Jily Oneshots (pt2)

Lucky that I Love You

by lizardcookie on archiveofourown.org

He fucked up. Really, truly, deeply fucked up.

He really didn’t mean to. Honestly, this is the last thing that James Potter had wanted from today. But when all was said and done, it was eight by the time Madame Pomfrey released him from the Hospital Wing. It was nine by the time McGonagall was finished yelling at him, then ten by the time he was out of Dumbledore’s office, and eleven by the time McGonagall yelled at him for a second round.

“Please, Professor, you can’t write to Mum about this. She’ll flip.”

McGonagall paused in her stride, eyes narrowing at James in criticism. “Well, maybe that should have been your first thought, rather than throwing around hexes!” James flinched, and he saw the old woman’s expression soften a level. “I won’t tell Euphemia. She’s got enough on her mind as it is.”

He nodded, not feeling up to acknowledging that Professor McGonagall was right. He envied Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who were released after the first round or reprimands with McGonagall. Well, Peter was sent back to the Hospital Wing, but regardless. They didn’t have to endure Dumbledore’s disappointment or questioning about how much of a risk it was to make him Head Boy, and they didn’t have to endure McGonagall’s disappointment either, which was exponentially worse than the Headmaster’s. He stared down at his shoes, the combination of exhaustion, shame, and worry causing tears to prickle at his eyes. He’d been trying hard all year to avoid major trouble (at least, avoid getting caught) and tonight’s events kept flashing before him as he was tangled in a vicious cycle, torn between regretting the fight or not.

He regretted getting caught. He regretted that McGonagall was disappointed in him, and most of all, he regretted that he was now over five hours late to a date with his girlfriend-- and then he was forced to question whether or not he still had one.

More than anything, though, James found that he was angry. Angry at Snape and Mulciber and Avery and Regulus. Angry that Dumbledore wasn’t doing enough to expel students who practiced Dark Arts within the castle. Angry that he’d let the Slytherins get on his nerves enough to duel them rather than moving on to find Lily. Angry that he felt like Snape had known exactly what he was doing, and angry that he fell for his taunts anyway.

Suddenly, James felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see McGonagall standing over him. It wasn’t the strict gaze of his Transfiguration professor, but the kindly look of the Minerva McGonagall he had known before Hogwarts, the woman who had been his mother’s best friend through the years. She shook his shoulder gently, the way she did when he got in trouble at home while she was around.

“At least win this weekend, hm, James? So I have good news to bring to St. Mungo’s on Sunday.”

“You’re going see him?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry. Your father has lived a healthy life. This is just one set back. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

With a reminder that his detentions with Filch begin sharply at eight, James left McGonagall’s office, hands in his pockets, slowly making his way back to the dormitory. He glanced at his wizard’s watch, as if begging it to tell him that it wasn’t near midnight, he wasn’t over five hours past the time he promised Lily that they’d spend the evening at the Lake, no Quidditch and no Head duties or N.E.W.T. worries allowed.

By the time he trekked up to Gryffindor Tower, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, to pretend for one last night that maybe things weren’t so bad, he didn’t have two weeks of detention and he definitely still had a girlfriend. And for a moment, he got his wish. The Common Room was blissfully empty, the last embers of the fire crackling peacefully away in the hearth.