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He was drawn to her. That wasn’t the surprise. It wasn’t as if everyone wasn’t. After all, Narcissa Black, the first Slytherin Head Girl in recent memory was astonishingly beautiful, amazingly intelligent, and her wand work was second to none.
She also did an excellent job of keeping her skirts just the right side of immodest, unlike the other girls who pushed the line, Narcissa preferred to let one’s imagination do the work.
And oh boy did they.
As a Fourth Year, James shouldn’t know where the Head Girl’s dorm was, strictly speaking, but as a Marauder, he knew the castle better than most, which was how he had come to stand with his ear to the door yet again, listening for any sound that escaped.
He knew her routine by now, what time she tended to emerge from behind the heavy door. As he heard her footsteps approach, he’d fling himself behind the nearest tapestry and watch as she passed, transfixed by the seams of her stockings as they trailed where he couldn’t see. The cut of her robes, the way her blonde hair was styled just so.
While as a rule he didn’t care for Slytherins, there was just something about the Head Girl that made his pants a bit tighter than they needed to be. She was the paragon of womanliness, and she would never, ever give a lowly, awkward Fourth Year the time of day.
That didn’t mean that he didn’t file those memories away for the wank bank, so he could recall them at his leisure later. The thin point of her heels. The ruby red of her lips. The sway of her hips.
In contrast, the girls in his class all paled in comparison. She was a woman, where they were still mere girls.
He’d been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t heard her approach.
“Mister Potter. Care to explain what you’re doing outside my door?”
He gulped. There really was no explanation, at least not one that didn’t get him branded as a lecher and made a laughing stock.
She stood waiting to see what he might say, and when he his words continued to fail him, a grin appeared on her face. She looked him up and down appraisingly.
“Say, how old are you, Potter? Fifteen?”
He nodded dumbly.
“Interesting.” She paused, as if considering something.
“There are things I might teach you, say, if you were interested in private lessons. But know that’s not an offer I make to just anyone. As you may know, I’m betrothed, but Lucius isn’t here. I find myself lacking something, and well, what Lucius doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
His eyes went wide.
“What do you say, Mister Potter, might you be in need of tutoring?”
All he could do was nod his head up and down again, unsure what she was suggesting, but willing to agree to just about anything. The sweet smell of her perfume had invaded his brain. He hadn’t ever been this close to her for so long.
“But, you’d need to be discreet. You would do that for me, wouldn’t you? You couldn’t tell a soul, otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to help you. Not a word to anyone. Not your grubby little friends, and certainly not my cousin. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
“Very well. Come back tonight at curfew and we’ll get started. But if you get caught, you’re on your own.”
James couldn’t help but smirk. There was no way he’d be caught. He had an invisibility cloak, after all. Oh, he’d be there, all right. And then, he’d learn more about what Narcissa Black was putting on offer.