*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧. Valentine Lotus was a rare girl; wickedly smart and constantly sweet. That is, unless, you get on her bad side, which James Potter just so happens to do when he dumps a canister of red paint on the wrong person.
~
In which James Pott...
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(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 47: ᴡɪsʜ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ sᴛᴀʀ)
"It's canceled," James explained somberly, referring to the Easter party his parents had planned. "With all these upcoming rumors and the war, Mum and Dad figure it would be safer to wait until it blows over."
"If it blows over," Lily corrected, strumming the pencil between her fingers against the library table.
Valentine hummed in agreement, her brown eyes flickering over pages and words, although none of them quite made sense, forcing her to reread the page until it did.
"It's tragic," Peter commented. "All these muggleborns dying."
Valentine and Lily both glanced at him warily.
"Oh, you'll be fine," Peter shrugged off their looks.
"It's not only muggleborns dying, Pete," Valentine reminded him. "It's.. well, anyone standing against that guy."
"That guy?" Sirius asked.
Valentine nodded. "I'm not calling him 'He Who Must Not Be Named', that's stupid. He's not that cool, he doesn't deserve a threatening nickname."
Macey snorted loudly. "I wonder what his actual name is. I bet it's some pussy name. Like... Bob."
"His name is not Bob. Although imagining that as his name does take away some of the fear he induces," Marlene points out.
Valentine flipped the page of her book, subtly jumping when she felt a warm hand on her thigh. Barely glancing out the corner of her eye, she ignored James, holding her breath when his hand started to inch higher up her leg, giving it a light squeeze.
"When is Ravenclaw practice?" Peter finally asked.
"This afternoon," Sirius answered, setting down his quill, but groaning when Remus picked it right back up and forced it into his hand.
"Just finish it and you'll be free," Remus reminded him, and Sirius mocked him under his breath.
James' hand, slightly calloused from quidditch practice, slipped between her robes, grazing the skin of her stomachs, leaving behind a trail of blistering heat. Snapping from her thoughts, she quickly grabbed his hand and moved it back to her leg, firmly shaking her head at him through a smile.
"Not here," she mouthed to him. In return, he jutted out his bottom lip in a pout.
The group worked the rest of the afternoon, the air smelling like old books and morning coffee and cream, bitter and warm. The wind could be heard outside as it hit the roof, sun shifting through colorful glass windows and casting shadows of trees across the ground.
At some point they'd finally decided to split and grabbed lunch, laughing as they decided to make a plate and sit outside to eat. The weather was gradually heating up, insects buzzing and the surface of the Black Lake rippling from time to time. Flowers were starting to bloom and the fine, yellow pollen coated nearly everything, from outdoor tables to the Quidditch stands.
