Jily oneshots

The Integrants of Peppermint Potion

by El Padfoot

James Potter innocently stirs the potion in his cauldron, completely unaware of the fact that he is being observed. He sits a mere two tables in front of me, giving me full access of his back, and part of his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, as he looks back and forth between the cauldron and his textbook, trying to figure out what he did wrong. He is having a hard time brewing this potion, as he usually does with every other one, no matter how simple it is. And it's not that he isn't a good wizard; he's brilliant, but there is just something about James Potter and the precise steps and concentration required of this subject doesn't mix. He stirs the concoction another time, turning it into this dark, bubbly substance threatening to spill over into his workplace, and land him a "P" in this subject if he doesn't do anything about it.

Counter-clockwise! Turn it counter-clockwise!, my mind screams at him, hoping that I possessed secret telepathic powers I never knew of, but he doesn't receive the message, and continues stirring until the potion starts emitting a foul odor and he has to cast it away before Professor Slughorn notices.

Next to him, I can see the infamous Sirius Black having an even harder time, chopping Merlin knows what, and throwing whatever he could find into the cauldron.

My own potion sits in front of me, gloriously shimmering in its perfection. I had finished doing the first few steps a while ago, achieving the silvery translucent color that mirrored the picture in the textbook perfectly. A quick look around the room tells me that everyone else is still stuck in Step 3, except maybe Greta Catchlove, who, though a fast learner, cannot beat me in this subject.

Potions is, and has always been, an easy subject to me; thanks to my own experience in cooking, and a few invaluable pointers I had received from the ex-best-mate-who-must-not-be-named from what seemed like ages ago.

I stir it once, clockwise, waiting for the white liquid to appear around the edges, as it should. All I have to do now is wait. Five long minutes before I can do the next step. So I resume what I was doing before I got interrupted; observing.

James is brewing the potion all over again, double timing to make up for the lost effort. I can see beads of sweat trickling down the edges of his forehead as he multitasks- chopping with one hand and pounding with the other, running around looking for extra ingredients he could scrape off from others. He runs a hand through his soft, shiny hair, ruffling it a bit before going back to work.

I glare at the hand, feeling quite irritated; I had always wanted to touch his hair. Sweet, lucky hand, I think jealously. Bloody lucky hand. So what if you got to touch his bloody hair? I would cut off all my hair just to be in your shoes!

I realize how embarrassingly silly I am, being worked up over his hand. But it has always been that way since I found out I fancied James Potter—weird and un-Lily-like. I would never admit it, but has that effect on me.

I continue staring at him, and wow, Quidditch has been good to him. Really good. I take in his perfectly toned arms, wondering what they felt like wrapped around me. I spend a good 3 minutes gaping, daydreaming, looking intently at his arms before I am interrupted by a giggle.

Irritably, I tear my eyes away from him and look around, searching for the idiot who disturbed my watching session. Sure enough, I spot Marlene, chin propped on her hands, grinning at me maniacally. It takes a second for me to realize it was her, and I start feeling embarrassed. I roll my eyes and turn away, hiding the blush I felt creeping up my neck. Because Marlene, being my best mate, knows everything about me, and unfortunately, that includes my teensy little crush on James Potter. It shouldn't have been a problem, but Marlene, being Marlene, loved to torture me.