Jily Oneshots (pt2)

Knock on my door

by welcometonerdworld

Lily has always been a heavy sleeper, but the fact is that the whacking sounds coming from the front door are loud enough to permeate even her sleep shielded ears. She wakes with a start, eyes flicking open suddenly as she hears the banging noises.

Gradually, she sits up in bed, groaning. The clock next to her reads three fifty two and she lets out a bleary stream of expletives, stumbling to her feet and searching blindly for her slippers. The floor is absolutely freezing – it's mid-November and her flat has next to no insulation – so it is with relief that she hurriedly puts her fluffiest pair of socks on instead.

Lily pads through the corridor slowly, thinking her situation over. A burglar would never make so much noise, so there probably isn't much danger in telling the person at the door to piss off. Nevertheless, she grabs her longest umbrella and heaviest History textbook on her way to the door, just in case.

Armed and ready for battle, Lily tries to peer through the crack between the door and carpet, and frowns when she cannot see anything but black blurs. Another thump on the door makes her jump violently, and she clambers to her feet once again, bracing herself.

In one clumsy motion, Lily opens the door.

Her first thought about the man that stands before her is his hair. It stands like it is its own being, wild as a jungle, a black mass of silky strands that fly this way and that. One of his hands rests in it, and the other is raised as if he was about to smack the door again.

Seething, Lily raises a carefully arched eyebrow and tries not to lose her temper. "And how may I help you?" She says icily. The man before her blinks.

"You aren't Padfoot," he says, words slurring slightly and she immediately comes to realise that this man is in the strange, surreal phase in between extremely smashed and painfully hungover.

"Whatever that is, no, I'm not." Lily replies. She tries very hard not to feel bad for him, but the guy in front of her has a distinct deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression that makes her want to hug him.

Slowly, his hands come to hang uselessly at his sides and he frowns at her, blinking. "Sorry," he chews on his lower lip, "I think I'm lost."

Lily sighs heavily. She really, really wants to be back in bed. She has a test on the Tudors first thing tomorrow morning that she has not studied for at all and a job interview the same afternoon. The last thing she wants to do is be up at almost four in the morning, dealing with a drunk and lost – albeit rather attractive – man at her door.

"Who are you looking for, exactly?" She asks testily.

Two lines appear in the gap between his eyebrows, just above the place where his glasses rest. "Padfoot. Sirius Black. D'you know him?"

Her face wrinkles in thought. "No," she says, "Sorry. What does he look like?"

"Um." The man brightens slightly, as if glad that he remembers what his accomplice looks like. "Longish black hair, dark eyes, leather jacket, sort of handsome –"

At this, Lily raises her eyebrows. Has this man lost his boyfriend?

"—laughs like a dog, red motorbike…"

"Did you say motorbike?" Lily interrupts, expression clearing.

The man nods, and she smiles slightly for the first time since he arrived at her door. There is only one man that she knows of in these flats that fits the description. "Don't worry, he lives one floor up."

He beams at her, and Lily can't help thinking that for a drunk stranger, he is adorable. "Ah, thank you so much," he grins, "Sorry for waking you."

"It's fine," says Lily, and she grabs her key from the nearby side table and drops her umbrella and book before turning back to him. "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

It takes the man a few seconds to comprehend what Lily's just said, and he opens his mouth to protest, "You don't have to come with me! I've already been enough of a hassle."

Lily waves a hand airily as she shuts the door, leading the way to the staircase. "It's fine," she repeats, "Better make sure we're thinking of the same person, anyway."

"Thanks," he says, giving her a sheepish smile, "I'm James Potter, by the way."

"Lily," she replies, and they pause on the stairs for an awkward and fumbling handshake before James starts up the steps again.

Soon enough, they have reached the next floor up, and it is with something akin to disappointment that Lily knocks loudly on the door of flat number twelve. It would have been nice, she admits to herself, to talk to James more. He does seem like a pretty decent guy, in spite of the fact that it's the crack of dawn and her eyes hurt and he is sloshed.

It takes a minute or two for heavy footsteps to sound in the flat, and before Sirius arrives at the door, both James and Lily wonder if they are at the wrong place.

The door swings open and a man similar in height and stature to James is revealed, all muscle and long limbs and no shirt. He looks slowly from Lily to James and back again. It seems apparent that James is not in any state to explain himself, and Lily opens her mouth to do so.

"Hi," she says, "I'm Lily Evans, I live just below you. James here said he was looking for you?"

The man before them rolls his eyes, "Sirius Black. I was wondering where you were, mate, weren't you going to come back at one?"

"The party was long," James says simply, "And I was knocking on Lily's door for half an hour."

Sirius raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "You idiot. Sorry about him," he says to Lily, and he pulls James into the flat by his collar. "He doesn't normally come back from parties at four in the morning."

"It's been an eventful start to the day, at least," Lily says, smiling a little at James. A slight blush rises in his cheeks.

"Sorry," he blurts out again, and Lily just shakes her head with a little smirk.

The three of them stand there in silence for a moment: Sirius stifling a laugh, James with burning embarrassment and a blooming headache, and Lily in a state of exhaustion and bemusement.

Sirius yawns. "I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to bed. See you," he says with a nod to Lily, and with that, he turns on his heel. Just before he disappears into his room, he looks back.

"If you two are going to shag, can you do it on the carpet instead of the sofa? Thanks." He winks at James and Lily, who flush spectacular shades of red simultaneously.

Lily assumes, a second later, that this means that James isn't dating Sirius, and a sense of relief and contentment flourishes in her chest at this thought.

"I'll – err, see you around?" James says with a questioning tone.

Her lips quirk upwards into a sleepy smile. He might have been a pain to deal with at first, but there's no denying it now: James Potter is the cutest drunk she's ever seen.

"Yeah," she says, with a slightly teasing tone, "Maybe when you aren't hammered."

He chuckles, throwing her a little smirk. "It's a date."

And as the door shuts in her face and she turns to go back downstairs, Lily wonders how on earth she has agreed to go out with a random person who nearly broke down her door.

She supposes, as she falls back into bed with a bright smile on her face, that it's all part of the charm.