for me, he thought, but he felt himself nod.
“Sure,” he replied, “that sounds like a deal. You just tell me when you’ve got enough –”
“Or you,” she told him and he wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Instead, he shrugged, appearing unflappable, but – in reality – he was anything but.
“Of course,” he put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and watched her longingly as she nodded and turned towards the Fat Lady to mutter the password, turning her head to regard him with a question in her eyes before he followed her inside.
Friends with benefits, she wondered if that was the term she should apply to them. She wondered if they were even friends, really. Partners on patrol and teammates, maybe. But friends? It seemed a bit of a stretch. Even if his mouth had been on hers too many times to count now.
She stood behind him, ready to get out on the Quidditch pitch and watched the tense set of his shoulders, the weight of expectation solely on him, their Captain. She wished she could reach for him, turn him around and wrap her arms around him, her lips locked with his as he swallowed her “Good luck!”
She didn’t dare, however, nor did she have the time. Thus, she flexed her fingers as Sirius Black called out their names, gripped her broom tightly between her hands, swung her leg over it and then she set off, the roar of the crowd thunderous as they flew out in formation, circled the pitch, she on his right, Marlene on his left.
They came to a halt in the air, the Ravenclaw team opposite them and she could see him look over his shoulder, take in his team, his eyes stopping on her for a moment, a firm nod, a look that said: “You’ve got this, Evans.”
Moments later the Quaffle, the Bludgers and the Snitch were released and she watched as he gained possession of the first, flying towards the Ravenclaw goalposts in practiced movements, flanked by Thomas and Rory, as he went on to score Gryffindor’s first goal. Loud cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stand and her smile widened as she detected Black’s barely contained enthusiasm and pride booming over the field.
The match took her focus then and she knew that – an hour in – Gryffindor were ahead by sixty points. She had yet to spot the Snitch, however.
Shacklebolt hovered on the other end of the pitch and her eyes scanned the air around herself for a glimmer of gold, a fluttering of wings that would bring them the victory that she craved not just for herself, but for her house and – perhaps especially so, but she didn’t want to admit this to even herself – for the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.
“The Gryffindor Chasers are killing it out there today,” she heard Sirius Black announce. “Let’s see if Evans, the Gryffindor Seeker, can make all of us see positively red and I’m not talking about her hair here –” She rolled her eyes and – as she did – noticed as something glinted in the sun on the far end of the pitch.
She shot off before she had even registered giving her broom the command. Air hit her hard in the face, the wind whistling so loudly that all sound was drowned out. She could feel Shacklebolt’s presence behind her and she flattened herself against her broom further, getting ever closer to the fast-paced Golden Snitch which fluttered around the pitch without a care in the world.
You’re mine, she thought, reaching out her hand, her fingers flitting against the wings before her knuckles could wrap around the current object of her desire. She felt a grin play at her lips as she slowed down, lifted her arm up in the air, the noise of a roaring Gryffindor crowd – quite literally so – coming into focus as Black screamed: “Evans caught the Snitch! An additional 150 Points for Gryffindor, securing a victory over Ravenclaw.”
A moment later, she stepped off her broom, so did several other members of their team, Marlene rushing up – letting her Beater’s club fall to the sand – and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She could see James too, he – ever so gracefully – leapt to the ground and sent her a wide, wolfish grin that made her bare her teeth in turn. He stepped forward, clearly intending to make his way over to her, but suddenly half of Hogwarts – half of Gryffindor, certainly – seemed to have made their way onto the pitch and blocked his easy access to her.
She lost him in the crowd for a moment, felt a hundred different hands pat her on the shoulders. Sirius Black – who had made his way down the stands so quickly that she wondered if he’d just given up his task of commentating the minute he had named Gryffindor the winner – hoisted her up on his shoulders, she giggling uncontrollably as he gripped her thighs to keep her in place. It was funny, she thought, how his hands didn’t cause her to feel a thing, while his best friend’s – in the same position – would have caused a swirl of heat to hit her core.
This high up, however, she was given a wonderful overview of the Hogwarts students celebrating on the pitch with them. The Ravenclaw team trudged off, heads hung low, while a mix of Gryffindor – the majority, clearly – Hufflepuff and even some Slytherin students partied with them. Then her eyes found him again.
Remus Lupin stood beside him, they were talking animatedly, James Potter running a hand through his hair, his shoulders having lost all the tension she had earlier observed and she felt so pleased to know that she had helped him, that she had been a contributing factor to his state of relaxation and suddenly she longed to be close to him, to be able to touch him, to kiss him too…
She nearly yelled at Sirius to take her to the Head Boy, as if he were a Hippogriff who could take her exactly where she wanted – she figured she had earned it – but before she could and before the demand could leave her lips, she felt her heart drop.
Delia Greengrass – Slytherin Prefect, Seventh Year and daughter of one of Mrs Potter’s school friends – had made her way over to James and – holding on to his biceps, smile naughty and saucy – stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against James’.
She stiffened, her eyes watered, her insides turning to ice and – she didn’t know how exactly, maybe he had noted her anxiety – Sirius Black lowered her, frowning down at her now in concern.
“Evans, what’s –?”
“Shower,” she had never sounded more inarticulate, she thought. “I just need –” she swallowed, avoided her housemate’s eyes, “– a shower.”
She practically ran off, not looking around and thus missing the way that a red-faced and uncomfortable James Potter pushed away Delia Greengrass, whispering in her ear before moving away from her, eyes scanning the crowd for his Seeker.
He found her in the Head’s Common Room, sifting through detention slips as if they hadn’t just won a match against Ravenclaw, as if she hadn’t been the one to secure their victory, Shacklebolt never standing a chance as the Head Girl outpaced him without seemingly breaking a sweat. He found the contrast endearing almost, the determined Seeker on the pitch, who showed no sense of mercy, and the diligent Head Girl on a shift as a party in her honour was – seemingly – all so happily avoided.
“Why aren’t you at your party?”
Her words startled him almost, but her voice – hypnotic in its quality, even when laced with something that sounded nearly hostile – made him move forward, one hand fisted in the trousers of his uniform, the other one tangled up in his curls.
“I could ask you the same.”
“It’s not my party, though.”
“It is,” his hand dropped from his hair, pocketing it also, feeling a little uneasy as she continued to read the detention slips, sorting them into different piles in practiced movements, not even glancing his way. “We won a Quidditch match thanks to you today, getting us one step closer to the Quidditch cup. Surely, you can drink to that?”
“We won as a team,” she answered diplomatically.
Her lack of response and emotion was a little underwhelming, to be honest. He’d hoped to go down here to find her smiling, her eyes sparkling up at him as he approached her, pushed her hair gently away from her face, leaning down, fingers grazing the side of her neck before their lips collided and she sucked the life out of him.
“I didn’t see you after the match either,” he tried, his nails digging into the skin of his palms painfully. “When I got to the locker room, you’d already left. I didn’t even get the chance to tell you well done.” He didn’t add how disappointed he had been to find out what he had missed out on, to hear Marlene tell him that she’d gone up to the Gryffindor Tower already. He had pretended not to notice that his teammates raised their eyebrows at the fact that he'd gone up quickly too without so much as taking a shower, his broom swung comfortably over his shoulder as he very nearly sprinted back up to the castle, avoiding the throngs of people by taking a secret passage that led him up – unseen – to the Gryffindor Common Room, which had been void of her too.
She was quiet for a moment as she registered his words, the question that was apparent in them, the why that refused to fall off his lips, but so clearly hung between them. She paused for only a second, however, before putting down another one of the detention slips and reaching for a new one. “I needed to clear my head a little.”
He wanted to ask her what had bothered her so much, wanted to know if it had had to do with the fact that Delia Greengrass had kissed him without so much as a warning. If only he weren’t too afraid to reveal too much, to get his heart broken.
Yet, there had been the thing that Sirius had said, the way her enthusiasm had so very clearly wavered at the exact moment Delia had forced herself on him. It seemed imperative to him that she knew that he didn’t care for the Slytherin’s peck in the slightest. He scuffed the carpet with the toe of his right shoe, hesitated for a moment only.
“Look,” he swallowed, wetting his lips, inhaling sharply, “I don’t know if you saw what happened with Delia –”
“You’re allowed to snog whomever you like, Potter,” she sounded flat, confirming his suspicion that she had seen and was – whatever the reason might be – indeed bothered by it. “You don’t owe me an explanation, so if that’s what you came down here for –”
“I didn’t,” he felt like he was flailing, took another two steps in her direction, his body aligned with the profile of hers, everything within him screaming for the barest of touches. “Evans, you know I would never want to kiss a Slytherin. have no desire to do any of that with anyone but you, to be honest.”
She now dropped the detention slip she had been holding and turned to him, cocking an eyebrow. It felt like his second victory that day, the first one having taken place on the Quidditch pitch.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” she stated, challenged him almost.
“Okay,” he replied, one of his hands unfolding from where it had been hidden inside his trouser pockets and coming to rest on her hip now, his fingers tapping her there teasingly. “Don’t do what you don’t want to do, Evans.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in annoyance. “Could you kiss me now?” she questioned. “After just kissing a Pure-blooded Slytherin witch?"
A frown settled on his forehead. “What does the Pure-blooded part have to do with anything? You know all of that is nonsense, that it doesn’t mean anything –”
“Tell Greengrass and her friends that,” she looked away from him, bit her lip. “You’re not meant to want to snog girls like me. You’re meant to dream of a Pure-blooded, wizarding society wedding –”
He silenced her with a press of his fingers under her chin, a redirection of her gaze and a bending of his neck to capture her lips with his, pulling her up flush against him. Things spiralled quickly.
Her hands found their way under his jumper, his lifting her so she sat on the desk where the detention slips had been piled up so neatly, but now scattered and cluttered the entirety of it. Luckily, Lily didn’t seem to mind or notice, her fingernails dragging over his abdomen as she swallowed his groans.
“I don’t have time to dream about stupid things,” he breathed out, thinking about what she had said about his future, his mouth leaving hers, trailing down, so he could suck on her collarbone. “It’s too preoccupied these days. I don’t know how to not think of you.” His one hand gripped her thigh in a vice-like grip, the other moving to the cotton that covered her most intimate of places as he ran his middle finger over the damp spot that gathered there beautifully. It made her jump, while the feel of her only hardened him further. “I’m sorry, I’m –” he gritted his teeth when her hand wrapped around his wrist, but instead of pulling it away – as he had expected – she pressed his fingers exactly where he most craved them to go. “Fuck,” it escaped him before he could bite down hard on the insides of his cheek, he was certain he was blushing furiously.
There was a little bit of fumbling, paired with an awful lot of panting as his fingers made their way inside her knickers and he started to explore the lips there, revelling in the wetness – for him?! – he found, dipping in the tip of his finger to test the waters before burying himself to his knuckle and setting of a rhythm that had her clinging to his shoulders, a crescendo of whimpers escaping her with every brush of his finger against her sensitive walls. He added a second finger, felt like he had gone to heaven, closed his eyes as he tried to keep his wits about him.
“Potter,” her voice was broken, high-pitched, needy. He had never known that this was how his last name was supposed to sound. “I want to come so bad –” she very nearly sobbed and he hushed her, pressed a kiss to her cheek, to the tip of her nose.
“You will,” he whispered with a confidence that seemed newfound in her presence as he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve never wanted anything more –”
He worked his fingers inside her, putting all of his – limited, he had to admit, but he hoped she wouldn’t notice – experience to use, trying to understand every single one of the noises that escaped her, analysing them and hoping that his readings of them were accurate.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his robes, pressing down hard on the muscle and bone beneath them, but he didn’t feel a thing – or didn’t care, at any rate – too focused on making her wish come true.
She fell apart some thirty seconds later and he felt relief flood him, as well as a sense of euphoria that he had done it, that she had liked what he had made her feel enough to make her break.
“Thanks,” she spoke languidly as she sagged a little, his arm coming to wrap around her waist to keep her up against him. He – after a final slow stroke – extracted his hand from where it had been buried, the air of the Head’s Common Room needlessly cold in comparison.
“No problem,” he commented. It was the most casual thing his brain could come up with. The other option – thankfully he was sane enough still – ruled out quickly: I’m in love with you, Evans. I want to do this with you every day. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life and I know I’ll never ever get tired of it.
He couldn’t contain himself, however, and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, lingering there just a tad too long before pulling away, noting the flushed colour of her cheeks, the fact that her eyes remained closed for a second longer. He pulled away completely, very much aware of the situation he found himself in, the level of exposure he made himself victim to. He stepped away, turned his back on her, ran his hands through his hair, expelling deep breaths as he tried to stop his blood flow from rushing down and embarrassing him further.
“I should probably go,” he spoke uselessly. “I’m pretty sure the party is close to getting out of hand and with the Head Boy and Girl down here there is no controlling any of it –” She snorted as she jumped off the desk. It was as if a spell had been broken.
“Sure,” there was an element of amusement to her tone, “I’m sure you’ll go up and control the situation, Potter.”
He wished she knew and understood that he was extremely skilled in this area and that she had actually contributed to this to a large extent. If he hadn’t been, he would never have been able to stop himself from confessing his true feelings for her.
She had never thought she would ever say this, but she figured that she and James Potter were – quite possibly – the worst Head Boy and Girl in the history of the prestigious position amongst the Hogwarts student body. Ignoring one another by day or at least merely passing each other like two people with vastly different interests – apart from Quidditch – and friend groups, the wildness of their nights provided such a stark juxtaposition that she sometimes found herself wondering if she was making all of it up.
By daylight, the two of them barely glanced in the other’s direction. (Or: he never looked at her. She was all too aware that she was not nearly as successful, her bodged potion in Potions earlier that day – which had left Slughorn baffled and disappointed – was proof enough as it was.) While at night, dragging one another into secret passageways, empty classrooms or toilet stalls – they definitely avoided the bathroom that Moaning Myrtle haunted, although James had grinned at her and had said that at least she could blame someone else for the noises she made if they didn’t – it was difficult to tell where one of them started and the other one ended.
She wanted to tell him what was on her mind, that most of it was him and the fact that she was seriously worried about her sanity. She had – although he hadn’t caught on, clearly, too occupied with the kisses that he trailed down the slope of her neck – gotten awfully close to that confession when she had told him: “You’re stuck on my mind, Potter, it’s an issue.”
He had merely smiled wide against her skin and said: “Lucky me,” before he resumed his efforts, his hands kneading her bum cheeks underneath her skirt.
She was finding it difficult to see what was happening between them as casual, something that was allowed to exist only when the sun had set and their classmates had returned to their common rooms. She simply felt too much for him, found herself fantasising whatever he might do to her next and how she might be able to thank him in turn. She was – forever the Gryffindor Seeker – searching for the next opportunity she was granted alone with him at all times and it was trickling so annoyingly into her everyday life that she wondered if it wasn’t healthier to call this thing between them off altogether. Not because she wanted to, but because she needed to stop it before her heart would break indefinitely.
Now, having just taken a shower after a gruelling Quidditch practice, which had seen her fall off her broom when Potter had whistled appreciatively when she’d beaten all of her teammates in a race, only to add: “That’s my girl,” in a tone that was so fond, she had wanted to smack him over the head with her broom when he had – pale, brow crinkled in concern – hovered over her to assess the damage after her fall, she found herself blissfully alone inside the locker rooms, closing her eyes as she leaned against her own, feeling positively mortified over the fact that he had all the power over her, while she had very little of it over him. She exhaled shakily, a tear slipping down her cheek as she held up her towel in a tight grip.
The door to the room opened behind her.
“Are you okay?”
It was Marlene McKinnon, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she closed the door behind her, made her way inside.
“Fine,” she answered, wiping away the stray tear before turning around and facing her teammate with a fake smile plastered on her cheeks.
“You don’t look it,” Marlene said as she crossed her arms and examined her critically. “Potter asked me to check up on you.”
She scoffed, rolled her eyes, turned towards her locker once more to open it and pull her Gryffindor jumper out. “He trusts you enough to tell him the truth and didn’t want to come check for himself?” She didn’t know why, but it felt like a rejection on his part almost. It stung.
“He didn’t want to risk walking in on you naked,” Marlene answered, “which was probably the right call.”
Lily had wormed herself into her jumper and now reached for the pair of knickers she had brought with her. She had to bite her lip not to tell her friend: He was very busy fondling my tits last night. I don’t know why he cares about my or his sense of modesty now.
“Are you sure we don’t need to take you to the Hospital Wing? Even if it’s just to have Pomfrey check up on you?” Marlene placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m surprised you can stand at all. You’re not in pain?”
None of it physical, she thought as she shook her head. “You can assure Potter that all is well. Tell him not to get his knickers in a twist over absolutely nothing.”
She didn’t know if she had been talking about her possibly physical Quidditch-related injuries or the ones she suffered to the heart.
“You look like a prat,” Sirius muttered as he shoved another spoonful of that night’s pumpkin soup into his mouth. There was a brief pause as James returned his gaze to his friend, dragging them away from Lily Evans, who sat with Mary Macdonald and was taking far too small bites for his comfort. “McKinnon told you that she said she’s fine. Don’t obsess over nothing.”
“You weren’t there,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s a miracle she didn’t break her back or cracked her skull.” His heart had stopped when he had seen her lose her grip and tumble down as if in slow motion. He hadn’t been fast enough to catch her or cushion her fall. “She’s downplaying it, pretending it’s not as serious as it is.”
“Maybe,” Sirius shrugged, raising an eyebrow, “she didn’t want you to fuss over her like the obsessed mother hen you are.”
He wanted to spill to his best friend and brother right there and then, tell him that his feelings towards Lily Evans were as far from motherly as they could get. He wanted to tell him how deeply in love he was and how the knowledge that she wasn’t tore at his soul, turned his heart to dust.
He decided against it. It was, after all, safer that way.
“Where is Pete anyway?” he asked, dropping his own spoon in his barely touched bowl of soup.
Sirius reached for some bread rolls as he – sounding bored and unaffected, which was his neutral tone – replied: “He needed to finish a couple of additional inches for his History of Magic essay before we deal with Remus’ furry problem tonight.”
“Right,” he answered, wetting his lips. “You know I’ve got to patrol with Evans first? I’ll meet you at the Shack?”
“We’ve got it all under control, Prongs,” Sirius’ knee bumped against his under the table in reassurance. “You don’t have to take care of all of us. We’re big boys now.” His hazels met Sirius’ grey ones, he could detect some sympathy there, something which Sirius bestowed rarely. “She’s a big girl too, you know, and for what it’s worth she seems to really respect you now. That must count for something.”
But she will never love me, he thought, dropping his eyes and grabbing hold of his spoon now, stirring it mindlessly in his soup, and I can’t tell you how much that hurts.
The air between them was tense as they completed their patrol. They had done their regular loop, but neither had so much as reached for the other. The back of their hands had brushed a couple of times when she was less vigilant and had let herself drift closer to him, but that was all that had transpired all night and it was driving her nuts. She had the distinct impression that he was angry with her and she wouldn’t satisfy him by being the first to try and salvage the current and apparent weirdness between them. They ascended the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower, nearing the portrait of the Fat Lady and she – arms wrapped around her waist – refused to be the one to budge first. Luckily, he was the one to clear his throat.
“Look,” he started, a grimace on his face, his shoulders near his ears as he ducked his head further, “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier today by insisting I take you to the Hospital Wing –” He let his words linger, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes as if he were hoping she’d stop him. “I know it’s not my place to interfere and that you know exactly what is good for you, but I was worried and you’re on my team and I’m the Captain, which makes you my responsibility –”
This caused her claws to come out. “I’m no one’s responsibility but my own, Potter.”
He cringed. “I know that,” he spoke hastily, clearly deeply uncomfortable. “I just can’t help but care about you and I know that’s not part of this agreement that we made, but I can’t just go from boiling hot to stone cold the next second. It’s impossible, Evans, and it’s not something I can ask myself to do, so if that’s what you want, maybe we should halt this –” his hand went back and forth between them, “– before I make things awkward and cross lines that shouldn’t be crossed –”
She stopped in her tracks, he did too. She stared up at him, eyes wide.
“What are you saying?” she asked, heart in her throat.
He looked at his feet rather than at her. “I suppose I’m saying that – while this has certainly been fun – I’m not the casual type and I can’t stand by and watch while you fall to what could have been your death and if that’s what you want me to do, we might as well end this –”
She dragged him down by his robes and pressed his mouth against hers furiously. There was a desperate need within her that made it difficult to breathe and focus on anything other than the pounding of her heart against his. His tongue slipped in, his fingers in her hair as he pushed her up against the stone wall, his own chest scorching hot compared to the freezing iciness of the caste walls.
“I care too,” she breathed out when his lips drifted from hers to the underside of her jaw, finding a sensitive spot there and flicking out his tongue against it. She bit her lip in a barely suppressed moan. “I have no idea how to not want you and –”
He silenced her with his mouth before leaning away from her, a question in his eyes, some nervous hesitation that he seemed to swallow as he asked: “Want to come up to my dorm with me?”
She was too excited and anxious to speak, merely nodding and letting him drag her away and into their common room. There was no one there, but she could hear laughter originating from some of the dorms.
He took her up the boy staircase, climbing up to the very top, her eyes settling on the full moon outside the window and she squeezed his hand with her fingers. “Potter, don’t you have to -?”
He didn’t so much as glance at her or out the window, pushing open the door to his dorm. “I’ll join them later.”
They stood inside his dormitory then and he let go of her hand, flicking his wand as he cleared some of the clutter on the floor, socks and a stray pair of boxers – black as night, which she figured must be Sirius Black’s – slithering under beds before he turned to her with an awkward smile and a hand stuck in his hair.
“Sorry about that,” he scrunched his nose, “we’re animals, really, and I haven’t ever actually brought a girl up here before nor did I ever expect to, so I didn’t think to clean up earlier –”
“Potter,” her voice was soft as she took a step towards him, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, forcing his hand down, “I really don’t care about any mess.” She didn’t add that she was honoured to be the first girl he ever brought up here, but she figured that the kiss she placed on his lips – standing on her tiptoes as he lowered his head – relayed the message well enough.
They swayed together, as if dancing to the sound of their mingled panting. He dropped his robes to the floor, she loosened his tie, he unbuttoned her blouse, pushed the material off her shoulders, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her as close as humanly possible.
“I’ve never –” she stopped halfway, blushing a bright scarlet as she realised what she had been about to confess, worried over what he might think as a result, if he would change his mind about what he had – although indirectly – asked her earlier.
“Me neither,” he said, surprising her with this answer. “I’ve snogged, made out, gotten people off – you mostly, really – but nothing else.”
She bit back a pleased smile, ducked her head. “So, if it’s bad, we can just blame it on our inexperience.”
He snorted, cupped her cheeks, lifted her head so she was forced to look him in the eye. “We won’t be bad,” he told her. “We’ll be bloody spectacular.”
Their next kisses were slow, luxurious almost in its laziness as he guided her towards his bed and subsequently pushed down her skirt, ensuring that she was wearing nothing but her underwear before she climbed on the bed with him.
His hands roamed her skin, his lips caressed her neck as he undid her bra and pulled his own jumper and dress shirt over his head, their naked chests flush against the other’s as she climbed on his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, his cock hot and heavy against her thigh.
She was conscious of every fibre of her being, felt as though she’d been set on fire and that there was no hope of it ever being doused. She kissed down the side of his neck, her hands lost in his curls, her hips rolling against him before he swore, flipped her over and rushed to get his trousers and pants off.
She blushed at his rushed determination to bare himself entirely to her, licked her lips at the sight before her and wondered if there had ever been a luckier girl in the world when she took him all in. She leaned up on her elbows, her face aligned with his chest and she – not knowing what really came over her – licked him there, dragging her tongue ever so slowly up his Adam’s apple before pushing it into his mouth and swallowing the groan that had started deep in his throat the minute she had started the action.
“Fuck me, Evans,” he spoke, lowering himself on her now, their chests pressed fully together, her legs opened wide to accommodate for him, the hairs of his athletic thighs scratching deliciously against the inside of hers.
“I want to,” she answered cheekily.
There was some giggling, some awkward repositioning, some half-spoken directions from both him and her, a contraceptive spell which was muttered before the wand was thrown haphazardly on the floor and they stared at one another, both a little skittish, both somewhat hesitant as if waiting for the other’s permission or perhaps it was the other’s initiative they sought.
“Are you sure that –?” he started to ask and she nodded.
“Yes.”
His fingers brushed against her skin in a loving caress, his lips pressing down on her in silent reassurance as he started to push in and stretched her ever so slightly.
Her breath caught in her throat, her face scrunched up and for a moment she wanted to tell him to stop, to push him away, but then the discomfort lessened and a few seconds later he filled her up so completely that she could only stare up at him in wide-eyed wonder.
He blinked down on her too, one of his hands coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away something that wettened her cheek. She hadn’t realised she had been crying, but she must have.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Okay,” she replied and then he let his hand drop from her face, propped himself up by his forearms and she wrapped her legs more fully around his hips, her pale knees contrasting beautifully with the golden brown of his skin.
“Just tell me if you’re not –” he spoke as he started to move against her.
His first strokes were clumsy, he even slipped out completely at a certain point, causing him to blush violently as he apologised, but then he started to get the hang of it, the look on his face growing ever more determined as her breathing became more laboured and her hips started to meet his thrusts with a growing confidence.
Her hands settled on his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the bare skin there, high-pitched whimpers escaping her with every collision of their hips and she felt her head start to swim, her vision start to blur as the heat in her abdomen started to increase by the second and her whole being started to tingle all over.
“James,” his name was more of a whine and his hips stuttered against hers, his cock inside her twitching.
“Fuck, Lily, I –” he pressed his forehead against hers, tried to gain control over himself and his breathing. “You have no idea, do you?”
She thought she did if he felt as strongly as she did, but didn’t vocalise this, merely opting to lift her hips in a silent request for him to meet hers again and then things got wild.
Hands roamed all over bodies, her tongue lay flat against his pulse point, feeling the strength of the blood running through his veins, one of his hands cupping her breast and kneading it deliciously and then she felt a wave hit her, a crescendo swelling inside her and she nearly bit on her tongue with the force of it, he still moving against her but desperately so now and she felt him come to a halt what couldn’t have been more than a minute later, groaning as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Her name falling off his lips in a drawn-out grunt that had her seeing stars.
He pressed a kiss on her forehead, regretting that he had to leave her alone in his bed, but reminding himself that he would be back and – when he did – he would be able and allowed to wrap his arms around her at his leisure, pulling her close against him once more and for the rest of eternity.
She was fast asleep now, looking peaceful and utterly content. He smiled as he remembered the look on her face when she’d whispered a confession as they – sticky bodies still wrapped up in each other’s in the afterglow of what had transpired a moment before – had breathed in the other’s air, more one than they had ever been before.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, James Potter.”
He had rolled her over, pressed his lips against hers and attempted to pour all his feelings into her, to make her see that he wasn’t just pretty sure, but that he knew for certain and that he had for what felt like the longest of expositions to the start of their story.
“I know I am in love with you, Lily Evans.”
Life seemed pretty damn good right now.
HOGWARTS SWEETHEARTS REUNITED ON THE QUIDDITCH PITCH
By Rita Skeeter for The Daily Prophet
Puddlemere United Chaser and Captain James Potter has good reason to rejoice for reasons other than just last season’s Quidditch Cup victory, seeing as his long-time partner Lily Evans has joined his team after her contract with the Holyhead Harpies was up and his team faced the retirement of their seeker, Brandon Wood.
Playing together at Hogwarts and graduating as Gryffindor’s Golden Couple – winning the Quidditch House Cup with their team and ruling the school as Head Boy and Girl together in their final year – the pair must be delighted to be brandishing the same colours once more.
The talented, redheaded Seeker Miss Evans was asked what it would be like to play under her boyfriend and answered with a cheeky smile and a wink: “I’m pretty familiar with that position, actually, and have been enjoying it for years.”
We would almost be envious and disgusted if it wasn’t so obvious that these two Quidditch stars were meant to be.
Wild nights! – Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be,
Our luxury!
– Emily Dickinson, 1861 –