the other side of life

The Last Four Years

2008-06-01T09:05:06Z

Note: Shameless fluff. It might go on a bit too long, but I wrote this in the last three hours and have since lost the capacity of intelligent thought. An attempt to reconcile the events of OOtP with a continuing friendship between Lily/James; what would have happened at the lake and afterward if they were friends in the first place.

Title: The Last Four Years
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5,650
Ships: James/Lily
Summary: May 28, 1976 is where it begins; May 28, 1979 is where it begins again. James and Lily have been friends for years, and everything culminates on May 28.

May 28, 1976

Lily hated being in the library on sunny days. Usually, she finished her homework ahead of time or at night, so that she could enjoy the spring weather out by the lake. But for the first time this year, Lily had absolutely no desire to be outside, and she had absolutely no desire to socialize. All she wanted to do was sit inside and sulk, and the library afforded her the perfect place to fume.

There were only a few other people in the library. It was the beginning of the weekend, after all. Even with O.W.L.s unfinished, the weather was too good to resist, and most of the other fifth-years had long ago abandoned any pretense of studying. Lily had her favorite chair to herself, tucked into a section of the library that Madam Pince rarely frequented. She had easily found the book she needed on goblin wars, her favorite quill was miraculously in her bag (and not lost, as she had thought), and there were absolutely no disruptions. On a normal day, any of those circumstances would have brightened Lily’s mood, but today she was determined to be as annoyed as possible.

The complete silence actually made it harder to work—she was so used to the low background chatter that always persisted in the library, despite Madam Pince’s best efforts, that its absence made her fidgety—and thus it was entirely surprising that she didn’t hear the person sneaking up behind her until he had slid into the adjacent chair.

“Hello, Lily,” said Remus, looking grayer than usual.

Lily resisted the urge to straighten the collar of his robes, which was halfway up on the right side. “You know, I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” she hissed, fixing her eyes on her book. “Come back in a few years when you’ve grown a backbone.”

Remus’ sigh was almost inaudible. “I’m sorry, Lily.”

Lily didn’t respond. Her eyes raced across the line of her book—until 1516, when Bagnald the Bitter revived the controversy, dragging in several well-connected clans that—without stopping, again and again.

“I know the others are sorry, too,” Remus continued, “and no one ever meant to bring you into what happened—”

Lily’s eyes snapped up to Remus’ face. “You’re the only one here, Remus. If the others were as sorry as you were, they would have come with you.”

There was silence.

“Look,” Lily said finally, “this isn’t accomplishing anything. If James sent you to grovel, I’m not having it. He can come apologize to me himself.”

“James didn’t send me here, Lily,” said Remus wearily. “I came to apologize to you for not backing you up. I’m the other Gryffindor prefect and I’m, I haven’t been so good at it lately, and I’m sorry. It shouldn’t fall up to you to control the house, especially my … friends.” He exhaled. “And I’m apologizing for James not listening to you.”

“What about what he said to me?” said Lily, furiously.

“What about it?” said Remus, fixing his gray eyes on Lily’s green ones. “As I seem to recall, most of it wasn’t about you at all. And you said exactly the same things back. I remember something about a giant squid?”

Lily opened her mouth to come up with some kind of retort, but couldn’t find one. Remus watched her for a few seconds, then seemed to give up, getting to his feet. “I’ll see you at the prefect meeting tonight.”

*

The prefect meeting put Lily into a much better mood. Remus sat next to the Hufflepuff fifth-years instead of next to Lily, not saying much, and she ignored him easily. Everyone was in high spirits from the good weather, and it was the beginning of the weekend. There were no complaints when the Head Boy handed out the schedules for rounds, and meeting ended twenty minutes earlier than usual. Things were finally getting a little better. Still pretending that Remus didn’t exist, Lily was one of the first out the door, accompanied by none other than Hufflepuff prefect Alistair Thomas. Lily was so wrapped up in the fact that Alistair was actually talking to her that she failed to see James Potter lurking outside the door of the meeting until Alistair said, “Hey, what’s James doing here?”

Lily’s heart sank. James was, indeed, leaning on the wall outside the room, looking a bit lost and nervous; but when he saw Lily, his hand automatically went to his hair and he started toward her, smiling. Lily rolled her eyes. “Stupid prick,” she said to Alistair. “You heard what he did out by the lake today?”

“Yeah,” said Amos, “sounded a bit awful, really. Are you going to go talk to—”

“Tell me about your exams,” Lily interrupted, steering Alistair in the opposite direction. “Do you have a lot of free time this weekend, or are you going to be busy—”

“Evans!”

Lily sighed.

“I’ll see you,” said Alistair, bemused, and sped down the corridor.

Lily kept walking. James caught up with her easily. “Look, Evans—”

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” said Lily, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “Really. If I have to talk to you, I’m going to do something drastic.”

“Evans, please, I only want to talk to you for two minutes—”

Lily whirled on him. “Fine. Two minutes. Go.”

James looked shocked for a second, and then the Potter reflex kicked in—he smiled at her, lifting one hand to his hair, opening his mouth.

“Don’t,” said Lily wearily, batting his hand away. “It’s maddening when you do that.”

“Right,” said James, looking a bit lost at sea. “Well, um, I just wanted to come say sorry. So … sorry.”

Lily waited expectantly, but there was nothing. “Is that it?”

“Yeah,” said James.

“You humiliated one of my best friends in front of the entire school and did it just because you don’t like the Slytherins and were being a huge arrogant bully—”

“Snape’s not your friend,” James interrupted, frowning. “A friend wouldn’t call you a Mudblood. Besides, you shouldn’t be friends with him anyway—for God’s sake, Lily, it’s Snivellus!”

“—and you have no concept of right and wrong, how many times do we have to talk about Severus, I'm sick of it, and then you have the nerve to ask me to go out with you—”

“Yeah,” said James, looking a bit more uncomfortable, “there’s that—”

“—it just wasn’t funny and I didn’t like it at all and I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year but it’s so much harder to stomach you—”

“Lily,” said James, looking positively alarmed now, “stop for a second.”

Lily’s shoulders were shaking, and she suddenly realized she was heaving great gasps of air, and then she was crying. James stood awkwardly, his limbs seeming too long for his body, until Lily stumbled forward and buried her head in his chest. James’ arms went around her automatically, one hand in her hair.

“Lily, I’m sorry,” he said. Lily heard him as from very far away—her hearing was muffled by James’ robes, and she was still crying into his front. “I really, really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of the entire school, or whatever that was, and, well, you know.”

Lily’s hiccup turned into a laugh. “You are so stupid,” she said. “And you’re terrible with girls.”

“Yeah, well,” said James uncomfortably, still awkwardly standing straight up and down. “Yeah, well, I do want you to go out with me, you know, that’s why I’ve been asking you all year, that’s generally what you do when you want someone to go out with you, you keep asking them, you know, and, well, bugger, you know.”

Lily laughed, sniffed, and stepped back. “You think hexing someone is going to get me to go out with you?” she said. “Besides, you don’t really want to go out with me, you’re just being stupid because I’m basically the only Gryffindor girl you haven’t snogged yet.”

“That’s not true at all,” said James earnestly.

“Besides,” said Lily, “you should be asking out Laura Brendan, anyway, she’s been talking about that asinine hair flip of yours for the last two weeks. Honestly, you should really get a hair cut.”

“No!” James protested, shocked. “How else would I get girls? Besides you, of course, since you’ve so nicely told me that it’s asinine. And anyway, I came here to say sorry.”

Lily looked at him for a second, suddenly aware that her entire face must be bright red from crying. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, finally. “You’re still an egotistical arse, and you shouldn’t be bullying people, and you’re too full of yourself, but I shouldn’t have said that about the squid. I’m sorry.”

James smiled, his normal confidence returning. “Good. Will you come back to the tower with me? Or maybe find Laura Brendan with me?”

“If I have to,” said Lily begrudgingly, and the two walked up the corridor together, their shadows flickering and merging on the stone wall behind them.

May 28, 1977

Lily lay sprawled on the grass next to the lake, her hair forming a red halo around her head. Around her, the other Gryffindor girls chattered and laughed, and the familiar and comforting hum of spring enveloped her.

The sky was a bright vivid blue, a few puffy clouds meandering slowly across it. Lily followed one with her eyes—she couldn’t decide if it looked more like a ship or a very large dog. Suddenly, giggles began from all directions, and the face of James Potter appeared directly above her, blocking out the sky almost entirely.

“Hi, Evans,” said James, grinning, his face reddening a little from bending over. “I got you a flower. Because you, of course, are the flower of my life.”

Lily groaned and closed her eyes. “Go away, James,” she said, smiling despite herself. “I’m really busy right now, I don’t have time to humor you.”

“Evans,” said James, hovering in a very determined manner, “I picked this flower myself, and not only did it take a very long time to decide which one to pick, I’m going to be very offended if you don’t accept my offering to your great …” He hesitated, clearly not sure what to say. “Beauty?” he tried. “Grace? Intelligence? Eloquence?”

“The only person I’m more eloquent than is you,” said Lily lazily, letting herself look up at James. The sunlight illuminated only one side of his face, and his eyelashes—long and fine, ones any girl would die for—were clearly defined. And—Lily nearly sat up—was it just her going completely mad, or were his eyes a nice shade of brown? “That attempt was pathetic. You need help in the wooing department.”

Sirius’ head appeared behind James’ shoulder. “Is this man bothering you, Miss Evans?” he asked, uncharacteristically polite, shoving James out of the way. “I can take him away, you know.”

“Thanks, Sirius,” said Lily, smiling and finally sitting up, leaning back on her forearms. “I don’t think I’m done hearing him proclaim his love of my beauty, grace, and intelligence, or whichever one he really meant to start talking about.”

“Evans,” James drawled, “I could wax on about them all, but for now I come to present you with a timeless and priceless gift.” He made some complicated flourish with one hand, producing a flower from behind his back with the other. “For you.”

“Timeless and priceless?” said Lily skeptically, taking it. “You just picked this off the other side of the lake.”

“Timeless,” James said loudly, completely ignoring her, “and priceless. The seeds of love hath been planted in your heaving bosom—”

“Are you really talking about my bosom?” said Lily, amused.

“—and now they shall grow and strengthen!” James ended, and with a bow to Lily, he and Sirius disappeared.

There was laughter from behind Lily. She turned around to face Marlene McKinnon, who was still chuckling. “What?” said Lily.

“Are you serious?” Marlene replied. “He wants to get in your pants so bad, I don’t … ouch! Lily!”

“He’s not serious,” said Lily. “He’s been talking like this for the past four months."

"Probably because you wouldn't shut up about how he saved your arse in Transfiguration," Marlene said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I seem to remember you wandering around the tower, telling everyone how mature and smart and amazing James Potter was for saving you and your grade and not even bragging about it - ouch! Cheap shot. Although, come to think of it, you did that for him.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “We are better friends. He’s gotten actually kind of … funny.”

“You’re doomed,” said Marlene, raising her eyes to the heavens and sinking down into the grass. “I’ll be at your wedding in exactly two years from now.”

“Mar-lene!” said Lily, laughing. Marlene went off about James at least once a week, ever since Lily and James had started their faux-flirtatious banter a few months ago. It had started near the end of her failed relationship with Alistair Thomas. She and Alistair had dated for almost all of her sixth year and broken up at the end of April. He hadn’t liked the amount of time she spent with James—but it was true, as she told Amos explicitly, that they were in all of the same classes, were in the same year, and were both Gryffindors. It was natural that they should spend time together doing work and just sitting around in the Gryffindor common room.

What wasn’t natural, Alistair told her, a frown creasing his chiseled features, was how much attention James paid Lily, and everyone knew that he used to have a crush on her. Lily laughed this off. James dated everyone he wanted to and still found time to do ridiculous things like bring her flowers and quote Shakespeare at her. Sirius even joined him sometimes; last week they’d serenaded her in the middle of the common room, a dirtier version of “I Want To Hold Your Hand.” Lily had laughed until her sides hurt.

“You’ll be at my wedding, all right,” said Lily, “and James will be the maid of honor.”

That image was so ridiculous that they both laughed, and Lily flopped down into the grass again, content to sleep in the sun.

*

The seventh years were done with their N.E.W.T.s, and the fifth years only had one more O.W.L. left. The sixth years, stuck in limbo with final exams that only kind of mattered, joined in the jubilation in the Gryffindor common room. Last year, Remus would have let Sirius and James go to Hogsmeade and get butterbeer and firewhiskey, but some of the seventh years had already managed to get some up in the common room. Lily wasn’t sure if Remus would have let them this year. She would have liked to say that Sirius and James wouldn't have gone, either-but she couldn't be entirely sure.

The Head Boy, Sean McDonnell, was a Gryffindor, so it was only after most of the fourth-years and all of the younger years had gone to bed that butterbeer was even seen in the common room (to make sure none of them said anything about its sudden appearance the next day). Lily was fairly sure that there was firewhiskey somewhere—Laura Brendan was particularly giggly—but it was being hidden well. Over by the fireplace, James and Sirius were leading a particularly rowdy game of Exploding Snap, and everyone around them seemed to be (inexplicably) wet.

Lily sat in the midst of the Gryffindor girls, along with Remus and a few of the seventh-year boys, talking about nothing. The Exploding Snap game looked like more fun, but Lily didn’t know how to get over to the fireplace without it being awkward. And every time Marlene brought up her relationship with James, she felt a bit more embarrassed about her very public flirtation—even if they were just kidding around.

There was a shout and a roar of protest from over by the fireplace; Lily and the others looked over. Sirius’ pants were on fire, and he was capering around the game, yelling his head off. James was crying with laughter, tears streaming down his face, but he still managed to get in a well-placed Aguamenti charm that doused the flames. Sean McDonnell was already on his feet, striding over to the game. All that Lily could hear was a “Sorry, no, Sirius was actually asking to be set on fire. No, I’m not going to set anyone else on fire, that would just be rude!” before the chatter in the common room rose over their conversation.

A few hours passed. It was now after midnight. The older Gryffindors had trickled off to their dormitories slowly; there was still a raucous group over by the fireplace. Lily almost nodded off in her armchair next to Sean and Marlene. The others had long disappeared upstairs. James Potter chose this moment to appear next to Lily’s chair, sopping wet.

“James,” said Lily matter-of-factly, “you’re dripping on my sleeve.”

“Sorry,” said James, grinning down at her. He really was, Lily noticed, completely drenched. There was water running down from his head onto his back, and his shirt was dripping water, stuck to his body. She couldn’t complain about the view, though—James spent most of his time playing Quidditch and playing pranks, and lately Quidditch had superseded pranks. He would never be muscular-he was far too skinny for that-but the parts of his body that his shirt stuck to hinted at a long, lanky figure. With his hair flattened to his head, he looked like a normal human being.

“I like your hair like that, Potter,” Lily said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James scoffed. He sat on the arm of her chair, and Lily edged away slightly as he shook his head. Drops of water flew in every direction. “You love my hair the way it normally is, it’s part of the irrepressible Potter charm.”

“If I thought you were serious,” said Lily, barely restraining her smile, “I’d have to hex you. Why are you so wet, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” said James airily.

Lily waited expectantly, but when she realized that no answer was actually forthcoming, she shook her head in exasperation. “No, I don’t know, actually, which is why I asked.”

“The perils of Exploding Snap with Sirius.”

“Sirius was on fire,” Lily said. “This is kind of a drastic difference.”

James held out his arm. “Smell my shirt.”

“What?” said Lily, not sure that she had heard him correctly.

“Smell,” James repeated, as if she were very slow, “my shirt.” He offered one damp hand. Lily pulled on his arm until he leaned closer to her. His hair dripped on the top of her head. Ignoring the discomfort, Lily gripped his bicep—not bad, Potter—and smelled his shirt with the other. She sat back, disgusted.

“Butterbeer,” she said. “You’re drenched in butterbeer. What a waste.”

“I don’t think so,” James said. “Less expensive than cologne.” He hadn’t moved, so he was still leaning over Lily, his hair dripping onto hers.

“Do you usually put on that much cologne when you go out?” Lily asked, almost laughing. “I feel bad for your dates.”

“Do you?” said James. Lily could hear the rumble in his throat, right above her head. She looked up at him. He was still leaning down, his face very close to hers, and for a moment their faces were inches apart. His eyes were very wide, and she noticed his long, defined lashes. They made him look younger and more vulnerable. Or perhaps that was the expression on his face: a frozen look, like he couldn’t believe the position they were in.

Come to think of it, Lily couldn’t either. It was unnatural. She’d never seriously contemplated kissing James Potter—because why would she want to kiss one of her closest male friends?—and the fact that the thought had escaped into her head made her lean back quickly. “Yeah,” she said abruptly, “yeah, I do.”

James leaned back slowly, eyes still trained on her face. “I rather like the butterbeer scent,” he said. “What do you think about that as a new product line? I could make boatloads of money.”

“Oi! James!” Sirius was doing some kind of complicated dance over by the fireplace.

“I can’t really smell it from here,” said Lily. “You’d have to really lay it on to get the scent out, and then it would just make me hungry.”

“Good product, then,” said James, grinning, “depending on the kind of hunger it inspires.” Then he was off the arm of her chair and on the fireplace with Sirius before Lily could respond.

“Two sickles and a knut says you kiss James Potter before the end of the night,” said Marlene, from behind Lily. Lily swiveled to face her. Both Marlene and Sean McDonnell were looking amused and self-satisfied. “Even if he is soaked in butterbeer.”

“I will not,” said Lily. “That’s ridiculous.” Was it? a nagging voice in her head replied, but she pushed the thought away. “James and I are friends, good friends—”

“—who snog,” Sean finished. “I get it. He’s been pining over you for years, anyway—”

“He has not,” said Lily, rearranging her hair, suddenly uncomfortable. “He dates everyone else except for me because we’re friends and I don’t want to mess that up—”

“Lily.” Marlene shook her head. “He dates everyone else because you won’t date him.”

“That’s stupid.” Lily glanced up at the fireplace. She couldn’t even describe what James and Sirius were doing. James was flinging drops of water—butterbeer?—all over the place, and Sirius was making some high-pitched yelling noise and trying to get a noncompliant Remus to join in, while Peter looked on. “That makes me less likely to date him.”

“James isn’t exactly an expert in the art of women,” said Sean, dryly.

“But he does get a lot of girls,” said Marlene, and then the two of them were arguing about something or other.

Lily stopped paying attention. The only people left in the common room were James and his cohorts, as well as two of the fifth-year boys, Laura Brendan, and Lily’s corner. By far the most interesting group belonged to James. He saw her watching them and waved at her from the fireplace. “Lily! Join me in a dance, my buttercup!”

Glancing behind her—Marlene and Sean seemed totally preoccupied—Lily twisted her mouth into a half-grin and got out of her chair. “It’s at least half-past midnight,” she told James, when he had dragged her up onto the fireplace in front of him and Sirius. “We should probably go to bed.”

“I,” said James, loftily, “plan to welcome the dawn with open, reaching arms. I shall be drinking butterbeer and making a total arse out of myself until I welcome the dawn with a dance to the sun god on top of the Astronomy Tower.”

“Is that some kind of oblique reference to your potential hookup?” Lily asked, dodging as he grabbed for her hand. He grasped her wrist instead and twirled her around, once, twice, dizzily.

“Not James,” said Sirius, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “We’re not even sure if James still likes girls—oof!” James’ other arm, the one that wasn’t preoccupied with twirling Lily, had shot backwards, connecting with Sirius’ stomach.

“I’m not sure either,” said Lily, laughing.

“You really haven’t proved yourself lately,” agreed Sirius, backing up to prevent another attack. “Shame on the noble house of Potter.”

James’ hand was very warm around Lily’s wrist. She wrested it out of his grasp and took his hand instead. Their fingers interlocked, and James took Lily’s other hand, their fingers fitting together perfectly naturally. “This isn’t a very good dancing position,” said Lily.

“No,” said James thoughtfully, “it’s not.” He didn’t let go of either of her hands, but jumped off the fireplace and pulled her with him. “This is better, isn’t it?” He dragged her off a little, nearer to the radio. He let go of her left hand—Lily nearly protested, but thought better of it—and drew her closer, resting his right hand on her waist. “This is a waltz position, isn’t it?” he asked, peering down at her through the hair stuck to his face.

“I think so,” said Lily, reaching up with her left hand to peel the strands of hair off his forehead. She pushed them back, and for good measure ruffled his hand up a little. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it—he’d gotten so tall after fourth year! “You look more like yourself now. More pratlike. And don’t purebloods have balls and so forth every year?”

“I always escaped them. My mother used to make me dance with all my cousins.” James pulled a face. “Even the ugly ones.”

“Good thing they were your cousins.”

“Yeah, but purebloods marry their cousins.”

“Ouch.” Lily laughed. The slow sway that James had adopted was comforting. She slipped her left arm around his neck, and they danced in silence for a few minutes. Or, swaying was more like it; Lily didn’t think James, for all of his bluster, actually knew anything about partner dancing. He’d spent the Yule Ball in fourth year snogging one of the Hufflepuff chasers.

The song on the radio faded into the next one. The lights in the common room dimmed. Lily couldn’t even see who else was there, still. She gave into her tiredness and lay her head on James’ chest, settling into his body like it was normal to do so. She felt him stiffen for a moment, then relax, and he propped his chin on her head and let his arm snake around her waist, pulling her closer.

“James?”

“Mm?” Lily could hear the reverbations travelling down through his chin to the top of her head. He was very solid, very warm, and very real, even though his shirt was now sticking to her and there was an overpowering smell of butterbeer.

There was silence.

“Nothing,” said Lily finally, and they swayed for some time more, until they and Sirius were the only ones left in the common room and she was drooping with tiredness. Then she remembered James picking her up, and then being pushed up the stairs to her dormitory, and looking down the stairs just to see James’ bright brown eyes following her movements upwards, his gaze keeping her upright.

It had been a good year.

May 28, 1978

Lily was lying in her favorite spot by the lake. Her final N.E.W.T. had been the day before yesterday, although some of the other seventh years still had exams. She stretched her arms above her head, dug her toes into the grass, and exulted in being done with school. To top it all off, it was a beautiful day.

The face of James Potter appeared above her. “I think I passed my last N.E.W.T.”

“That would be miraculous,” Lily said, languidly stretching and sitting up. James plopped down beside her, pulling a flower from behind his back and presenting it to her with a half-bow. In a sitting position, the bow looked very odd, and Lily snorted. “Is this a yearly tradition? The end of exams merits flowers?”

“Flowers,” said James, “are good for all occasions. Especially when you’re with someone named Lily, it begs the pun.”

“I thought you had gotten more clever with time,” said Lily, reaching up to brush hair out of James’ eyes, “but obviously not. I’ll have to rethink the amount of time I spend with you.”

“True,” James agreed, “I become less funny the more time I spend with you.” He dodged her halfhearted swipe. “At least, Sirius thinks so.”

They both turned. Sirius was sitting under a tree with Remus, both of them obviously watching Lily and James. They waved and turned away quickly. “They’re subtle,” said Lily, wryly. “Where’s Peter?”

“He found a Ravenclaw girlfriend,” said James, waving this away. “He’s starting to get boring, all he does is prattle on about her and do nothing else.” He lay down, his hands under his head. “Girlfriends are a sobering influence. I mean that in the worst possible way.”

“You don’t need to have a girlfriend, you know,” said Lily, trying to sound nonchalant.

James shot up to a sitting position. “Oh, really?”

"I'm pretty sure two years ago I told you I would rather date the giant squid than you." Lily forced herself to look away from his eyes. "That assumption might still hold."

James coughed. "Last year, I seem to remember you condescending to dance with me. Squids don't dance. The relationship would bore you."

“I had forgotten about that,” Lily lied. “Besides, you dripped all over me. It wasn't very chivalrous of you."

“I know you like the smell of me soaked in butterbeer,” said James, “but I do import this cologne from France, you know, you might as well appreciate it while you can.” He got to his feet and offered her a hand. “A commemorative dance, milady?”

Lily smiled and let James pull her upright. “Let me do this the right way,” he murmured softly into her ear, giving her goosebumps. “Let’s see, right hand here …” His right hand made its way around her waist, creeping down a little, giving her the shivers, and he took her other hand, drawing her closer. “That feels about right.” He wedged her head under his chin and started swaying back and forth.

“James,” said Lily, acquiescing, “this is ridiculous.” But she nestled into his chest anyway, listening to the comforting thud of his heartbeat and smelling the French cologne that she liked so much. He was very warm. His thumb stroked the inside of her palm; she sighed and turned her head up to him. James’ eyes were soft and warm, and he smiled his brilliant, brilliant smile at her.

“I’m a fan of the ridiculous, myself,” said James, his voice a rumble in his chest, and he leaned down and kissed her.

Their lips met, and Lily let go of his hand to put both arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss. His mouth was gentle and questioning; when he drew back, Lily pulled his mouth down to meet hers again. They promptly toppled over onto the grass together.

“Ow,” James complained, pulling her up to a sitting position. “I think you’ve broken—mmph, s’not fair to—” He shut up and kissed her back, hard, shifting her into his lap.

They were interrupted by a wolf whistle from across the grass. James broke the kiss, panting, and made a rude gesture in the direction of Remus and Sirius.

“James,” said Lily, fondly, “is that really necessary?”

“Entirely,” said James, and then they were kissing again, and he was bending her backward, much to Lily’s chagrin, but it probably looked good from across the lawn, and if James Potter was about anything, he was about looking good.

May 28, 1979

Sirius had far too much wine at the reception. The moment that he opened his mouth to make his best man toast, Lily almost covered her eyes. She glanced over at her parents, stiff and respectable in their Muggle attire; but her mother caught her looking and smiled such an open smile that Lily was reassured. No matter what crazy world—or what crazy man, Lily thought, glancing at James next to her—Lily chose, they were always right behind her, supporting her decision.

Sirius was slurring something about “dogged determination” and “foolheaded pursuit,” and James was turning redder, but smiling. Then something about “I Want to Hold Your Hand”—Lily started giggling too, she couldn’t help it—and the end of his toast broke down into incoherent mumblings, the rest of the reception party concealing smiles. James stood up to make the toast for him.

“Sirius,” James announced, “is a fine, fine best man, but his tolerance is much lower than mine, since I am in fact the better man—”

“Only today, Prongs,” Sirius slurred.

“—and am marrying,” said James, looking directly into Lily’s eyes, “the most beautiful woman in the world, and I am the luckiest man in the world. I’m turning this toast into one to Lily. Lily Potter.” He raised his glass to Lily, and she smiled radiantly back.

“This reception had better not last very long,” Lily whispered into James’ ear, as soon as she got the chance. They danced slowly, using the entire floor, James taking the time to dip her and spin her, his entire face lit up with happiness. Lily felt the small amount of wine she had consumed flood her with warmth, and her entire body tingled—but she knew that wasn’t the wine.

“Oh, it won’t,” James murmured into her ear, running his hands up and down her sides. “You look beautiful in this dress, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to look better—”

“Good thing you’re allowed to say things like that now,” said Lily, laughing, and let him dip her, her back arching, swanlike.

“And I intend to say them as often as I want to,” said James, and brought her up to kiss her.

Angela in a Week

2007-12-03T12:06:00Z

Title: Angela in a Week
Rating: G
Pairing (if any): implied Edward/Bella, but it's Angela centric
Spoilers: for the first fifty pages of Twilight? there aren't really any there anyway.
Summary: This started as a protest against the relative shortness of the main females in Twilight - and then I realized that Angela must be more interesting than anyone gives her credit for. A one-shot with no real plot about what it's like to be Angela.

Angela in a Week

When Angela rises from lunch and offers to help Isabella Swan find her next class, she immediately wishes that she hadn’t. It’s not because she doesn’t like Bella—she hardly knows her, after all. But Isabella Swan is a full six inches shorter than Angela’s 5’10” frame, and Angela feels like a giantess next to her. As they walk away from the cafeteria, Angela feels awkward, uncomfortable in her skin, like she should be slouching down to match the height of the girl next to her. It doesn’t help that Bella is the new fad amongst the male population of Forks High. The admiring glances shot at Bella’s petite frame skim past Angela’s collarbone. She is invisible, as usual, lumbering about in a skin too big for a girl who feels so small.

Bella was quieter than Angela had thought she would be at lunch, only smiling when others smiled at her, only talking when the conversation required her to reply. Instead, her eyes flicker over to the table where the Cullens sit. Angela looks once, too, even though she knows exactly what she’ll see—the Cullens, together, silent, not touching a bit of their food. But when Angela looks up, she is surprised; Edward Cullen is staring right back at Bella, and she can feel the heat of the gaze from this far away. When Bella drops her eyes, blushing, Edward’s eyes meet Angela’s; but only for a moment. Angela blinks, and Edward looks away.

When everyone gets up from the table, Angela taps Bella on the shoulder. She’s still sitting down, seemingly unaware that everyone is leaving. The Cullens have that effect on people the first time, and Angela feels obligated to bring her back to reality. “I’m Angela,” she says, and Bella’s face immediately smoothes out into an expression of relief. “I’ll walk you to your next class.”

Angela feels too big for the hallway. She apologizes silently with her posture.

In Biology, Angela sits in her usual seat near the back, glancing around the room for the empty spot. Of course, it’s near Edward Cullen; she wonders, vaguely, what Jessica will think of that. She wonders, even more relevantly, what Bella will think of that. Then class starts, and Angela promptly forgets about Bella. She is a nice girl, after all, and if Edward thinks so too, it’s really none of her business. And she’s petite. Who could resist the perfect package?

Later, when she’s walking with Jess—too big again, but she’s used to this height discrepancy by now—Jessica plagues her with questions about Bella. She’s already heard from Mike that Bella sat next to Edward in Biology. Angela just shakes her head. She doesn’t have the glib answers to the questions that Jessica asks, and Jessica finally gives up in disgust. “I’ll call you later,” she says, when she sees Mike across the parking lot. It’s a statement fraught with meaning. Angela resigns herself to a long, Mike-filled night on the phone. It’s the least she can do; she can’t gossip like Jessica wants her to.

The days slip by. Jessica plans to ask Mike to the dance. When he asks her to give him more time, Jess is crushed. She slips silently through the halls, a shadow of her ebullient self. Angela, of course, glides by her side, supportive to the last. It surprises Angela that she’s envious of Jessica even now; when Jessica wants to be, she can be completely invisible, go unnoticed. Angela can’t.

Everything works out the way it’s supposed to. Mike says yes to Jessica. Angela wonders how much Bella has to do with that answer. It’s good that Bella, at least, is diplomatic; but it’s when Bella orchestrates the dispersal of her admirers that Angela is truly impressed. She’s escaped all of the drama and made everyone happy. When Eric comes up to Angela, shy, Angela spares him the trouble of asking her to ask him to the dance. She just asks him straightaway. After all, it’s what’s supposed to happen, and his face lights up when she does. Angela, too, can be diplomatic.

She wonders if Bella set it up this way on purpose. She doesn’t particularly like Eric, but he’s the perfect date—he’s tall. Does Bella notice how self-conscious Angela is about her height, about being the sidekick? Eric is a bit shy too, and he’s genuinely nice. She supposes that the niceness makes up for the greasiness of his hair. And it makes up for him being star struck about Bella, too; who isn’t star struck about Bella? It’s really not his fault. She should give him a chance.

Jess chatters the whole way to Port Angeles, but Angela is quiet. She watches Bella instead, the way that Bella inclines her head to hear Jess speak, the way she stares out the window at the dripping scenery. It is impossible to tell what Bella really thinks or who Bella really is, but Bella is fascinating nevertheless. Does Angela herself look the same to outside people? Do people study her the way that Angela feels compelled to study Bella?

In a way, Angela is glad that Bella isn’t going to the dance—mainly because it would make life a lot more difficult with Jessica—but also because she knows it isn’t what Bella wants. She watches her sidelong as Jessica complains about the dresses she’s found inadequate. Angela herself finds a dress that looks amazing with her long legs, but in the mirror she still feels the need to hunch over so that she doesn’t look like a different species next to the tiny, glowing Jessica. Hunched and awkward. It was thoughtful of Bella to get her a date taller than she is, though, so when Bella begins her awkward questioning about the Cullens, Angela doesn’t ask her why. She just quietly supplies information, content to surmise briefly about what Bella wants and then forget about it. It’s really none of her business what Bella does, after all.

And when Edward Cullen appears out of nowhere outside the restaurant, making Bella’s cheeks flush with color, Angela is the first one to react. She pulls Jessica away, not looking back. Angela isn’t one to be dramatic, and she isn’t one to question. And she certainly isn’t one to stand in the way of fate. Jess is indignant, but Angela is content, and at the dance she twirls with genuine happiness, looking the right size against her smiling date.

The Enforcer

2007-11-30T07:54:05Z

Title: The Enforcer
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ships: James/Lily
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lily becomes sick at a Quidditch match, and James comes to see her (but only after he's done playing, of course).

This is the first Lily/James fic I've written, and it's a oneshot with shameless fluff (or, I suppose, as close to fluff as I've ever gotten). Reviews would be lovely - I hope you read and enjoy! This was previously posted on both lily_centric and lilyandjames.

The Enforcer

Lily Evans broke school rules quite frequently. She just wasn’t stupid enough to let anyone else find out, unlike the other Gryffindor seventh years. That was what probably sparked the rise of her new nickname: The Enforcer.

“Are you kidding me?” Lily moaned incredulously, sprawling over half of a couch in the Gryffindor common room. “The school already thinks I’m horrible for cancelling the Halloween bonfire—“

“That’s because you are horrible for cancelling the bonfire,” James informed her. He was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, smirking slightly as he watched her. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, Evans. ‘Tradition’ usually implies that the event continues year after year, unless someone incredibly horrible gets in the way. Or a horrible event happens. Or the Head Girl is just generally horrible. Did I mention that you’re horrible?”

“Shut up,” Lily replied automatically, but her heart wasn’t it in. “There was a really good reason to cancel it—you even thought so, you’re just letting me take the blame—“

“There is no good reason to cancel a bonfire. That is, the bonfire.”

Lily propped herself up on one elbow and stared disbelievingly at James. “James, there was a rogue dementor sighting in Hogsmeade.”

“Personally, I think dementor interaction builds character,” James said thoughtfully, studiously not looking over at Lily. “Especially when the dementors are in large groups and very hungry, and then the main attraction of the bonfire can be the sacrifice of one of the Slytherin first years—“

Lily threw a pillow across the room, but James ducked and it hit the brick of the fireplace. “I hate you,” Lily told him. “I really do. And you probably made up this nickname yourself and circulated it around the entire school, along with your asinine inter-house rivalry and my reputation for being a complete bitch.”

“Evans,” James said soothingly, “Evans. I wouldn’t make up a nickname like that for you, would I? I wouldn’t even suggest such an idea to Sirius, who just possibly might take me up on it and start telling everyone in our year, moving down so that even the first years know to watch out for the Head Girl …”

Lily groaned. “You did start it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not … really.”

“I give up.” Lily lay back again and contemplated the ceiling. She had resigned herself to a difficult year when she found out that James had been made Head Boy; surprisingly, James was easy to work with, if not easy to live with. His mannerisms still drove her mad, but at least he was now somewhat conscientious about his responsibilites, and he had stopped incessantly asking her out, which was of course a bonus. They’d built up a necessary and tenuous friendship at the beginning of the year, which was now perhaps … a real friendship? Lily liked to think that they would have become friends if he hadn’t been Head Boy, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it wasn’t true. The only reason she could find his infuriating habits vaguely amusing now was because she knew that he could also exhibit traits of an intelligent human being. Those she could have only discovered through the extensive amounts of time they spent together on Head duties. Lily didn’t like to think that she was close-minded, but she supposed that she had been, on the subject of James.

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes. James broke it first. “I could tell him to stop spreading it around, if you want me to.”

“Am I honestly supposed to believe that you would go through all that effort for nothing? There’s no way you have that much control over Black, anyway.”

James considered. “No, probably not.”

“All right then.” Lily continued her contemplation of the ceiling. “Shouldn’t you be out practicing Quiddith, or whatever?” she ventured. “Don’t you have a game or whatever tomorrow?”

“Evans.” James rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Evans. Even a stick in the mud such as your lovely self really should know that Gryffindor does, indeed, have a game to play tomorrow, and that I, indeed, have been at practice nearly all day. Since I am the captain and all, and therefore enjoy a heightened sense of popularity—“

Lily snorted. “Meaning every girl in the fifth and sixth year wants to snog you, and you accept nearly every one?”

James continued on, a bit more loudly, “I really think you should be flattered that I am here to salvage your wounded pride, instead of meeting my hordes of adoring fans … and yes, we will be playing Hufflepuff tomorrow. And we will be flattening them. And you will be there.”

Secretly, Lily did like Quidditch games … but, like her frequent floutings of the school rules, Lily preferred to keep that to herself. “I have a lot of other things to do tomorrow morning,” she said airily, keeping her gaze fixed on the ceiling so she wouldn’t laugh. “You know … really important things. Like my Potions essay. And fixing it so that no one is allowed to have any sort of social gathering in this castle, ever again. And I have to clean my room … I don’t know if I really have that much time to come watch your ego get even bigger, Potter.”

James’ face suddenly appeared directly above hers. “Evans,” he said, hovering in a determined manner right above her, “if you do not come to the Quidditch game tomorrow, I will tell Sirius to spread a worse nickname around this entire school. Stop sucking the fun out of everything.”

“It was you!” Lily managed. His face was very, very close to hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been this close to James. He was looking at her very seriously, too; his eyes were deep and brown and fixed directly and unwaveringly on hers, and his glasses were a bit crooked. Lily resisted the unmistakable and unprecedented urge to reach up and push them into the correct position.

“That’s beside the point, Evans,” James said haughtily, maintaining his position above her. He leaned even further down towards her and Lily swallowed, unable to move, blood rushing to her head – whatcouldpossiblybegoingonwhatwasheabouttodo – but he just put his mouth close to her ear and breathed, “You know you want to.”

And with that, James stood up abruptly – was she imagining the faint red tinge to his face? – and strode out of the room, his usual bounce returning once he was near the portrait hole. Lily was having trouble breathing, and she was certainly imagining the warm air she could still feel tickling her ear. Wasn’t she?

“Prat,” Lily said loudly, trying to calm her suddenly racing pulse. It really was annoying of her body to react that way, and it was unfair of James to breathe into her ear like that. In fact, it was even more unfair that his best friend was currently tarnishing her reputation. What kind of sick pleasure could he hope to derive from that?

It really was better that they hadn’t been friends until this year. Lily didn’t know how she would have handled six years of James, what with the weird temperature changes he caused in her body and the way he always made her skive off Ancient Runes with him and the fact that she now let the Marauders get away with bloody murder. No matter what Sirius and James said, she didn’t enforce the rules any more than she had to.

-----

Lily woke the next morning with the worst head cold she had ever had. Moaning and coughing into her Gryffindor scarf, she dutifully staggered down the stairs to the Great Hall, where she forced herself to eat at least a piece of toast. The Great Hall was full of chattering students, all too excited about the upcoming match. The Hufflepuff team members were whispering among themselves rapidly at their house table, and the Gryffindor team members were doing the same, but were also making quite a racket in the process. Lily covered her ears, slumped down onto the table, and heartily wished that she were still snug in bed.

“Evans?” came a voice from directly behind her. Lily flapped a hand behind her to get the person to go away, not bothering to lift her head off the table, and closed her eyes. Did the team really have to make that much noise? Weren’t they all supposed to be sneaky so the houses could spy on each other anyway? It was all really rather childish and silly, once one thought about it a bit. And James of course would be in his element, yelling and making some sort of ridiculous rowdy display of himself, somehow involving Sirius, who wasn’t even on the Quidditch team –

“Evans?” the voice repeated, more firmly, and slid into the seat right next to Lily.

Blearily, Lily opened her eyes and looked up. James’ face swam hazily above her. Stunned, she blinked twice and opened her mouth, then shut it. Finally, she croaked, “Shouldn’t you be over there with your ruddy team?”

James grinned and slapped her on the back. “You really do look charming this early in the morning, Evans. Not up to your usual standards? You’re not going to scream at anyone or get them into order?”

Lily grunted and dropped her head back into her arms. Realizing that something was actually wrong, James prodded her arm a bit less enthusiastically. “Evans? Are you all right?”

“Leave me alone,” Lily moaned. She looked up again warily. James was staring down at her, looking extraordinarily concerned. Why was he so close again? It was probably her fever. Her head certainly was warm. She couldn’t seem to think, but she couldn’t remember if that was due to her current state of illness or the fact that James was hovering so close to her again, looking almost … cute. In his concerned state, that was. James was of course handsome, Lily had to admit, but looking at him up so close made him almost – endearing?

“Evans.” James really did sound worried. “You should probably go up to the Hospital Wing or something – you don’t look so good – I mean, you always look good, of course, but you know – oh bugger, I mean you look sick, I mean, I don’t even know what I mean, I’ll take you up, it won’t take very long, and you can get something for your cold right away –“

Lily laughed weakly. “Potter. I have to watch the Quidditch match. I want to have fun, I want to stop sucking the fun out of everything.”

“Evans.” James was completely serious now. “Evans, I’m taking you up to the Hospital Wing. And don’t be so dumb, you’re a lot of fun. I think you’re fun. I mean, you’re always fun – fun in a good way – I mean, I like to be with you, I mean –“

“Stop embarrassing yourself and go back over to your team,” came a wry voice from across the table. Lily looked up briefly, saw that it was just Marlene McKinnon, and closed her eyes again promptly. “I’ll look after her. You have a strategy to plan, or whatever that dance you do is called.”

James flushed red and hit his elbow on the table painfully before managing to escape back to the team’s end of the table.

“Thanks,” Lily muttered into her elbow. Marlene really was a good friend. And had James really been embarrassing himself? She hadn’t noticed. It was quite nice to see him a bit flustered, actually. He was always too sure of himself. “I don’t really want to go up to the Hospital Wing.”

“Lily. You can’t even open your eyes.”

Lily trained a particularly withering glare on Marlene, lifting her head off the table slightly. “Can too. Besides, if you go with me, if I faint then you can rescue me.”

“Do you really want to sacrifice yourself so that you can see James be heroic on the pitch?”

“I’m not going to watch James,” Lily said scathingly, ignoring another voice in her head that was saying the exact opposite. “I’m going so I can cheer on Gryffindor, because I can only go three times a year, and this cold isn’t even that bad.”

Lily could feel Marlene rolling her eyes, but the other girl said nothing. The noise at the end of the Gryffindor table was rising in volume. Lily looked up again apprehensively, only to see what looked like the entirety of Gryffindor dancing toward her. James, of course, was at the front with Sirius. As the crowd drew level with Lily, James leaned over, wrapped his scarf around her neck, and whispered into her ear, “If you die watching me play Quidditch, just try to remember that you ended happily.”

Lily couldn’t even think of anything to say, but she didn’t need to. She was swept up in the rest of the cheering red-gold mass, clinging to Marlene for dear life.

-----

The extra scarf proved to be invaluable. Though the day was clear and the sky was a pure bright blue, it was cold outside. Lily spent most of the game screaming, hunched inside her robes, one scarf tucked into to keep her neck warm and one wound around her head. She looked ridiculous, but at least it was warm. And the game, of course, was brilliant.

James was a great Quidditch captain and an even better player – even the Slytherins couldn’t deny that. He was the backbone of the team and the Chaser with the most goals, which of course meant that the Hufflepuff Beaters spent the entire game trying to hit him with a Bludger. The game quickly turned ugly, since if Hufflepuff lost they would be out of the running for the Quidditch Cup. Lily yelled the injustice of every foul along with the rest of the house, but after two hours had passed and the Snitch had still not been seen, she had to sit down, dizzy and feverish. Though Lily protested feebly, Marlene managed to drag her the entire way up to the hospital wing before the game was over.

Madam Pomfrey was scandalized that Lily had been let out into the cold at all. She promptly packed the Head Girl into bed and drew the curtains around her. “If you hadn’t been outside in the cold all this time,” she told Lily disapprovingly, “maybe this would be over sooner. All I can do is try to speed your immune system along. Drink this and you should be fine after a long nap.” She unceremoniously slapped a bubbling goblet down onto the bedside table, closed the curtains, and left, muttering something about irresponsibility.

The potion tasted horrible. Lily pinched her nose and drank it quickly, shuddering. A delicious warmth spread from her feet to her head, and Lily sank down into the covers, sighing slightly. It was good to be out of the cold, even if she was missing the end of the match. She snuggled under the blanket and pulled thoughtfully on the fringe of one of the scarves. They looked exactly the same – which one belonged to James? Why had he given it to her, anyway? She burrowed her head into the pillow. Yes, this scarf was Potter’s. It smelled like him, like grass and some kind of musky cologne and spice. It was very distinct and very comforting.

Lily drifted off into dreamless sleep, interrupted only by Madam Pomfrey’s shoes clicking on the floor. She wondered if the match was over. Gryffindor had to have won, they were ahead by at least a hundred points when Lily left …

The door to the hospital wing crashed open and several people came in. Lily could only hear a few words of the shouting that ensued: “Move him over here! Just one broken bone!”

Lily tried to sit up, hit by a brief stab of worry; was James all right? Surely he hadn’t broken a bone? And surely Gryffindor had won? She only succeeded in rolling over onto one side, hair spread across the pillow in a bright splash of red. Ugh. If only she could maneuver herself up – but she was so … tired.

Then she picked out James’ voice easily, even through the cacophony that was going on on the other side of the hospital wing. It was low and worried. “Is Lily Evans in here? Is she all right?”

The same warmth that had gone through her after she had had the potion coursed through Lily’s body again, making every part of her body tingle. It might have been the fever, or it might have been the way that James had said her name – she rarely ever heard anything but “Evans” out of his mouth. It was nice. She rather liked it. Feverishly, she flipped over and tried to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth but a dull croak.

“She’s not having visitors,” Lily heard Madam Pomfrey hiss beyond the curtain. “She’s sick and needs rest, certainly none of this excitement now can be good for her, I’ve already fixed that silly boy’s arm anyway. Just get your team out of here.”

“Can I see her? It’ll be quick, I promise.”

Lily shivered involuntarily and closed her eyes. Dancing on her eyelids were sparks of fire, and then James’ face swam into view. It wasn’t healthy to fancy the Head Boy, was it? It certainly wasn’t healthy to fancy James Potter. She was sure that she didn’t. It was just the fever talking. Odd things happened when one was sick, after all.

Outside, the commotion subsided. Madam Pomfrey seemed to be shooing people out. Lily heard the curtain around her bed gently draw back, but she ignored it; Madam Pomfrey was probably just checking to see if she was still asleep. She remained with her eyes tightly shut, cheek pillowed on James’ scarf.

The chair by the bed squeaked, and someone sat down. There was silence, and then just heavy breathing. The rest of the hospital wing had quieted down finally, and Lily relaxed back into the pillow, taking a tigher grip on James’ scarf.

“Lily?” the person in the chair whispered, and involuntarily Lily twitched. It was James, of course. Who else would it have been? He was probably here to tell her how much fun she had missed out on, as usual. It was just odd to hear him call her something other than Evans. She rather liked it, actually; the way he said her name made goosebumps rise on her arms. Why had she never noticed that his presence made her jittery, even when asleep?

Was this really the fever talking?

“Lily …” The voice paused. Lily was too busy enjoying the delicious sensations that the sound of her own name caused, keeping her eyes closed, one hand tightly gripping the scarf she was partially sleeping on. “I really hope you’re okay,” James continued. “I didn’t mean to drag you down there, of course, but it’s Quidditch, for Merlin’s sake.”

Lily managed not to laugh.

“And …” James’ voice lowered, and there was another pause. “I’m really glad you took my scarf. Mostly because it probably saved you from dying of pneumonia, and therefore I saved your life—“

Lily had to make a conscientious effort not to snort.

“—but also,” James continued, unruffled, “because it’s mine and I played better knowing that you were wearing my scarf.”

Lily held very, very still.

“I know you’re asleep,” James said, after a brief pause, “and you can’t hear me, but … I’m glad we’re friends now, Lily. Even if I don’t get to say your name, and even if I don’t get to hear you yell at me every time I ask you out, I’m glad I get to be around you, to make you wear my scarf even when you don’t know what it means to me, even when you don’t know how I feel about you still …”

That was when Lily felt James tugging slightly on the end of his scarf. Dazed, Lily shifted slightly in the bed. She couldn’t even begin to contemplate what James was saying, and he wouldn’t say that when he was awake, or when he was looking at her with those eyes, very close to her …

Dear God. She was so gone.

James’ hand made its way up his scarf, up to where Lily gripped it tightly with one hand, and he hesitated slightly before running his fingers up the outside of her hand, slowly, tenderly.

Lily gasped involuntarily and opened her fever-bright eyes to look up into James’ shining ones. He was looking down at her fiercely, stroking the outside of her hand now in circles, taking her hand and turning it over, tracing something on the inside of her palm, leaning closer to her –

“I knew you were awake,” James whispered.

Lily nodded. She couldn’t look away. His eyes held hers, and dear God his hand was holding hers, and she was warm all over and so happy and life was easy, and now he was leaning down even further, his face inches from hers, very serious, and then his nose was brushing hers with something like an electric shock –

“James,” Lily managed, before her brain stopped processing what was happening at all. It did process the use of his first name. James seemed to process that, too. His eyes lit up, even brighter, and then his lips were on hers, kissing her softly and lingeringly and pulling away, his eyes fixed on hers and his face reddening.

That just seemed stupid, so Lily let go of his hand, grabbed him firmly by the back of the neck, and pulled him down again, kissing him as James let out a shuddering breath and then his mouth was moving gently over her lips, her eyelids, her forehead, her neck, and the Lily that he whispered in her ear made her want him to be not so gentle.

But then Lily realized something very important had yet to be resolved.

“Did you win the Quidditch match?” she blurted.

James sat up, startled, and then a grin spread across his face. “Maybe,” he said teasingly. “Maybe I’ll tell you. Or maybe I won’t.”

“Or maybe I’ll report you to Madam Pomfrey for unnecessarily harassing her patients,” Lily shot back.

James rolled his eyes. “You would not. Enforcer.”

Lily laughed and reached out to pull him down again. “I hope you get sick,” she said, against the warm skin of his neck.

“If I don’t get sick, I’m going to be very disappointed in you,” James agreed, but he didn’t have time to say anything else. Because Lily had found that, just as she secretly liked to break school rules and secretly enjoyed Quidditch games, she also very, very much enjoyed kissing James Potter. Though perhaps that didn’t have to be secret. And with the way that James was kissing her back, it didn’t seem that it would be secret for long.

HOLLA

2007-06-04T08:01:42Z

Things are going well - it's 12:59 am on a Sunday night, I have yet to seriously revise my 15-page paper for Wednesday, I have to start studying for an econ final I might certainly fail, and at the moment I'm occupied with searching for fandom journals online. Hence the new journal creation. I mean, maybe I will post my fanfiction somewhere on livejournal now? Maybe I will actually write fanfiction now? Maybe I will not be afraid to join smut communities for fear of ostracization by my normal friends?

At least my roommate also leads a decidedly sad life. She's currently reading Modern Drunkard magazine online.