cigarette daydream || james potter

"you sigh, look away,"

The stifling, static-heavy sensation of warm, dense fur was the first thing to penetrate the foggy layers of Estella's consciousness. She woke up abruptly, her breath catching as she realized Oliver, her portly tabby cat, had decided that the most comfortable, structurally sound spot to take his morning nap was directly on top of her face. The thick scent of dusty fur and dried cat food filled her nose, completely suffocating her until she frantically pushed herself upright. Oliver let out an indignant, low trill of annoyance, landing with a soft thud on the rumpled sheets. He sat back on his haunches, his luminous amber eyes narrowing into a sharp, judgmental glare at having his pristine sleeping arrangements disrupted, before he deliberately curled himself back into a tight, striped ball right in the warm dip her body had left behind.

Disgusted, Estella vigorously rubbed her face, spitting out several stray orange hairs that had affixed themselves to her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The morning air in the dormitory was crisp and bitingly cold, smelling faintly of the woodsmoke from the dying hearth downstairs and the lavender oil Lily kept on her nightstand. Swinging her legs out of the bed, her bare feet winced against the icy stone floorboards. She stood up and walked over to the parchment calendar pinning itself to the rough stone wall.

Each month was heavily detailed with hand-drawn, ink-black circles marking the exact dates of the upcoming full moon. With a heavy, leaden feeling settling in her stomach, she picked up a scratched quill and drew a sharp, dark cross through the current date, a silent, grim reminder of the lunar cycle that always weighed so heavily on her family. Sighing, she turned to the daunting task of getting dressed, dragging her stiff uniform over her shoulders, deliberately leaving her top shirt buttons undone, and wrestling her messy chestnut hair into a semblance of order with her fingers before heading down out of the tower.

-☾~☽-

The Transfiguration classroom was a vast, high-ceilinged chamber that always smelled intensely of old parchment, metallic copper, and the sharp, clean scent of floor polish. Estella trudged through the heavy arched doorway and unceremoniously flung her canvas tote bag off her shoulder, letting it land with a loud, hollow thud against the floorboards as she slid into a creaky wooden desk located safely near the back of the room. At the front of the class, silhouetted against the tall stained-glass windows through which the pale morning sun filtered, Professor McGonagall stood proudly. Her emerald-green robes were immaculate, and her posture was as rigid as a stone pillar as she waited for the morning chatter of the students to dwindle into silence. Transfiguration was notoriously difficult, requiring a precise, calm focus that Estella simply did not possess. In truth, as she looked at her scratched desktop, it felt like she didn't have a single best subject in the entire curriculum.

"Silence, class," McGonagall ordered, her sharp, Scottish brogue cutting cleanly through the ambient noise like a knife.

Right on cue, a loud, chaotic shuffling sound echoed from the stone hallway outside, followed by the frantic pounding of heavy boots. The classroom doors burst open, and in ran the Marauders in a disheveled, breathless pack, their cloaks flying wildly behind them. Their cheeks were flushed bright red from sprinting up the moving staircases, and the distinct scent of outdoor air and peppermint frogs followed them inside.

"Almost two minutes late, boys," McGonagall pointed out, her eyes narrowing behind her square spectacles as she adjusted her grip on her wand. "I must say, I expected significantly better behavior from you, Mr. Lupin."

Remus, his face pale and his uniform tie actually straight for once, looked down at the shiny, silver Prefect badge pinned to his chest. His shoulders slumped in shame, and he gave a slow, apologetic nod of his head. Without another word, the group of boys scrambled toward the only remaining empty desks in the room. Estella closed her eyes and prayed to Merlin, but her luck was entirely nonexistent; the boys marched straight to the row directly in front of her.