cigarette daydream || james potter

"hide behind that baby face,"

The morning light crept through the high, arched windows of the boys' seventh-year dormitory, cutting through the heavy haze of the previous night's revelry. The room was an absolute disaster zone. Scarlet and gold hangings drooped listlessly from the four-poster beds, and the floor was almost entirely obscured by a chaotic sea of discarded robes, crumpled Quidditch magazines, and half-empty bottles of butterbeer that had rolled under the furniture. The air still carried the faint, stale scent of sweet smoke and spilled Firewhisky. In the far corner, Sirius Black lay sprawled diagonally across his mattress, one leg hanging off the edge, his dark hair a wild, tangled nest against the pillow. The sharp black eyeliner he had carefully applied the night before was now catastrophically smudged under his eyes, giving him the look of a very exhausted raccoon. Across the room, James Potter was flat on his back, his mouth slightly open, his fingers still loosely tangled around the frames of his wire-rimmed glasses, which miraculously hadn't broken under his weight.

The fragile silence of the morning was abruptly shattered by a loud, rattling snore from Peter Pettigrew's bed.

James flinched, his eyelids fluttering open as he let out a low, miserable groan. Every muscle in his body arched in protest as he forced himself to sit up, the throbbing behind his eyes serving as a harsh reminder of the Gryffindor victory party. He blinked against the glare of the sun and automatically reached out to fumble for his glasses on the dark wood of his nightstand. His hand hit empty air. Frustrated, he looked down and realized his fingers were already wrapped around the metal frames.

After carefully sliding them onto the bridge of his nose and blinking the world into focus, he looked across the room. Remus Lupin was already fully awake, propped up against his pillows with a thick, leather-bound book resting on his knees, turning a page with terrifyingly quiet efficiency.

"Morning, Prongs. Remember anything from last night?" Remus asked, glancing up with a slight, knowing laugh at the sight of James's spectacularly bird-nested hair.

James furrowed his eyebrows, pressing the palms of his hands against his temples to stop the pounding in his skull. He stared at the floorboards, the hazy, alcohol-fueled memories of the balcony slowly piecing themselves back together. "I think... I think I made a deal with Lupin."

Remus paused, his thumb resting on the edge of the page as a look of deep confusion crossed his face. "I don't think we did, James. I spent most of the night trying to stop people from flooding the common room."

"Not you, mate! The other one. Your sister," James exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch.

The sudden spike in volume was instantly followed by a loud, theatrical groan from the diagonal bed. Sirius stretched his arms out wide, blinking heavily through his smudged makeup.

"Finally awake, Pads," James laughed, tossing a stray pillow at his friend's face.

Sirius caught it with a weak slap, burying his face back into the mattress. "Only because you two are being entirely too loud," he hissed back, his voice muffled by the down feathers.

James snickered, turning his attention right back to the bed across from him. "So, what exactly was the deal?" Remus asked, setting his book down slightly lower on his lap, his protective brotherly instincts clearly ticking awake.

"A prank war. Best prank wins," James explained, a spark of his usual competitive energy flaring up despite his hangover. "If she wins, I have to use my captain status to somehow get her back on the Quidditch team. If I win... she has to go on an official date with me."

"A date? Absolutely not. My sister is not going on a date with you," Remus exclaimed loudly, his calm demeanor instantly evaporating. He snapped his bookmark onto the page he was reading and closed the heavy book with a definitive, echoing thud.