Jily oneshots

Tell Me S'more

by snapslikethis

eleven.

James rolls the window up, down, and up again until his mom intervenes, flipping the window lock switch so the window is stuck halfway down. He ducks to avoid the wind and settles for bouncing his feet on the back of her chair. That lasts about thirty seconds before she pushes her seat back an inch. James notes the warning and stops.

She should understand his excitement, because he's going out of his mind with anticipation—eight glorious weeks of summer camp. Hogwarts! The promise of adventure outweighs the weird name.

He'd normally reject anything his parents showed any enthusiasm for on principle, but his uncle (who James trusts implicitly) told him about an abandoned mine shaft, endless s'mores, and even gave James his vintage camo jacket for capture the flag.

Mostly, the prospect of an entire parentless summer with Sirius is going to be awesome (even if they're in the Michigan UP with spotty cell reception).

He unconsciously taps his mom's chair again (apparently), because before he knows it she's reclined her seat all the way back. He's squished, pinned, but not painfully so. She's cackling evilly. He knows from experience that she won't relent until he promises to either keep his feet off her chair or switches to his dad's side of the car.

In a blinding stroke of brilliance, he gives her a double Wet Willy instead. She shrieks and pulls her seat up immediately. He'll pay for that before the day is out—she might raspberry him in front of Sirius, or cry.

Doesn't matter, worth it.

The drive would be more bearable with Sirius, but his parents had insisted on flying. And James's dad forbade him to ask "how long" before they'd even left Chicago. Now, the GPS marks their progress as they meander through boring Wisconsin. His mom tells him that when they get to Cokeworth, they'll be close.

His dad unlocks the window controls, and his mom rolls her eyes, and James daydreams about using the pocket knife his dad had slipped him that morning to carve his name into his bunk while he rolls the window up, down, and up again.

Lily swings back, forth, and back again on the rickety swing, picking shapes out of the clouds, tuning out Petunia. Petunia, who glares at the long processional of flashy cars and rants about elitism. It's the same as every year, first Friday in June, start of summer camp. Pet's only ranting because she's jealous she's not going to Hogwarts.

(God, Pet, who cares if rich kids are going to rich camp? She doesn't even like being outside anymore, but it's that she's left out that bothers her.)

Never mind any of it—the day is glorious after months of snow, and Lily wants nothing more than to swing and feel sunshine on her face and not be in school.

Their mom teaches summer school, but this year Pet was declared "big enough to look after them both." Lily loves Jessica P., the neighbor who normally comes over and watches them and takes them to the movies.

(Jessica P. approved endless ice cream and always sided with Lily.)

Dad said Pet's only job was to make sure Lily did not get "seriously maimed or injured, whatever that means, not to boss her around every second of the day. He also said Lily was perfectly old enough to go off with her friends in the mornings, or to the gas station or park by herself. He also said not to tell mom that last part.

None of that has stopped Pet from bossing her around every second of their first day alone (nothing new), but Lily is old enough to ignore her (also nothing new).

So aside from chores and Pet's bossiness, it's going to be an amazing summer. Once the pool opens, Pet will be too busy swooning over Owen to pay her proper attention. And Lily got an iPod in January and Lizzie has promised to show her how to steal music. Pet will calm down (or get distracted, or both), and then Lily's got weeks of new music and swimming and popsicles and adventures ahead of her.