#aren't I opinionated for someone who drinks exclusively chamomile tea?

[sophie-jen]

tea

read on ao3

Lily stood in front of the stove, eyes glazed over, fingers tapping an inconsistent pattern on the edge as she waited for the water to boil. Her fingernails clicked lightly against the metal. The water sputtered quietly in the kettle. 

Her breathing evened out as she became further entrenched in the corner of her mind where her every interaction didn’t play on an infernal loop. She lazily contemplated whether or not to get biscuits to go with her tea as the water started bubbling merrily, appreciating the warmth and silence of the-

“Guess who!”

Two cold hands slapped over her eyes. The smell of sweat and broom polish punched her in the nose, effectively jolting her back to consciousness and knocking the foolish hope that she could ever have a moment’s peace straight out of her.  

“Horace?” She heard an indelicate snort behind her before the hands were lowered and replaced by a sweaty face. 

“Did I interrupt your secret rendez-vous with Slughorn?” James smirked at her, leaning back against the stove. 

“I was just waiting for him.” 

The kettle whistled, drawing James’ notice. “Hence the tea?”

“Precisely.” Lily reached for the handle, James leaning slightly to the side as she slid her mug closer and poured the boiling water. “He loves Earl Grey.”

He handed her a spoon. “Of course he does.” 

The spoon froze over the steaming liquid, sugar crystals balancing dangerously on the edge, desperately trying to avoid their impending dissolution. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her eyes narrowed as he stood straighter. 

“Only that he seems the type to drink Earl Grey.” 

The last of the sugar dropped in, she stirred twice before walking over to the sink. “And what type is that?” 

James followed her, watching the trajectory of the spoon as she rinsed it and set it down with a clink. “Oh, you know.”

“I don’t. Illuminate me.” 

The mug slid across the countertop and into her waiting hand. 

“The stodgy potion-making type,” James said, wiping at the drops he had spilled with a finger. 

“I like Earl Grey. Are you calling me a stodgy potion-making type?” She took a sip, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.  

“No, you’re a lovely, fun potion-making type.” He grinned. “Only slightly stodgy.” Tugged at his hair. “When you drink Earl Grey.” 

“Oh my god! Everyone drinks it!” She set the contentious cup of tea down and walked back over to the stove, reaching for the sugar. 

“It’s boring! It’s a boring tea, Lily!” James called after her, gesticulating. He came closer, leaning over the stove to get in her line of sight while she put the sugar away. 

She glanced sideways. “Are you calling me boring?” 

He pushed himself forward until he was staring right at her. “No.” 

“Well, you’re stinky.”

The full body guffaw this elicited would have earned him a punch (though admittedly a light one) had it not been closely followed by a shriek. James clutched at his wrist, surprise and pain twisting his features into a grimace while the malicious kettle stood innocently by. 

“Shit! James!”

He let out a hissing breath as he tightened his grip, knuckles going white as his palm rapidly turned a violent shade of red. 

“S’fine,” he choked out. 

“Come here, you buffoon,” Lily said, ignoring his protests in favor of dragging him over to the sink. She turned the tap on and pulled his hand under the cold stream of water. 

“I should have showered,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“What?” Lily looked up from his hand, puzzled. 

“I just came back from a two hour practice, I should have showered,” he repeated, still staring at his hand. 

“What are you on about?”

“I think I’m good now.” He turned the tap off and held his hand out palm up. 

“It’s ok?” Lily asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Here, have some tea.” She handed him her mug. “It’ll make you feel better.”

He let out a choked laugh. “Thanks.”

While he took a sip, she gingerly held his injured hand up to her face to examine it, ignoring his amused eyes trained on her over the rim of the mug. 

“Will I survive, Dr. Evans?”

“Ooh, I think it’s blistering.” 

His head dipped closer so that they were both leaning over his hand. They watched the little bubble that had appeared in fascination. 

The faucet dripped.