In which James Potter
is a pyromaniac
and realizes
there is something
more scorching
than Lily's red locks.
because if Lily's bright hair were a burning flame, Ella's blazing blue eyes would be found at its centre, where everything turns to ash...
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𝕁𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ℙ𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 had spent the remainder of the day at the infirmary watching Ella Summers sleep with growing discomfort. Her beauty was startling, even at the brink of exhaustion, and the nightmares currently plaguing her had ignited in him an irresistible desire to know more. The tips of his fingers still stung hours after grazing her scorching magic. It felt as if her unmanageable power had seeped through his pores and intoxicated his mind. He wanted more, craved for more.
His eyes followed the perfect curve of her plump lips and moved down to her heaving chest, reminding James of her previous state of undress. He remembered the white lacework of her bra and how it hugged her breasts perfectly. He tore his gaze away with a growing blush.
No one had ever had that effect on him, not even Lily. And he knew he wasn't the only one under the Summers twins' spell, that there was something special about them, something he couldn't quite pinpoint.
Again, he found himself questioning what The Chosen's prophecy meant. Were they even aware of it?
James' eyes settled on a ray of sun filtering through the stained glass window, and they followed the splotches of light for the rest of the afternoon. Part of him wanted to leave, but Meminger had seen her leg and presumed a werewolf attack, so James anticipated a visit from Dumbledore and wouldn't permit the incident with Remus to be discussed without his involvement.
His friend wasn't going home. He would never let that happen.
From when James had walked Ella back to her dorms to this moment, the four Marauders had kept an eye on the girl. Their young teacher's peculiar interest in her had been almost as unnerving as her exchange with her brother, but she hadn't seemed inclined to share her werewolf encounter with anyone.
To see her dart out of the classroom had been one of the most unsettling moments. James could read the building guilt on Remus' tired face, feel the dread emanating from Sirius' tense shoulders, and almost smell the sweat pearling on Peter's forehead. His friends' apprehension had brought him to run after the girl, rush into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and stumble upon the most vivid images of pain he had ever witnessed.
Nothing could have prepared James for this. He had been sheltered all his life, after all, and apart from a few gruesome stories about St. Mungo's, courtesy of his mom, he had little experience with suffering. And from what he now understood, suffering was at the centre of Ella Summers' life.
