Reactance | James Potter

Chapter 21

   THE SUN, AS it peered in through an open sliver in his curtains, woke James the next morning. The thin, yellow rays of light made him squint before even able to get his eyes fully open. Moaning lightly, he lifted his arm to shield himself against it as a wave of nausea came rushing up from his stomach.

   Lips screwed up tight, he swallowed, groaning only more gravely as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, his head beginning to ache as well. Rubbing at his temple, feeling like a broken old man, he nudged his curtains open to reveal his dorm.

   The sunshine didn't feel as bright now that it was hitting him head-on, which he was glad for as he tried to stand on shaky legs. At the bed over, Peter was whisking around, humming as he folded a sweater. When he saw James, the walking zombie, he looked elated.

"Wow, you're up!" Peter's voice made Remus, who was sifting through one of the drawers in the shared bureau, look over. "We didn't think you'd ever wake! You were dead as stone last night, brother. It's nearly lunch."

"Hmm," James only hummed as he put on his glasses, distracted with trying to muster up the strength for a shower. He was fearful that the hot water would make him sick, but he could smell his own musty sweat and it was already unbearable.

"Where'd you get off to last night?" Peter pressed on curiously, seemingly ignorant to how James wasn't in much mood for conversation. With his head hurting so badly that he was seeing black spots, James eased onto his trunk at the end of his bed for a breather, blinking slowly at Peter through lidded, swollen eyes. "And what happened? I can't get a clear picture, Mary was just —" Peter blew a raspberry, "Ya disappeared upstairs. By the time I got here, you were asleep."

   At the mention of James' rapid departure to their dorm, his heart sunk into his churning stomach like a dropped rock. All of the pain of his hangover seemed to flood from him at once as anxiety took its place. Lips frowning, eyes wide, James glanced frantically around in search of Sirius.

   How long had Olivia stayed after he'd fallen asleep? James thought hard on it, but had no memory of her leaving.  .  .  . In fact, that entire time of her being upstairs was rather foggy. The longer he pried on it, the more that came back to him in spurts of moonlight, tender touches and — warmth.

   Blimey, his foot began tapping rapidly on the floor. Had she been there when Sirius got back? James, gnawing hard on his thumb, shook his head shortly at his own thoughts. He didn't notice how Remus and Peter exchanged odd glances, both eyeing James like he was a mental patient having escaped from hospital. No, no, James assured himself, Why would she'd've been there? She would've taken the first chance to leave, surely.

   But then James nearly choked. Pulling his thumb from his mouth, he swallowed like gulping down thick mud. He'd tried to kiss her. Right there — on that window seat — bewildered, jaw dropped, he stared at the window behind Peter.

   He remembered backing her up against the wall, the security of her soft, tender skin when he'd held her hand, how her sultry eyes captivated him, filled with interest — genuine interest about him, about how he was feeling. He'd been under a spell of sort .  .  . the alcohol had done it — or she had. Either way, he hadn't been of sound mind when his stomach had started twisting with greedy need and his mind went blurry with lust —

   Peter, brows furrowed, leant over into James' line of sight, blocking the window with tepid confusion. Waving his hand very slowly, Peter said, "Prongs, you listenin'? What happened? I didn't see any of it —"

"I don't think you saw anything but empty cups and angry faces, mate," came Sirius' cheeky voice from behind James, as sudden as if he'd Apparated in.

   Looking so hastily away from Peter's flushing face that he got whiplash, James spun around on his trunk to watch Sirius walk out of the loo. He was wearing only a pair of trousers, his damp hair neatly combed as he rubbed his chest dry with a towel. There was an amused, cheeky glint to his doglike grin as he strolled across the room, watching Peter grumble something about how he'd had it all "handled".