5AN: Hi everyone! I'm thewanderlustmarauder! This is my first publicly shared fanfiction, so constructive criticism and help are both greatly appreciated. This will be a collection of strictly canon one-shots featuring characters from the Marauders Era. Enjoy!
~mellifluous~
-Seventh Year-
His messy hair is pushed up his forehead, slicked with sweat. His glasses are hanging askew, and his clothes are splattered in grease and perspiration. He's a mess of black and orange glitter, sticky cobwebs, slimy dark paint, and overly ripe pumpkins that have accumulated with hours of hard, backbreaking work.
"This is impossible, Evans," he complains. He lifts the velvet, onyx banner higher, nearly toppling over under its heavy weight. "How do Muggles possibly manage this?"
Ten feet away, she smiles. The tips of her mouth quirk up, stretching broadly across her cheeks that are tinged with pink. "Welcome to my world, Potter. You've never had to lift a finger in your life, I'm guessing?" she teases. Her eyes are glinting with humor.
She holds up the other end of the black lace banner, adjusting it until both sides look straight and are aligned immaculately together. After giving it one last, long scan, she seems to be satisfied with it. "Perfect," she whispers, grinning. "You can let go now, James." She hops down the ladder, her feet landing with a light, delicate thud.
"One down, forty-nine to go," he exclaims, in mock-exasperation. "Honestly, Lily, I thought that Dumbledore was crazy before, but now I know that he's completely mental.
She laughs lightly. "I hate it too, James, but don't complain. You're the one who agreed to be Head Boy. It's a Hogwarts tradition," she says. "Head Boys and Head Girls always have to set up feasts the Muggle way. It's proof of their perseverance or something."
"Perseverance…" he snorts. "I have to live with Padfoot. That's perseverance in its finest form, Evans!"
She laughs again. "I've had to put up with you, Potter, and the rest of your gang for years," she teases. "If anyone deserves a break for being perseverant, it's me!"
"Okay, okay," he says as he raises his palms in defeat. "You win. I know it must be hard to compete with the best-looking, most talented boys in the year."
She swats his arm. "Get back to work," she laughs, and the two continue to cover the hall in bright pumpkins and enchanted candles. They bring piles of enchanted platters of food to the tables, and they carefully carry each crystal goblet to the seats. Mountains of the finest food are brought to them from the kitchens. It's mouthwatering work as it is backbreaking, but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said that he didn't enjoy it.
After countless hours fly by, she steps back to admire their handiwork, and he does the same. The only light illuminating the halls come from the floating candles that they hung. Enchanted bats swarm around the ceilings, and pumpkins cover every inch of the empty walls. Bright orange and black banners and streamers are wrung around the hall, adding a festive touch.
She stands on the tips of her toes, and her eyes light up, trying to catch every inch of the hall. Then, she turns towards him, pride in her partner shining in her eyes. "It's gorgeous," she whispers, and he can't help but agree.
"And, James," she adds, her face breaking into a grin, "I think this is the hardest you've ever worked in your life, hm? I'm so proud of you. You know, I'd never have thought that the infamous James Potter would work this hard."
"Me neither," he says with a grin on his face, and it's true. He's never had to work for anything in his life, well, maybe one thing. But he's never had to attend all the Quidditch practices or run through the daily scrimmages to be Gryffindor's star player. He's never had to study all the moves and techniques that his teammates pored over to make it on the team in his second year. And he's never had to practice that much to flawlessly Transfigure items with a tip of his wand.
And he's never been prouder of his work in his entire life.
"Let's hurry," she says, interrupting his train of thought. "We've got to get the ghosts ready. We're doing the synchronized performances this year, and they've got to be here early."
Before he can protest, she tugs on his sleeve. "Are you coming?" she asks.
"What are we waiting for?" he smiles. She takes his hand and grins.
They run across the every nook and cranny of the castle, searching for the dozens of school ghosts whilst evading the clutches of the caretaker. They blaze through the ghosts, sending each other into flurries as chills rise up their spines. Cold fills their bodies, but only warmth has a place in their souls. The whole time, she doesn't let go of him, and he swears that he can feel sparks running up and down his hand.
By the time they finally reach the Great Hall again, they're both laughing and gasping for breath, and neither has an idea why.
Her red hair is wild and strewn everywhere, her eyes are shining with laughter, and her cheeks are flushed with happiness. Her mouth quirks up in the same little smile, and when she laughs, he thinks it's the most beautiful sound in the world.
But he's wrong.
Without thinking, he takes her into his arms, gently pressing his lips onto her soft pink ones. Every coherent thought is whisked out of his head as he kisses her. The war, the deaths, the hurt… none of it exists anymore. It's just him and her standing in the dark corridor. At that moment, the only thing in the world that matters to him is her.
And without missing a beat, she kisses him back.
And when they finally break apart, all they do is stare at each other awkwardly, processing the events that had just occurred. Her hands fly up to her mouth, covering it in shock, but not a single trace of anger lingers on her expression.
And with another leap of impulsiveness, he breaks the silence once again. "So, Evans," he says, his voice shaky, still unable to comprehend the turn of events. "What just happened?"
"I have no idea," she replies. Her red hair is tangled and her face is flushed bright scarlet to match her wild locks. But her shining green eyes seem to push him closer.
Garnering another dose of courage, he clears his throat. "Evans," he manages to say, as he runs a hand through his hair, "I know that I've been a jerk in the past few years to you and… your friends. And I know I've asked you this too many times to count, and that the answer would probably be the same as always. But there's a Hogsmeade trip coming up tomorrow, and I was wondering… will you come with me?"
Her face breaks out into the biggest grin. "Yes," she answers. "Of course. I'd love to go with you."
Without hesitating, she grabs ahold of him, and soon enough their faces are pressed together and not a centimeter of the darkest depths of despair can get between them.
And in that one moment, James Potter knows that this one word coming from a seventeen year old girl's lips is the most beautiful, mellifluous sound in the world.
AN: Reviews are greatly appreciated!