𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

18: 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔩𝔢-𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰

"Kissing her, it-it's like fireworks are going off in the back of my head," James whispered, eyes full of yearning. He was hanging from the side of his bed, clutching his pillow. His face turning steadily redder.

Remus vaguely wondered whether or not James knew he looked like some big-haired, lanky version of cupid dangling upside-down.

Sirius scoffs, continuing his efforts to learn how to juggle with balled-up socks. He groans as they all fall into his lap, chucking them at James's face out of frustration. "It's like you don't even realize how pretentious you sound. I mean, who compares kissing their girlfriend to kissing a bloody firework?"

James opened his mouth to protest before getting hit by stray socks. In an attempt to catch them, his hands let go of the sides of his bed, and he slipped down with a crash. "Ow! Hey! I didn't mean it like tha-"

"Come on, mate!" Sirius continued, a slight snicker attached to his lips. James was now doing a weird handstand with his legs draped across his four-poster bed. "I don't plant a fat snog on Emmy's lips then turn around and describe it as someone lighting a spark plug under my ass."

Remus coughed, probably more out of preservation of James's remaining dignity than anything. "I'd say you keep away from any analogies involving girlfriends and potential causes of arson."

"Arson doesn't include accidental fire-starting," James huffed, still in a rather uncomfortable position in his upside-down state.

"Right, because there's no possible way something bad could happen if one decided to snog a firework," Peter called out, peering up from his late potions assignment.

James groaned, pulling himself up. "You guys are wankers."

*********

James Potter adored Quidditch.

He loved the freedom that accompanied soaring through the vast expanses, feeling clouds touch against his fingers. He loved flying on the line that separated Life As We Know It from The Great Beyond. He loved the wind, blowing through his hair, the rush of adrenaline, the beauty in impossibly possible explorations.

Maybe that was why he decided it was time for a Quidditch match. During early December weather.

Lilt had cleverly spouted out something about leaky First Year bathrooms before James made her watch the game, or worse yet, fly herself. Though not everyone was as successful in escaping James's quidditch-loving wrath.

"Prongs, are you bloody mad?" Remus grumbled as they trudged through the dying grass, wind whipping their faces like knives against flesh.

"Come on! It's perfect Quidditch weather!" James said cheerfully, running ahead with his broom clutched tightly in his numb fingers. He readjusted his glasses, which had blown free in the less-than-mild breeze, ignoring the scowls from his disgruntled victims.

"He's gone insane," Sirius muttered, the remaining sensation in his fingers being used to clutch Emmeline's hand. "I knew it, I knew this day would finally come."

"Shut up, you arse," James retorted, turning towards Brigitte, one of the few who had remained quiet throughout their frigid journey towards the Quidditch Pitch. "Oi, Alarie, you've played Quidditch, right? Do they have Quidditch in France? What broom do you use? I have a Nimbus 1500 myself. Some say they're temperamental, but I'll win the Quidditch World Cup with my trusty Nimbus."

"Yes, Potter, Quidditch does exist in France," she replied, an amused smirk grazing her lips as she gripped her broom tighter. Its mahogany handle usually shined with many tedious hours of waxing, but she hadn't found an adequate excuse to fly for quite some time now. She didn't believe she'd flown since she'd arrived at Hogwarts. "As for the broom, I use a Transylvanian."