He couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d tied his tie too tight that morning or maybe his glasses were too small. Maybe he’d messed with his hair one time too many or maybe Sirius had said too many snide comments and Remus too many sarcastic responses. Maybe it was because Peter had taken his last clean pair of socks or maybe it was because his hair was especially unruly. Whatever it was “ some sort of strange combination that fell together perfectly only every now and again like an eclipse “ his mouth was especially apt to quirk into a smile and his face especially eager to look like he was taking the mickey (even when he wasn’t), on days like today.
On days like today, he’d find his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a tilt in his hips that made him more likely to lean forward into a situation than out of it. On days like today, he was happy.
He’d learned enough from hindsight that on days like today, the sun was shining, the professors were content (or reconciled), the colors were brighter, the students relaxed, the air warmer.
He’d learned enough from hindsight that on days like today, it seemed like Lily Evans didn’t mind a little bit of conversation.
Which is why (on a day like today), he’s decided to sit directly behind her. Well, maybe not directly behind her. More a little to the side so that she might see him out of the corner of her eye. He rustles his papers louder, scratches his quill harder, laughs not a bit softer, and watches. And there’s really nothing quite like it.
Soon, he knows, she’ll notice him. She’ll turn around slightly and perhaps tell him to be quiet and he’ll say something back and, if he’s lucky, she’ll chuckle a little. Maybe she’ll say something funny herself. That always gets him. What a bird, what a bird. Don’t meet girls like that every day.
He’ll laugh, of course, but then motion for her to be quiet (really, they’re in the middle of class) and that’ll just get her. She’ll shoot him a look that’s half a glare, half a smile. Sometimes that’ll be it for the day. But if he’s lucky “ if the stars are all aligned or Venus is in the house of Saturn or some dumb shit like that “ then he’ll try again in Defense. And when the practical part of the lesson comes around, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch her eye, tilt his head expectantly, and smile. Oh what a smile he imagines it to be, too. It’s positively brilliant, he’s quite sure. And she’ll smile back (though he’s never quite sure if it’s with him or at him) before moving in line with one of her friends as they get ready to practice whatever textbook spell they’ve learned about that day.
They’re in Transfiguration, now. McGonagall’s up there lecturing about rubbish bins and owls, he’s not really paying attention. He’s shaking his head at Sirius who’s making eyes at some Ravenclaw up front and trying to fold his parchment up into those little Japanese cranes that his gran tried to teach him how to fold. And then she’s raising her hand, and that sure gets his attention. Is she answering a question? He’s certain that’s what must be happening when she says something like, “It was discovered in 1876 but no one realized how powerful it was until the late 30s.”
And he sees his chance.
“Nice one, Evans,” he whispers.
She’s writing notes and doesn’t look behind her. The only acknowledgement he gets is a tilt of her head and a straightened back.
He waits for a few moments before sighing and sitting back in his chair, making it support itself only on the two back legs. He balances there, nudging Sirius hurriedly so he can see his trick.
“What?” Sirius hisses.
“Look!”
“Real brilliant, Prongs,” he says, rolling his eyes.
And then it happens. He’s tilted too far back now and that pesky thing that Muggles liked to call gravity is pulling him downward. He falls, a loud sort of thunk that has McGonagall saying something like, “Really, Mr. Potter,” and has Sirius and Peter laughing at him and Remus shaking his head. He’s still sitting in the damned thing only now he’s…lying down. The wind’s been knocked out of him and he can barely breathe for a few short moments.
But in those few short moments, he sees her face, standing over him, her eyebrows and mouth both quirked in a very strange way as if she’s not sure if she should be frowning or laughing. Finally, all she says is, “Nice one, Potter.”
Well…maybe it just wasn’t one of those days.