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Operation Deer Evans Be My Valentine


James stood at the foot of the steps of the girls dormitories, looking up them, holding his wand in his fist. He’d seen several boys thrown across the room by those vicious stairs - even without Lily Evans’ playfully worded warning-dare, he would’ve known better than to give it a try without doing some sort of magical mischief to help him achieve the dream.

He was just glad he had somebody like Sirius Black who would be so willing (and creative) to assist him in plotting up ways to trick those stairs.

James smirked at them, “Stairs. Your day has come. You’re about to be conquered.”

He took one last look at them - so innocent, so untrespassed - and he wondered how many generations of Hogwarts boys would’ve bowed down to him if they could only see that he, James Charlus Potter, was about to go where no man had gone before: the Gryffindor girls’ dormitories. He grinned. Yes, that’s right, I am a pioneer for all Gryffindor mankind. I shall go down in history, reverenced by generations of horny Gryffindor males.

The ironic thing was that he would, indeed, be horny as he went up those stairs.

He took a few steps back, tucked his wand into his pocket, took a deep breath, making sure the little bag was tight ‘round his neck, and transformed into a stag, his antlers stretching away over his head.

Thus, the horny-ness.

He was wobbly, the carpet not at all good for balancing on hooves, and took a moment to regain his balance before he stepped slowly toward the stairwell, his big leathery nose wiggling as he breathed, suddenly able to smell the girly soaps and perfume scents that wafted down from the floors above. He gingerly tapped the lowest stair with his front left hoof and pulled it back quickly, testing to see if the steps would react.

Nothing happened.

He honked happily.

Now confident in his plan, James bound up four steps quickly, his hooves clacking on the steps and he was feeling pretty damn good about himself, imagining the worshipping throngs of future Gryffindor Tower residents, when there came a great crack beneath him… a swoosh… and the steps went flat, creating a chute.

His honks were now less happy and more distressed as he scrambled with his legs, hooves scratching the wood as he ran in place for a moment, then slipped… He stuck out his legs quickly, wedging himself in the width of the stairs, nearly doing a double split there midway up the steps, panting from the running in place over the chute the stairwell had formed, like a great big slide.

Now what? he wondered. He was sort of stuck there halfway up. He couldn’t really move to go up without loosening his grip and if he loosed his grip, he’d most certainly go down. And if he touched the surface of the chute below him, the stairs would fling him clear across the room like it had done to Frank Longbottom loads of times.

James’s nose twitched. His tail flicked. He stared longingly up the stairs to the landing.

He looked about.

Brilliance struck him. He leaned his head down and over, wedging his antlers in the rungs of the stairs and tested to see if they could hold his weight without ripping right off (he imagined that wouldn’t be a very comfortable experience) and when they seemed to do alright, he gingerly wobbled his hooves up the sides of the stairs, carefully inching his way forward… It was working! He felt like a bleedin’ genius! He was the most brilliant person in the world, he was sure of it! At least until he had to move his antlers. Then he realized why wedging one’s antlers into something wasn’t a very good idea.

He wrenched, trying to free himself from the grip of the wood, but he’d got them in there really good and though he shook his head and tugged and honked in even more distress, there was no undoing the antlers it seemed. It was no good, he was stucker than stuck. There were only two options. One, transform back to a boy and get thrown across the room, or else stay a deer and bray until Sirius heard and came to free him.

He tried braying.

Nothing happened.

More braying. Louder braying.

Still no Sirius.

James sighed.

Time for Plan B.

With a POP, he transformed back to a boy, closing his eyes as he fell, his legs suddenly not long enough to wedge him up, his arms flailing, and he landed face-first on his chest on the chute.

He slid partway down before the stairwell swelled up and flipped him off onto the floor, and he landed, hitting himself in the back against the arm of the couch, his wand falling from his pocket and clattering to the floor as the wind was knocked out of him.

“Ugh,” he groaned, clutching his ribs, which ached from falling on his chest from his hoof-wedged position. He stared up at the stairs as they slowly turned back into their regular steps form. Although one of the rungs was snapped and the two on either side of it were scratched up, the stairs seemed to be laughing at James just the same, as though taunting him, snickering at him that they, a flight of stairs made of wood and nails, were more intelligent than him, a human being.

He stood up, walking back over and pacing slowly before the steps.

Honestly, he was sort of impressed that the stairs had recognized his stag as a male entitity and reacted as such. But it posed a problem - it meant that the stairs were all-knowing, and therefore there was precious little that could be done to avoid getting flung. The moment he set foot - or hoof - upon them, he was doomed.

James stopped his pacing.

He looked at the stairs, then grinned.

Yes, the moment he stepped foot upon them, he was doomed. That was it! That was the key.

After all - having to walk on the floor was so last week.

James drew his wand, tied the bag even more securely about himself, tucking it through his belt so it wouldn’t go falling off or something, and waved his wand at his toes. “Lentum calesus,” he said, and he tapped his wand against his trainers.

It was as though he had a thick layer of extremely adhesive gum stuck to his shoes soles - or else like his feet had become like the Giant Squid with tiny suckers all over. Whatever you want to compare it to, James Potter squash-walked his way to the wall, and simply walked up it, grinning at the stairs mockingly. “Take that you bastards,” he said as he took his first step onto the ceiling, hovering right over the steps, both his middle fingers hanging down at them, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Take that.”

He walked into the the girls dormitories corridor and down the wall to the floor.

“Finite incantantum,” he announced and his shoes smoothed so he could walk normally again and he turned about to look at the stairwell, sticking out his tongue… and proceeded to dance down the hallway, beaming with pride at how bloody clever he was.

It took him a few peeks into rooms to find Lily’s - hers was the only one with just one bed in it - but he finally found it and shoved open the door and stepped inside, feeling… rather triumphant, really. He looked about at it. She’d done quite a lot more personalizing than the boys had done. Her curtains and duvet were gold instead of maroon, and she had a great deal of tiny pillows and stuffed toys strewn about on top of the perfectly made bed. She hadn’t been entirely lying about the room being clean (though he did spot the laundry on her desk chair rather quickly), and she had pictures spello-taped to the wall, photos of her and the other Gryffindor girls and her and Jasper Odair and her and Snivellus and her and Remus and her and Peter and one of her and Sirius, even, that James wondered when it had been taken. She had posters up, too, of pretty pictures with encouraging words and phrases. On her mirror, she’d taped a picture of one of the boys from some wizard band the girls were all fond over and a couple folded how-tos on charming one’s hair up into various pretty styles.

There was a bowl of cut up leaves and flowers and James poked it with his wand, wondering what the purpose of it was, and the room was flooded with a scent of roses the moment he touched it and he had a feeling it was meant to make the air smell nice. That seemed like a girly thing to do… He wandered about, sort of low-key snooping, looking at her bookshelf to see that, besides her textbooks, she had a load of romance stories with covers featuring men with great billowy, lacy white shirts and big pecs and square jaws holding wind-swept breathless maidens…. A smirk crossed James’s face and he waved his wand over the books and the faces of all the square-jawed men changed to his face and the breathless maidens were suddenly all Lilys and he snickered, imagining the look on her face when she realized what he’d done.

James decided it was time to do what he’d come to do then and he untied the little bag from his neck and turned to use her bed as a workstation, pushing a couple of the stuffed creatures aside, spilling a weird pink bird with a big orange beak off the side. He bent to pick up the bird and his eyes fell on a snow globe on the night stand. Not just any snowglobe. The Snowglobe. The snowglobe he had given her, with the magical stag and doe inside, the snow gently falling over the trees.

James picked it up and shook it gently to activate the magic, making the snow swirl about and the little deer inside came to life - the doe began nibbling the grass and as he watched, the stag in the globe walked out of the trees carefully, inching his way across the small patch of grass in the globe to where the doe stood eating, and he nuzzled her in the neck with his long snout, snow sticking to his antlers. James smiled at them as the doe stopped her eating to nuzzle him back, their noses rubbing against one another lovingly.

He was about to put the globe back down when he noticed that beneath it on the nightstand lay a letter. A letter that was sort of folded, in a wonky manner, so that the letters written upon it were visible and James recognized it.

His heartbeat picked up.

He picked up the snow globe and lifted the paper beneath it, shaking it out. Something fell to the floor at his feet as he did, and his eyes swept the words on the page...

Evans,
Happy Christmas. I know you’re cross with me, but I also know how hard this Christmas will be for you. I wanted you to know I’m wishing you the best. Try to see the beauty in the twinkle lights, even if they shine through tears. Your dad would want you to be happy.
All my love,
James Potter.


His mouth was rather dry as he stared at the parchment… she’d saved that letter?

Looking down, he saw a sprig of the bluebells from the bouquet he’d brought to her house in December, dried and carefully preserved. He bent down to pick it up and gently refolded the letter, sliding the flowers into it and putting it back under the globe as she’d had it. He stared at it for a moment, then turned back to his project, his mind swimming.

Lily Evans kept something I’ve given her, he thought as he put the stuffed funny pink bird back down on the pile of stuffed creatures.. Right next to her bed. Right by her head as she sleeps… like it’s important to her…

He had uncinched his sack and dumped his supplies out on her bed. He sifted through them… glancing back at the snowglobe… The doe and the stag were both watching him through the orb of glass that contained them. He turned back to his things…

Of course she saved those, he told himself, trying not to get too excited. They were important for other reasons. Not because they came from you but because they were comforting at a hard time. Has nothing to do with you. It’s about her father.

Yes, but you were a comfort to her during that time, James, he argued with himself. You. Perhaps she’s kept you as well.

Kept me? Kept me where? She has pictures of herself with all three of the other Marauders. None of you. Not even one of you up there. His eyes travelled to the wall of pictures, lingering on the one of Lily and Sirius.

Perhaps she’s kept you off her wall in lieu of keeping you in her heart.

“Ferfuckssake,” he whispered to himself, “Don’t be an idiot. You aren’t in Lily Evans heart.”

He paused in what he was doing.

This was pointless, he realized.

She was never going to say yes.

She had a boyfriend. Jasper Odair. And she liked him. She liked him and thought he was kind. She didn’t fancy James. She didn’t need James. She had Jasper. She had Sirius and Peter and Remus and Ali and Frank and all the others she had photos with on the wall.

All this would do is make her angry.

She took a couple steps back and looked at the stuff he’d bought over in his little pouch -- a box of raspberry truffles, a little box with a gift wrapped in pink paper, and a stupid bouquet of flowers shaped like a deer, made out of daisies that he’d spent a good deal of time magicking together… He looked at the note he’d attached to the gift.

“Stupid. Don’t be stupid,” he whispered, and he grabbed up the stuff, breaking the deer as he did, and shoved it into the bag again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid idiot git. I’m so stupid.” He cinched up the bag quickly, swung it round his neck and hurried from the room… not noticing that he’d knocked over the funny pink bird again… not noticing that he’d dropped three of the daisies and the small pink-wrapped package to the floor in his haste.