This is a very short piece I have written for a competition - it was inspired by a piece of artwork done by astralsymphony, who you can find on tumblr!

Lily knocks on the door of the boy's dorm, before pushing it open slightly and putting her head tentatively around it. The hangings around James' bed are firmly shut, and Lily briefly debates just leaving him alone, but decides not to; he is being completely ridiculous and it is Saturday night and she won't allow it. She pushes the door the rest of the way open and steps over the threshold, wrinkling her nose up slightly at the dirty socks and underwear strewn haphazardly around the floor.

She marches over to his bed determinedly, and wrenches the hangings open. James is lying face down on the bed, his face buried in his pillow. Lily puts her hands on her hips, a pointless gesture really, since he cannot see her, but she means business and she feels her stance should reflect that.

"Right Mister," she begins, her voice full of steely determination. "I have let you sulk for hours, but no more. It's Saturday night and I want to spend it with you."

"I am not sulking," James replies. His voice may be muffled by the pillow, but it definitely has a sulky edge to it, and Lily has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing at how obviously he is sulking. She half expects him to start kicking his legs against the bed in protest of her clearly unwelcome intervention.

"You're sulking." Lily plops down at the end of his bed, swings her legs up onto the bed and tucks her knees beneath her chin. "Are you going to turn around and look at me?" she enquires, her voice slightly softer. She reaches a hand out and places it, in what she hopes is a soothing manner, on James' calf. His leg twitches slightly at her touch, but he stays steadfastly face down on the bed.

Lily lets out an obviously frustrated sigh, which seems to do the trick; with a muffled 'arghhh', James rolls over so he is lying on his back. He looks over at her and raises his brow at her, asking her, without words, what the hell it is she wants.

"Don't look at me like that, Mister," she tells him sternly. "It's only one silly Quidditch match" – at these words James looks positively scandalised – "so forgive me for not allowing you to stay holed up here alone."

"Silly Quidditch match? Silly Quidditch match," he glares at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Fine, I'll rephrase. It's only one not-silly Quidditch match. Happy now?"

"A bit," he replies, but he is still glaring, though Lily cannot be entirely sure the glare is intended for her, or whether James is glaring about what had happened that afternoon. She looks at his face intently and is concerned to see that underneath is defensive-glary bravado, James looks horribly miserable; the glare is ridiculously forced, and his eyes are dull. Lily pulls a silly face at him, trying to make him laugh; his lips twitch for a brief moment, but the glare stays firmly put, so she crawls up the length of his body until her chest is settled against his, her head raised above his. She drops it down and presses a kiss onto his mouth; his doesn't really respond underneath hers, but she can feel the corners of his mouth turning up.

She lifts her head back up, tucking her arms into the small Lily-shaped space between his arms and his body, one hand resting on his chest, and peers down at James. Whilst he still doesn't look exactly thrilled, he does have the small trace of a smile on his face. She shifts the hand that is resting on his chest and traces his lips gently with her finger, and then pushes the corners of his mouth up further.

"C'mon," she wheedles. "It's not that bad."

"It is," James argues, lifting one hand to clutch at his hair in frustration. "I got disqualified Evans. Disqualified. I've never been disqualified in my life."

"But the team still won," Lily insists, her hand reaching up to grip James' to stops him pulling at his hair. James' face darkens, and he swallows thickly, his head shifting away from hers so he can look up at the ceiling. "What's causing you this much bother about it?"

"It's… it's just that," James begins, his eyes still on the ceiling, before pausing so he can swallow again. When he continues his voice has dropped down to a whisper. "I'm just so ashamed." He says the words quickly, as if he was pulling off a plaster and he wants to get it over with; James has never exactly been good at admitting he has downfalls, though Lily doesn't mind that fact as much as she used to. Maybe because the things she used to see as downfalls are not downfalls anymore to her. She lets go of his hand and grabs his chin, using the leverage to turn his face back to hers, not letting it go even when they are facing each other again.

"Don't do that," she tells him firmly. "You were standing up for your teammate. The only person who should be ashamed is Rosier." At the mention of Rosier's name, James' eyes flash with anger – which is an improvement on the dull eyes of before, Lily decides – and Lily is pretty sure her own features darken as she remembers back to the match and the unprovoked attack on Marlene that went unnoticed, and therefore, unpunished. Lily isn't surprised that James lost his temper – though perhaps nicking that bludger off Sirius and whacking it into the back of Rosier's head was a bit of a stupid move – as in that moment she wished she was somewhere near him so she could take Rosier's broom and smack him over the head with it.

"No." James shakes his head. "I should have controlled my temper; I'm meant to be leading the team, not getting myself kicked off it. I should be ashamed of myself. And so should the rest of the team. Hell, even the rest of Gryffindor." Lily cannot help but laugh; the team, ashamed of him.

"You plonker," she says tenderly. "I know you were a little distracted, but surely you can't have completely missed the cheers from every house but Slytherin when your well-aimed bludger hit Rosier. Everybody was ecstatic. They're having a party downstairs to celebrate the win and it's all anybody can talk about." James still doesn't look convinced, so Lily drops her head down once more, this time burying her face into his neck so she can press a kiss to it. "I'd never be ashamed of you," she murmurs against his skin.

"Liar," James quips, but Lily can hear the smile in his voice.

"Fine, but I'd definitely be more ashamed if you'd done nothing, not ashamed because you did." James laughs and moves his head to the side so he can press a kiss on Lily's head, the act clumsy because of the way she has buried herself in his neck.

"Thanks. Y'know, for coming to cheer me up," he tells her, before saying, slightly awkwardly, "So no one's mad at me then? If I go downstairs no one's going to, er… start having a go at me or anything?" Lily's head whips up immediately and she looks down at him, a smirk on her face.

"Are you scared Potter?"

"Shut-up and come here," James replies, reaching his hand up to the back of her head so he can pull her down, his lips already ready to meet hers. It's so obviously a distraction technique, but it's a successful one; Lily responds to his mouth enthusiastically, meeting his lips with hers, her own lips already parted so James can slide his tongue inside. It is a long, hard and frantic kiss, and Lily suspects that James may be pouring the last vestiges of his frustration into it, but she doesn't mind; in fact, she quite likes it really.

It is a while before either of them makes a move to pull away, and even when they have neither of them really moves much, both reluctant to lose their closeness. "You know, maybe we shouldn't bother with going downstairs, more interesting things we can be doing up here," James drawls, a mischievous look on his face. Lily doesn't need convincing; the second the words are out of his mouth she is reaching for him again.

A/N: Reviews are like crack, and I know you wouldn't want me to be without crack, so please leave one!