cigarette daydream || james potter

"close your eyes, so afraid,"

The long-awaited day had finally arrived, bringing with it the electricity of the first Quidditch match of the school year-a fierce, traditional clash between Gryffindor and Slytherin that always set the entire castle on edge. Because she was no longer on the team, having traded the relentless early morning practices and bruised ribs for a bit of hard-won peace, Estella had fully intended to spend the morning buried deep beneath her heavy blankets, sleeping until the sun was high in the sky. She had imagined a quiet morning, entirely undisturbed by the roaring crowds down at the pitch. However, the universe-and her roommates-had entirely different plans for her weekend, violently shattering her dreams of sleeping in.

"Are you dead? Wake up, Estella!" Marlene McKinnon shouted at the top of her lungs, her booming voice echoing off the high stone walls of the circular room as she aggressively grabbed the wooden bedpost and shook the entire mattress.

"I wish I bloody well was," Estella hissed back, her voice a gravelly, morning growl as she reluctantly pulled the heavy scarlet duvet away from her face and began aggressively rubbing the sleep from her dark, swollen eyes.

"Great, you're alive and awake," the blonde girl said with an insufferable amount of morning energy, loudly clapping her hands together right in front of Estella's face, her own Gryffindor scarf already tied perfectly around her neck. "You need to hurry up and move your feet. The pre-match hype has already started in the common room and the actual match is about to begin." Estella offered a slow, miserable nod of her head, raising her hands to shove the energetic blonde girl backward and shooing her out of the room so she could finally have a moment of privacy to get changed.

Once the heavy oak door finally clicked shut, leaving her in a blissful, temporary silence, Estella swung her legs out of bed and looked around her bedroom. The dormitory corner was a chaotic, beautiful reflection of her stubborn, split identity, entirely buried under a mountain of muggle culture and magical rebellion. The rough stone walls were barely visible beneath a sprawling collage of vibrant posters, dominated by the iconic, lightning-bolt-split face of David Bowie from his *Aladdin Sane* era, which sat right next to a moving, enchanted wizarding poster of the Chudley Cannons flying erratically in circles. Frayed vinyl record sleeves from Queen and Led Zeppelin were tacked haphazardly over traditional Hogwarts tapestries, their corners curled from the persistent Scottish dampness. A cluttered wooden desk in the corner was overflowing with half-written Transfiguration essays, leaking ink bottles, a half-eaten box of sugar mice, and a heavily thumbed-through Quidditch catalog. Stray socks, scuffed Converses, and a stray piece of old parchment littered the floorboards, while Oliver the tabby cat watched the mess from his safe haven on top of a stack of trunk crates.

Sighing at the drop in temperature outside her blankets, Estella dragged herself over to her wardrobe, the wooden hinges groaning as she pulled the doors wide to scan through her messy collection of clothes. Her eyes darted past the standard school robes and wrinkled uniform shirts until they caught sight of a faded, perfectly broken-in black David Bowie shirt-the exact one she had covertly stolen from Remus's trunk a few weeks ago because it was infinitely softer than her own. A small, wicked smile touched her lips as she pulled the cotton shirt over her head, the fabric smelling faintly of her brother's familiar scent of old paper and chocolate. She reached for her thick wool hat and wrapped a long, scarlet-and-gold Gryffindor scarf securely around her neck, ready to face the freezing autumn wind down at the pitch.

Estella stepped out of the warm sanctuary of the dormitory and descended the winding, wonky stone steps into the Gryffindor common room. The atmosphere inside was absolutely electric, buzzing with a chaotic energy that made the floorboards seem to vibrate. The space was packed to the brim with students dressed in varying shades of crimson and gold, their faces painted with lions and lightning bolts. The air smelled strongly of hot pumpkin pasties, toasted bread from the hearth, and a sharp tang of nerve-induced sweat. Over by the portrait hole, Lily Evans was trying to herd a group of over-excited second-years through the exit, her silver Prefect badge gleaming under the torchlight as her vibrant red hair swirled with every sharp turn of her head.
"Finally!" Marlene yelled from across the room, waving a large scarlet banner through the air as she caught sight of Estella's slow descent. "I thought we were going to have to drag you down to the pitch by your ankles."
"If you had tried, McKinnon, you would have lost a finger," Estella replied dryly, tugging the long Gryffindor scarf higher up over her chin as a cold draft swept through the opening portrait hole.
She scanned the room, her dark eyes instantly locking onto a familiar pair of boys lounging near the main exit. Sirius Black was leaning against the stone frame, looking effortlessly cool in a leather jacket he had somehow snuck into his wardrobe, his dark, shoulder-length hair falling perfectly into his eyes. Beside him stood Remus, who looked decidedly less enthusiastic about the sporting event. He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers, his eyes tracking Estella as she approached. His gaze dropped to the front of her shirt, his eyebrows furrowing as he recognized the faded black cotton.
"Is that my Bowie shirt?" Remus asked, his voice deadpan as she came to a halt in front of him.
"It was your Bowie shirt," Estella corrected smoothly, flashing him a brilliantly wide, entirely unrepentant smile. "Now it's my good luck charm for the match. Besides, it looks much better on me."
Sirius let out a barking laugh, clapping Remus on the shoulder. "She's got you there, Moony. You wear that thing like a nightgown." Remus merely rolled his eyes, a small, long-suffering sigh escaping his lips as he reached out to yank the edge of the scarf playfully over Estella's eyes.
"Come on, before all the good seats in the stands are taken by first years," Dorcas Meadowes called out, appearing from the crowd and linking her arm tightly through Estella's. Dorcas was buried under three layers of sweaters, her dark eyes wide and alert as she dragged Estella out into the chilly stone corridor.